For the last decade, Afghanistan has boasted the largest and best-coordinated de-mining campaign of any country in the world — some 5,000 locals have been employed by the United Nations and other international organizations to scour the landscape and detonate any mines they find. Over 1.6 million land mines and UXOs (or “unexploded ordnance,” such as bombs that didn’t detonate on impact) have been discovered and removed over the last 11 years by eight different mine clearance programs.

If you saw “The English Patient,” you know the drill: The method hasn’t changed since World War II. Some de-miners do have metal detectors, but many of these are out of date and of limited utility. The ground is already full of metal shrapnel, thanks to years of fighting, which makes metal detectors useless; and many of the most modern mines are ceramic, in order to avoid detection. The international community has funneled nearly $25 million a year to de-mining programs in Afghanistan, and experts had optimistically predicted that “high-priority” areas would be cleared within seven years if that funding kept flowing.

But all de-mining programs in Afghanistan came to a screeching halt Sept. 12, thanks to terrorist attacks on the U.S. blamed on Osama bin Laden. In fact, the first reported civilian casualties of the U.S. bombing campaign were four Afghan U.N. de-mining workers — bomb-disposal experts who had stayed in the area to help get rid of any UXOs.

Despite the de-miners’ diligence, Afghanistan remains one of the three countries in the world most affected by mines, comparable only to Angola and Cambodia. Some 732 million square meters of land across the country still contain mines — 11 percent of the land of Afghanistan, according to the Mine Action Information Center — and more are being discovered every day. Every month, 88 Afghans die from mine injuries.

Experts used to optimistically estimate that at the rate the de-miners were working, the country’s most critical areas would be cleared of mines within five to seven years. But thanks to the new war, all bets are off. Not only have de-mining efforts come to a halt, but the country now has to worry about new mines being laid by both the Taliban and the Northern Alliance.

The ever-present land mines are expected to slow down the efforts of American ground troops heading in to the country. But while soldiers who are about to enter Afghanistan will most certainly be endangered by the mines that lie underfoot, it is the Afghan civilians who will ultimately suffer the most. What the military leaves behind as they rush through the terrain, the locals will have to live with.

“As applied, these are now weapons of terror which primarily affect civilians,” says Richard Kidd, who in 1998 and 1999 worked in Afghanistan as the deputy program director of the United Nations Mine Action Programme for Afghanistan. “The impacts are horrific.”

There are 42 different varieties of land mines currently in use in Afghanistan. During the last two decades of warfare, mines were laid anywhere there was fighting — which, of course, was just about everywhere. Most mines were laid by the Russians during the war, but they were also used by the Northern Alliance and the Taliban. The Northern Alliance continues to use land mines today, according to the International Campaign to Ban Landmines (ICBL), but the Taliban claims to have eliminated land mines from its arsenal: In 1998, the Taliban’s supreme leader issued a decree that mines were un-Islamic, and banned their use, stockpiling and trade.

Most land mines are invisible to the human eye. They lie buried under a centimeter or two of dirt, or hidden in piles of rubble, lurking just below the surface of the earth and waiting to detonate at the slightest pressure. Typically, the only way to tell if a land mine is present is if a de-mining team has already surveyed it and marked the area with signs. Otherwise, locals who have discovered a minefield in their area (generally, because neighbors have already been injured) have to create their own cryptic maps of the danger zones — marking the hazards they know about with a pile of twigs, or a rock that’s painted red.

Not surprisingly, the human toll of land-mine use is boggling. Last year, 1,100 people in Afghanistan died from mine injuries, and 40 to 100 more lost legs, eyes, hands or other limbs each week. This, fortunately, is an improvement over previous years — in 1993, there were 20 to 23 casualties each day. Consider these to be lowball numbers, though: Since many mine deaths and injuries go unreported, most experts guess that the real number of land mine-related casualties is at least twice as high.

Even though many land mines are designed to maim rather than kill soldiers, the injuries that they cause are often lethal for civilians. The average person who steps on a mine will bleed to death within five minutes; often there is simply no one else around to offer assistance, or else those who are present are afraid to walk into the minefield and risk their own lives to help.

“One type of land mine, the blast mine, takes a fully grown man’s leg and breaks it as if it had been smashed on both ends. It normally will not kill an adult man, if there is first aid and medical treatment. Unfortunately, in Afghanistan those things don’t exist, so they often bleed to death or get septic and die,” says Kidd. “The second type is the fragmentation mine, which contains lots of metal shrapnel and BBs. When the mine explodes the metal goes flying out like a hand grenade. In most cases, these will kill one or more individuals.”

Over half the land mine casualties in Afghanistan have been children, who are at high risk because they usually gather the family’s firewood or take care of the animals. Many young children perished because they tried to pick up the tragically colorful “butterfly mines,” which were airdropped by Russians and lay on top of the ground, unintentionally resembling toys. “The butterfly mine was dropped in different colors — white for snow, green for forested areas, yellow for sand,” explains Mary Wareham, coordinator of the Land Mine Monitor for Human Rights Watch and the ICBL. “Its unique shape and colors were attracting children: It’s enticing to a child who does not have a lot of other things to play with.”

Those who do survive a land mine injury face a future nearly as bleak as death itself; in a country like Afghanistan, losing a limb often means losing your livelihood. “If you have a family living on the edge of starvation and the husband becomes an invalid and can’t work, the entire family is now at jeopardy of starvation. The family could be broken up and the children sold,” says Kidd. “For those who do survive there’s a tremendous sense of guilt — now they’ve become a burden rather than a contributing member of the family. They are outcast many times, or they sometimes literally will themselves to die.”

Still, many crippled Afghans do forge onward with the help of a precious, if ill-fitting, fake limb — some 210,000 Afghans are currently living with land mine injuries.

Humans are not the only victims of land mines. Some 75,000 animals — sheep, goats, donkeys, camels, horses and cows — died last year because they grazed in a minefield. The loss is profound in a country constantly on the brink of starvation. Farms are incapacitated because fields and irrigation ditches were tilled with mines, making it impossible to grow crops.

Although over a million Afghans have been given mine-awareness training, they typically aren’t taught how to de-mine their way out of a minefield — it’s simply too time-consuming and dangerous.

Instead, the 5,000 official Afghan de-miners have the onus of clearing the entire country of mines. It’s an arduous and expensive endeavor: First, advance surveying teams have to talk to locals, who generally have the best sense of where local “danger zones” might lie. Then, a team with mine-sniffing dogs (Belgian Malinois and German shepherds) will determine the perimeter of the minefield, and mark it off with masking tape and signs. Within six months, a team of de-miners — attired in masked helmets and bulletproof vests — will descend on the area and go over it inch by inch, lying face down on the ground and poking at the dirt with a long metal knitting needle. If they hit something with the needle, they clean around it to make sure it’s a mine, scrape the dirt off the top, and then blow it up in place.

It’s decidedly dangerous work; four de-miners were killed last year, and another eleven injured. “The de-miners get the worst injuries — because they are to their face and hands, not just their legs,” says Wareham.

But the benefits of the job are also manifold. De-miners are some of the best-paid workers in Afghanistan (in fact, one mine authority begged Salon not to print the de-miners’ salaries, lest they be targeted for kidnapping and extortion by impoverished locals). In a country that has been decimated by mines, the de-miners are also highly respected members of society. “The de-miners are heroes,” says Kidd. “They spend their lives doing dangerous things to help other people in their country.” (The caveat, adds Wareham, is that many do it from guilt: “De-miners on the program are often former soldiers who laid the mines and feel a debt to go and clear them,” she says).

The mine clearance groups in Afghanistan also have to contend with the Taliban, which is now targeting them for their valuable equipment.

“On October 15, some armed personnel of Taliban authorities forced its way [into] one of our site office in Mazar-e-Sharif,” Fazel Karim Fazel, the director of the Organization for Mine Clearance and Afghan Rehabilitation (OMAR), complained in an e-mail this week. “They beat our guards, broke the locks of the doors and entered into the office. They looted all the office equipment and left nothing behind. The threats have also been given to the other offices of OMAR, to hand over all the vehicles and communication systems to the Taliban, otherwise they will snatch them by force.”

Not only will the mine programs now have to cope with lost equipment and lost time, but they will also need to retrain their staffers to deal with a host of new weapons being dropped by the U.S.-led coalition forces. Many local mine clearance experts are going to Kosovo for a quick education on the new bombs, mines and UXOs, says Wareham. “They have to establish a body of knowledge on weapons that are being used, since they have to go out and see what has been dropped and what hasn’t exploded and clear it as quickly as possible.”

There is deep concern, for example, about “cluster bombs” — a favorite tool of the coalition forces, which also proved a problem for mine clearance teams in Kosovo because of their high failure rate. Like the colorful butterfly mines which were such a problem for children, unexploded cluster bombs are yellow and orange and small and round. “They are on the ground, not under the ground, so they are visible,” says Wareham. “And they are incredibly lethal; they are so full of shrapnel and have so much explosive force that you almost never survive.”

The question plaguing some land mine experts is whether more mines will be laid as part of the new conflict. It was already known that the Northern Alliance had been laying new mines during the last year, but it’s not clear how many they are using currently. Says Wareham, “We were fairly certain there must be land mine use continuing. But the United Nations says that it’s in a limited area along the front line, and that it’s decreased significantly from the past, when they didn’t even think about laying hundreds of thousands of mines.” And despite the Taliban’s promises to respect the Mine Ban Treaty, experts suspected that they had still been using land mines provided by Pakistan; any last vestiges of reluctance to use mines have, presumably, vanished now that the Taliban is facing a massing enemy on the ground.

And although much of the Western world has signed the 1997 International Mine Ban Treaty and promised to eliminate the mines from their arsenal, the United States has not, which leads some watchdogs to worry that mines might be a part of its strategy in Afghanistan. Last week, Human Rights Watch issued a statement calling on the United States “not [to] use antipersonnel land mines in Afghanistan” after the New York Times reported that the forces had dropped CBU-89 Gators, a mixed-mine system, into Afghanistan (the report of the Gator use was later recalled, however).

But others, such as Kidd, brush off the likelihood that this will happen. “The logic of the mines in the U.S. inventory are to blunt massed armor and infantry attacks in restricted terrain; the mine is a weapon whose utility is declining,” he says. “It’s for mass infantry attacks, and the Taliban forces don’t have the capacity to do that. Especially when logistics are such a challenge, I would rate the chances of U.S. forces using mines at about zero — it doesn’t make sense and it costs too much.

“The current conflict isn’t making things worse, as far as I know; it doesn’t make sense,” he adds. “The mine problem is already on the ground and will presumably be a hazard for any soldiers that go in there.”

Experts say that it’s impossible to estimate how great a problem mines will be for American troops; it will depend on the nature and scope of troop deployment. But American infantry will certainly be more at risk than indigenous Taliban fighters, simply because they will have no idea where the local minefields are, nor understand the locals’ cryptic piles of twigs and painted rocks. It would seem intuitive to expect land mines to hinder troop movement.

“The mines aren’t marked, aren’t mapped, and there is no indication that a U.S. soldier would expect to show them that it’s mined. It would definitely slow them down,” says Wareham. “And it would be a lot more scary — there’s a psychological reason they are used; they do instill a sense of fear in soldiers. And the mines are designed to maim rather than kill, so the soldier is a bigger burden as a whole — they have to get him out of the mine area and stabilize him and get him to facilities. All that takes time from what they are doing.”

It would be tragically ironic if American soldiers died because of land mines that were laid by mujahedin warlords 15 years ago, when the U.S. was supporting them in their bid against the Russians. And it is even more tragic to think that troops on any side of this conflict might now be busily laying down new land mines in fields, cities and mountains which had only recently been cleared by the heroic Afghan de-miners. Unfortunately, only time — and casualties — will tell whether the latest skirmishes on Afghan soil have made this country’s plague of land mines any worse.

Of the 16 Republican candidates most likely to win Senate elections this year, 15 of them totally ignore Afghanistan in the issues section of their campaign web pages. Not one word.

That’s significantly different than what Democratic candidates are up to on the issue. Most of the 13 Democratic candidates who are most likely to win had at least some mention of Afghanistan, with views ranging from moderate support for staying and finishing to the job to mild support for the current scheduled withdrawal to three who simply want to get out now.

But the Republicans? Only one, Arizona member of Congress Jeff Flake, mentioned the place, at least as far as I could see. Even he didn’t exactly have a clear position — he’s more or less in favor of staying, but doesn’t quite say that. But at least he acknowledges that it’s going on.

And it’s not as if Republicans are substituting other foreign policy or national security issues. Here’s a typical position statement, this one from Nebraska’s Deb Fischer:

The most important job of the federal government is to keep us safe and secure. Our brave men and women in uniform perform their duty to protect all of us admirably and effectively. In the Senate, I will not play politics with our security and our troops. I will give our military the tools they need to keep America safe and free, and I will ensure our troops and their families are supported and that their needs are met.

America cannot allow nuclear arms to get in the hands of terrorist states or allow rogue nations to threaten or bully others with nuclear threats. That is why we must fight – and win – the war on terrorism. To succeed in this mission, fighting terrorism needs to be the top priority of the federal government, not an afterthought. As your Senator, I will be a strong voice for ensuring that our government never loses focus on its most vital purpose.

Well, there you go: As United States Senator, she’ll totally work to ensure that we defeat all foreign enemies by carefully deploying clichés and meaningless verbiage. And, again, it’s not just her; at least half of the Republican candidates have no more than that on their web pages (compare, for example, North Dakota’s Rick Berg or Todd Akin in Missouri). Once again, it’s not as if the Democrats typically have extensive, well-reasoned positions on everything from China to Yemen, but many of them at least mention one other current issue in addition to Afghanistan. There’s plenty of empty rhetoric, of course – but it’s not all empty rhetoric.

Why have Republicans gone all fraidy cat when it comes to talking about foreign policy and national security?

I think there are a couple of reasons. One is that Barack Obama is generally perceived as successful in that issue area, making criticism relatively difficult. After all, it’s not as if anyone is going to criticize the death of Osama bin Laden (although he was only mentioned by a few Democrats and at least one Republican). Still, even things that national Republicans regularly mention, such as Israel, don’t show up here. (I count one mention of Israel, and Iran is almost completely ignored.)

A second possibility is that Republican candidates are far more hawkish than they believe their constituents are. If Republicans, in fact, support staying in Afghanistan or leaving slowly but also think that swing voters want to get out, then they might avoid the issue. For what it’s worth, candidates currently running in contested primaries (including Flake) seem to be slightly more likely to have something substantive to say on foreign policy, suggesting that perhaps it’s the swing voters in November that they’re worried about.

Or perhaps it’s division within the party. It’s possible that candidates seeking to win Tea Party votes might be scared of both the neocons — who can’t wait to go to war in Iran, Syria, and probably Iraq all over again – and the Ron Paul faction that wants out of everything.

And there’s one other possibility: Maybe some of these candidates and their staffs just don’t know anything about foreign policy. After all, it’s not hard to think of a few reasonably safe issues that Republicans usually run on; I mentioned Israel, but there’s also UN-bashing or building missile defense systems, and hardly anyone has a position on those, either. I have no idea whether Deb Fischer or Indiana’s Richard Mourdock or Ted Cruz in Texas know anything about the world beyond the U.S. For all I know, they have plenty of foreign policy in their stump speeches, but you certainly wouldn’t know it from their web sites.

Whatever the reason, it’s really a sad statement about a party which once considered itself a leader on foreign policy and national security.

They are essentially bureaucratic notices designed to draw little attention to themselves.  Yet cumulatively, in their hundreds over the last decade, they represent a grim archive of America’s still ongoing, already largely forgotten second Afghan War, and I’ve read them obsessively for years.

Into the Memory Hole

May is the official month of remembrance when it comes to our war dead, ending as it does on the long Memorial Day weekend when Americans typically take to the road and kill themselves and each other in far greater numbers than will die in Afghanistan.  It’s a weekend for which the police tend to predict rising fatalities and news reports tend to celebrate any declines in deaths on our roads and highways.

Quiz Americans and a surprising number undoubtedly won’t have thought about the “memorial” in Memorial Day at all — especially now that it’s largely a marker of the start of summer and an excuse for cookouts.

How many today are aware that, as Decoration Day, it began in 1865 in a nation still torn by grief over the loss of — we now know – up to 750,000 dead in the first modern war, a wrenching civil catastrophe in a then-smaller and still under-populated country?  How many know that the first Decoration Day was held in 1865 with 10,000 freed slaves and some Union soldiers parading on a Charleston, South Carolina, race track previously frequented by planters and transformed in wartime into a grim outdoor prison?  The former slaves were honoring Union prisoners who had died there and been hastily buried in unmarked graves, but as historian Kenneth Jackson has written, they were also offering “a declaration of the meaning of the war and of their own freedom.”

Those ceremonies migrated north in 1866, became official at national cemeteries in 1868, and grew into ever more elaborate civic remembrances over the years.  Even the South, which had previously marked its grief separately, began to take part after World War I as the ceremonies were extended to the remembrance of all American war dead.  Only in 1968, in the midst of another deeply unpopular war, did Congress make it official as Memorial Day, creating the now traditional long holiday weekend.

And yet, when it comes to the major war the United States is still fighting, now in its 11th year, the word remembrance is surely inappropriate, as is the “Memorial” in Memorial Day.  It’s not just that the dead of the Afghan War have largely been tossed down the memory hole of history (even if they do get official attention on Memorial Day itself).  Even the fact that Americans are still dying in Afghanistan seems largely to have been forgotten, along with the war itself.

As the endlessly plummeting opinion polls indicate, the Afghan War is one Americans would clearly prefer to forget — yesterday, not tomorrow.  It was, in fact, regularly classified as “the forgotten war” almost from the moment that the Bush administration turned its attention to the invasion of Iraq in 2002 and so declared its urge to create a Pax Americana in the Greater Middle East.  Despite the massive “surge” of troops, special operations forces, CIA agents, and civilian personnel sent to Afghanistan by President Obama in 2009-2010, and the ending of the military part of the Iraq debacle in 2011, the Afghan War has never made it out of the grave of forgetfulness to which it was so early consigned.

Count on one thing: there will be no Afghan version of Maya Lin, no Afghan Wall on the National Mall.  Unlike the Vietnam conflict, tens of thousands of books won’t be pouring out for decades to come arguing passionately about the conflict.  There may not even be a “who lost Afghanistan” debate in its aftermath.

Few Afghan veterans are likely to return from the war to infuse with new energy an antiwar movement that remains small indeed, nor will they worry about being “spit upon.”  There will be little controversy.  They — their traumas and their wounds — will, like so many bureaucratic notices, disappear into the American ether, leaving behind only an emptiness and misery, here and in Afghanistan, as perhaps befits a bankrupting, never-ending imperial war on the global frontiers.

Whistling Past the Graveyard of Empires

If nothing else, the path to American amnesia is worth recalling on this Memorial Day.

Though few here remember it that way, the invasion of Afghanistan was launched on a cult of the dead.  These were the dead civilians from the Twin Towers in New York City.  It was to their memory that the only “Wall” of this era — the 9/11 Memorial at Ground Zero in lower Manhattan — has been built.  Theirs are the biographies that are still remembered in annual rites nationwide.  They are, and remain, the dead of the Afghan War, even though they died before it began.

On the other hand, from the moment the invasion of Afghanistan was launched, how to deal with the actual American war dead was always considered a problematic matter.  The Bush administration and the military high command, with the Vietnam War still etched in their collective memories, feared those uniformed bodies coming home (as they feared and banishedthe “body count” of enemy dead in the field).  They remembered the return of the “body bags” of the Vietnam era as a kind of nightmare, stoking a fierce antiwar movement, which they were determined not to see repeated.

As a result, in the early years of the Afghan and then Iraq wars, the Bush administration took relatively draconian steps to cut the media off from any images of the returning war dead.  They strictly enforced a Pentagon ban, in existence since the first Gulf War, on media coverage and images of the coffins arriving from the war fronts at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware.  At the same time, much publicity was given to the way President Bush met privately and emotionally — theoretically beyond the view of the media — with the families of the dead.

And yet, banned or not, for a period the war dead proliferated.  In those early years of Washington’s two increasingly catastrophic wars on the Eurasian mainland, newspapers regularly produced full-page or double-page “walls of heroes” with tiny images of the faces of the American dead, while their names were repeatedly read in somber tones on television.  In a similar fashion, the antiwar movement toured the country with little “cemeteries” or displays of combat boots representing the war dead.

The Pentagon ban ended with the arrival of the Obama administration.  In October 2009, six months after the Pentagon rescinded it, in an obvious rebuke to his predecessor, President Obama traveled to Dover Air Base.  There, inside a plane bringing the bodies of the dead home, he reportedly prayed over the coffins and was later photographed offering a salute as one of them was carried off the plane. But by the time the arrival of the dead could be covered, few seemed to care.

The Bush administration, it turns out, needn’t have worried.  In an America largely detached from war, the Iraq War would end without fanfare or anyone here visibly giving much of a damn.  Similarly, the Afghan War would continue to limp from one disaster to the next, from an American “kill team” murdering Afghan civilians “for sport” to troops urinating on Afghan corpses (and videotaping the event), or mugging for the camera with enemy body parts, or an American sergeant running amok, or the burning of Korans, or the raising of an SS banner.  And, of course, ever more regularly, ever more unnervingly, Afghan “allies” would turn their guns on American and NATO troops and blow them away.  It’s a phenomenon almost unheard of in such wars, but so common in Afghanistan these days that it’s gotten its own label: “green-on-blue violence.”

This has been the road to oblivion and it’s paved with forgotten bodies.  Forgetfulness, of course, comes at a price, which includes the escalating long-term costs of paying for the American war-wounded and war-traumatized.  On this Memorial Day, there will undoubtedly be much cant in the form of tributes to “our heroes” and then, Tuesday morning, when the mangled cars have been towed away, the barbeque grills cleaned, and the “heroes” set aside, the forgetting will continue.  If the Obama administration has its way and American special operations forces, trainers, and advisors in reduced but still significant numbers remain in Afghanistan until perhaps 2024, we have more than another decade of forgetting ahead of us in a tragedy that will, by then, be beyond all comprehension.

Afghanistan has often enough been called “the graveyard of empires.”  Americans have made it a habit to whistle past that graveyard, looking the other way — a form of obliviousness much aided by the fact that the American war dead conveniently come from the less well known or forgotten places in our country.  They are so much easier to ignore thanks to that.

Except in their hometowns, how easy the war dead are to forget in an era when corporations go to war but Americans largely don’t.  So far, 1,980 American military personnel (and significant but largely unacknowledged numbers of private contractors) have died in Afghanistan, as have 1,028 NATO and allied troops, and (despite U.N. efforts to count them) unknown but staggering numbers of Afghans.

So far in the month of May, 22 American dead have been listed in those Pentagon announcements.  If you want a little memorial to a war that shouldn’t be, check out their hometowns and you’ll experience a kind of modern graveyard poetry.  Consider it an elegy to the dead of second- or third-tier cities, suburbs, and small towns whose names are resonant exactly because they are part of your country, but seldom or never heard by you.

Here, then, on this Memorial Day, are not the names of the May dead, but of their hometowns, announcement by announcement, placed at the graveside of a war that we can’t bear to remember and that simply won’t go away.  If it’s the undead of wars, the deaths from it remain a quiet crime against American humanity:

Spencerport, New York

Wichita, Kansas

Warren, Arkansas

West Chester, Ohio

Alameda, California

Charlotte, North Carolina

Stow, Ohio

Clarksville, Tennessee

Chico, California

Jeffersonville, Kentucky

Yuma, Arizona

Normangee, Texas

Round Rock, Texas

Rolla, Missouri

Lucerne Valley, California

Las Cruses, New Mexico

Fort Wayne, Indiana

Overland Park, Kansas

Wheaton, Illinois

Lawton, Oklahoma

Prince George, Virginia

Terre Haute, Indiana.

As long as the hometowns pile up, no one should rest in peace.

Tom Engelhardt, co-founder of the American Empire Project and the author of ”The American Way of War: How Bush’s Wars Became Obama’s“ as well as ”The End of Victory Culture,” runs the Nation Institute’s TomDispatch.com. His latest book is ”The United States of Fear“ (Haymarket Books). To listen to Timothy MacBain’s latest Tomcast audio interview in which he discusses what Americans should consider remembering on Memorial Day, click here or download it to your iPod here.

[Note on Further Reading: For those interested in exploring the history of Memorial Day, there’s no better place to visit than the always fascinating website History News Network.  For carefully put together records on American and NATO deaths in Afghanistan, visiticasualties.org.  Simply to keep up on American war news, not always the easiest thing in the mainstream media these days, make sure to visit Antiwar.com (as I do daily).]

I spent a few days at Landstuhl recently, one of a group of writers from the Writers Guild Initiative, part of the Writers Guild of America, East Foundation (Full disclosure and just to add to the confusion: I’m president of the Writers Guild, East, the union with which the foundation’s affiliated).

For the last four years, the foundation has been conducting writing workshops. The project began with professional writers from stage, TV and movies mentoring veterans from the Iraq and Afghan wars, working with them on writing exercises and projects ranging from memoirs and blogs to children’s books, screenplays and sci-fi novels. Recently, in collaboration with the Wounded Warrior Project, the foundation started similar workshops with caregivers, the loved ones of veterans helping them through the aftermath of catastrophic injuries.

Now, Wounded Warrior had asked some of us to come to Landstuhl to meet with the medical staff there. Some 3,000 strong, military and civilian, they work ceaselessly in what has become one of the busiest trauma centers in the world, helping between 20,000 and 30,000 patients a year (not just from the battlefield, but also military and their dependents from all over Europe, Africa and much of Asia).

Landstuhl is where the victims of the 1983 bombing of the U.S. Marines Corps barracks in Beirut were brought; Bosnian refugees from the Sarajevo marketplace bombing in 1994, too, wounded from the American embassy bombing in Kenya in 1998 and the 2000 attack on USS Cole. During the first Gulf War, more than 4,000 service members were treated at Landstuhl, as have been men and women fighting in the Balkans and Somalia. Since 9/11, the hospital has treated coalition troops from 44 different countries.

They compare this hospital to the center of an hourglass; it’s the midpoint between a combat injury and treatment in the field and then subsequent care back in the States or other home country. Or it’s where a service member is treated and then sent back into battle.

The staff at Landstuhl sees the wounded at their worst. Many who arrive suffer from multiple injuries – “polytrauma” so extensive that several teams of surgeons with different specialties – neurological, thoracic, ear and eye, facial reconstruction and orthopedic, among others — may work on an individual patient, often simultaneously. Bodies are blown apart or crushed by IEDs, grenades and suicide bombs, but so skillful are the medical teams there, so advanced the techniques and technology, Landstuhl’s survival rate runs as high as 99.5 percent. (The survival rate among American wounded in World War II was 70 percent.)

But all that success takes a toll. One of the little discussed but potent side effects of war is what’s called combat and occupational stress Rreaction or secondary traumatic stress disorder. Compassion fatigue.

After all the years of fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan, many of the doctors, nurses and other staff at Landstuhl are exhausted or worse. Given what they’ve seen — the horrific wounds and amputations, the infection, agony and grief – some walk around “like zombies,” one therapist said. Feelings of empathy and kindness yield to loneliness, despair and burnout.

Many of the compassion fatigue symptoms are similar to post-traumatic stress disorder  – physical effects like headaches, gastrointestinal problems, reproductive troubles, as well as mental  — nightmares, flashbacks, anxiety, emotional distance, isolation and more.

Working with physically damaged men and women who are so deeply traumatized rubs off. The emotional rawness is contagious. A hospital handout on PTSD understatedly reads, “When life-changing events occur, perceptions about the world may change. For example, before soldiers experience combat trauma, they may think the world is safe. Following combat, a soldier’s perceptions may change — a majority of the world may now seem unsafe.”

That’s why returning vets may reflexively search alongside a U.S. interstate highway for roadside bombs, only shop at Walmart at 3 in the morning, or worry to excess that their children’s school will be attacked by terrorists. And it’s why after hearing the stories of their patients, reliving the horrors of war, watching them endure pain and sometimes countless operations, medical practitioners can suffer from the same fears — whether it’s the surgeon who heals the wounds, the psychiatrist who probes the mind for the source of anguish or even the clean-up staff decontaminating and removing the blood from surgical tools.

Combine that with homesickness, the high operational tempo of Landstuhl, the low tolerance for mistakes, the downtime when the mind takes over and remembers every awful experience. It’s a dangerous, often unhealthy mix.

And so, on a Saturday morning, we writers sat down with a bunch of men and women who work at Landstuhl and other nearby medical facilities. There were 14 of us and t32 or so of them. We broke into small groups – two writers working with a group of two to four hospital staff.

My colleague Susanna and I mentored four – a male Army nurse and a female Navy nurse, a physical therapist and a developmental pediatric psychiatrist. We weren’t there to interview or pry; they would tell us what they wanted us to know when they wished, their stories slowly emerging from conversation and the brief writing exercises we gave them.

The male nurse had been in Special Ops, the Navy, Marines and Army; he was reluctant to talk of what he had experienced but wanted to examine themes of good and evil in an epic novel. The physical therapist told us she wanted to explore the mind-body connection, perhaps with a blog; the Navy nurse spoke of her feelings for the soldiers she took care of from the Republic of Georgia, the former Soviet state, now independent. (By the end of the year, Georgia, aiming at membership in NATO, will have some 1,500 troops in Afghanistan.) She had learned how to bake for them the Georgian national dish, khachapuri, a cheese-filled bread; now she wants to write a cookbook.

For two days, we talked and they wrote, we recommended books and movies, they told us about the ones they loved. Tears were shed as stories and memories came to the surface, many too private to relate here. Over the coming weeks and months, we’ll stay in touch via email and meet again; trying to be of assistance as they write to express their thoughts and feelings, to tell their stories.

Do the workshops help? Hard to measure, but intuitively it feels as if they do, that in the talking and writing comes self-awareness and some measure of equanimity. And selfishly, for those of us who serve as writer-mentors, the benefits are enormous and fulfilling.

But the statistics are alarming. According to NBC News, “The Pentagon counts more than 6,300 American dead and 33,000 wounded in action in Iraq and Afghanistan. A Rand Corp study estimates that as many as 300,000 post-9/11 veterans suffer from PTSD or major depression, and about 320,000 may have experienced traumatic brain injuries, mainly from bombs.” The number of civilian fatalities in Iraq and Afghanistan remains uncertain but a Brown University study last year reported at least 132,000.

Meanwhile, there are still nearly 90,000 American troops in Afghanistan.  More will die and be wounded. President Obama has pledged their complete departure in 2014.

But even after that, the work at Landstuhl will go on. There are still nearly 300,000 American military personnel overseas, plus family members. Landstuhl will take care of many of them. And, says one of the hospital’s surgeons, with a sigh of resignation, “There will always be the Middle East.”

The U.S. expressed regret for the airstrikes and has been quietly pressing Pakistan to reopen the routes over the last two weeks. Washington and NATO stepped up those efforts in recent days by making it clear Islamabad would not be welcome at the two-day summit beginning Sunday in Chicago unless it did so.

NATO Secretary-General Anders Fogh Rasmussen phoned President Asif Ali Zardari on Tuesday afternoon to invite him to the meeting, according to a statement from the Pakistan government and NATO.

“This meeting will underline the strong commitment of the international community to the people of Afghanistan and to its future,” NATO spokeswoman Oana Lungescu said in Brussels, where the alliance is based. “Pakistan has an important role to play in that future.”

In Islamabad, Zardari’s spokesman Farhatullah Babar said the president would consider the invitation, which he said was not linked to any reopening of the supply lines.

The invite came hours ahead of a meeting in Pakistan of civilian and military leaders to discuss the supply line blockade. A lawmaker said participants would consider reopening the routes. Their recommendations would be sent to the Cabinet, which will meet on Wednesday to formally approve the decision, he said on condition of anonymity to discuss the sensitive matter.

A NATO diplomat in Brussels, also speaking condition of anonymity for the same reason, said the invitation to Zardari was meant as an inducement to the Pakistani government to reopen the borders.

By maintaining the blockade, Pakistan’s teetering economy risked missing out on millions of dollars in international development and loans, as well military aid. It was also facing the prospect of being left out of discussions on the future of Afghanistan.

The blockade forced NATO to reorient its logistics chain to more expensive routes across Russia and Central Asia. While the war effort has not suffered, the Pakistani routes will be more important in coming months as NATO begins to pull out of Afghanistan, with a 2014 deadline for the withdrawal of all foreign combat troops.

Pakistan sought to use the deadly American air strikes in November to extract new terms from the United States in what has always been a tense and largely transactional relationship. The government has said it wants more money from the U.S. and NATO for hosting the supply routes, something Washington has indicated it could do.

The country’s parliament also demanded an apology from Washington for the border incident, and an end to America’s drone strike campaign against militants in northwestern Pakistan, but neither appears likely, U.S. officials say. Negotiators from both countries have been discussing the drone strikes, which are unpopular in Pakistan, but Washington has said it will not stop them because they are vital to keeping al-Qaida on the defensive.

Pakistani Foreign Minister Hina Rabbani Khar said Monday that Islamabad had made the right decision to close the border, but strongly suggested that it was time to reopen it, saying that Pakistan couldn’t afford to alienate the world for much longer.

Pakistan has some bargaining power of its own because its cooperation is seen as important to striking a peace deal with the Taliban and their allies in Afghanistan that would allow foreign troops to withdraw without sending the nation into further chaos.

The weak government risks some backlash from nationalist and Islamist groups, as well as militants, by reopening the supply lines. But the powerful army, which has influence over much of the country’s media and some of its most firebrand politicians and clerics, is likely to tamp down the outrage.

More than 50 heads of state will attend the meeting in Chicago, including President Barack Obama who will be speaking in his hometown.

In Kabul, Afghanistan’s deputy foreign minister Jawed Ludin said there are “some positive signs from Pakistan.”

“It may be resolved today or tomorrow, but as it stands, it’s still unresolved,” Ludin told reporters on Tuesday.

___

Lekic reported from Brussels. Associated Press writers Deb Riechmann in Kabul and Munir Ahmed in Islamabad contributed to this report.

And now, at 90,000 troops, it’s America’s turn.

I have my own history.

A week from now, it’ll be a year since my mother passed. Horrific car accident, traumatic brain injury. It wasn’t the first TBI I’d seen, but I hope it’s the last.

She’s the reason I and my brothers joined the Marines.

The last time I was in a war zone, though, it was Iraq. Anbar. Operation Iraqi Freedom. I was also a journalist — Marine combat correspondent, a Private Joker, like Full Metal Jacket.

“Get rid of that peace pin and get with the winning team, kid,” the Colonel says to Joker.

Yeah that was me, Raptor Man and Joker rolled into one person, hopping around the combat zone with a camera. By the end, I could tell you the type of helicopter approaching just from the sound alone.

I remember we were all terrified of roadside bombs. Nothing could rip the life out of you as quick as an improvised explosive device. Practically invisible. Pressure plates. Propane tanks. Shaped charges and command det. Incendiary bombs frying the flesh right off your bones, and tank mines turning tons of Humvee steel into an indistinguishable mess, quick as a red-light-running SUV.

Mom’s car was like that, nearly indistinguishable. Her crimson “Marine Mom” plate was bent and hanging from the front. In the backseat, purchased moments before impact, was a mangled case of Rolling Rock, the beer we all loved to drink together when the boys and I were home. When it happened, Mom was getting ready for us to come home again. The green glass from the bottles spread around the demolished Ford at a scarred Pennsylvania crossroad.

She told me once that she had cried every night during my first deployment in 2006. I deployed again in 2008. Long before I even went to bootcamp, though, she had told me she always pictured me living out of a backpack in some foreign country, carrying around a camera and a notepad.

I land in Kabul with a bit more than that. I have a pelican case of camera gear, a backpack, a duffel bag and an old Corps Alice pack. Double of everything; redundancy is key.

The big difference here is that I don’t have the Marine Corps to back me up. I’m alone in my own zone, no Conex box full of extra camera bodies, batteries and lenses. What I have is what I got.

I’m used to freedom. During deployments as a combat correspondent, or “CC,” I had an almost insane amount of freedom. I could be in Baghdad on Sunday, Ramadi on Wednesday, and Mosul by the weekend. I was one of a very select group of “non-rate” entry level Marines who could justifiably look in a colonel’s eye and ask, “Why?”

Also, I had a top-down, bottom-up view of the battlefield. I was included in high-viz command briefs as well as presence patrols.

The only problem was the multilevel public affairs web, a dicey bureaucracy hell-bent on “happy glad” editing and stories that reflect rosily on the command staff. It’s like the scene in “Full Metal Jacket,” written by a former combat correspondent in a short story called “Short Times”:

“So you didn’t see any enemy bodies, no casualties?” says the public affairs officer.

“They must have carried them all away,” says Joker.

“No blood trails?”

“It was raining.”

“Well, throw in one casualty, say, a dead officer; grunts love to read about dead officers,” says the PAO.

“How ’bout a General?”

Yes, I’ll admit, Military Public Affairs was a spin machine I desperately wanted to be free of. Full of “command messages,” clever omissions and helpful little edits.

Criticism at all was out of the question. I guess the idea was that we got enough of that from the civilian side of coverage. But to even call what we did “coverage” would be a bit of a misnomer. It was more like public relations with a journalism arm.

It’s like this. Ribbon cuttings: The General stands there smiling in front of a new clinic, and I take the standard big-scissor picture — snap. He and some Iraqi leader shake hands then — snap snap — and everyone’s happy right? But there are no details about how much we paid and how long it took to finish the project. I can’t even mention that there’s no electricity or acknowledge the smell of shit in the air, wafting from a waterless outhouse just meters from the building.

I saw a little boy come running out of it, smiling, excited the Americans came to visit, and I walk over to take a look inside. A huge pile of human shit intermixed with, strangely enough, pages from prominent American magazines. A smeared Vogue cover; I think I see Esquire, too, and then Johnny Depp peers at me from between turds, flies kissing his face like teenage girls probably do to their posters back home.

It was all so very strange, ignoring details like this, simply because “civilian journalists” don’t want to reflect harshly on command or the military, in general.

Don’t get me wrong, though, I’m not here to pull the rug out from anyone’s feet. I’m not looking for a runaway general, or a hard-hitting expose.

See, I understand that despite what the news media, pundits and commanding generals say, the reality of war is wall-to-wall gray. It may look cut and dry, good and evil, right and wrong, but on the ground, the moral abyss that stretches between weapon sights and targets contextualizes even the most distilled aspect of human struggle: Kill or be killed.

Death, like a black hole, distorts everything around it.

Speaking of death, once I arrive in Kabul city, what I’m wishing for is a little more security. As an independent operator, I’m not as comfortable as I once was rolling around with 50 well-armed 19-year-old Marines.

My travel isn’t so structured. Sit. Stand. Sleep. Get the bags off the truck, Private. Move the bags over here. Now over there. Eat. Form up. Go away. Get together. Load up. Strap in. I said: Strap. In. A C130 from Kuwait, and then you’re in the shit.

Not so now. I land in Kabul a disoriented mess. I’m not with DynCorp or Raytheon. I’m not a former SEAL with Blackwater. There’s no burly white guy waiting at the gate with a sign bearing my name.

I’m a freelance journalist. I have to rely on some tiny, jumpy Afghan who’s looking to make a quick buck to help me get my bags, fill out forms and register with the government. Then my “fixer,” a journalist facilitator, shows up with his driver and car.

Still, they are Afghans, it is not a Humvee and I am not surrounded by armed service members who are eager to dispatch my enemies.

I’ve come a long way from being that aimless college grad living in his mom’s basement. I remember I had recently become a Teach for America reject. She called me upstairs not long after I got the rejection letter. It was the afternoon. I probably still had bed hair, my breath a mixture of cold pizza and coffee.

I’ll never forget her ultimatum: “Either you go back to school …”

With my habit for whiskey? No. No more school.

“you get your teaching credentials and teach down by your father …”

In South Carolina, nah, I’ll pass. What’s the last one?

“or you enlist in the Marines.”

What? Really?

“I know a recruiter …” — undoubtedly from her days as a high school front desk secretary — “Gunnery Sergeant Fannel. You can call him right now if you want.”

Hmmm … “What’s the number?”

Years later, seeing me as a success, my two brothers would follow suit.

When I do finally meet a service member in Kabul to pick up my media credentials from the local base, he drives out of the entry control point in a lumbering “hard skin” vehicle (one that looks like a regular SUV except it’s armored).

He gets no farther than about 50 feet from the ECP, parks and gets out. He’s totally covered in protective equipment.

I see now how ridiculous we Americans sometimes look to the locals. Obsessed with protection to the point that the protection itself actually makes us slower and more apt to trip, stumble, or get caught up — in a lot of ways more vulnerable.

Also, it acts as a very ostentatious barrier between us and the Afghans.

This is not the first time I get the perspective of the locals. Another big difference this time is that I’ve given myself a week in the mix before I have to meet up for my flight out to Camp Leatherneck and the Marine units with whom I’ll embed.

So I have a week to tool around Afghanistan, free as a bird flapping in the breeze, and my perspective is not solely limited to that of the military. It’s important, I believe, to talk to the people and get to know them. I think the Marines would agree that talking to the people was no small part of their success in Anbar during the “Awakening” in ’07 and ’08. I hope it will be a part of my success as a reporter, this time on the civilian side.

The first time I was in Iraq, I’ll admit that I hated all of them. A deep, scornful hatred, like black syrup pumping thick through my heart. A hawk that eats foreign policy hawks for breakfast, I wanted to glass the whole country.

Second time around, tasked with transition teams, I got to know a lot of Iraqis. Picked up a little Arabic. I began to understand them as a people, their generational struggle to exist beneath the iron arm of Saddam’s royal tyranny.

You can Monday-morning-quarterback the shit out of our operation — whether it was legal or not, how it was handled, etc. But in between the lines of the opinion sections of the Wall Street Journal and the New York Times, it’s prudent to understand that real people with families, mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, dreams and nightmares — actual human beings — are trying to exist and cope with a never-ending cycle of trauma.

The Iraqis used to laugh at the American concept of post-traumatic stress disorder. Actually laugh. They’d say, “PTSD? Look at our children; they’ve grown up with PTSD.”

The Afghans are no different. In fact, they’re worse.

I cruise out west, to Kunduz, to the farms and the bazaars. I talk to farmers, fishermen and kids. Inside the city, I talk to prominent businessmen and city officials. In the park, I talk to regular citizens and even senior citizens as they play chess.

I go up into the mountain slums and give bubblegum to the children. I ask them what they want to be when they grow up, what they learn at school, and who their heroes are.

“John Cena!” Yells one kid, scrunching into a wrestler pose and smiling.

What amazes me is the amount of hope. It’s understandable when a kid in New Jersey tells you he wants to be a firefighter or a doctor. Every kid here either wants to be a doctor or an engineer. It strums a chord of sorrow in me so deep that it takes all I can to ignore it; as I watch a toddler paw through an open sewer, it takes all I have to keep a straight face while I carry on a conversation with children who have lived nothing but war.

The city scene is what we would think of as post-apocalyptic. So is most of the countryside and suburbs, all the bazaars and farms. There is tinge of post-apocalypse everywhere. Not like Iraq, though. In Iraq, in Baghdad, they remembered once that their city was beautiful.

Here it is not so much post-, but also during, maybe even pre-. Even the parents of those children grew up in war. The Russians held ground in the ’80s. The Taliban ran a regime of fire in the ’90s. Now unfinished, unoccupied buildings dot the landscape as proof (alongside the looming U.S. withdrawal deadline) that the crooked fingers of 2008′s economic apocalypse reach even into the darkest depths of war.

And once we go, where does that leave them? Most of them think Pakistan or Iran will take over. The optimists hope Russia or China will gain influence. Either way, the vast majority want the U.S. to stay.

It’s funny, they refer to their country as the football field where armies come to compete for global dominance.

Regardless, I find they are a proud, strong and courteous people. They are also willing to fight for their country, which I find out once I get to Delaram II, a Marine base in Helmand.

After spending a week in Kabul and the surrounding area, I meet up with my military liaison and catch a flight south, to Camp Leatherneck and then down to Delaram II, to embed with a Marine Advisory Team.

I realize things are really different once a Marine — one who would have drastically outranked me –calls me “sir.”

“You don’t have to call me sir, dude. Geoff will do just fine.”

I realize I’ve just called a Gunnery Sergeant “dude.” Yes, as opposed to being a guy in uniform with a camera, now I’m just a guy with a camera. The distance, regardless of my history, is palpable, typified by an intelligence lieutenant who stammers through an interview, unsure exactly of what to divulge.

Finally, for me, it begins to sink in that the phrase, “Once a Marine, always a Marine,” is literally just that: a phrase.

The unit here is “advising” a brigade of the Afghan National Army. My first day there, the Afghan army simultaneously repels an enemy assault and finds some IEDs. They do both to a degree satisfactory to Marine standards, except they bring the IEDs back on the base, sending the Marines into a tizzy.

Marine explosive ordinance disposal appears to take care of the bombs (it turns out, they were inert anyway), and I find myself an interpreter so that I can talk to the Afghan chain of command. I think I’m going to focus on them more than the Marines, who are due to leave in the next two years anyway.

Inside the Afghan command center, I am alone, aside from the interpreter. No Marine Gunny. No PAO.

So there is freedom, and there is also more of a degree of objectivity, but objectivity is a relative concept. I know I have more latitude, but I also have more time. There’s no quota. I can focus on whatever I want (there’s a motorcycle-riding General here whom I’ve pretty much pegged for my next piece).

I guess that just leaves the question: Why? Why did I come back?

I’ve wondered that myself quite often. I remember on that last plane ride out, after my second deployment, there was a soul-deep sigh when the bird finally left the ground. Thank God, I thought, I have all my fingers and all my toes, all my limbs, all my skin, and I’m out. I don’t ever have to come back.

But here I am. Again.

Maybe I want action. Or maybe it’s that writers write what they know. It could even be that I miss the Corps. But that’s not quite right.

I know that I want to offer a voice to voiceless people. I know that I want to see the truth — report the truth — in depth. And I know that, if not for anyone but my little brothers, I want to tell the stories of 19-year-old Marines — Americans who were as old as those Afghan children when the planes took down our towers.

The truth is I don’t really know why. It could be many things.

It could even be my mother, whom I still see in my dreams, and the drive to be the man she dreamed me to be. I wish the nearest Rolling Rock wasn’t 4,000 miles away.