I had my picture taken at a chapel that we are building with an Iraqi Contractor. The picture captures me along with the Iraqi electricians presently working in there. They are very nice people. They seem to be trying so hard to do a worthy job for us, but like the other tradesmen before them their work just isn’t the quality that I expect; it’s not the quality that we are paying for. Understand that a large portion of my responsibility is to ensure that we deliver quality and timely facilities to the war fighters. When we fail this mission the fighter’s ability to fight is directly hindered. I take this responsibility seriously. [Of course, a chapel is not a war platform (although some of life’s greatest wars are silently fought within the walls of chapels all over the world) nonetheless, this is meant to generally represent my experiences.] Lately I would find myself very critical and even cynical at times of the Iraqi’s work. I had grown tired of answering to my superiors for the substandard quality. My staff and I would spend time with them trying to coach and convince, or at least establish some sort of mutual acceptance. I remained disappointed and frustrated. This began to bleed into my project briefs to the Skipper (commanding officer) and the base’s Commanding General. I would often leave those briefs feeling that I had done the right thing in being truthful and forthright with the General and his staff, but simultaneously I would feel somehow…wrong.
I felt wrong again as I examined my photograph. I studied their faces and posture; their faces drawn down and tired, their hands hanging low—they looked so beaten. That is except for one—he’s the son of the primary electrician (blue shirt; his father is second from the right). His face looks youthful and new, it seems to say that he has seen many terrible things, things that no boy should ever have to witness, but it also seems to say that despite it all, there is hope. His face says to me that he will recover, that he will do better than his father because of his father, and the American military. I see youthfulness and zeal, energy and learning. I see that they do not need a critic, they need a friend. They need someone to believe in them.
Sheikh Joseph believes in them. Or at least that’s the name that they told us to call him after hearing his real name tied my brain in a knot. Sheikh Joseph and his nephew and colleagues visited the camp this last week. We have a Contractor (an American company) that we are struggling with to complete a $20M project. As part of their recovery plan they have hired an Iraqi company to be their concrete subcontractor. This company is partially owned/operated by Sheikh Joe and his nephew. They are influential men in the Anbar province. Going in to meet him I didn’t quite know what to expect, but it turned out to be much simpler then I had imagined. Sheikh Joe appeared as any other Iraqi to me, nothing ornate or glorified about him. Our purpose in meeting with him was to open up opportunities to do business with the Iraqi people. It’s a good place to start since a Sheikh probably has a ‘black book’ as thick as the Twin Falls phone book! He should know a few folks. These Iraqi businessmen (and a women I must add—which is very significant in this part of the world) expressed their desires to help us help Iraq; to build business relationships with Iraqi companies, stimulating their economy; to have Iraqi citizens come on camp, have a good experience working for a profitable salary, and then return home to share their stories with family and neighbors. We all agreed that this would help counter economic strife as well as terrorism in the Anbar Province. Those good stories will no doubt spread throughout the Province like dust in an Iraqi wind storm. It will help to win the hearts of locals, give them courage to break a binding cast of doubt, and to give their children, the next generation, a better chance. I think that’s really how long it’s going to take too, a generation.
A life of enslavement to one’s government, the expressed disagreement with which could cost you your life, would indeed instill deeply rooted fears and distrust. I believe it will take that next generation, standing upon the shoulders of a bold few, like Sheikh Joseph and my friend the electrician, to overcome the oppressive stigma that envelopes a good portion of this country still. I believe they can do it, but not without paying a price—there will be a great sacrifice required for many years to come--and also not without us believing in them.
I am no longer their critic. I believe in them.
I felt wrong again as I examined my photograph. I studied their faces and posture; their faces drawn down and tired, their hands hanging low—they looked so beaten. That is except for one—he’s the son of the primary electrician (blue shirt; his father is second from the right). His face looks youthful and new, it seems to say that he has seen many terrible things, things that no boy should ever have to witness, but it also seems to say that despite it all, there is hope. His face says to me that he will recover, that he will do better than his father because of his father, and the American military. I see youthfulness and zeal, energy and learning. I see that they do not need a critic, they need a friend. They need someone to believe in them.
Sheikh Joseph believes in them. Or at least that’s the name that they told us to call him after hearing his real name tied my brain in a knot. Sheikh Joseph and his nephew and colleagues visited the camp this last week. We have a Contractor (an American company) that we are struggling with to complete a $20M project. As part of their recovery plan they have hired an Iraqi company to be their concrete subcontractor. This company is partially owned/operated by Sheikh Joe and his nephew. They are influential men in the Anbar province. Going in to meet him I didn’t quite know what to expect, but it turned out to be much simpler then I had imagined. Sheikh Joe appeared as any other Iraqi to me, nothing ornate or glorified about him. Our purpose in meeting with him was to open up opportunities to do business with the Iraqi people. It’s a good place to start since a Sheikh probably has a ‘black book’ as thick as the Twin Falls phone book! He should know a few folks. These Iraqi businessmen (and a women I must add—which is very significant in this part of the world) expressed their desires to help us help Iraq; to build business relationships with Iraqi companies, stimulating their economy; to have Iraqi citizens come on camp, have a good experience working for a profitable salary, and then return home to share their stories with family and neighbors. We all agreed that this would help counter economic strife as well as terrorism in the Anbar Province. Those good stories will no doubt spread throughout the Province like dust in an Iraqi wind storm. It will help to win the hearts of locals, give them courage to break a binding cast of doubt, and to give their children, the next generation, a better chance. I think that’s really how long it’s going to take too, a generation.
A life of enslavement to one’s government, the expressed disagreement with which could cost you your life, would indeed instill deeply rooted fears and distrust. I believe it will take that next generation, standing upon the shoulders of a bold few, like Sheikh Joseph and my friend the electrician, to overcome the oppressive stigma that envelopes a good portion of this country still. I believe they can do it, but not without paying a price—there will be a great sacrifice required for many years to come--and also not without us believing in them.
I am no longer their critic. I believe in them.
1 comment:
Jason- thank you for sharing pieces of your experience there in Iraq. I look forward to reading your posts. I think about you and pray for you, along with the other soldiers working hard in that country and others. Thank you for your service! (cousin) Becky Alder
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