Work continued to follow pretty much the same routine for all of us. Morning roll call was followed by a break, where the class would be turned over to an Iraqi Police cadre for drill and marching for an hour. Then it was back to the classroom for about another hour before breaking for lunch. Time was also factored in each week for firearms training at the range. Considering that the vetting of the cadets left something to be desired, being around them when they held loaded weapons wasn’t high on my list of favorite things to do. It was only reasonable to be concerned, considering all of the ‘insider shootings’ that the U.S. military had experienced over the years in Iraq and Afghanistan.
While having dinner in the chow hall one day, the assistant director sat down across from me. Hitchins had been a Scottish police officer for around 20 years. We started chatting and exchanging information about our backgrounds and experiences, and about work at the academy in general. He mentioned that there were a number of management positions up for grabs, including in human resources. What they had in mind wasn’t your traditional human resources position you might see back in the States. The title of ‘Operations Manager/Jack of all Trades/ Chief Go-fer’ would have been a more appropriate title. I mentioned that although I did not have actual HR experience, I had worked closely with the HR department in a previous life. Hitchins asked if I thought I might be interested in the academy’s position. They were looking for someone who would come in and get a handle on who was assigned to the academy, and more importantly what they were actually doing. It was suspected that there were a number of ‘instructors’ who had never set foot in a classroom or actually taught a class, but continued to draw a huge salary for just sitting around and loafing.
Accountability was important, not just from a safety standpoint, but also to ensure that people were actually doing what they were hired and paid to do. Hitchins told me that the job was mine if I wanted it, as long as the director signed off on the deal. Malcolm had been out of town, but once back, having someone fill the responsibilities as HR manager was on the top of his priority list. As it turned out, Hitchins spoke with Malcolm that evening over the phone and mentioned our conversation. The next day, Hitchins sought me out and told me that Malcolm had given him the okay to put me in the position starting immediately. Little did I suspect that I would come to rue the day I accepted the job.
I was a little apprehensive at first, but I decided it might be just the opportunity I was looking for to hopefully make some positive changes at the academy. Plus, it would put someone from our group into a position to look out for us all. Up until that point in time, we had been pushed around by others, lied to, and deceived. Having one of us in an inside position might help us get better and more accurate information about the program, and what was going on at the Baghdad Police Academy in particular.
Once Malcolm had returned from his trip home to Scotland I got to meet him for the first time, I liked him immediately. His accent was heavy, but he seemed like a really decent guy and was genuinely interested in trying to oversee a good program. He followed up on what I had been told by Hitchins—there was some question as to who was actually still at the academy because people sometimes came and went without the administration knowing about it. Malcolm was concerned about accountability from a safety standpoint, but also out of a sense of integrity for the program. He simply did not want a bunch of ‘instructors’ getting paid big bucks for sitting around and doing absolutely nothing. And obviously, if an emergency evacuation was ordered we had to know who was there so that no one got left behind by accident. Worse than that, if one of us was on the receiving end of an incoming mortar round, it would be difficult to identify us from the red smudge that was left behind if we didn’t know for sure who was actually there.
I should mention that once I took over my position as HR manager, it was immediately obvious that many of those who had arrived before my group took a disliking to my promotion. I suspect many were thinking, ‘Who the hell does this new guy think he is?’ One of the old-timers, Bryan LaFave, congratulated me right away, but his comments meant little to me. I had determined upon first meeting him that he was not someone to trust. Many of the others gave me the cold shoulder, since word quickly spread that I had been tasked by Malcolm with the ‘accountability project’. Some people, like the Triple T guys, had been collecting a pay check and doing absolutely nothing for quite a while. So naturally they were a little defensive around me. I had been tasked with bringing the ‘gravy train’ to an end.
I also immediately started looking for ways to improve the quality of life for my colleagues. I tackled the toilet paper issue right away. If I could solve that problem, life would be more bearable for us all. I began to look for other ways to make improvements, and to establish the accountability that Malcolm and Hitchins were looking for.
I was given an office in the AA Building, and that is where I met Hidma and Achteel, the Iraqi translators who worked out of my office. Both would become good friends of mine. Hidma was an attractive young Shia Muslim girl of 24 who spoke very good English. She wore the Muslim veil covering her hair but otherwise dressed in modest Western clothes. She always brightened my day with her smile when I arrived at the office for the day. She was genuinely a very pleasant personality and would eventually become a life-long friend, almost more of a daughter.
Achteel, also a Shia, spoke good English as well and he also liked American music. When I plugged in my little stereo he and I could jam together. Hidma would just put her earphones on and listen to Arab music. Both were very pleasant to work with and extremely helpful. Hidma seemed to be really interested in American culture and we would chat often about any number of topics related to life in the United States. Even though she worked at the Iraqi police academy she had nothing good really to say about the IP. Growing up under the regime of Saddam Hussein, she told me they did not have a good reputation, especially the police commandos, basically the Iraqi version of a SWAT team. They were considered to be nothing more than criminal thugs in uniform.
Hidma and I developed something of a game, where she would approach me with some slang expression or saying such as, ‘Why the long face?’ or ‘Going to hell in a hand-basket’ and ask me what they meant. I would try to give her the meaning and the history of these colloquialisms as best I could. After a while it got to where I would bring her a new one in for the day, and we’d exchange expressions and their definitions. It became a regular routine between us and it was a lot of fun.
Achteel always tried to have the coffee pot ready for me in the morning, which was much appreciated. At lunch time each day I would leave and go to the chow hall to grab a bite to eat. I started smuggling lunch back to the HR office to share with Hidma and Atheel, staying away from pork. As previously mentioned, the food at every meal was great, especially the desserts. I was able to treat Hidma and Achteel to pastries, slices of pie or cake, and other items that they simply couldn’t find in the local Iraqi economy, and they were always very appreciative. A close friendship quickly developed between us and has continued ever since. Looking back, I would have to say that the friendships I made with Hidma and Achteel, but especially Hidma, are probably the only good things to come out of our nation’s long involvement in Iraq, at least as far as I’m concerned.
Achteel also volunteered to obtain items that we couldn’t get because of the danger involved in leaving the protection of the academy compound. On one occasion, I had seen an Iraqi translator wearing a gold chain around her neck, with a small gold charm shaped like Iraq in the colors of the Iraqi flag. I thought it was cool and would make a good gift, so I asked Achteel if he could get me one. In just a few days he showed up for work with one, which had cost him roughly $100. It was much less than I would have paid, if I could have even gotten out and made the purchase. Achteel could do just about anything asked of him. He was handy around the office, making minor repairs or at least getting something handled fairly quickly if he couldn’t fix it himself.
After taking on my new responsibilities, I contacted the Adnan Palace to see if I could get an accurate roster count of who was actually assigned to the academy, and in what capacity. I was surprised to hear that the information wasn’t readily available. It seemed that no one over in the Green Zone had such a roster to hand. With people coming and going all the time, it seemed to me that this information should be right at someone’s fingertips, and I couldn’t believe there was no accurate, up-tothe-minute record of who was where as part of the ICITAP program. I’m sure someone somewhere must have had the information, but no one I spoke to could provide me with a roster. I viewed this as a somewhat disconcerting situation. If the compound had come under attack, we would have no way of knowing if everyone had been safely evacuated. It was critical to ensure that no one was left behind by accident.
This was a common problem with ICITAP in Baghdad—too many chiefs and not enough Indians. There were so many titled positions running around the Green Zone with ICITAP, and so much schmoozing going on with the army and the U.S. Embassy. ICITAP people were constantly currying favor with higher-ranking officials, and important work didn’t seem to be a priority for them. It was more important to be hanging out at the pool behind Saddam’s Green Zone palace.
I soon discovered that there were several instructors at the academy who were quite happy with the way things were. Anonymity afforded them the opportunity to do just about whatever they wanted, with little or no accountability. Some people were getting paid large sums of money to work on their suntan, play poker, sleep late, and anything else they could do to avoid actually working.
Hitchins asked me one day to visit the offices of the Triple T (Train The Trainer) guys and see if I could find out how much progress was being made in terms of training Iraqis to train themselves.
“Karl is running the Triple Ts,” Hitchins said. “See if he’s there and find out where they are with their program.” That alone sounded a little ominous to me—the assistant director didn’t know what some of his own people were actually doing.
The Triple Ts were supposed to be teaching Iraqis to be instructors for themselves, so that eventually they could take over the police academy training programs and put all of us out of a job. As I entered their office, I saw three or four Iraqis working away at desks inside. I asked one of them, “Is Karl in? Where can I find him?” All the Iraqis looked at me with blank expressions. After inquiring further, the one closest to me said, “We don’t really know where Mr. Karl is. We don’t often see him.” It seemed that Karl only occasionally stopped by the Triple T offices to check in with his Iraqi staff.
The rest of the officers assigned to the Triple T program were pretty much unknown to the Iraqis who worked there. It seems they were never around much and no one really knew who they were, what they looked like, or even how many of them there were. I was advised that Karl might be at the Blue Lagoon barracks, so I walked over to see what I could find out. As I approached, I noticed right away that there was an instructor stretched out on a lounge chair, taking in some rays. Another instructor was sitting inside his room with the door open, reading some papers. I approached him.
“I’m looking for Karl,” I asked. “Are you Karl?” The man looked up at me.
“Yeah,” he replied. “Who’s asking?”
At this point, the sunbathing instructor took notice and propped himself up on one elbow, watching the exchange while sipping from a bottle of water. I introduced myself to Karl.
“I’m the new HR guy,” I said. “Malcolm asked me to find you and check where things are on the Triple T program. I stopped over at your office but the Iraqis there said they hadn’t seen you today.”
Karl became a little defensive and immediately replied, “I go to the office,” as though I was questioning whether he put any time in there at all. He then added, “I’ll talk to Malcolm.”
“Ok, thanks,” I replied, as I turned and walked away.
It was obvious to me that there was something going on, I just wasn’t sure what it was. In fairness, the Triple T instructors might have been doing a bang-up job, but it wasn’t apparent to the academy director or even to their own Iraqi staff. It certainly appeared that not a whole lot of effort was being made by the Triple T guys to do much of anything. For $13,075 dollars a month, they were at least getting a nice suntan. I headed back to my office for a cup of coffee and to ponder my next steps. Oftentimes my new role felt more like a fireman than a policeman. I put out fires all day.
As mentioned, one of my first orders of business was to try to improve the living conditions at the academy. The toilet paper issue turned out to be pretty easy to fix. All I had to do was contact the Iraqi ‘logistics’ person. I found him near a storage building full of huge boxes of toilet paper. When I asked him what I needed to do to get more of it delivered he responded, “I need someone from academy management to sign for it.” I figured that was me, so I pulled out my pen, smiled and held it up for him to see. It’s amazing what a signature on a piece of paper would do for the Iraqis. After decades of living under a brutal dictatorship, no one wanted to take responsibility for anything in case they might be held accountable. Under Saddam, that could mean paying not only with your life, but your family’s lives as well.
I told the guy to supply six rolls of toilet paper for each toilet, every single day. That equaled 18 rolls for the men’s three toilets. At first he looked at me like I was crazy, but I explained that there were over 30 people using the toilets in the Tin Hut each day, and my signature did the trick. I probably have an outstanding bill under my name for a thousand rolls of toilet paper, in addition to the sack full of pillows. From that day forward, each toilet had six rolls of toilet paper every single day. That alone went a long way towards improving morale and making life in the Tin Hut a little more bearable. People no longer had to have family members mailing them boxes of toilet paper from home.
Next were the showers, which still leaked all over the floor whenever they were used. I looked to Tackleberry for help with this, since he was fairly handy at doing things. I asked if he could lower the curtain rods about three inches, so the curtains would fit inside the bottom of the stalls. I also told him to spread the word to everyone to make sure to keep the curtains inside the stall instead of hanging outside. This helped alleviate one of the big points of irritation—having to slosh around through inch-deep water in order to use the shower or just take a dump. I’m sure there were some health-related issues that were probably addressed as well. It was such a simple solution to the problem, I was surprised it hadn’t been sorted out before. Naturally there were some people who just didn’t get it, and would just let the curtain hang wherever it fell, not even trying to keep it inside the stall. When they showered you had to stand by with the squeegee, but for the most part everyone cooperated and it helped keep the shower room much drier.
I found that sometimes, actually most of the time, there were very simple solutions to our problems. Things that people bitched and moaned about often turned out to have really simple solutions, but nobody wanted to take ownership of a problem and fix it. They’d rather piss and moan about something and say ‘woe is me.’
Also funny was how the complainers almost seemed to resent it when a problem was solved. It was as though one of their favorite ‘bitches’ had been taken away from them, so they’d need to find something else to bitch about. I think there may also have been some sheepishness involved—a simple solution had been staring them in the face all the time and they either never recognized it, or didn’t take steps to fix it themselves. It’s human nature that people don’t like to have their faults or failings pointed out to them, even in a subtle way. I certainly don’t, and I have my fair share.
In my role as a ‘fireman’, putting out fires around the compound, I dealt with one situation that had the potential to erupt into actual gunfire between two instructors. All of us appreciated the care packages that we received from back home—usually they were full of things we had either requested, or things our families thought we might like to have. Often they included items that we simply could not get in Iraq. Sometimes we would get home-baked cookies, and Baghdad Boob once got an inflatable sheep from his former colleagues back in the States, presumably for those lonely Baghdad nights.
One day, Mitch was away from the room he shared with Dudley when the mail was delivered, which included a package for Mitch. Dudley sat there staring at the unopened package until he simply couldn’t stand the anticipation any longer. He went ahead and opened it to see what was inside. The package contained some home-baked cookies from Mitch’s wife, so Dudley decided to help himself, consuming most, if not all, of the cookies.
When Mitch returned to the room, Dudley gave him his package and let him know he had opened it and helped himself to the cookies inside. Mitch went ballistic. The next thing I know, I’m getting visited in my room by several colleagues, telling me that I’d better do something quickly or Mitch was going to beat Dudley into a pulp. One might argue that Mitch would have been justified.
Afterwards, Mitch told me that a storm had been brewing from the very first day they ended up in a room together. Dudley was apparently a real pain in the ass, a little busybody, always looking over Mitch’s shoulder, sticking his nose into Mitch’s business, and generally being a pest. Mitch had put up with about all that he could handle, and the cookies incident was the final straw. Dudley appeared to not even realize that what he’d done was pretty un-cool. He thought Mitch and he were good buddies and opening Mitch’s package from home was no big deal. In his mind, what was Mitch’s was also his.
Since there was a room coming available in one of the older Blue Lagoon barracks across the compound, I pulled some strings and got it assigned to Mitch, in order to get him away from Dudley. Another fire put out.