Looking for payoff in Iraq

Winning "hearts and minds" is in some sense like a seduction. But what happens if American largesse here runs out?

By Arnon Grunberg

Read more: Terrorism, Politics, Afghanistan, News, Iraq, Baghdad, Al Qaeda

June 3, 2008 | BAGHDAD, Iraq -- At Camp Taji, about 12 miles north of Baghdad, Capt. Geronimo of the 25th Infantry's 1st Brigade Combat Team tells me: "Tomorrow morning you'll be going to a meeting of Taji's qada. A qada is a kind of county. That means you'll be able to see how we cooperate with the locals. That's what you wanted to see, wasn't it?"

That, above all, I believe, is what the U.S. military wants me to see -- cooperation, progress with reconstruction. But it doesn't matter: Reality comes trickling through everywhere in Iraq. (And it is something I really do want to see.)

In fall 2007 I'd visited Dutch troops stationed in Afghanistan's Oruzgan Province, to see how the process of reconstruction was going there. Despite the threat of a suicide attack, we passed out fliers in the town of Tarin Kowt, calling on the local population to pass along information to the NATO troops concerning the location of IEDs (improvised explosive devices). Back at the base, the major who had accompanied me there the whole time asked: "So, what did you people see?" One soldier answered: "The children took the fliers and tore them up, and some of the grown-ups did too." To which the major replied: "The good news, though, is that they took the fliers."

In my view, that pretty much summarized the tragedy of the reconstruction and counterinsurgency there. From all sides came the assurance that the war in Afghanistan could not be won primarily by military means. Effective counterinsurgency involved the "winning of hearts and minds" -- a tricky business. If I understood correctly, the winning of hearts and minds was rather like a seduction. I was curious to see whether the Americans in Iraq, where the winning of hearts and minds also is a top priority, might do things differently.

One morning we leave Camp Taji in an MRAP (mine resistant ambush protected) vehicle; according to the Army, it is the premier armored personnel carrier. Capt. Geronimo comes out to say goodbye. As I crawl into the vehicle he calls out: "In an MRAP, if you hit an IED you've got a good chance of surviving."

A heartening farewell.

The qada meeting is being held in an unobtrusive but relatively well-kept-up building in Taji. The Americans are the first to arrive. The troops outside stand guard over the building.

In the meeting hall itself is a long table still wrapped in plastic, in an attempt, I believe, to win the battle against dust and sand. The Americans don't sit down at the table, but in chairs ringing the table farther out in the room, making it look as though they're the audience that will soon be watching a play put on by the Iraqis.

"That," explains Capt. Bryant, "is because we don't want to intrude."

I'm introduced to a female Iraqi interpreter known as Michelle (not her real name). She's excited; her visa application seems to be coming along well. Soon she will be invited to the American embassy in Jordan for an interview. An American officer she's worked with in Iraq is sponsoring her request for a visa. From what she tells me, I understand that all she needs now is a Western man to marry. In her case, at least, the seduction seems to be going perfectly. The prospect of a U.S. green card or passport works wonders: Of all the 10 or so interpreters I spoke to in Iraq, only one said he wanted to stay in the country, because he felt Iraq was headed for a glorious future. All the others had their sights set hopefully on settling down in America.

Finally, everyone has arrived. About 18 Iraqi men are gathered around the conference table. Extremely sweet tea is served, to the Americans as well.

I'm sitting beside Lt. Col. Wilson, who is from Brooklyn, N.Y. He's carrying photos of most of the Iraqis present. But occasionally he turns to Capt. Bryant and asks doubtfully: "Who was that guy again?" I'm reminded of restaurants in Tokyo where the Westerner, in lieu of a menu, is handed a book of photos and orders by pointing at a picture.

Michelle makes a brave attempt to translate everything that is said but, even taking into account that a great deal gets lost in translation, the meeting seems completely chaotic. After a discussion about irrigation, the subject suddenly jumps to a bridge that must be built, and then another engineer launches into an account of the illegal tapping-off of electricity. The longer the meeting lasts, the more frequently one hears the expression "inshallah," or, roughly, "God willing." Suddenly, one Iraqi calls out: "But we don't have enough medicine for the animals." No one bats an eye.

Could I be the only one who doesn't know which animals or what medicines he's talking about? Something about this reminds me of Ionesco's "The Bald Soprano," which incorporated dialogue taken from an English textbook for beginners. One interpreter explains to the Americans that he can't listen and interpret at the same time, because then he misses important things that are being said. Lt. Col. Wilson asks for no further explanation, but he doesn't look pleased.

Soon the meeting is called to an end. The sweet tea was very good. I feel like I've been watching rehearsals by an amateur theater group, with the Americans doing their best to direct, gently and discreetly.

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