Life in Perspective

Questions. There are days, many days, when I ask myself why I am doing this? Why I come to Iraq, subject myself to discomfort and danger? Why I put my wife and family through the worry and seperation? All for the sake of pictures when good ones seem few and far between-- often doubting that anyone actually sees them or cares.
Then I am humbled. Almost daily some soldier actually thanks me for what I am doing here. That soldier who has often spent YEARS here, to my two months at a time of site seeing. That soldier who is sucking dust, getting blown up by roadside bombs, walking long patrols under heavy physical and emotional loads, watching his friends fall, worrying about his family worrying about him at home. That soldier, or one of his family members struggling with the seperation and fear, stops me in the chow hall, or sends me an email thanking ME, and I’m always dumbfounded, at a near loss for words, and entirely humbled.
I’m often asked what soldiers think about this war. For most of the ones I’ve talked to, it’s quite simple. They believe in what they are doing. Their missions are to make Iraq more secure, to train Iraqi forces so they can take over, to bring much needed resources to the people, to capture, kill or convert the insurgents and keep the guys beside them alive. No politics, no B.S. They largely believe that what they are doing is slowly and gradually working and that given enough time and resources they will succeed. That are convinced they are helping each other and the Iraqi people.
These are often 19 through 25-year-old guys with a sense of duty and resolve that is hard for me to fathom. They are making life and death split second decisions under some of the worse conditions imaginable. Yet they approach the challenges with the wisdom of experience and professionalism far beyond their years. They do this day after day with little complaint.
I often feel like I’m living in a world spinning wildly out of control where we are losing sight of our ideals, self-absorbed, trying keep up with the rat-race that can be our lives. Too focused on what we want to get out of life instead of what we have to give. Too rushed to “get there” to enjoy much of it. I’m as guilty of all that as the next person. But then I come here, to Iraq, with all it’s miserable implicatations, and I get to walk among people I respect. They care about each other and jobs they are doing above all else. Their motives are good and life is, dare I say, simple. The basics kept in proper perspective. And here, of all places, I sometimes find the faith and hope that so often aludes me in “real life.” If I’m good enough and lucky enough, maybe I will manage to make the right pictures or find the right words to convey who these soldiers are. I think that’s why I’m here.

Heart of Darkness

“Catastrophic! Catastrophic!” It was a radio call meant to get everyone’s attention, and it did. Michelle and I had just arrived at Combat Outpost (COP) Steel in the Ta’Meem district of Ramadi, and we were sitting in a dingy room in a house seized by U.S. forces, talking to three soldiers there who make up part of a Military Transition Team (MiTT), advising Iraqi Army soldiers working in the area. I was listening to the radio traffic out of one ear and the small talk out of the other. I was frustrated and I felt I was wasting time, wishing I could get out on some day patrols and find some good pictures, when I heard that a weapons cache had been discovered near our location. But I was stuck in that little room, thinking to myself that I should be out there, making pictures, when that haunting call came.
“Catastrophic” means that a military vehicle has been completely destroyed, usually by a roadside bomb. It often means that soldiers are dead. We all sat helpless and dejected, listening to the radio calls. We listened for hours. Units responding, trying to help, being routed around more roadside bombs, looking for the “triggerman”, but there was no help for the two soldiers that were killed by the bombs buried near that cache.
Since arriving in Ramadi, Michelle and I have done a lot of stories. We covered the Friday Night Smokers boxing tournaments that allow soldiers to blow off a little steam. We went on a river patrol with a Marine Dam Security Unit. We ate meals with Iraqi Police and the PiTT team soldiers working with them to secure their communities. We went on patrols around COP Falcon in south-central Ramadi, a place one commander called “The Heart of Darkness.” I got my chance to photograph soldiers on day patrols, finding weapons caches and returning sniper fire. I even tried in vain to shoot pictures in complete darkness as COP Falcon was attacked and U.S. gunners fired back from the roof as tracers zipped by overhead.
In between it all we stood around with little groups of soldiers, waiting and smoking and telling stories of home and of war. Listening to their plans and their dreams. We watched movies, made plans for achieving world peace, and laughed at jokes few other civilians would understand. Now we’re back in Baghdad, waiting for our next embed. I’m sitting here trying to catch up on a blog, wanting tell you what it is like out there, thinking I should tell you about these soldiers’ successes, their fighting spirit, their lives and their sacrifice. But what keeps coming through the static is that call of desperation, “Catastrophic! Catastrophic!”
Here are the links to three multi-media stories from Ramadi:
Police Transition Teams
DAM Security Unit 3
COP Falcon
Michelle's Stories can be found here: Army Times In Iraq