We sat around the table and watched the Iraqi officers in attendance nod in agreement with Abass’s story. This story made perfect sense to them. In contrast none of us could believe what we were hearing. Colonel Abass, aware of our concern, announced, “I understand this must sound cruel to you, but it is just how we operate in Iraq. It is part of our culture and is accepted as the proper way of doing business.”
Cooling followed up with a question. “Seyidi, I understand this is your culture and I want to understand it; however, what if some man pulled these same tricks on your sister or mother? Wouldn’t that offend you?” Abass chuckled and rolled his eyes at the lieutenant colonel. “Let me tell you a story about my sister,” he said. “She came to me one day trying to address the issue of her husband beating her. She thought that I would be able to stop it and help her situation. She asked me to talk to her husband so he would stop beating her.” He paused. “You know what I asked her?” We all had blank stares on our faces. Abass continued, “I asked her why she was getting beaten. She told me she had been complaining a lot because of disagreements she had with her husband and she was refusing to do some of the things he was telling her to do.” Captain Pitts, the Special Forces team leader, inquired, “Did you kick the husband’s ass?” Abass, taken aback, responded, “No, of course not. Instead, I beat my sister on the spot and then told her husband that I was sorry she was being disrespectful to him and that if there were any problems he could contact me.”
Colonel Abass’s solution was a double whammy for his sister. We were all in disbelief at what we had heard. And yet the Iraqis were all nodding in agreement. In this part of the world, I figured, that’s just how things work. It is a man’s world over here. Or in Colonel Abass’s words, “The only time a woman is allowed on top in Iraq is in the bedroom.”
After hearing Abass’s thoughts on the theory of wife beating, we moved on to another topic of interest: Iraqi infantry tactics. “Seyidi,” I asked, “I have another question for you. Can you explain why Iraqi soldiers shoot all of the ammunition in their magazines in the general direction of insurgents when we take fire? It seems like a waste.” All the Americans in the room waited for the explanation to one of the biggest puzzles in Iraq.
Colonel Abass responded, “Jamal, I know this behavior perplexes Marines. They say my soldiers are undisciplined or cowards. Here is the difference, though. Marines have all kinds of fancy scopes on their weapons, more accurate weapons, and much more marksmanship training. Of course they are going to sit back and take well-aimed shots.” Abass paused before continuing. “Here is some advice for the Marines. As opposed to telling me my soldiers are cowards and undisciplined with their fire, Marines should be giving me money to ensure my jundi keep fighting the way they do.”
We all wondered what the colonel meant by this. Abass explained, “You remember a few days ago when the Marines shot an insurgent a couple of times, but he didn’t die? The Marines ended up evacuating the insurgent to Al Asad for medical care. This is a waste. If my jundi were out there, I can assure you the insurgent would have had thirty or forty bullet holes in his body and wouldn’t have lived.”
Abass paused for emphasis then continued. “Listen to how much I would have saved your government. First, you had to bring a helicopter to pick this guy up; this costs manpower, gas money, and precious pilot time. Second, you had to bring a QRF [quick reaction force] to the situation so you could have some Marines tend to the casualty; this is wasting your Marines’ energy and lowering their defenses at the base because you had to take the QRF from the base defenses. If we add up all the expenses and the time taken to take care of this insurgent, it is quite expensive. Is this additional cost worth having disciplined fires?”
Colonel Abass switched his focus from the group to Cooling. “Lieutenant Colonel Cooling, next time you send your Marines on patrol, let me be certain my jundi are out there with them and I will tell my men to make sure they kill anybody they shoot. We will then split the cost savings. Deal?” Everyone in the room erupted in laughter. This guy broke things down so simply and peppered them with so much common sense, it was hard to argue with his logic.
After a few hours of great conversation and insight from Colonel Abass, we headed back to the MiTT camp. Regardless of what happens on this deployment, I thought, I will never forget Colonel Abass. This guy could talk about beating women with a straight face and convince a room of Marines why undisciplined firepower makes sense. It was nothing short of amazing.
Man-Love Thursdays
Homosexual intimacy has always wigged me out at some level. To me it’s a lot like trying to play football with a baseball bat. People are free to engage in the practice, but they are never going to convince me it makes any sense. This same philosophy applies to some of the unique practices Arab men engage in with one another. I really don’t care if Iraqi men enjoy holding hands, rubbing each other’s bellies, kissing each other’s cheeks, or having sex with each other—I just don’t want to be involved.
For whatever reason, one day the Iraqis wanted to get especially friendly. Love was in the air, I guess. I am well aware that in Arab culture men have much tighter relationships, they touch each other more, and their bonds run much deeper than in Western cultures. I am willing to learn new cultures, but I could not adjust to this aspect of Iraqi culture. Abit, the Iraqi S-6 communications chief, ran up to me with open arms, hugged me, kissed me multiple times on the cheek, told me he loved me, and then grabbed my hand in the same manner my wife and I would use on a romantic walk through the park. It caught me off guard.
Abit and I walked to the MiTT camp holding hands. The entire time we walked, he relaxed his head on my shoulder and caressed my forearm as if I were his lover. The last time I’d felt this awkward was when I crapped my pants in the fifth grade. Nevertheless I resisted every temptation to tear my hand away from him for fear I would offend him in some way. Eventually, we parted ways and I hustled back to the MiTT camp to clear my mind.
The man love did not end with Abit. Later a pair of 2/3’s Marines from the S-6 (communications section) came to Camp Ali to install the SIPRNET (Internet that is classified Secret) in the Iraqi COC so the MiTT would have better connectivity. Both these Marines were around five feet four inches, eighteen years old, and had no facial hair. They looked like prepubescent boys.
I was on my way to the Iraqi COC in the Chevy Luv (similar to a Toyota Tacoma) when I saw a huge crowd of jundi around the two S-6 Marines. I rushed to the scene to see what was going on. I asked the Iraqis for a situation report, saying, “Shaku maku?” (What’s happening?) Ayad and Juwad explained the situation in a mix of Arabic and English that only I could understand. “Jamal, those two Marines are wasiim [pretty] and nreed fikki fikki wiyahum bil swahuts. Nreed nshoofhum minu il masool [we want to have sex with them in the swahuts. We want to show them who is boss].” Floored by the comment, I said, “You guys are sick. I don’t want any of you ever touching these Marines—nasty bastards.” The Iraqis all laughed. Juwad retorted, “Jamal, you know we are all going to masturbate to the thought of these two guys from now on, right? Just give us one of them for some fun! A few minutes is all we need.” Sadly, I knew Juwad was serious. I smirked and shook my head in disgust.
The two Marines, who had no clue what was happening, asked me, “Sir, what was that all about? What did you tell them, what is going on?” I did not want to break the news to them that they were objects of desire to the jundi; nonetheless, I responded, “Gents, the Iraqis think you’re cute and want to take you behind a swahut. The sick thing is they are only half joking. I am going to get you guys the hell out of here before this gets out of hand.”