Chapter 32

A Way Forward

In the long, sweltering weeks following our hasty exodus from COP South and 3rd Battalion the Outlanders languished at various FOBs, suffering the miserable existence of transients waiting patiently for an early flight back home to their families and their lives. As I wandered the Coalition outposts and marveled again and again at the bloated logistical footprint the Americans had imprinted in the Iraqi sands, I reflected on what my team had done there and what we had ultimately accomplished. I kept thinking that perhaps I should feel proud that 3rd Battalion was now on its own.

But I didn’t feel that way. All jobs come with daily frustrations—that had certainly been true of our time as advisors. Marines by their very nature are results-oriented beings, and I had to look inward deep within myself to find any positive, tangible effects from our efforts with the Iraqis. I wondered constantly if our presence had made a difference, if we had truly made an impact on the soldiers and officers of 3rd Battalion. Ronald Reagan had once said, “Some people wonder all their lives if they’ve made a difference. The Marines don’t have that problem.” In my experience as an advisor I wasn’t so sure that had been the case. Would the Iraqis in 3rd Battalion do the things we had showed them? More important, would they be able to stand on their own after we left? For the last question I knew the answer had to be yes. Somehow they would make it. It wouldn’t be the solution we would choose, but somehow they would make it work. They had no choice. The Americans would be gone soon. It was up to them now.

The Iraqi army has a character flaw. It lives in a constant state of denial, seeking ways to blame others for their problems in life. Whether it is the junior officers blaming the army’s leadership or the senior officers blaming their higher headquarters and the Iraqi government, Iraqi soldiers will never solve their internal dilemmas until they accept responsibility for themselves, their problems, and their own destiny. To a certain extent it is the same in the Marine Corps. One day the junior Marine officers and NCOs—the young men and women who have grown up in the uncertain shadow of the Long War that began on 11 September 2001—who choose to stick it out will progress through the ranks, and eventually the face of the Corps will change into something different than what it is today. So too can it be in the Iraqi army. If the young Iraqi officers stick to their guns—if they don’t throw in the towel and return to civilian life—one day they will run the organization, and the challenges they face today will become a distant memory.

The Americans also have a character flaw. We are naive and shortsighted. We thought we could invade Iraq and liberate the people from tyranny, and once that was accomplished everything else would work itself out. We thought we could force change on the Iraqi military and perhaps make it into something it is not: a modern, American-style force with American ideals and determination. We now think we can pull out of the country prematurely and turn it over to the Iraqi Security Forces, and they in turn will be able to assume control of their country and their own future. But the Americans can’t achieve these feats on their own. Change must come from within; it must come from the Iraqis themselves. They have to want it to happen.

Naive and shortsighted though we are, we also possess the ability to recognize our mistakes and seek ways to amend them. Winston Churchill once said, “Americans can always be counted on to do the right thing . . . after they have exhausted all other possibilities.” So too has it been in Iraq. We made errors while planning the invasion and during the subsequent occupation. Of that there can be no doubt, and only the most stubborn and uninformed people will challenge that assertion. But gradually we realized our miscalculations and committed ourselves and our national treasure to correcting them. The cost has been extreme, and like thousands of others my thoughts frequently churn in sad, hopeless circles at the memories of my friends and other fellow Marines who sacrificed their lives serving their country. But while I often sit alone and ponder what is and what could have been in this war, I will never dishonor the memory of so many who fought and died—who fought and lost themselves—by claiming that what we did as a whole in Iraq was a mistake. My conscience will not permit it.

Will Iraq ever be truly free? Will it ever be stable? Will I ever be able to visit it again, not as a Marine but instead as a tourist? Whenever I think of that possibility I think about the dogs.

And wait.