Thanks,

Firefighter Stephanie Smith

We were patrolling through a village quite proximal to Mahmmudiyah earlier in the tour. It was July, I believe, and the temperature was almost 120 degrees. Impervious to the oven-like weather, a pack of barefooted young boys scrambled after our hummvees the way American kids chase a musical ice cream truck. Can you imagine how asphalt in 120-degree weather must feel on a bare foot?

Our turret gunners knew the routine. They would throw handfuls of hard candy at them and continue the vigilant, disciplined, and monotonous task of manning a machine gun on a patrol in Iraq. Despite the heat, which could be sometimes unbearable to uparmored Westerners like us, the kids were overjoyed to receive this candy, the way American kids typically react to their Christmas presents.

How horrible, I thought afterward, that these kids must endure this heat with no shoes or sandals. American Infantrymen are always taught that the feet are the most important piece of equipment. A Grunt (Infantryman) who knows his field craft cares for his feet meticulously and is trained that dry socks, nail clippers, powder, and mole skin are just as important for survival as water, rations, and ammunition. Therefore, I couldn’t imagine the potential that existed for diseases and infections that faced these barefooted Iraqi kids.

A group of us in the platoon e-mailed our families and support groups asking for care packages to include some cheap flip flops and sandals that we could give to these kids. In about two weeks, we had received an adequate amount. You’ll typically find a hummvee in Iraq crammed with ammo cans, water, MRE boxes (meals ready-to-eat), recovery equipment and signaling devices. But we managed to find room for those sandals.

The next time we passed through that village, as if on cue, the barefooted kids scrambled after us. Carefully we slowed our speed and the gunners threw the sandals towards the kids. They quickly grabbed them. It was then that we learned an interesting lesson in Iraqi culture: Two or three of the biggest boys shoved the smaller boys aside and kept a bunch of sandals for themselves. A couple even began fighting.

Youthful ignorance and immaturity? Perhaps. Our lieutenant stopped the patrol and dismounted the hummvee with a couple of men for security. He was trying to convey to the ones who were hording all of the sandals that it is best to share, the way frustrated American parents do when they buy a new toy or a video game for their kids, and one wants it all to himself.

The next time we passed through that village, maybe three were wearing sandals and the remaining twenty or so were still barefoot. We must have hurled about forty pairs.

An Iraqi Army unit participated in a couple of confidence-building, low intensity cordon and search missions with my platoon. They were all supposedly equipped with uniforms and gear by the United States. I noticed the platoon leader or senior ranking person had the best uniform and all of the gear. The rest of the men wore tattered uniforms and carried their AK-47s. If one had a canteen or a helmet, he was lucky. It seemed to me that the “me first” attitude that I had seen displayed by those kids had permeated into the military. In a professional, Western military outfit, this would not fly at all.

It may have been culture that bred the profane individualism that I saw sometimes in Iraq and which you described in your story. Or its genesis may be the poverty, brutality, and dictatorial rule that spanned generations. When living in such bondage and then suddenly experiencing freedoms neverbefore known, perhaps it is typical and understandable to display a “me first” attitude. American soldiers and Marines train to seize beaches and airfields. They can knock out bunkers and any armored creation on the planet. After a six month train-up, my platoon could enter and clear a building almost blindfolded.

So what does the manual mention regarding tactics, techniques, and procedures for individualism and “me first” during nation building? It is no easy task we have found.

I’ll conclude with this vignette and the reader can decide if we are closer to a solution:

Military units typically form up and rally around a flag called a guidon in military parlance. While a company is the lowest echelon in the Infantry to fall into a formation in front of a blue guidon emblazoned with the Infantry’s symbolic Crossed Rifles, platoons usually have nicknames and informal guidons of their own. In Iraq, this guidon would be affixed to a hummvee’s antenna or hood. Ours was made when we were stateside and included a skull and cross bones. Every man in the platoon signed it and it soon became a symbol of our cohesion and esprit d’corp (two things that can’t be counted or quantified by the Army and are often overlooked but are nonetheless critical and vital to a unit’s success in combat).

A sergeant major sporting a clean uniform that said “I never leave the wire” said to my platoon sergeant after one mission regarding our unofficial guidon, “Doesn’t that skull and cross bones send the wrong message to the Iraqi people? You should take that down.”

My platoon sergeant replied, “I could. But then does the machine gun that’s mounted over it have to come down, too?”