thedrifter
08-12-07, 08:19 AM
JAMIE TOBIAS NEELY: Two Iraq opinions hold a common goal
Jamie Tobias Neely
The Spokesman-Review
August 12, 2007
My phone rang late on a busy Friday morning. But it was around midnight in Iraq, where Col. Darel Maxfield was ending his day.
Maxfield, a member of the U.S. Army Reserves, ordinarily teaches social studies at Ferris High School in Spokane. But this summer he heads Besmaya Range Complex in the desert 35 miles east of Baghdad. He supervises an operation of 29 Americans, about 85 contractors and 744 Iraqis. The Americans issue M-16 rifles and help train Iraqi soldiers there in the 125-degree heat.
We'd been connected through a lieutenant in the U.S. Embassy annex in Baghdad. Maxfield was wary of how I might shape his quotes to fit my preconceived notions, and I wondered how the military hoped these conversations would influence Americans' opinions.
But I soon realized he was eager to share his authentic experience, and he decided that even though we might not necessarily agree politically, he was willing to trust me. And so our e-mail correspondence began.
In e-mails and this hour-long phone conversation, Maxfield said he misses the lush green parks of Spokane and our cool nights, as well as Papa John's Pizza, the daily special at the Ming Wah restaurant, and Henry Weinhard's ale. His voice grew tender talking of his wife and sons. He's 51. And at turns, he sounded hearty, angry, frustrated, determined, proud, perplexed, horrified, weary and wistful.
I did have a few preconceived notions about this war – after all this time, who doesn't? But mostly I wanted to hear his perspective. "How do you think it's going?" I asked.
"There are so many ways to answer that," he said. "I could give you a thousand answers and they'd all be true. I could tell you that it's the greatest thing since sliced bread and we're striking blows for democracy every day and that would be true. And I could also tell you that it's a pile of crap. And that would be true, too.
"And the truth of the matter is that it's somewhere in there, and I really don't know what the answer is."
There were certain things Maxfield did know: The young men and women of the U.S. Army and Marines are some of the finest soldiers and Marines in the history of this country.
He knows it's impossible to view Iraq through a Western framework. It's a country of tough desert-dwellers, survivors of 9,000 years of brutal history, with a level of human degradation few Americans could imagine.
And yet scenes there unfold like images from the Bible. Sheiks of this region once called Mesopotamia still show up for meetings wearing long headdresses, flowing robes and desert-hardened, calloused feet in sandals. Maxfield now understands why foot washing appeared in the Scriptures as a symbolic gesture of grace and kindness.
He knows he's angry about the way American politicians, news reporters and analysts talk about this war back at home.
There's such a deep rancor among politicians, he says, who should cut out the partisanship, find the center and search together for solutions.
Reporters who drop in for quick stand-up reports in Baghdad, who can't possibly know what's going on all over Iraq on a given day yet employ a tone of arrogant certainty, make him angry. So do "so-called Western experts" who fly in for three days and leave.
As we talked, I realized he was right: We don't agree on everything. I wish we hadn't entered this war. I wish this KHQ teacher of the month were heading back to Ferris this fall, not risking his life at Besmaya. But Maxfield sees Iraq as a country of great economic potential, a place where people who are brave and bold could make a difference. Honestly, he said, the invasion made good sense from that standpoint.
Now the country is in chaos, carved up into probably 200 distinct gangs, each with their own identity, he said, highly armed and willing to fight to the death with those with whom they disagree.
As the surge pushes the bad guys out of Baghdad, they wind up heading east toward Iran through Maxfield's piece of the desert. They frequently launch rockets and mortars into his complex. Last month, he lost one man. Another was seriously disabled, 10 more wounded.
A Protestant, Maxfield carries a rosary and a handmade alpha omega sterling silver ring, gifts from two of his Ferris students. He left Spokane on Jan. 25, and his tour of duty likely won't end until at least next April or May.
The conversation turns to how this war might be resolved. And once more we agree.
"There are no easy answers over here, Jamie," he says, his voice strong on the telephone. "God willing, and I live long enough to look you in the eye, I will tell you: There are no easy answers.
"The truth is it will require deep, soulful, soul-searching, thought-provoking discussion. And until we get to the point where we can have some honest discussion instead of screaming and labeling each other, we're in a world of hurt."
And then our time winds down. He lightens the mood. "I'm just a dumb-ass colonel out in the middle of nowhere, Jamie. I just work here."
"I wish you could fix it all," I say to him.
His voice softens in the dark desert night on the other side of the world.
"Yeah," he sighs. "Me, too."
Ellie
Jamie Tobias Neely
The Spokesman-Review
August 12, 2007
My phone rang late on a busy Friday morning. But it was around midnight in Iraq, where Col. Darel Maxfield was ending his day.
Maxfield, a member of the U.S. Army Reserves, ordinarily teaches social studies at Ferris High School in Spokane. But this summer he heads Besmaya Range Complex in the desert 35 miles east of Baghdad. He supervises an operation of 29 Americans, about 85 contractors and 744 Iraqis. The Americans issue M-16 rifles and help train Iraqi soldiers there in the 125-degree heat.
We'd been connected through a lieutenant in the U.S. Embassy annex in Baghdad. Maxfield was wary of how I might shape his quotes to fit my preconceived notions, and I wondered how the military hoped these conversations would influence Americans' opinions.
But I soon realized he was eager to share his authentic experience, and he decided that even though we might not necessarily agree politically, he was willing to trust me. And so our e-mail correspondence began.
In e-mails and this hour-long phone conversation, Maxfield said he misses the lush green parks of Spokane and our cool nights, as well as Papa John's Pizza, the daily special at the Ming Wah restaurant, and Henry Weinhard's ale. His voice grew tender talking of his wife and sons. He's 51. And at turns, he sounded hearty, angry, frustrated, determined, proud, perplexed, horrified, weary and wistful.
I did have a few preconceived notions about this war – after all this time, who doesn't? But mostly I wanted to hear his perspective. "How do you think it's going?" I asked.
"There are so many ways to answer that," he said. "I could give you a thousand answers and they'd all be true. I could tell you that it's the greatest thing since sliced bread and we're striking blows for democracy every day and that would be true. And I could also tell you that it's a pile of crap. And that would be true, too.
"And the truth of the matter is that it's somewhere in there, and I really don't know what the answer is."
There were certain things Maxfield did know: The young men and women of the U.S. Army and Marines are some of the finest soldiers and Marines in the history of this country.
He knows it's impossible to view Iraq through a Western framework. It's a country of tough desert-dwellers, survivors of 9,000 years of brutal history, with a level of human degradation few Americans could imagine.
And yet scenes there unfold like images from the Bible. Sheiks of this region once called Mesopotamia still show up for meetings wearing long headdresses, flowing robes and desert-hardened, calloused feet in sandals. Maxfield now understands why foot washing appeared in the Scriptures as a symbolic gesture of grace and kindness.
He knows he's angry about the way American politicians, news reporters and analysts talk about this war back at home.
There's such a deep rancor among politicians, he says, who should cut out the partisanship, find the center and search together for solutions.
Reporters who drop in for quick stand-up reports in Baghdad, who can't possibly know what's going on all over Iraq on a given day yet employ a tone of arrogant certainty, make him angry. So do "so-called Western experts" who fly in for three days and leave.
As we talked, I realized he was right: We don't agree on everything. I wish we hadn't entered this war. I wish this KHQ teacher of the month were heading back to Ferris this fall, not risking his life at Besmaya. But Maxfield sees Iraq as a country of great economic potential, a place where people who are brave and bold could make a difference. Honestly, he said, the invasion made good sense from that standpoint.
Now the country is in chaos, carved up into probably 200 distinct gangs, each with their own identity, he said, highly armed and willing to fight to the death with those with whom they disagree.
As the surge pushes the bad guys out of Baghdad, they wind up heading east toward Iran through Maxfield's piece of the desert. They frequently launch rockets and mortars into his complex. Last month, he lost one man. Another was seriously disabled, 10 more wounded.
A Protestant, Maxfield carries a rosary and a handmade alpha omega sterling silver ring, gifts from two of his Ferris students. He left Spokane on Jan. 25, and his tour of duty likely won't end until at least next April or May.
The conversation turns to how this war might be resolved. And once more we agree.
"There are no easy answers over here, Jamie," he says, his voice strong on the telephone. "God willing, and I live long enough to look you in the eye, I will tell you: There are no easy answers.
"The truth is it will require deep, soulful, soul-searching, thought-provoking discussion. And until we get to the point where we can have some honest discussion instead of screaming and labeling each other, we're in a world of hurt."
And then our time winds down. He lightens the mood. "I'm just a dumb-ass colonel out in the middle of nowhere, Jamie. I just work here."
"I wish you could fix it all," I say to him.
His voice softens in the dark desert night on the other side of the world.
"Yeah," he sighs. "Me, too."
Ellie