Archives » Monday, August 18, 2008
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David Botti
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Aug 18, 2008 07:41 AM
Lt. Brian McDonald on patrol in the Diyala province / Photo: David Botti
When the Iraq war started, Brian McDonald, then a sophomore
in college, sat in his grandparents’ living room watching television
footage of the invasion, and knew he would someday end up in the war
then unfolding before his eyes. Earlier this month, a little more than
five years later, the now Lieutenant McDonald sat with a local school
teacher in the Iraqi village his infantry company arrived at by
helicopter just days before.
The purpose of 25-year-old
McDonald’s visit was to both gather intelligence on enemy activity in a
rural area of the Diyala province, and survey what essential services
the U.S. Army could provide to this village of mud brick and aging
concrete homes. For McDonald, balancing these priorities could only be
achieved through meetings such as this late-afternoon gathering that
began as his platoon entered the school teacher’s home, searched it,
and positioned themselves in a defensive perimeter outside.
These
types of encounters frequently occur all over Iraq, as young
commanders, both enlisted and officers, find themselves shifting more
and more from the kinetic fights of the past five years, to countless
nuanced dialogues with civilians in their areas of operation.
McDonald
began the conversation, which took place inside a bare room in the
teacher’s home, with a short speech said with such ease and clarity it
was obvious he’d said similar words before.
“Everyone needs to
cooperate with the law,” he said after taking off his helmet and
settling into a white plastic chair. “We’re here to get projects done,
and get rid of weapons caches. That’s our goal, that’s our mission,
and we don’t plan on leaving here until we do.”
As is frequently
the case in similar circumstances throughout Iraq, speaking with
coalition forces can be dangerous for an Iraqi, and on this day the
situation was no different for the school teacher.
“I haven’t
seen anything with my eyes,” he told McDonald. “There are just rumors
that here the terrorists control more than the sheiks.”
The
Americans knew the residents of this area had legitimate cause to be
nervous. Prior U.S. Army operations into the region were comparatively
short, and resulted in the arrests of Iraqis suspected of aiding the
insurgency. Now, citizens like the school teacher had no assurances
that if they gave the Army intelligence, the soldiers would remain to
ensure they were protected from retribution by hostile forces.
McDonald
later observed that perhaps his greatest asset during the opening
moments of these types of conversations is the ability of his Iraq-born
translator to observe the mannerisms of a subject that may be
imperceptible to the non-Arabic speaker. While the person may appear
to the American as welcoming and hospitable, the translator can usually
tell whether there is there is a nervousness or anger in the speaker’s
voice.
On this day, McDonald’s translator, known by the
pseudonym “M.D.,” affirmed that the school teacher was indeed uneasy
with the American presence in his house—despite the fact he served the
soldiers tea and homemade pastries. McDonald attempted to calm the
teacher’s fears:
“I’m a person who doesn’t lie,” he said. “I
understand that you’re nervous because we’re walking up here with all
of these [weapons]. You can trust me 100 percent. I don’t want you to
feel like we’re pressuring you for info. But understand it’s good for
the village to provide this [intelligence] to get information. This is
why we give you an open invitation to come to us for anything you need.”
The
American soldiers had reason to believe there were in fact enemy forces
in the immediate area. Roadside bombs were disabling Army vehicles on
a daily basis, and, more telling, soldiers encountered what became
referred to as the “bomb house.”
Days before, McDonald and his
fellow soldiers had spent nearly a day-and-a-half living out of an
abandoned building in the vicinity of the teacher’s home. It wasn’t
until a soldier happened to notice wires running from the building’s
foundation towards a nearby road, that it was discovered the entire
house was packed with explosives ready for detonation. Had the
explosives gone off, over 100 soldiers could have been injured or
killed.
About midway through the conversation, McDonald turned to the subject of the bomb house.
“If
you’re honest with us, we’ll be honest with you. Did you see the
explosion?” he asked, referring to the controlled detonation of the
house by Army ordinance experts.
“Everyone heard it,” said the teacher.
“Something that big [as a mined house] cannot exist without people learning about it.”
“We were just told that the house was being used by families that were displaced.”
“Understand
the big picture of that house,” McDonald said. “In each room was some
explosive device. There was copper wiring running across to the main
road. This isn’t a very big town, people talk. I’m from a small town
I know. Think about that and think about the good things for this
town. Think real hard about what you want.”
As McDonald later
discussed the encounter, he spoke about the difficulty of putting
residents like the school teacher in such a dangerous position. Even
with the best of intentions, he could never completely ensure the
teacher would be safe from harm. At the same time, gathering
intelligence from area residents was vital to the greater mission of
clearing the region of any remaining enemy forces.
“I feel kind
of hypocritical sometimes when I tell them, ‘hey look you don’t have to
worry you can live your day-to-day life,’” said McDonald, who’s been an
active-duty Army officer for nearly 30 months. “I know in a way I’m
kind of telling him to do something that’s impossible. It’s impossible
for him not to worry even if I’m watching his house all of the time.
There’s going to be that one time when we’re not going to be there
because we’re going to be somewhere else. It’s kind of tough.”
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