Addie Collins

2,025

2005-10-31T20:07:00.000-08:00

I just logged on to the internet and saw on MSNBC the death toll now for U.S. servicemen and women is at a staggering 2,025. Please take a few minutes and think about what the families and friends of those Marines, Soldiers, Sailors, and Airmen are going through...and honor their loss. No matter what you think about the war politically, remember there are men and women serving in one of the most volatile areas of the world because THEIR country, OUR country, asked them to - and they do it proudly. They gave their lives so we can live ours freely. We should all honor that sacrifice.

2005-09-19T22:22:00.000-07:00

Shoes - BIG and small!

2005-09-19T22:21:00.000-07:00

How to pack the shoes!

2005-09-19T22:03:00.000-07:00

A Kid at our shoe drive!
"Kicks4Kidz, Inc"

2005-09-19T22:02:00.000-07:00

"Kicks4Kidz" boxes
"Kicks4Kidz, Inc"

2005-09-19T21:58:00.000-07:00

Addie and Greg - K4K Staff!
"Kicks4Kidz, Inc"

2005-09-19T21:55:00.000-07:00

Our first Kicks4Kidz shoe drive!

9 Months Later / Hurricane Katrina

2005-09-19T19:05:00.000-07:00

A little over a month ago, I was on a plane heading back to California. I had just finished up spending a week and a half in Virginia supporting the Boy Scouts, at a two-week jamboree sponsored by the military. I was sent there to provide news and entertainment to military personnel and the boy scouts. On the plane, I was shuffling through my digital photos for a producer at CBS news who wanted to do a story on "Kicks4Kidz" and me. A young man sitting beside me noticed my pictures from Iraq and asked me about it. He asked the usual questions: "What's it like?" "Where you scared?" Then he said, "Is the war still going on?"

The soldier in me wanted to stand up and say, "of course the war is still going on you jerk off, and there are roughly two thousand men and women about your age who will never be in a plane or in the mall or at a football game...."

You get my point. And for the record, I managed to maintain my composure and simply say, "Yes."

The thing is, for most people, ignorance is bliss. Perhaps they are immune to the war coverage and after nearly four years of constantly hearing about it, they simply don't care anymore. Or perhaps those who produce the news are tired of it too, and the young men and women who are fighting and dying on their behalf don't bring in the audience that perhaps a pretty blonde who disappeared in Aruba does. Nevertheless, the young man didn't realize the war on terror is still a scary and unbelievably sad story for millions of Americans.

I've been home from Iraq for nearly nine months and admittedly, I am not as passionate as I once was. It is not for lack of caring because I care an unbelievable amount. But for me, and perhaps many other veterans, it was necessary to let go of it for a while, to disengage and process how I really feel about what I experienced now that I am on familiar soil.
One of the hardest parts is figuring out how to contribute or be effective from here. I've done it through care packages and emails to friends still serving in Iraq. And of course, I've been helping through "Kicks4Kidz." But there is always something telling me there is more I can do because, like the young man in the plane, people are forgetting there is a war going on - and it's not going away any time soon. Oddly enough, I have become very aware of others who watch the news. For instance, when the War on Terror is mentioned and we hear about how a car bomb annihilated fourteen American Marines and countless Iraqis, many don't even flinch. But when news of Brad and Angelina's secret rendezvous in Kenya hits the airwaves, they jump from their seats. Again, it’s just another example of how we have slowly distanced ourselves from what is happening to young men and women trying to survive in the middle of a war.

I am not talking about everyone. I am talking about the people who may not have a friend, brother, sister, uncle, father, or mother serving in Iraq or Afghanistan; the ones who can’t personalize what is happening. I do not agree with everything we have done in response to those who waged war against America on September 11th, and I believe we invaded Iraq without first realizing what we were getting ourselves into. But I didn’t always think that way. My opinion has evolved through my personal experiences, from the people I have spoken with, and from a front row ticket to the story. In spite of that, however, I can’t think of anything more frustrating than hearing people say we need to leave Iraq right now. Most of the people spitting that nonsense have no idea what is really going on over there. If they did, they would know we could never cut and run. We started what is happening in Iraq, and if we leave now close to 2,000 brave American heroes will have died in vain, and I can almost assure you America would not be safer.

In spite of the chaos in Iraq, it’s no secret I’ve always been an advocate for the progress we are making. I always wished the media would pay more attention to that part of the story, but it wasn’t until I came home that I realized just how incredibly unbalanced the reporting is. If I wasn’t in Iraq to see the progress first hand, I would have no idea what is going on. And no matter how hard I push for change, my pleas fall on deaf ears. No matter, I’ll get the word out. Because if I don’t – if we don’t – who will?

If I am going to be completely honest and dissect my actions, I’ve got to fess up and tell you I’m a little disappointed in myself. In my final letter from Baghdad last year, I vowed that you would know more about the men and women who lost their lives in the war. In yet another of my diatribes about the media’s lack of interest in telling their stories, I said “you will know their names. You will know their story. You will learn their sacrifice.” I’ve dropped the ball. I’ve done a lot of talking about it but I haven’t done much to make it happen. When I left Iraq, I was really worried about what I would do to feel as productive as I felt out there. And while I have done a lot to highlight the military and what we do, I still feel I have dropped the ball because I don’t know any more about those who have died than you do. My guilt runs deep on that one.

Hurricane Katrina.

What can be said about this tragedy that hasn’t already been said or seen on TV? I can not fathom what life is like for those along the Gulf Coast. Now, more than ever, I wish I was called to serve. Like many, I didn’t realize the hurricane was going to turn in to the catastrophe it is. Yeah I have my opinions about what could have been done differently, but I don’t feel it’s appropriate right now to waste valuable time playing the blame game. I haven’t seen an outpouring of love, of this magnitude, in four years. And while the circumstances are the worst I’ve probably ever seen, perhaps it’s a national catastrophe like this that tests our strength in humanity and showcases the qualities of true Americans. Over the last week, I’ve seen acts of heroism and sacrifice on my television screen in the same light I saw firefighters racing up the World Trade to chase a fire that ultimately chased them. As a result of September 11th, I was called to serve. And if I was called to serve in Louisiana, Mississippi, or Alabama, I would be there in a flash. But since I’m here and feeling helpless, I’m doing what I do best. I’m gettin’ shoes and shippin’ them out! That’s right. “Kicks4Kidz” is now refocusing its direction to those Americans who gave so graciously to the Iraqis. I am proud to report that “Kicks4Kidz” is now an established non-profit organization working to help those who need it most. And right now, no one needs it more than the victims of Hurricane Katrina. Over the last week, K4K has collected a few thousand pair of shoes and they are being sent directly to the American Red Cross in Houston, Texas. Iraq is where “Kicks4Kidz” began, but that’s not where it ends. It’s always been about helping those who can’t help themselves and soon enough you will not see anyone walking around on bare feet in all that mess.

We are being inundated with continuous news from the Hurricane just as we were after September 11th. Eventually that will die down and we’ll move on to the next big story…the next Scott Peterson or the next Natalee Holloway. But we all must remember that after the reporters leave New Orleans and the levee is fixed, the heartache of the victims will remain. During this terrible time, and as we mark the fourth anniversary of September 11th, take a moment to ask yourself what you have done to help alleviate the pain afflicted upon so many over the last few years. If you’ve done a lot, do more. If you haven’t, get to stepping. America needs you.

To donate: www.kicks4kidz.org

"Kicks 4 Kidz" - What To Do!!

2005-08-18T12:09:00.000-07:00

Hey Everyone! First, allow me to say THANK YOU for your interest in "Kicks 4 Kidz"! I am so happy so many people want to help out. I am in the process of establishing a KFK website and organization, but until that happens, here is what you need to do if you want to donate shoes. I will also continue to update this blog with pictures and stories...I've been pretty lame about updating..sorry for that!

HERE IS THE ADDRESS TO SEND THE SHOES:

WADE CARMICHAEL
NC24, B Co 490th CA BN
APO, AE 09312

Operation "KICKS 4 KIDZ" - questions answered....let's roll!

WHAT KIND OF SHOES DO THEY NEED?
*Any and all shoes are needed. Several people have asked if they need to be a certain type/size. Rest assured, the answer is NO!!! The most useful, however, are sneakers - light sneakers, like the ones sold very cheaply at places like Payless and Target. I started out focusing just on children but soon realized everyone has shoes they don't need or throw away! Womens, Mens, Children, Sneaks, Sandals, Slippers, Heals, etc...there is no limit. Also, the shoes DO NOT NEED TO BE NEW!!! But please wash them so those kind people in Iraq don't need to clean them!

WHAT IS THE BEST WAY TO PACK THE BOXES?
*As I went through countless boxes in Iraq, I noticed the easiest to separate are the shoes that are sent together - as a pair! Please tie the laces so the pair stay together, and if they don't have laces, place them in a plastic bag (ziplock works well). Obviously, there will be a lot of shifting during shipping, but this will help considerably!

WHAT SIZE BOX DO WE SEND??
*Please send small or medium sized boxes. The workers in Baghdad, in the post office and those who distribute the shoes, have suggested the boxes don't be too heavy. This way, they can be transported more easily.

HOW DO WE SEND THEM??
*For now, please send the shoes YOURSELF! Not to be stingy, but until I get KFK established as a nonprofit, I simply don't have the money to send all the shoes myself! Because the shoes are being sent to a military base, THE RATES ARE NATIONAL! And it's not that expensive! For example, I sent two boxes filled with roughly 40 pair of shoes, for less than $50! You will need to fill out a customs form that is available at the Post Office. BE SURE TO TELL THE POST OFFICE WORKER YOU ARE SENDING THE BOX TO A MILITARY BASE (AN APO ADDRESS) AND NOT TO A HOME IN IRAQ! Sometimes they get confused and say you can't send the boxes until you tell them it's to an APO address.

CAN MY SCHOOL, CHURCH, ORGANIZATION COLLECT SHOES AS A PROJECT?
*YES YES YES YES!!!!! Most of the people I have worked with on this have collected shoes as well as monetary donations from people. The money they raised went toward shipping and that has helped A LOT! It's roughly $2 per pair of shoes for shipping so that may help you when figuring out the cost.

CAN WE SEND MORE THAN JUST SHOES??
This is where it gets sticky...of course, they are in need of almost everything! But for this purpose, please only send shoes and socks on behalf of KFK's. Those in Iraq who receive the boxes are responsible for distributing shoes only. They receive other items but often times, those items are tossed to the side...I wish I could take everything but logistically, it's just not possible. There are several organizations that focus on one or two humanitarian necessities in Iraq...a quick Google search will probably help you find them. Also, if you know of a Soldier, Marine, Sailor, or Airman serving in Iraq - send them a package and add a few extras for the civilians they come across. This is a great way to raise morale and it gives them something to initiate more positive communication among Iraqis!

I am always sending random shoes so if you want to send ME shoes, and or donations on behalf of KFK, feel free. I will take the money, buy shoes, and send them. "Kicks4Kidz, Inc" is a tax exempt 501c3 non-profit organization!

"Kicks 4 Kidz"
12225 Hartsook St.
Valley Village, Ca 91607

I will make sure the shoes get to Iraq.

As for me personally, I am incredibly happy with the CBS Story that aired recently. If only other media outlets would talk to soldiers who actually served as opposed to "experts" and politicians who think they know, Americans may feel a *little* better about what is happening in Iraq. Clearly, it's a horrible situation and we are losing American soldiers and Iraqi citizens at an alarming rate. We may not be able to control that, but we can control what WE do - and that's what I am attempting to do.

Thank you once again!!!
If you have any more questions, please feel free to email me.

"Becks and Me"

2005-06-08T12:16:00.000-07:00

Sometimes a job isn't just a job. Sometimes you gotta suck it up, lace up those 'boots' and get it done, no matter how annoying and time consuming. If that's your job, I'm sorry. For me, it's the exact opposite. I recently had the incredibly rare opportunity to play one on one with the Michael Jordan of soccer: David Beckham. David. Beckham. Becks. Call him whatever you want. Some people call him the most famous soccer player in the world. Beckham hails from England and in England, they call soccer "football" so for this blog, so will I. After all, “Becks” is the face of "football" universally so who am I to argue with him?

We were the only television outlet to be given this type of access to Becks. It makes sense, though, doesn't it? We are Access Hollywood...and we stand by our name. He was in Carson, California at the Home Depot Center, a beautiful, state-of-the-art Soccer Stadium, to announce the U.S. formation of The David Beckham Academy (www.davidbeckhamacademy.com), a week- long football training camp targeting boys and girls aged 8-15. While I can go on and on about the benefits of such a camp, I mainly want to talk about my new friend Becks, and how impressed I am with him. I'll also touch on how incredibly lucky I am to have this job.

You may also know David Beckham as the more athletic half of the David Beckham/Victoria "Posh Spice" union. This is a man who seemingly has everything working in his favor. He has movie star looks (and doesn't rule out dipping in the Hollywood pool at some point), world-class athletic skills, a gorgeous wife, three healthy beautiful children, millions of fans worldwide, and more money than he can count. Did I mention he is all of 30 years old? Well, the man is just 30 years old. I am 29. I have a lot of work to do. Seems I can count my money. Anyway, back to Becks.

I was unsure of how the interview and subsequent shoot would go. I wondered how receptive would he be of the expected "why is this academy so important to you" questioning. I anticipated rehearsed, standard answers. Instead, I found him to be forthcoming, kind, and intuitive. He seems to genuinely appreciate all I mentioned above.

He seems to understand his success comes as a result of hard work, helped out by attending camps like the David Beckham Academy as a young football player in England. He is also very aware that without football, aside from his family, the other benefits like money and fame would not be his to enjoy. In the end, he told me, his main priorities in life are his family and football. I think I could read through the B-S if he was feeding it to me so my impression is he is completely aware how priveleged his life is.

In preparation to "Bend It Like Beckham", I went out and bought all the best workout gear - I was Nike'd out! Only problem? Becks endorses Adidas! When his camp saw me come out in my Nike apparel, it was like a Congressional Delegation meeting as they quickly figured out HOW to fix the problem! I ended up wearing a British football players' David Beckham Academy uniform, and (poor me) the brand new Adidas Predator Pulse football 'boot', the latest 'boot' (shoe) unveiled by Becks himself the night before in NYC. I tell ya, what a job I have!!!

I am an athlete but I have never played much soccer so I asked Becks to show me the top three drills he stresses at his football camps. Maybe he was blowing smoke up my butt because the cameras were on us, but he said I am very good! Call me naive, but I think so too! It doesn't hurt that my teacher is one of the best in the world! To make a short story even longer, he taught me to really bend it like Beckham then we wrapped it up.

There are some really cool perks that come with working on Access Hollywood, but even interviewing celebrities on the red carpet and attending movie premieres can't top this once in a lifetime opportunity. Becks said he might consider a move to U.S. soccer after his contract is up with Real Madrid. If this happens, expect to see soccer become as popular as football, baseball, and basketball in the states. Seems Becks has that unique mix of talent, looks, and charisma to do for soccer what Michael Jordan did for basketball. And take it from me; if you or your children admire him, it's for good reason. I certainly do. And for the record, I got to keep the “boots”!

"Kicks For Kids"

2005-03-14T16:38:00.000-08:00

"Touching souls through soles with Kicks for Kids"

I started a program while I was deployed in Iraq called "Kicks for Kids". The one thing I noticed more than anything else is one small donation can make a world of difference. I asked that people send me shoes instead of care packages. I would distribute those shoes to the children I saw when I was out and about in Iraq. I was expecting ten to fifteen pair - and I got close to 15,000 pair from all over the world!!! That is a testament to the generous hearts of Americans, to help when there is a need. Although my deployment is over, the need doesn't stop. Please send any and all shoes, new and gently used, big and small, to Major Wade Carmichael, a civil affairs officer currently stationed in Iraq. You will truly make a world of difference in the quality of life for the children of Iraq. Thank you in advance....

The address:

MAJOR WADE CARMICHAEL
NC 24, B Co 490th CA BN
APO, AE 09312

Growing Up

2005-02-11T09:40:00.000-08:00

February 11, 2005

At long last, the letter you’ve waited for and the letter I’ve resisted writing. I've waited because I don't think my fingers are capable of keeping up with my thoughts. I can barely process what is happening inside my heart, and more significantly, inside my head.

I have thousands of memories from my tour of duty in Iraq, but few are as vivid as the moment I stepped on the plane en route to Iraq in November 2003, and the moment I stepped on the plane en route to America in November 2004. Each of those moments overwhelmed me emotionally. My emotions weren’t tangible and apparent to those around me – not that I know of anyway. We all kind of kept to ourselves as we individually absorbed the impact these impending plane rides would have on our lives.

In November 2003, I stepped on to the C-17 a modest and unsure 27-year-old Army Specialist. I knew only the basics of military life and I certainly had no idea what to expect of military life in a combat zone. Naivety may have been my ally because I wasn’t over thinking the political, emotional, and physical ramifications of the situation.

A year later, however, I stepped on to the C-17 a more mature and jaded 28-year old Army Sergeant. I experienced a year of absolute chaos, fear, patriotism, honor, and pride – a list far too long to rattle off. I was on my way home to America – a place so familiar but now, so new - a different kind of America. Or was I a different kind of Addie? Clearly, I was over thinking the situation. I still am.

I grew up so much in a year. Funny thing is I thought I was already a fairly mature and level-headed adult in the making. Little did I know how much I was about to learn. I learned about honor and how motivating it is. I learned about duty and how unconditional it is. I learned about fear and how paralyzing it is. More than anything else, I learned about sacrifice and how final is.

Fast forward two months and now I am a jaded 28-year-old civilian named Addie who drives around in a new SUV, spends sunny afternoons laughing with my friends, works for a network television show, and lives in Hollywood – a far cry from sleeping in bombed out ex-palaces, carrying my M16 to the bathroom, and looking over my shoulder for suicide bombers. It’s hard to explain what happens to a person who serves in an environment like that for an extended period of time (and I’m not even a front line soldier). It’s not just the obvious emotional and physical toll it takes. It’s also the stuff many of us didn’t expect. It’s the politics and unrelenting news; it’s the lack of control and nowhere-to-run element; it’s the fear of the unknown; it’s the questioning of tactics and policies.

But it’s also what enabled me to see that life around the world isn’t what we experience on a daily basis in America - that no matter the designer jean I can’t afford or the celebrity I can’t meet, I still have a charmed life, simply because I am free. I see now that happiness doesn’t come from having cable television or a few extra dollars in my bank account. Happiness comes from walking in my home, turning on my lights, pouring clean drinking water, and sleeping without fear of dying. Happiness comes from knowing my family is safe. Happiness comes from knowing I am helping humanity.

I have had a blast reuniting with my friends and family, and I've enjoyed the pats on the back. Sure, it’s nice to drive my new SUV and wear my new designer jeans, but it’s not necessary, and I certainly don’t wish for those materialistic things anymore. And when I see what I bought with my deployment money, I am reminded of what it took to get those things, and for the first time in my life, I truly appreciate it.

I am two months shy of my 29th birthday and I just grew up. I may have experienced hell in Iraq, but it was a gift because it saved me from losing the real value of my life. In spite of it all, I would not give back one moment of my experience over the last year. That is why I long to go back, and why I wince when I think of how many times I wished to be home. I don’t sit peacefully in my ergonomically designed chair at work. I don’t read the newspaper or watch the news without an anchor tugging at my heart. I don’t shrug off the fact that people are still dying and that the situation is still very much out of control.

These are the reasons I, and many others, wish we were still there. We live in a time when service and sacrifice is available to us, and not committing ourselves to it is hard. It’s difficult to completely walk away from this experience. So many of us want to go back and help our friends, help the Iraqis, and help the Middle East. We rode a 365 adrenaline rush and we are unsure of how to process it now that the rush is gone.

I don’t think these feelings are indications we should all seek therapy. I think they are very real and honest reactions to traumatic experiences in our lives. It’s not easy to match the feeling of pride and accomplishment from service in defense of your country’s safety and another country’s freedom. Very few of us will elaborate on our feelings because we can’t make sense of them, or we don’t want to burden you with them. We realize you don’t know what to say to us because you couldn’t possibly understand what we went through. We wouldn’t do that to you. That’s why we have each other - our battle buddies - and I am confident we will figure it out as we go.

For me, however, I am going to resist the temptation to head back to the sand box for now. I am going to contribute and help in any way I can while sitting in my ergonomically designed chair at work and while driving my shiny new Toyota 4-Runner along the Pacific Coast Highway. But while I sit there and while I drive, I will always think of the sacrifices we all have made, the consequence it will have on the rest of our lives, and the effect it will have on the world. One thing I know for sure is I have more to do. Once I find out what it is, I hope the unrelenting tug on my heart goes away.

With Love,
Addie

It's A Wrap

2004-11-15T20:30:00.000-08:00

It’s A Wrap

As I pack my duffle bags and go through the final stages of life in Iraq, I am always thinking about what I will write to sum up my feelings. My main concern isn’t how you will embrace this final letter, but more so how I will get my confused and scattered thoughts organized so that I can better understand them.

I’ve started this letter several times and I just can’t seem to get it right. I have no idea how to sum up everything in one single letter. So I’ve decided to write as I think, with no organized thought process or methodical order.

I am writing straight from my heart.

I’ve learned so much over the last year it scares me. I am intimidated by everything I have experienced, everything I have seen, and everything I have heard. I can’t wrap my head around how this experience will affect me. Will it affect me? What if I forget all that has happened once I am back among the comforts of home? Will I forget the smell, the air, the people, the work, the long hours, the heartache, the pain, the pride, the death, the sacrifice? Will I honor it in the right way or will I simply wash my hands of it?

I have said this before, but I never anticipated becoming so emotionally involved. I didn’t expect my heart to harbor such pain and anger; I didn’t expect my heart to burst with honor and pride; I didn’t expect to care so much.

There is one thing I will never forget, however.

I will never forget that during my tour parents of twelve hundred men and women have answered their front door only to hear they will never see their son or daughter again. Their child is now a war hero, a symbol of freedom for millions of Americans and Iraqis. Their child voluntarily gave up his or her life so others may roam freely as they crouch in a foxhole or in a smothering Humvee; so others may sip their gourmet coffee as they sip polluted water from a canteen; so others may send their sons or daughters to school as they say goodbye to their children for a year or more; so that all of us may enjoy the God given gift of Freedom.

On Veterans Day, I watched as President Bush laid a wreath by the tomb of the unknowns. It dawned on me that many of the young men and women who died in this war are also unknowns. That, my friends, will change. You will know their names. You will know their story. You will learn their sacrifice. They deserve that much.

They also deserve to know how much we, the military who support their efforts, appreciate them. They make it possible for us to do our jobs. They make sure we are guarded. They shield us from the car bombs, mortars, and suicide bombers. They are also our heroes. We can never express how grateful we are to them; how we wish there was something more we could do; how we long to contribute.

I don’t know if I will ever shake off the guilt I feel for not being injured or hurt. I complain about the danger of mortars and car bombs - about how they jolt me from much needed sleep or send me to the attack shelter several times a night. I complain about not knowing if a bomb is planted under my trailer or under the shirt of a man sharing the same bus. I suppose these are all legitimate fears, but they pale in comparison to men fighting insurgents in Fallujah, Najaf, and Mosul. The men who steal five minutes of sleep in bombed out safe houses between fire fights; the men who ration MRE’s and shower with a water bottle and handkerchief for weeks at a time.

I feel silly complaining given what these men have to endure. The truth is, however, I may not be physically injured, but I am emotionally scarred. I don’t think it’s possible to live in this environment for this length of time and not be an emotional rollercoaster. I will never forget the images of car bomb victims, mass graves, and Marines lying lifeless on barren streets in Fallujah. I will never forget the fear of being jolted awake by mortars landing near my trailer – and feeling like a sitting duck. I will never forget hearing countless suicide bombs and knowing that, at that moment, hundreds of lives were forever changed by maniacal extremists.

On the flip side, I will never forget the moments that, without the military, I would ever experience. I will never forget the rides in the Blackhawk, overlooking the country of Iraq and absorbing it’s beauty and history. I will never forget walking throughout the Babylon ruins and wandering what I did to deserve such a treasure in life. I will never forget when my friend Alia told me I am her hero, simply because I am an American who helped liberate her and her family of a murderous tyrant. I will never forget a man named John Dahlia, who fled Iraq only to return thirty years later to help rebuild his home. I will never forget the 72-year-old man I met at the Ministry of Health who was making his first pilgrimage to the Mecca. I will never forget the children running after us, chanting “Go USA” and giving us the thumbs-up sign. I will never forget watching the blinking, fuzzy screen as Saddam Hussein was captured for the entire world to see. I will never forget watching Iraqis put up satellites, rebuild hospitals, schools, colleges, and villages. I will never forget realizing they are now empowered. I will never forget knowing I had a small part in improving their lives. I will never forget communicating with them through the universal language of smiles and hugs.

I wrote once that I believe this liberation was ‘necessary’. Over the course of the year, my opinion has changed – either due to my circumstances or because I got out from beneath the humanitarian cloud. I’ve gone back and forth so much on this issue – believing and not believing; feeling angry, then feeling proud; feeling mislead by the administration, then feeling confident in the administration. I can no longer say exactly how I feel about the ‘occupation/liberation’ because it changes every day. I will always wonder what brought us to Iraq – why this country posed such an imminent threat to the United States – and why the situation has spiraled out of control under our watch. I don’t think I will ever find peace with it.

But one thing I have been able to count on 100% is our ability to throw politics out the door and help the people of Iraq. In June, when things were unraveling before our eyes with Abu Ghraib, beheadings, and suicide bombers, I decided to take control. I started “Kicks for Kids” because it was a way for me to feel good about something. Amidst the political grandstanding, escalating violence and mass confusion, I could improve the lives of these children by simply putting a decent pair of shoes on their feet. It wasn’t genius; it was simple; and it helped heal a part of me.

The way I see it, a pair of shoes fixes a lot of problems. If their feet are covered, they won’t be susceptible to cuts caused by damage from the war. If their feet aren’t cut up, they will have to worry less about adequate healthcare to heal those wounds. If they can run around freely in their neighborhoods with a solid pair of sneakers, their quality of life improves and then, hopefully, they are less likely to be lured in to militant groups. Again, it’s not genius but it worked and thousands are feeling the generous donations of thousands of Americans.

I am so proud of my unit. Because of the 222nd Broadcast Operations Detachment, a reserve unit based in California, the world saw what is happening out here. Better yet, our mission allowed the family members of service members to see what their loved ones do. A mother in Boise, Idaho may be watching FOX News or CNN and think her son or daughter is a victim of the latest car bombing in Tikrit – if it weren’t for her local television station that aired footage and interviews shot by the 222nd BOD of her child providing much needed medical care to Iraqis or working to rebuild a school. Because of us, his or her mother may sleep easier at night, knowing that her child is helping to change the world and not breathing his final breath.

We also boosted moral through Freedom Radio. We potentially reached 150,000 troops and roughly 20 million Iraqis over the airwaves. We reminded soldiers and Marines of home when we played their favorite songs. We brightened their day when we gave them a shout out. We made sure they know how much we appreciate them and let them know they are fighting the good fight. We also knew the people who were listening one day may not be there the next - and we didn’t take that responsibility lightly. This is life and death stuff out here every second of every minute of every day. If we were able to break up the monotony of that for just five minutes, our mission was a success. Yes, we succeeded. Not bad for ‘part time’ soldiers.

I’ve waited all year for this day. It’s here, I am leaving, and it’s bittersweet. This is all I know right now. I may be ready to go, but I am not ready to forget. This is the best and worst thing that has ever happened to me, and I would not change it for the world. I pinch myself because I am so lucky to have had this experience. Thank you for taking this journey with me. Now it’s time to come home.

God Bless the USA.

With Love,
Addie

Days Like These

2004-10-30T20:29:00.000-07:00

October 30, 2004

Trying to make sense of everything that happens out here is impossible. Instead of pretending that everything is fine, I’ve used writing as a way of sorting out my feelings. As a result, I frighten everyone with my fears and frustrations, and I unintentionally cause all of you to worry. I apologize for that. The last thing I want is for you to spend your day wondering how I am coping - if my inside is as healthy as my outside. Writing to you, however, assures that my insides are okay – or at least as healthy as they can be. I can’t pretend that all of this chaos has not affected me, but it’s not something I discuss with people on a daily basis. We don’t really talk about it because when we listen to the news, we’re reminded of it; when we go outside and have to do a complete search of our vehicle for IED’s, we’re reminded of it; when we hear the death toll, we’re reminded of it. We all deal with this situation in our own way, and I can almost guarantee if you ask anyone here who spends time with me, they will tell you I am fine. They all know me as the funny, carefree Addie who remains optimistic, happy, and smiling. They aren’t disillusioned. That is who I am. That is who I have always been.

Only now, I am so much more.

I’ve seen a part of humanity I never imagined I would experience personally. I’ve only read about the kind of hatred I deal with on a daily basis. I’ve never been so guarded around people. I’ve never been so suspicious of other human beings. I’ve always taken them at face value. You cannot do that out here. In order to stay alive, you must question every action you take during the day. You must be friendly, yet guarded. You must be forceful, yet sympathetic. It’s an exhausting existence, and I’ve grown weary and depressed, feeling like the situation is spiraling out of control. Like you, we are overwhelmed with political grandstanding, election chaos, beheadings, car bombs, death tolls, and bombing campaigns. How do we remain sane and optimistic when all we are exposed to is consistent bad news about our lives?

My answer was to get out of the parameters of the stuffy Green Zone to see some goodness in this situation - to witness first hand the kind of heroism that, like the hatred, I had not personally witnessed until this experience.

I spent last weekend in Ar Ramadi with the 4th Marines Civil Affairs Group. The CAG found out about my “Kicks for Kids” program and convoyed to Baghdad to pick up roughly 8,000 pair of shoes to distribute to Iraqis who live in the Al Anbar province, an extremely volatile and dangerous part of Iraq. The plan was for me to present a few pair of shoes to the Governor of the province and to let him know that citizens of the United States donated them.

We traveled at night, when visibility is low for insurgents targeting convoys. The next morning we prepped to leave when we heard someone spotted two IED’s outside the Governor’s office building – the exact place we were headed. After a short delay, we got in the humvee’s and started our convoy to Ramadi, located just a short distance from the Marine base, Camp Blue Diamond.

This was, by far, the most dangerous situation I have been in since I arrived in Iraq last November. I wouldn’t characterize Ramadi as friendly, especially when I saw many Iraqis give us a thumbs down sign as we convoyed through town. That simple gesture hurt me, I think, more than a bullet ever could. My gut told me to blow it off, but I will never get that image out of my head. All I could think was ‘we are risking our lives, voluntarily, to bring your community thousands of donated shoes, and you treat us like this?’ For the time being, however, I blew it off because I had to focus on what was happening. There is no ‘I’m a broadcaster, big bad Marine, protect me please.’ Oh no, I was responsible for myself – no babysitting the soldier on this trip. So, following their lead, I did what is expected of me. When we were stuck in traffic, I hopped out of the humvee and pulled security, I scanned the buildings for snipers, and I looked for suspicious men in potential bomb-laced vehicles. I don’t know if I could adequately defend myself or the Marines if I had to, but I think I did okay - for a broadcaster – and we got to the Governor’s office without incident.

Once we were safely inside the building, we waited on the Governor to arrive. As we waited, we heard several explosions outside. For whatever reason, I was not afraid. For the first time in months, I felt peaceful. Let me explain why.

In spite of the danger that surrounded me – the anger, violence, corruption, confusion, hatred – I felt peaceful. I’ve been waiting for months to feel re-energized about this mission; to feel helpful when I was helpless; to feel calm when things were chaotic. I found peace that day in the Governor’s office. With a simple handshake and exchange of shoes, I felt validated. I felt that I, along with thousands of Americans, took small, yet essential steps in winning the hearts and minds of Iraqis. We touched souls through soles with Kicks for Kids.

I never expected this to be an easy tour, but I also never expected to become so emotionally involved in what is happening. I expected to come here, do my job, and get home again. I never expected to feel such fear, anger, and frustration. I have looked for answers for months. I have searched for the silver lining. I have longed to believe again. The answer wasn’t right in front of me, or in one of the President’s intended morale boosting speeches. The answer was on my feet. With one small idea, I helped myself by helping others. Together, we put shoes on an entire community. Shoes that were once on the feet of an American child are now on the feet of an Iraqi child. You may not believe this, but you all have helped change things over here – even if it is a small step.

While on the Chinook back to Baghdad, I thought a lot about my weekend, and even more about my last few weeks in Iraq. I thought about the emotional roller coaster I was riding, and I thought about how all of this is going to affect me. I’ve spent 348 days in this environment and every day has been different. It has not been easy, but all I could think on this warm Baghdad night was I can make my peace with days like these.

With Love,
Addie

The Green Zone

2004-10-16T20:28:00.000-07:00

October 16, 2004

Everything changed for me this week. I am thankful my time is short because I don’t know how long I can deal with things as they now are.

I am tired of living in an environment where I wake up every day hoping to fall asleep again that night; and I go sleep hoping to wake up again the next morning. I am tired of questioning everything I do during the day. I am tired of questioning people’s actions. I am tired of the sudden explosions and random mortar attacks. It’s enough already.

The Green Zone is a four square mile area that is home to the American and British Embassy’s as well as the new Iraqi Government. Some have described the Green Zone as the ‘Beverly Hills’ of Baghdad. Others have described it as ‘Little America’.

On any given day in the Green Zone, you will see soldiers and civilians jogging in the early morning along the Tigris River. You will see thousands of Iraqis working alongside the road and inside the Embassy compound. You will see civilians from all over the world working amidst the language barrier for the same purpose. You will see soldiers eating take-out Chinese food on top of their humvee’s as they wait for their convoy to leave. You will see people eating lunch at Mo’s and the Green Zone Café. You will see Iraqi children selling DVD’s, gum, and candy to American soldiers.

While the Green Zone has its share of danger, it is undoubtedly the safest and most heavily guarded place in Baghdad. That is why people run outside without body armor or a weapon. That is why children walk the streets giving hi-fives to American soldiers. That is why people eat lunch at the Chinese Restaurant and the Green Zone Café.

All of that has now changed because two suicide bombers somehow penetrated the ‘heavily fortified’ Green Zone. It was just a matter of time before something happened because there have been many warnings. Within the last two weeks, an improvised explosive device (IED) was found in the parking lot of the Green Zone Cafe, a suitcase full of explosives was thrown from a car on to the road, and another possible IED was uncovered outside the Embassy compound.

I was walking from lunch when I heard the explosion that changed everything for me. I thought it was a car bomb because it was such a thunderous blast. I also knew it was close because I felt the Convention Center shake. I’ve experienced this so many times so I didn’t stop in my tracks or attempt to take cover. I simply looked at Abbey, shook my head in disgust, and continued walking to the radio studio. We both walked silently the rest of the way, though, as we imagined the chaos that was surely ensuing outside.

It was less than an hour later when we found out the Green Zone Café no longer exists. I was paralyzed as I thought of all the times I have been there. That wasn’t the only news, though. A second suicide bomber hit the Bazaar. I could barely process what happened, and how significant it is.

We’ve heard for months about air strikes in Fallujah, Najaf, and Sadr City. We’ve watched as the death toll rises from five-hundred to eight-hundred and now to eleven-hundred. We’ve felt nervous as mortars fly overhead. But we didn’t let it get us down. We continued to believe. We continued to work.

Now, we can no longer go to the PX, the Chinese restaurant, or the Bazaar. We no longer ride the bus for fear that a passenger riding with us has a bomb in his bag or strapped to his waist. We are less likely to look Iraqis in the eye. We are hesitant to give Iraqi children hi-fives.

It’s all changed. We looked forward to these things. Eating at the Green Zone Café or the Chinese Restaurant was an escape for us. It’s not that we need these luxuries because honestly, it’s not a luxury; it’s just something different that we looked forward to. Shopping at the bazaar gave us a chance to put some money in to the Iraqi economy and to make friends with Iraqis selling Persian rugs and mid-eastern jewelry. We enjoyed the few moments we had at these places.

To a certain degree, the insurgents are winning. The situation is getting worse, not better. This is a far more volatile environment that the one I entered last year. The insurgents are finding weaknesses and they are disrupting the humanitarian effort. I have had four “Kicks for Kids” distribution trips cancelled due to security concerns. We are no longer able to move freely in the Green Zone. We can no longer sleep soundly without wondering who out there is our enemy.

I know you all are reading this and wondering where the optimistic person is who once wrote positive and often inspiring letters from the war zone. I am just as confused as you are. I understand I am bound to get frustrated and less patient as time goes on. I always look for the positive in this story and I long to share it with you. Truth is, though, I will not lie to you, and I will not sugarcoat the situation. I tell it as I see it. The good, the bad, and the ugly.

There are wonderful things happening every day in this country. A child is getting medical attention he didn’t have a year ago; a woman is walking around for the first time without a veil covering her face; a man now has a say in who will lead his country.

Lately, however, things seem to be unraveling. I know we will eventually prevail because good defeats evil. But that doesn't make me feel any better right now.

With Love,
Addie

Collateral Damage

2004-10-02T20:25:00.000-07:00

October 2, 2004

I sit and stare at my computer for hours at a time, hoping to find the words that convey my exact feelings, or the feelings of my battle buddies. Sometimes I am lucky because the words flow so easily. Other times, however, I struggle to articulate what I am feeling because I can’t make sense of it all. That struggle is in direct relation to the chaos that ensues outside the blast walls of the heavily guarded Green Zone. I don’t know if I will ever make sense of this madness. It frustrates me that I cannot wrap my head around just how significant this war on terror is for Iraq, America, and the world. As soldiers, we feel an enormous responsibility to succeed. We do not want to come home amidst a quagmire, wishing we could have done more, and feeling terrible that we could not.

We’re not stupid. We hear the news and read the papers. We hear the world believes we are failing. We read quotes from people who think there is a better way to do it. There are times when even we believe there is a better way. More and more, I am beginning to believe there is no ‘right’ way to fight the war on terror. There is no book to read, no diagram to study, and there is very little history from which to draw. This is not a conventional war.

Our enemy isn’t lying in a prone position behind a mountain of sandbags. Our enemy isn’t dressed in combat fatigues that easily define him. Our enemy isn’t backed by the majority of the men and women in his country. Our enemy is waking up, getting dressed, and making his way out to a car laced with explosives meant to kill heroic American soldiers and innocent Iraqis. Our enemy is backed by a relatively small group of thugs who lack the capacity to embrace freedom and democracy.

As the death toll rises for American soldiers, so too does the death toll for innocent Iraqis. For me, the rising number is very hard to hear, yet many pass it off as collateral damage – a by-product of the fight for freedom. An estimated 20 thousand Iraqis have died since the beginning of combat operations last year. Twenty-thousand. Take a minute to think about how large that number is. Now imagine it’s 20-thousand Americans.

I make this comparison only so you can better understand the price Iraqis are paying for their freedom. For the last thirty-five years, a murderous tyrant dictated their lives. Although they can now envision a life free of dictatorship, it’s still a struggle for them, and they are still losing countless numbers of their friends and families. Their lives are laced with fear, uncertainty, and instability. Although they understand democracy does not come easily, it doesn’t make it any harder for them to accept the loss.

When the conflict started, I didn’t think too much of collateral damage because I was consumed by patriotism and pride in my own country. I was unified with the rest of you because we were fighting for freedom. But I was reeling with pride from thousands of miles away, from the comforts of my living room. I wasn’t able to personalize the plight of the innocent Iraqis. Now, however, I have experienced a year of the reality that I used to view as colorful images mixed with creative words on television.

I have spent a year working to improve the lives of Iraqis. Because we have all sacrificed so much and have worked so hard, we take pride in this country and its citizens. When we see the dead pulled from the rubble created by bombs dropped from American warplanes or built by terrorists, it hurts just as much. I cradle my head in my hands each time I hear how many civilians died in a conflict no more than twenty miles away.

The War on Terror isn’t just about ensuring America’s freedoms. It’s also about ensuring Iraq’s freedoms. We have a responsibility to mourn the deaths of Iraqis and to respect the price they are paying. This is not something I did a year ago because it wasn’t personal to me. I would never sum up American casualties as collateral damage because it’s so much more than that.

In spite of the obvious differences between America and Iraq, one thing remains the same. We are all human beings with the same capacity to feel. An Iraqi who mourns the loss of a child is no less important than a family who mourns the loss of an American soldier. It’s a lot of things - tragic, painful, devastating, and hard to understand. But it should never be called collateral damage.

With Love,
Addie

Conflicted - Inside and Out

2004-09-24T20:24:00.000-07:00

September 24, 2004

With all that is happening around me, I am in surprisingly good spirits. Perhaps it’s because I know I will be home around this time in two months. I cannot tell you what a feeling of relief that is. I can almost taste the Starbucks. I can feel the cool California breeze on my neck. I can see the reunions with my friends and family in West Virginia, Philadelphia, and New York. I anticipate many days of doing nothing but spending time with those I love.

As the end of my tour draws nearer, I often wonder how I will process all that has happened to me, around me, and because of me. I wonder if I will go about my life in the states, basking in the warm hugs of those who are so grateful I am home. I wonder if I will forget the smell of the air, the heat of the sun, the crying eyes of the children, and the pain of the injured or dead. I wonder if I will miss this life – a life that has taught me more about myself than I dared to imagine. A life I love and a life I hate, where fear, death, religion, and politics consume every minute of my day.

Every day I wake up hoping to accomplish three goals: to make life a little more enjoyable for the soldiers fighting this war on the front lines; to do something that will improve the quality of life for the Iraqis, whether it’s a new pair of shoes or a simple smile; to come home alive.

I spend the majority of my day in a small, broken room on the top floor of the Baghdad Convention Center. I spend hours talking in to a microphone, listening to music, and laughing with my friend Abbey. I have the unique pleasure of reaching an entire country – a country that is overwhelmed daily with reports of car bombings and mass casualties. I cannot begin to understand what the citizens of Iraq are dealing with. I can only sympathize, and hope that in some small way, I am helping to change it.

At the top of every hour, we listen to news from the Associated Press. Those five-minute reports fill us in on the violence that surrounds us – a scary reminder of our reality. “Two Americans beheaded in two days, a Brit’s fate not known, three soldiers killed in a mortar attack, and 11 Iraqis killed by a suicide car bomber in downtown Baghdad.” This is what we hear every single hour, yet we bravely put on a happy face as we remind troops and civilians alike that there is more to the story – that there is a reason and a purpose behind our mission. Some call it propaganda. I call it necessary.

It’s incredibly unnerving to know the people we hear about on the news could very easily be one of us. To know theirs is a fate reliant on chance and opportunity; to know that fear brings them to their knees; to know their death is shown in all its horror on the internet; to know it could be us. Yet, a part of us wonders why it is not.

The closer I get to coming home, the more I miss the idea of home. My return to normalcy and safety is within my grasp, and I am finally able to say ‘my time is short.’ There are times, however, when I want time to slowly tick away so I can absorb what is happening here. This is my one chance to be here. I can never get this opportunity back. Yes, I will miss it.

I will miss knowing it takes only a smile and simple hello to remind Iraqis that Americans are here to improve their lives. I will miss measuring the size of a child’s foot on my combat boot to insure they get comfortable sneakers. I will miss feeling proud because a child in America is responsible for improving the life of a child in Iraq – with a simple pair of shoes.

Nothing about my experience in Iraq over the last year is simple, as is evident in my letters. My emotions and feelings volley back and forth more than a tennis ball during the US Open. I cannot imagine how I will process all of this, how I will reflect, or how I will change. I guess that’s why it’s called a conflict.

With Love,
Addie

September 11, 2001

2004-09-11T20:23:00.000-07:00

September 11, 2004

Three years ago the world changed, but more significantly to us, America changed. We no longer believed we are invincible. We woke up on the morning of September 11, 2001 and had no idea that when we went back to sleep that night, our lives would be forever transformed by the events of that day.

I’ve heard over and over again people say they will never forget what they were doing when they watched those planes crash in to those buildings. The same holds true for me. I will never forget watching the events unfold, live on television, for the entire world to see. I will never forget those devastating images, the unimaginable pain, and the feeling of helplessness.

I knew the name Osama Bin Laden, but I didn’t fear him. I knew about terrorism, but I didn’t fear it. I knew there was hatred and evil in the world, but I was never personally affected by it.

Fast forward three years and all of that has changed.

I not only know of Osama Bin Laden, but I am now serving alongside brave American men and women who disbanded the Taliban. I am now dealing with terrorism on the front lines in one of the most perilous areas of the world. I am now personally affected by the evil and hatred of the world, and more than one thousand of my battle buddies have died heroically trying to absolve it.

As each year passes, it’s inevitable to reflect on what happened on that horrible day. But for those of us in uniform, both in Iraq and Afghanistan, we don’t need an anniversary to remind us of those catastrophic events. We witness every day the same kind of hatred that flew those planes in to those buildings. For us, every day is a reminder of September 11, 2001.

The images ingrained in our memories that day are, unfortunately, what motivate us to continue the fight. I have personally questioned the choices we have made in the War on Terror. I have wondered if the sacrifices we have made are worth the risks we take. I have wondered why Osama Bin Laden and Afghanistan suddenly turned in to Saddam Hussein and Iraq.

Regardless of where I stand on this conflict, my resolve to make this world a better place and to free it of terror is strong. It is our right and, I think, our responsibility to question the tactics. After all, it’s America’s citizens picking up the tab. More importantly, it’s our lives we’re risking. We should question it if our lives are on the line.

I felt helpless on that day three years ago. But fast forward to today and I no longer feel so inept. Although I am not raiding homes in Najaf or ambushing militants in Fallujah, I have empowered myself by sacrificing my time and my life. I am proud to do it for you. We’re all proud to do it for you. That’s why we wear the uniform.

This weekend, journalists, politicians, and families around the world will be talking about what happened to all of us three years ago. It’s important to reflect, to question, and to mourn. But it’s easy to forget when anniversaries aren’t there to remind us.

Three thousand people died that day and thousands of lives transformed. Since then, over twelve hundred brave American heroes died in Iraq and Afghanistan. Thousands have been injured and thousands have served. Let’s also not forget the price innocent Afghans and Iraqis are paying – they have lost thousands upon thousands of their friends and family – summed up as collateral damage.

This fight will continue long past the fourth, fifth, even 10th anniversary of September 11, 2001. We’re proud to fight the good fight. We only ask that you continue to believe in us, support us, and pray for our safety. There are thousands of angels praying alongside you.

With Love,
Addie

Your Lives

2004-09-04T20:21:00.000-07:00

September 4, 2004

It’s a constant struggle for us to maintain our relationships at home while we are here. It’s hard to consistently stay in touch with all of our friends and family. It’s almost impossible for us to let everyone know we are okay. It’s exhausting trying to explain over and over what this is like, how we feel, how much longer we have, etc.

Thank goodness for mass e-mails – the most impersonal and least intimate form of corresponding there is. For us, however, it’s a godsend.

I apologize to everyone I have disappointed over the last year. I am sorry I am missing so much. I am devastated that my personal decisions have taken me away from so many important moments in your lives. I am sorry I have missed countless weddings, births, holidays, funerals, and reunions. I am sorry I haven’t hugged you or your new child. I am sorry I haven’t called. I am sorry I don’t e-mail as often as I should. I am just so sorry.

Many people I talk to tell me it doesn’t matter as long as they know I am okay, but I know it has to matter. It matters to me. The best part of my day is when I open my e-mail and see so many familiar names. We all look forward to it.

I’ve had a heavy heart about this for a while now. I feel as if I am disappointing some important people in my life due to circumstances beyond my control. The phones work sporadically, the internet is often down, and the time difference is a huge liability. I am finishing my day just as you are beginning yours.

You would think it’s easy for us to pick up the phone but it’s not. This part I can control, however. So many times, we have the opportunity but we simply don’t have the energy. We live this chaos every minute of every day and talking about it all the time is daunting. I am so sorry.

I guess I feel responsible because I know how scary it is for you all to know I am here amidst this conflict. I know how much you worry. I know you miss me. I know you want me home. I want the same thing.

I have just a few short months to go and I am nervous about coming home because I am afraid some may resent me. I am afraid people will resent that I have missed their wedding, the birth of their first child, moments in their lives they will never get back. I can only say I’m sorry.

I think a lot of us share the same feeling. We feel a huge responsibility to take care of business here and at home. This may sound crazy to you but it’s true. We worry about the disconnect, the lost time, the moments in your lives we will never experience with you. We long to be there. We’re sorry we’re not.

It’s hard for us to look at pictures – to see faces we barely recognize, to see couches we’d like to sit on, to see cars we want to drive, to see clothes we want to wear, to see hands we want to hold, to see people we want to hug. It’s hard for us to hear about what we are missing, and perhaps it’s easier for us to ignore it than to face the hurt that accompanies it. We guard our hearts ferociously. It’s unbelievable the wall we build, the front we adopt, the sadness we suppress.

I told you a few weeks ago that I have yet to cry. The tears have finally started flowing, my friends. They are no longer teetering on my eyes; they are now glistening on my cheeks. I’ve realized how much I am missing, how detached I feel, how sorry I am.

I guess I am finally allowing myself to feel this entire experience – not just what is happening here, but also what is happening at home. This deployment doesn’t make me cry. The very important moments of your lives make me cry.

With Love,
Addie

The Issues

2004-08-27T20:20:00.000-07:00

August 27, 2004

Politics is dirty. It disgusts me. I am a soldier; therefore, I am not supposed to have an opinion. Oh, we can have them of course, but we are supposed to keep them to ourselves. I find that rule funny simply because we, as soldiers, fight for some of the very freedoms we don’t enjoy. Obviously, it’s not as severe as it sounds but the rule stands – DO NOT TALK POLITICS. I am going to break the rule though - just this once.

Vietnam. Swift Boat. Purple Hearts. Silver Star. Air National Guard.

There is a Presidential election fast approaching and we all have a decision to make. Many of the soldiers and marines serving in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom have little precious time to sit and do the homework necessary to figure out the issues the candidates are discussing across America. George W. Bush is our boss. Senator John Kerry wants to be our boss. For those of us here now, and for those who will follow, there is no decision more important than this one. Yet, all we hear about is what did or didn’t happen 35 years ago aboard a Navy Swift Boat. The issues of the campaign are deeply tucked in to the fourth or fifth story of the news, if at all. We catch glimpses of the news. We read snippets of the newspaper. We get moments on the internet. We don’t have time to watch an entire newscast. We can’t read through to page ten of the newspaper. We go directly to e-mail when we get a moment to use the internet. When I do check my e-mail, I get forwards that say ’10 Reasons why Theresa Heinz Kerry is a horrible person.’ Why doesn’t someone send me an email that says ’10 Reasons why George Bush should remain in office?’ The latter would be much more effective.

What are the issues? It’s a little over two months before Election Day and I have no idea. Because it matters to me, however, I will find time to do my homework. Most will not. They don’t have time.

It’s not just the news organizations; it’s the politicians and their campaign teams as well, who spend millions of dollars to attack the other candidate. I cannot believe the amount of money raised for these campaigns. It is embarrassing. What’s more embarrassing is we are in Iraq trying to establish a Democratic system of government based on morals, values, and understanding between all political and religious parties. Yet, travel a few thousand miles to the west and our system is the epitome of dirty politics. Does anyone else find this ironic? How are we supposed to find out the issues if we can’t get past this Swift Boat controversy? How are we going to establish a credible, moral democracy over here if we are unable to do it at home? How are we supposed to elect our leader, a man who will command us in the War on Terror if we don’t know what issues are important to him?

I will never comment on Vietnam because I have absolutely no idea what I am talking about. It’s a disservice to those who served and to those who died. I can comment on service, however. Any service in the military, particularly in a war zone, is noble, scary, and honorable. What happens to each individual person is unique to the situation and the person or persons involved. It is not fair to continually cast stones upon those involved in helping to protect our country, and to lessen the importance of their sacrifice. Their sacrifice should never find its way in to negative attack ads and they should never be used to discredit someone’s honorable military service.

I’ve learned a lot over the last year – about service, honor, pride, fear, and nobility. I’m passionate about what we are doing and I want to continue to do great things that will improve the quality of life, not only for America and Iraq, but for the world. We can only do that effectively if we cut out the dirty politics and start focusing on the issues that will improve all our lives, bring the troops home, and restore hope in people throughout the world.

It’s no wonder good people with good ideas run like Marion Jones from politics. Politicians have the incredible honor (and task) of reaching people and affecting change. George W. Bush and John Kerry might have ideas to do just that, but they are ruining it by attacking each other instead of the issues. Dirty politics makes it harder for those of us in uniform to make one of the biggest decisions of our lives – and that is a disservice to us.

With Love,
Addie

No Tears

2004-08-14T20:19:00.000-07:00

August 14, 2004

We spend a lot of energy wishing time away out here – longing to be back among the comforts of home, among the familiar hugs of family, and among the camaraderie of close friends. There is no denying, however, that time is flying. The days are long but the weeks go by quickly – lucky us.

When I arrived in country last November, I couldn’t imagine I would ever see August. Yet, here I am nine months later. I’ve experienced every emotion possible. I’m still smiling. I’m still excited about the experience. I still look forward to my work. I still love wrapping my emotions around the Iraqi people. I still get mad and frustrated. I still feel confused and conflicted. I still feel proud.

When I laugh, it’s thunderous and contagious. When I am mad, it’s real and passionate. When I am scared, it’s overwhelming and unsure. When I’m sad, it’s palpable but it’s not tangible. I have yet to cry. Without doubt, I feel pain that would, under normal circumstances, welcome tears. I wear my heart on my sleeve, but in this environment, the tears simply teeter on the rim of my eye. They never fall to my cheek. I have no trouble showing sadness when I am home. So why is it so hard out here?

If I allow myself to cry, I will open myself up to weakness. I cannot risk being weak. I cannot dwell on the sadness that accompanies this deployment. If I do that, I am afraid the time would slowly tick away….and time would stop flying.

This week was very strange. I spent more time in attack shelters than any other time, even more than April, when the liberation/occupation (you decide) was becoming increasingly volatile. We were mortared so much it felt like a Fourth of July celebration. I wrote about it in my journal. Here is what I wrote:

(August 8)

It’s Sunday night, 11:18 local time and I am listening to the sound of the alarm that overwhelms the Embassy Compound. This is becoming an all too familiar sound lately. Last night we had to gather in the attack shelter in the Palace because the mortars were coming at us like candy on a parade route.

The last two nights my workouts have been interrupted by mortars and the piercing sound of the alarm. I’m in my trailer now, but there isn’t much I can do. I am like a sitting duck. I simply take off my headphones, and turn off the air conditioner so that I can hear when the mortars are incoming.

(August 10)

It’s now 1:19am Tuesday morning and we are just returning from yet another round of mortar attacks, this time about 5 mortars - another one, just now, at this very second, hit us. I have to go to the shelter again.

It’s now 1:39am and I am back from the shelter. It seems pointless for us to gather our gear and duck for cover. What are we supposed to do? One of these days, a mortar they lob at us will hit – the odds are stacked against us. It’s so eerie to hear the mortar whistling in the air then just waiting the few seconds in anticipation of where it will land. It’s even harder to go back to sleep after the ‘all clear’ is signaled because I want to stay awake to hear the next attack…I don’t want to be jolted awake by the explosion and consequent shake of the ground.

I now hear the familiar sound of the helicopters and jets overhead. I’m sure the ‘crazies’ (militants) are now giggling in their homes, laughing at the alarm they hear in the distance, and knowing they have, at most, killed someone, and at the very least, disrupted our sleep so our tomorrow is less productive as we work to rebuild their country.

I have many journal entries very similar to this, but this week was, by far, the most I have been affected by attacks. It’s nothing compared to the chaos and fighting happening in Najaf right now, but for the ‘support staff’ it was a bit much. Very scary stuff - yet somehow we end up laughing about the absurdity of it all. I mean, we are stuffed in the attack shelters like sardines, in full battle rattle, wearing pajamas! It’s just funny sometimes. I guess there’s no room for tears when laughter fills the air.

This coming week will be a tough one for me. August 17 (Tuesday) will be 17 years since my father passed away. 17 years is a long time so I’ve obviously had sufficient time to deal, but it’s always a sad day for me – 28 or 10, you never get over not having a father. I think this year, however, I am not going to dwell on not having my dad around. I am instead going to focus on what I do have. I have a mother who made all of this possible for me. I have a mother who was also a father. I have both – a mother who is here with me; and a father, who is my guardian angel. It’s no surprise I’ve escaped the mortar attacks unharmed.

I am complete, no doubt. Thank you, Mom. No tears.

With Love,
Addie

97 Days and Heavy Hearts

2004-08-07T20:18:00.000-07:00

August 7, 2004

Sometimes it’s not enough to say there is a tremendous amount of nobility in what we are doing. Sometimes it’s not enough to hear that we are heroes. Sometimes it’s not enough to sense we are here for a greater good. Sometimes it’s just not enough.

97 Days and Heavy Hearts.

For the 27 members of the 222nd Broadcast Operations Detachment, it’s just not enough anymore. We know we’re noble, we know there is a certain amount of heroism in what we are doing (although we don’t feel like heroes), and we know there is a greater good in our mission. We’ve spent 10 long months ensuring all that is true. We can see the end in sight and it’s that vision that is pushing us through the last few months.

Driving On. Sucking it up. No Looking Back. These words are a great idea and 7 months into the mission, they motivated us to continue working hard to finish the job and to still feel good about our role in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.

“According to the information we have right now, the 222nd BOD is going to be extended in their tour of duty in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom, from 365 days to 462.”

97 Days.

It’s not about what we are dealing with over here anymore. We’re talking about three additional months of what we are not dealing with at home. Here are a few examples.

Specialist Keith Gatlin, 24, has a nine-month-old baby at home. He saw his only son for two days before he left the states last fall. By the time he gets home in January or February, his son will be about 16 months old. He misses his first tooth, his first step, his first words. He misses the diaper changes (he might be okay with that), the giggles, the cartoons, the cute baby clothes. He misses invaluable bonding opportunities.

Specialist Jason Scott, 28, has been married less than three years. His wife, Lupe, who is also in the military, was deployed for a year before he was deployed. They have seen each other a total of about six months. When they saw each other over R and R, they had to reintroduce themselves. By the time it felt normal again, Jason had to leave. Now, these newlyweds have to wait even longer to start being husband and wife.

Specialist Abbey Cayanan, 21, has been away from home since April 2003. She enlisted in the military to get more out of life. Not for college or money or a way out. Simply because she wanted to give back. She left for basic training and the day after her graduation, she was ordered to Iraq for a year. Every day, she gets on the radio for four hours to entertain the troops to ensure their morale is high. All Abbey needs to maintain her morale is to know her 365 is coming to an end. Now she has to muster the energy for an additional 388 hours of music, laughter, and entertainment. That will bring her total to 22 months. 97 days is breaking her morale as she works tirelessly to ensure ours.

Staff Sergeant Ken Scott, 36, has been married less than a year. With this extension, he will miss his first anniversary, first two holiday seasons, birthdays and a chance to start a family.

Major Greg Gordon, Sergeant First Class Michael Sandknop, and Staff Sergeant Joe Williams. All three of these men have their own businesses that are crumbling due to their ‘part-time’ jobs as soldiers. Not to mention the families and wives they left behind and the daunting task of picking up where they left off – both financially and emotionally.

There are countless other examples but I think you get the idea. We understand we have a job to do so please don’t think we are giving up. I just want people to understand the very serious consequences to these extensions. We just want to know why. We need a ‘because.’ If we had those answers, we might be able to understand why it is essential for 27 broadcasters to put their lives and families on hold for an additional 97 days. We aren’t trying to secure Fallujah or train the new Iraqi Security Forces. We aren’t responsible for rebuilding homes or schools or hospitals. We don’t understand why and no one has an answer for us. Only to say ‘drive on, suck it up, no looking back.’

A year is a long time away from what is comforting, familiar, and normal. As soldiers, we understand our call to duty so we accept those sacrifices. There comes a time, however, when we stop throwing out words like ‘heroism, duty, and honor’ and we substitute them with ‘family, home, and career.’

The first three words are what get us through our intended tour of duty. The last three are what motivate us to finish the job.

Heavy Hearts.

The 222nd Broadcast Operations Detachment and countless other soldiers who have been extended ‘just because.’

With Love,
Addie

Epiphany

2004-07-31T20:17:00.000-07:00

July 31, 2004

It’s 1:08am on Saturday morning and I am awake because a huge explosion catapulted me violently from the comfort of my dreams to the reality of my life.

The last few minutes unfolded like this: I attempt to figure out my right foot from my left as Linda (my roommate) hops out of bed, trips over combat boots and flack vests in the darkness, and stumbles out the trailer door in an attempt to find out what has happened. As is usual she sees nothing, hears nothing, knows nothing. We don’t duck for cover, reach for ammo, or scream out in fear. We go outside for answers and come inside with questions. The only apparent chaos is in our rapidly beating hearts and wandering minds because outside we see only the calming blue sky outlined by palm trees and highlighted by the moon.

Welcome to Iraq – where hell unfolds before the eyes of few and the ears of many.

I hear the bombs, explosions, mortars, and gunfire in the distance, but I rarely see anything. On occasion, I’m close enough to pick up shrapnel that becomes a tangible war memory. Sometimes it’s scary, particularly when it forces me out of much needed sleep. Other times I don’t even flinch, but I shudder as I think of the absurdity of the now ‘normal’ natural sounds of my environment.

There are times I would rather be nowhere else in the world than right where I am. I love having this experience. Clearly, it’s not always easy. In fact, it’s 80% hell. But I wouldn’t trade the other 20% for anything. A nice car can’t replace the feeling I get when I tell a soldier’s story. A flat screen television can’t replace the feeling I get as I make people laugh over the radio. A day at the beach can’t replace the feeling I get when I give a kid a new pair of shoes. New clothes can’t replace the feeling I get when I see a newly renovated school. While it’s no secret I miss the luxuries of home, none of it really matters because those tangibles are fleeting. I will have these feelings forever.

In spite of the explosion tonight, I’ve had a great week. My radio show is going great, I am having a fantastic time making friends, and I had an incredible epiphany.

Last Monday I was one of three soldiers nominated to be the enlisted military aid to Ambassador John Negropante. My job would be to handle the logistics of his life. Basically, I would be his personal assistant. While that didn’t sound very appealing to me, the ‘perks’ of the job did. I would travel with him everywhere, I would get to meet very ‘important’ people, and I would get to learn more about the humanitarian side of the story. I would also have to extend my tour for three additional months. I had mixed feelings. I really didn’t like the idea of being here through another holiday season, but I knew it would be a great way to establish contacts (I am a journalist, mind you). I also knew that it would give me another three months to make a difference in the lives of the Iraqis – and let’s not forget, I would work daily for a man who is assuming tremendous responsibility for one of the most perilous countries in the world.

I met with General George Casey (Commander of ground troops in Iraq) and with Ambassador Negropante. I liked them both immediately. I had no idea what they were looking for in a military aid. I knew the interview went well but I also knew my lack of military experience was an issue. I have 2 years, SSG Scott has 17, and SSG Williams has 22. Hmmm, a military aid? I wonder….

Long story short, SSG Scott got the gig. He deserves it. Both he and SSG Williams deserve a cool job like that. I haven’t earned my place as a military aid yet – especially to an Ambassador. Being here now, though, is teaching me. The bombs, the smiles, the heat, the M16 - all learning tools for young SGT Collins.

I can go through the usual “it was a pleasure being nominated” blah blah blah, but that’s not entirely true. The truth is I was a little disappointed. I thought I missed an incredible opportunity. It wasn’t until the next morning, though, when I assumed my position behind the mike in the radio studio that I realized I am exactly where I need to be. My job right now is to entertain my fellow troops and to remind them how important their job is. I can make contacts with ‘important’ people some other time.

{CUE EPIPHANY}

My time will come. Their time is now.

It’s now 3:23am. I’m going back to bed.

With Love,
Addie

Finding Purpose

2004-07-24T20:16:00.000-07:00

July 24, 2004

“Breathe deeply,” they say. “If we are going to be extended, we will drive on with the mission and do what is required of us.”

Yeah, no kidding. Of course we will do what is required of us because what else are we going to do out here? We can’t just throw our hands in the air and give up. We can’t abandon the mission. We can’t give up on the people of Iraq, although at times it seems the people of Iraq may be giving up on us. We can’t book a flight to go home and we can’t complain to the Chain of Command because it falls on deaf ears. Driving on and giving 100% every day is easy to say and a lot less easy to do. I’ve been here for over eight months and although I have learned and grown so much over that time, and am so incredibly grateful for the experience, I am growing weary. Someone asked me today what I think is the biggest lesson is to come of all this. I said that if the government is going to require the Army to serve a one-year tour of duty, they should set definite dates for that tour and stick to that date - no matter what. The military is supposedly so highly organized, yet no one can seem to give a definitive answer on anything, except to say, “we will prevail no matter what.” They can only say that for sure because they know their soldiers are not going to abandon the mission. The military is doing what is asked and demanded of the government, but is the government doing what is asked of the military?

We ask that we are given what is needed to succeed and to survive. We ask for the truth. We ask for guidance. We ask for faith.

Many soldiers still don’t have body armor and many humvee’s are still without up-armor. Many more believe less in the basis put forth by the administration for going to war. Even more than that believes there is a failure in leadership from the highest level. And almost all of us believe there is no end date in sight.

It seems to many of us that if the government is going to juggle with our lives they should do so less recklessly than they are. Many soldiers have been here well beyond their required year and they still don’t know when they are going to go home. Many of us have civilian careers on hold and many still have to finish college. Many have their own failing businesses. Many are losing the most important thing of all – their families. Marriages deteriorate and children forget what they love most about mommy and daddy. You can argue that we knew these risks before we signed up, and that this is all part of the deal we made. But does it make it right? Should the government play recklessly with our lives because they can, and because they failed to plan for after the fall of Baghdad? I don’t think so – and many others agree with me.

Having said all of that – let me get to the point of my diatribe. In spite of all the frustration and anger we feel at times, we are all in search of a purpose – something we can focus on and believe in. I’ve found mine and I think it will get me through whatever curve balls are thrown at me before the end of my tour. My ‘Kicks for Kids’ program is taking on a life of its own and I just couldn’t be happier. It is becoming a lot bigger than I anticipated but that just shows the willingness of the American people to reach out and help others. So many people have said that they want something they can actually do to help and ‘Kicks for Kids’ is giving them that opportunity. You have no idea the impact you are going to have on the lives of these kids. Perhaps when they grow older and they are being recruited in to militant groups, they will think back to the Americans who put shoes on their feet and they’ll know we aren’t the enemy.

I received my first box of shoes yesterday and it was the coolest feeling. They are ‘tangibles’ for the kids I see everyday in addition to the standard smile and handshake. If I get this same feeling with every box I receive, the rest of my tour will be a breeze because my purpose is now clearly defined.

With Love,
Addie

(Special shout outs to Al Roker and Senator Jay Rockefeller – Thanks for making time for us this week. You two are class acts all the way.)

Just Another Day In Baghdad

2004-07-17T20:14:00.000-07:00

July 17, 2004

All it takes to remind me where I am is one event. That event occurred this past Wednesday as I was walking to work. It was 0920 and I was off in my own world thinking about what I had to do that day. Maybe I was thinking about home and wishing so much to be there. Perhaps I was complaining to myself about the heat and the lack of air conditioning. In any case, I was in my own little world. Then a huge explosion and consequent shake of the earth brought me back to reality. I don’t run for cover anymore. I barely even miss a beat. All of this violence and danger is commonplace to me now. This particular explosion was very loud and very close so I knew it was going to be bad. I thought I was going to turn the corner and see dead bodies lying everywhere. But as I turned the corner, I only saw a cloud of smoke not too far off in the distance. Then I heard someone on their cell phone say it was a direct hit on the convention center. I got a little nervous because that is where I was heading. I work in the Baghdad Convention Center. I worked the late shift this week and my first thought was that all my battle buddies are in the convention center. My plan was to walk to work but I quickly hopped on the shuttle bus so I could see what was happening. Sure enough, the scene was as I imagined. I couldn’t see any damage to the Convention Center and I didn’t see a lot of chaos. I only saw a Blackhawk hovering overhead and the military police scrambling to make sure everyone was okay. I still didn’t know what the explosion was. As I approached the checkpoint in to the Convention Center, I asked the guards if it was a car bomb and they said yes. I knew immediately there would be many casualties. I was relieved to know the Convention Center was not hit because that meant my battle buddies were okay. The car exploded next to the parking lot of the Convention Center. Shrapnel landed everywhere and the windows in the Convention Center were shattered. Eleven people died, none of them American, all of them Iraqi. All of them were waiting to get in to the heavily guarded Green Zone to either work or work out the details of their lives. Now they are dead.

It’s hard for me to understand this type of random and defenseless violence. It’s even harder for me to imagine that as I was gathering up the things I need to start my day, there was someone out there driving a car loaded with thousands of pounds of explosives preparing to end his life and the lives of others. What is it that makes some human beings volunteer to be a part of something that will better someone’s life, and then less than a mile away, there are human beings who volunteer to be a part of something that will end someone’s life? I will never figure it out.

Moving on now…I have to apologize in advance because I will continually bring up how hot it is. This week it reached 121 degrees. What’s worse is the air conditioning is off in the Convention Center and we are surrounded by very hot equipment that makes it even hotter inside. We have plenty of water but the refrigerators will not keep cool so we end up drinking hot water. No kidding. The water is not just warm, it’s hot. The fans we have just blow hot air in our face so it’s like a hair dryer – which is why we named our work area the ‘Consta-dryer.’ Pretty lame, huh? Yeah, we know but we just go with it.

The big news for me is I bought a bike this week. I ride it to and from work, just as I did when I lived in New York City – some of my very best memories. I bought it from someone for $40. It’s the ugliest bike you can imagine. It’s checkered and has a Circle K reflector light on it. But hey, this is Baghdad, who’s gonna judge me? I love it. Plus, I get to work faster on my bike than I do on the bus, so it’s all good.

Also big for me this week were some interviews I got with Senator John McCain and Senator Tom Daschle. They both called in to the radio station and I was able to interview them live for all the troops to hear. Our technology isn’t perfected but they went well nonetheless. I really feel it’s important for our elected leaders to talk directly to the troops through another soldier and not a high profile television or radio personality. With all that is happening politically, it’s nice for us to hear how proud the American public is of us and for our leaders to reassure us that we will be given all we need to successfully complete the mission. There are a lot of times that we simply feel we are forgotten amidst the political grandstanding. It is something I am trying to do more of – and that’s let the troops know they are not forgotten and they are just as important, if not more important, than the politics of this story.

So, there you go. I didn’t learn a lot of lessons this week but I accomplished a lot and that makes it successful. Plus, I made it through unharmed and I am one week closer to home. I made sure to make people smile, make people laugh, make people appreciate life. I slept, I worked, I laughed, I complained, I accomplished. It was just another week in Baghdad.

With Love,
Addie

What's It Really Like?

2004-07-10T20:13:00.000-07:00

July 10, 2004

People are very curious about my day-to-day life. “What’s it really like over there?” they ask. I’ve tried to paint a picture through words, but nothing, not even the media’s moving images, is enough to capture what it is really like for us.

Our lives aren’t much different than yours in that we get up and go to work every day, with an occasional day off. Like everyone, we complain about the rules and the boss. We watch the clock and the calendar relentlessly, and we think we deserve more money for the job we do. See? Just like you.

I’ve learned to laugh at the absurdity of my life. I mean, how many little girls dream they will be in this position as young women? I never did. Never. But here I am.

This is my life.

My alarm clock goes off oh-so early and I pretend not to hear it - until an explosion rocks my trailer and I am suddenly so awake my heart beats like a marathoner. I slowly hit the shower and drench myself in the reality that is my life. I walk from the bathroom to my room and the heat hits me like a ton of bricks. The temperature outside is already above 90 degrees and it’s 0700 . I pull my long blonde hair neatly back in to the same bun every single morning. Then comes the scrunchie – the ‘has to be the same color of your hair’ reminder I am definitely not where I thought I would be. I thought my scrunchie days were over as I finished my final gymnastics meet in college, but clearly, I was wrong. The scrunchie is now a part of my life. Carrie Bradshaw would be horrified.

Nevertheless, I bet Ms. Bradshaw would be pleased to know I still wear make-up. Yes, I wear make-up, even in this environment. It reminds me I am a woman - something the M16 fails to do. Moreover, it’s one of the very few things that separate us from the men. The great thing about the Army is I never have to worry about what I will wear to work. It’s the same smelly polyester desert camouflage uniform every day. I have four pair, but two are ‘winters’ and they are way too thick to wear in this heat. Remember the 90 degrees 0700? It’s now 0730 and 100 degrees.

It’s the same routine every morning when I leave. Checklist – dog tags, military I.D., CPA badge, orders, flack vest, Kevlar, ammo, weapon, hat. Got it all? Okay, now get the stuff I need for work – camera, tripod, computer, paper, pen. I’ve got all 40 pounds of my equipment. It’s time to go. It’s 0830 and 107 degrees.

The first thing I see as I walk out of my trailer is a mountain of sandbags. There have to be millions of sandbags out here. Millions. All filled by Iraqis who make a few dollars a day. Linda (my roomie) and I stick close to our humble redneck roots by keeping a pink plastic flamingo in our ‘front yard.’ I get to work on a shuttle bus run by KBR that takes me to the Baghdad Convention Center where I work. The bus is great because it’s air-conditioned. We share this with all coalition forces and Iraqis who live and work in the green zone. Often times it’s so stinking crowded – and uh, yeah, I use ‘stinking’ in the literal sense. In this heat, personal hygiene is a must, but some forget – or never knew – and it’s a bad day. It’s now 0840 and 110 degrees.

I feel dirty within the first five minutes of leaving my trailer. With the dust and the sweat – it’s a NO GO. Fortunately the heat doesn’t reflect the temperature because it isn’t humid at all. But don’t get me wrong – it’s hot. It’s ‘oh-my-goodness-how-do-they-survive-in-this-heat’ hot. I’ll put it like this: when I leave my trailer, I walk over a newly tarred area and it’s so hot, the tar is bubbling like boils on skin and they pop like bubble wrap under my boots. It’s insanely hot and it’s not August yet. A cool day is a mere 110.

Our unit is pretty lucky because we always have access to phones and the internet. Mail is, by far, the one thing that consistently makes us smile. If you ask any soldier or marine out here, I guarantee they will tell you the same thing. We tip our hats to past generations who were away for years without these luxuries. We know how lucky we are, but my goodness, what a difference mail and email makes. I never thought I could get so excited over a simple letter or box. There is nothing like seeing that familiar handwriting from home.

We’ve got really great logistics. The gym is great. We drop off our laundry. Mail is delivered. Meals are provided. Water is free. We’ve got everything we need. What do I do in my free time? On my occasional day off, I go to the market in the green zone and look around, or I go to the gym. If I am not at the gym, I have my nose in a book or a movie in my laptop. Speaking of movies, I just saw Fahrenheit 9/11 and it just came out in the states. I got it a week ago. Don’t ask me how they do it, but they have copies of almost every movie you can imagine and they sell them for five dollars. They don’t have in-door plumbing but they have Fahrenheit 9/11. I’ll never figure it out. By the way, I would comment on Fahrenheit 9/11, but I am opting to keep myself out of trouble.

The food is good but I am wearing thin on it. Even if I eat at a four star restaurant twice a day for a year straight, eventually I’d get sick of it. Right? Well, this isn’t four star, this is a poor man’s Bob’s Big Boy and this soldier is sick of it - but it’s still better than an MRE.

Oh yeah, I forgot. By lunchtime, it’s 11:45 and 117 degrees.

By far, my conversations are the things that weird me out the most. This is SGT Collins, the soldier.

“Roger that, Sergeant. I’ll verify the information and I’ll call you back at zero nine hundred. I’ll meet up with a convoy, provide a three sixty security, and I’ll stay locked and loaded. Say again, Sergeant? Negative Sergeant, I haven’t eaten chow. Roger that. Out.”

Now this is how Addie, the civilian.

“Yeah, I’ll check on it and give ya a shout. I’ll meet you later and we’ll grab a ride. I’m starving so we need to eat. Alright? Latah.”

Military life is just so different, especially for reservists like me who have to transition from civilian to soldier so quickly. Add to that a different country, culture, climate and language and it makes for some interesting stories. It’s hilarious, and again, it just reminds me how absurd my life is in relation to what I thought it would be.

Oh, by the way, it’s now twenty hundred and 120 degrees.

Do I love it? Roger that.

I’m out.
SGT Collins

Perspective

2004-07-05T20:11:00.000-07:00

July 5, 2004

Everyone now thinks I need therapy. I don’t blame people for thinking that, given my letters of late, but I promise I’m fine! I would need therapy if I didn’t write all the time - so I guess I should expect all of your bills in the mail. But don’t hold your breath ‘cause I’m poor. Now let’s move on.

It’s less than a week to go until full control is handed over to the Iraqis, and yes, we’re nervous. But probably not as nervous as the Iraqis who live outside the heavily guarded Green Zone that is home to the U.S. Headquarters in Baghdad. Last I heard, over 100 Iraqis were killed yesterday in attacks all over Iraq. All this happens while I am busy writing and producing radio news, and scouring the internet in an attempt to find out the latest news about the world around me. The Iraqis are in serious danger, unfortunately. I say unfortunately because they don’t have a say in any of this either. If the American military can’t get a handle on the situation, how are every day Iraqis supposed to rally together to stop it? They didn’t have control under Saddam Hussein and they still don’t have it, in spite of the tremendous progress we have made over the last year. As we attempt to hand over control to them, Islamic extremist do everything in their power to thwart the progress. In the process, they are killing hundreds of innocent Iraqis. It’s so frustrating to us. America’s resolve is very clear. We will not leave until the job is complete (I hear echoes of ‘W’ right now). But seriously, I mean it. What does ‘finish the job’ mean, exactly? I don’t have a clue. But I know this: we’re here and we will continue to be here. We’ve liberated and we’ve occupied, we’ve worked hard and we’ve sacrificed, and we’ve promised these people we will make their lives better. Politics aside, we cannot leave this country in this condition. The humanitarian mission is great and it is going to take years of hard work to finish. We all miss our lives at home terribly, but I guarantee only a small percentage of us would leave if given the opportunity. We just don’t believe in it, no matter the consequence. The Iraqis are good people and they crave peace and prosperity, regardless of what you hear on the news. They just want to live their lives without Americans breathing down their necks, and who can blame them?

I was finally able to leave the Green Zone this week and what a great few days it was. I was covering two Congressional Delegations and I got to travel, which is my favorite thing to do over here. I went with three U.S. Senators (Tom Daschle, Joe Biden, and Lindsey Graham) to visit with General Sanchez, Ambassador Paul Bremer and the 1st Armored Cavalry Division Command. The next day, I went with five Congressmen to Fallujah to visit the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force. I also met the interim Iraqi Prime Minister and President, which was pretty cool. Anyway, it’s nice to travel with ‘important’ people because the security is tight and the travel is quick and easy. More exciting for me, however, is the Blackhawk, our primary mode of transportation. These rides are priceless because I get to see how beautiful Iraq is. As I admire the thousands of palm trees and the acres of agriculture, I wonder how a land with so much physical beauty can harbor such violence and anger. I feel so refreshed after each of these rides because I am reminded why I am here – and I forget, if only for a little while, my fears, frustrations, and concerns.

Now, let’s talk about Fallujah. When that word is mentioned around here, it falls under the same category of infamous places like Abu Ghraib and Ground Zero. Alot of terrible things happened at these places so a certain amount of ‘mystique’ comes with the name. I have to admit, I was anxious to see the infamous ‘Fallujah.’ But we didn’t go deep in to the city – it’s way too dangerous for that. We went to the Marine base camp, about five miles out. I was, however, able to see some of the city from the helicopter and it’s very different from Baghdad, from my perspective. It’s a lot more desolate and poor. Clearly, life in Fallujah is not good. It’s too volatile for coalition forces to continually repair the city so the lives of its residents are not improving; therefore, making it easier for Al Zarqawi and his thugs to recruit people based on the argument that America is not fulfilling its promise to them. The most dangerous cities in Iraq are the poorest. Therefore, we have to win the hearts and minds. Then we can rebuild their lives.

All in all, this week was good for me. I was able to get out and do what I love to do, but most importantly, I learned this situation isn’t about me. It’s about them. I need to stop focusing on how it will affect me and focus, again, on how it will eventually affect them. As soon as I realized that, my life became a whole lot easier to deal with. I just needed a little perspective.

With Love,
Addie

All Day I Dream About Home

2004-06-18T20:08:00.000-07:00

June 18, 2004

I realize I’ve become a bit disgruntled lately. There is a clear difference in my letters from January and my letters now. I’ve always thought of myself as fairly optimistic, trying always to find the clichéd silver lining, but lately I am struggling with it. As I attempt to explain why, hopefully I will answer some questions of my own.

I pretty much focused on myself when I first arrived in Baghdad in November. I’ve traveled all over the United States but I have never been out of the country so Iraq was quite the culture shock. Moreover, my initial mission in Balad didn’t allow me to interact with Iraqis on a humanitarian level. I saw them every day but I didn’t get to know them intimately – meaning it wasn’t my job, yet, to focus on what we were doing for them. It was my job to focus on the soldier. Soon after the New Year, we moved back to Baghdad on a mission from the White House and the Pentagon. This time, our stories focused on the rebuilding of a country now free of a murderous dictator. I was overwhelmed with stories from the citizens of Iraq – what they have been through, their inability to communicate freely, and their justified fear for their lives. Up to that point, I truly had no idea the extent to which Saddam Hussein tortured the Iraqis. I didn’t focus on the political at all. I was consumed with the humanitarian and I absorbed the stories so much that my thinking was ‘yes, this liberation was necessary because the people of Iraq have suffered for years.’ I wasn’t worried about ‘W’ and finding the alleged weapons of mass destruction because I knew Americans were changing the lives of Iraqis and I was a part of it. I felt awesome.

We were sailing until the end of March, at which time a bunch of maniacs killed four American contractors in Fallujah. All hell broke loose. We could no longer leave the so-called ‘Green Zone’ and I was no longer hearing the ‘good’ stories. I heard constant explosions and consistent in-your-face news about how things were unraveling. I went home for R and R and I tried very hard to convey what else is going on, the stories the media won’t show. But I also had conversations with people that opened my eyes to the other side – the side I hadn’t focused on up to that point – the possibility that Iraq was not an immediate threat to the United States, and our assets should be focused on Osama Bin Laden and the Taliban. That realization frightened me because I know how hard it is out here – and believing in the mission is our most important asset.

More and more it appears Iraq was not linked to Al Qaeda and the 9/11 commission pretty much sealed the deal this week. What a blow to all of us. We don’t generally worry about the politics of this story, but on this particular topic, I think we do. We’re here based on ‘intelligence’ that Saddam had WMD and would give them to his buddy Osama in order to kill millions of Americans. Perhaps we already suspected the intelligence was less than solid but I, for one, was holding on to a shred of hope that we would one day find something. Call me crazy, but I tend to believe my elected leaders. It really hurts me to think that men and women died believing they were fighting to defeat those responsible for killing so many on September 11th.

This last week has been pretty rough on us and it doesn’t look like the danger will end anytime soon. I’ve woken up to three huge explosions this week and I’ve heard several more at night. It’s not an easy reality to deal with but it’s becoming very easy to become disgruntled when so much anger, violence, and death surround us. As I write this, there still isn’t any word on Paul Johnson, the engineer taken hostage in Saudi Arabia. We’ve been discussing all day if we think he will survive and all of us collectively agree he probably will not. We’ve heard nothing but bad news lately so we don’t expect to hear about a miraculous escape or rescue.

Someone asked me yesterday if I still believe the Iraqis are happy we’re here. I honestly don’t know the answer to that. They are less safe than we are, and innocent people are dying as a result. Interpreters are killed when they leave the green zone and anyone who works with the coalition or is in a position of power is a target. How can they possibly still feel warm and fuzzy towards us? I don’t know the answer because it’s too dangerous for me to leave the green zone to talk to them.

I wonder if this ‘disgruntledness’ happens to everyone after so many months in this environment. I imagine it has to because I have noticed an obvious drop in morale. I don’t spend my days sulking and feeling sorry for myself. In fact, I spend a lot of time laughing with my friends and talking about our lives in the states. But when talk turns to our life out here I realize how much I’ve changed. I’m clearly disgruntled. So much so that my screen saver says ‘All Day I Dream About Home.’ That would never be there three months ago.

I just found out that Paul Johnson was murdered. I am sick to my stomach. I wanted to finish this letter on a high note. I am supposed to be the person who makes you feel better about what is happening here. I’m so sorry I haven’t been able to do that lately.

With Love,
Addie

The Front Lines

2004-06-05T20:06:00.000-07:00

June 5, 2004

What exactly does it mean to be on the front lines? Does it mean I have to be overwhelmed with combat patches – RANGER and SPECIAL FORCES on my upper left sleeve and AIRBORNE on my right? Do I need to be Air Assault qualified to be effective? Do I need to be a sharpshooter to show I can protect myself and my battle buddies? Am I less qualified to be here because I am not an infantry soldier? Am I doing less for my country because I am not intimately involved in the news that makes headlines on a daily basis?

As I was getting ready for ‘work’ this morning, I was watching CNN Headline News and on the screen was ‘Explosion in Baghdad – 5 U.S. Soldiers killed and 4 injured when a bomb ripped through their Humvee.’ My first reaction was to grimace as I realized the growing number of casualties. My second was the realization that the news I was hearing has something to do with my life, yet it feels so far removed from my life.

I struggle with the guilt of not being the person who is walking around with a limp or a lost limb. I struggle with the guilt that my uniform is less dirty than the next persons. I struggle with the guilt of not knowing what it is like to cradle my battle buddy in my arms as he breathes his final breath.

But what exactly am I feeling guilty for? Every day I get up and put on my uniform and serve my country. I carry around my M16 like it’s a purse and I sweat in the same body armor as everyone else. I complain about the heat and the months away from my life in the states – just as everyone else does. And we all count the days until we return.

Only a small percentage of the military is made up of infantry soldiers. The majority of the military is considered ‘support’ for them. I don’t know enough about previous wars to speculate what they were like, but in this war, the front line seems blurred. Jessica Lynch was a supply clerk who, I imagine, thought she would never see combat – never be on the front lines. But war is tricky and those front lines are often blurred. Her uniform wasn’t full of patches, but she became a casualty nonetheless. Her best friend, Lori, wasn’t considered a front line soldier, but she died in the heat of a battle.

Just as I struggle with not being personally affected through injury and death, I also struggle with the guilt of feeling afraid. We don’t often talk about it because we are embarrassed to admit it. But how can we not be afraid when we know soldiers are dying every day and it’s simply the unlucky hand they are dealt? Those we hear about on television or read about in the paper are more than likely supply, maintenance, or admin soldiers. A small percentage of us engage in combat on a daily basis. I am one who falls under the category of ‘support’ and I never expect to be in the middle of a firefight, but the reality is I just might one day – if I’m dealt that unlucky hand. And yes, I am afraid. I am not sufficiently trained in combat arms. I am basically trained.

There are no rules to this game. You can’t defend yourself against maniacs who are willing to kill themselves in order to kill you. You can’t anticipate when an attack might occur. You can’t spend your day looking over your shoulder for the enemy. And you can’t assume everyone you come in to contact with is the enemy. It’s a fine line to walk - an uncertain one. And it’s definitely blurred.

The majority of us don’t have blood stains on our uniform or shrapnel in our skin. But we’re still on the blurred front line and we all have the sweat on our brows and the tears on our cheeks to prove it. We don’t all have the same job, but we share the same uniform. Perhaps it’s strategic placement on the part of the military to put the U.S. ARMY patch on our left chest area - so that when we pledge our allegiance, our right hand presses our branch name closer to our hearts. Because ultimately, it’s our heart that helps us walk the blurred line in Iraq – not the number of patches we earn.

With Love,
Addie

What's The Mission

2004-06-04T20:08:00.000-07:00

What’s the mission?

We knew what our mission was going to be before we got to Baghdad in November of last year. My unit, the 222nd Broadcast Operations Detachment, was tasked with getting broadcast operations up and running in Iraq. That meant starting from nothing and building a radio station out of war torn and dilapidated rooms, moving to northern cities of Iraq called Balad and Mosul to cover military operations in those areas, and organizing and running press conferences given by General Mark Kimmit and Coalition Provisional Authority Spokesperson Dan Senor. Nothing about this task was easy considering we started from scratch, but the military has spent a lot of time and money to train us and we have done a tremendous job. We broadcast 16 hours of self-produced radio every day. Since January, my team of four has sent 580 interviews, along with video footage of American military and civilian personnel, back to the states. Every day, a group of young soldiers gets together and runs press conferences that are shown all over the world. This is our mission, our duty, our role. We expected it.

What we didn’t expect was to cradle to needs of individually displaced Iraqis in our arms. Its not that we don’t want to; we simply don’t know how. We were never trained in civil affairs. As much as I want to help each and every person that approaches me, common sense tells me I can’t. Nonetheless, here we are with another mission: to win the hearts and minds of Iraqis.

My friend Abbey and I were walking to lunch on Tuesday and we were stopped by a woman dressed from head to toe in black. She didn’t speak English except for a few broken words but her body language told most of the story. She smelled as if she hadn’t bathed in days, her teeth were incredibly corroded and desperation seemed to overwhelm her. She was pleading with us to listen to her, to help her, to understand her. But we could not. Then she unfolded a dirty piece of paper that explained it all. Her entire life fit into a few fragmented sentences.

“(Name) lived in Baghdad prior to the U.S invasion. Daughter was killed by bomb, husband is missing and presumed dead. Home was destroyed during the war. Is unable to find work and now lives on the street. Age unknown.”

I am embarrassed to admit I don’t remember her name, but I will never forget feeling so overwhelmed by my inability to help her. I was almost paralyzed with empathy. She kept saying "no food" and "no money", but she couldn’t communicate any more than that. I think she was on her way to the Iraqi Assistance Center, located in the Baghdad Convention Center where I work. I am not sure what services they provide but I think she saw our uniform and thought we could help. I held her dirty hand and looked in her tear-flooded eyes and I did the only thing I could at that moment: I reached in my pocket and pulled out $15 and put it in her other hand. It’s so typical, I thought. “Give her some money and that will make her problems go away. That will bring back her daughter and her husband and the life she once knew.” I asked her to come with us so we could get her some food from the chow hall. The only problem is she wasn’t allowed past the gate. Isn’t that amazing? An American who doesn’t know more than three words in Arabic is allowed to enter a building in Baghdad and an Iraqi woman who has lived here her entire life is not. Abbey and I quickly ran inside and got her a plate of food – American food of course (pizza, fries, soda) – and brought it back out to her. She repeatedly said, "thank you" in Arabic and she carefully walked around the endless cluster of barbed wire as she made her way through the check point back to her cozy home on the street.

We were not at all frustrated by the woman; we were frustrated by the situation. This was not an isolated event. American soldiers are approached every day and asked "how, why, when, where" by Iraqis whose lives have been turned completely upside down. Our uniform symbolizes that life – the good and the bad – so naturally they feel we have the answers. But we don’t have the answers! I’m sure handing her money was not the brightest thing to do (and yes, I could have been conned), but given the circumstances what else could I have done? Are we responsible for fixing individual problems because we wear a uniform? If we try and we do it incorrectly, are we then responsible for the aftermath? Suppose I ignored her and she takes that impression of American soldiers to the streets of Baghdad and Anti-Americanism spreads like wildfire, changing the minds of those who once welcomed us and adding fuel to the fire of those who never have. Doesn’t that seem like a lot of responsibility for two young women who have worked for seven long months to accomplish their primary mission only to feel they failed the other?

The answers to the woman’s questions should have come from the top, but it’s those of us on the bottom who held her hand and put food on her plate. It’s never easy over here, and we deal with this conflict every second of every minute of every day. We don’t always do it right, but we really are trying.

I genuinely enjoy our broadcast mission, and we have done it successfully so far. I also genuinely enjoy the people of Iraq, and God willing, we won’t fail them - because after all, the radio station will go away, but they won’t.

With Love,
Addie

Names You'll Never Know

2004-05-17T20:05:00.000-07:00

May 17, 2004

I know a soldier who made a thousand people smile today.
I know a marine who works 18 hour days, 7 days a week, 365 days a year.
I know an airman who helped write the interim Iraqi constitution.
I know a sailor who helped rehabilitate over 300 schools.
I know a civilian who gave up a million dollar company to help rebuild a nation.
I know almost 800 people who died for their country.

YOU WILL NEVER KNOW THEIR NAMES.

I know seven soldiers who abused Iraqi prisoners and shared their pictures with the world.

YOU WILL NEVER FORGET THEIR NAMES.

You wouldn’t even know that Lynndie England exists if she made a thousand people smile or helped rehabilitate 300 schools. You only know her name because she did something horrific. Even those who are killed don’t measure up enough to get their name on the evening news – they’re just a number on a scroll at the bottom of the screen.

As hard as I try to get people to bite at the great things we are accomplishing, it just isn’t happening. But put a leash on a prisoner and you are instantly front page news. I am not trying to disregard what Lynndie England and her gang of ghouls did. They can never explain away those pictures. These soldiers have embarrassed our military and our country, and they have threatened the lives of every person who is working tirelessly to rebuild this country. They have undone the hundreds of thousands of wonderful things we have accomplished over the last year. I am embarrassed they wear the same uniform as the rest of us. They may be punished in a court of law, but fate has punished them forever because they have Nicholas Berg’s blood on their hands. And I’m sure there will be more to follow.

It’s incredibly frustrating to know there is little interest in the humanitarian side of this conflict. Every single day I talk to Iraqis who are happy we are here and who thank us for our hard work. I’m sure they are anxious for peace and want to go on with their lives without Americans overseeing every detail. But that doesn’t mean they hate us – it simply means they want independence. Still, you never see them interviewed for the evening news.

YOU WILL NEVER KNOW THEIR NAMES.

If I seem a little bitter, I apologize. But we are sacrificing so much to be here. Every day, another marriage breaks up. Every day, a child remembers less and less about his mother or father. Every day, soldiers miss the feel of home. Every day, soldiers walk on foreign land and sleep under unfamiliar skies. Every day, soldiers long for familiar hugs. And every day, there are men and women dying. We make those sacrifices because we believe we are doing something positive for the world. If we don’t start focusing on those positive things, we are doing a disservice to everyone who is putting their lives on the line.

I wish I was allowed to talk politics. We are the symbol of freedom, yet that is the one thing we give up when we sign on the dotted line. Ironic, isn’t it? I just finished reading Bob Woodward’s new book, Plan of Attack, and my mind is filled with so many conflicting thoughts. The danger of the last few months also contributes to that – as do conversations I had with people during R and R. When you are over here and this is your life, you have no choice but to accept it - so I have - and I am making the most of it. But I overanalyze a bit more than most of the troops. I want to believe that we are here because Saddam Hussein was a threat to our country just as Osama Bin Laden is. I want to believe our President sent us into harms way because intelligence reports signaled immediate threats to the United States. I want to believe that Saddam Hussein was not only bad for his country, but also for ours. I’m not so sure anymore, and that scares me. But it’s not enough to keep me from doing my job and I’ll never stop being an advocate for the wonderful things we are accomplishing.

Pictures and videos don’t lie. But they don’t tell the entire story. There are great things happening and it’s my mission to make sure those great things continue to happen – and that America sees it. I guess it doesn’t matter if I start to question why I am here. The fact is I’m here, it’s hard, and yeah, sometimes it sucks…but it’s nothing a child’s smile can’t cure.

With Love,
Addie

Contraditions

2004-03-15T20:03:00.000-08:00

March 15, 2004

Well people, I am officially freaked out. I am used to hearing the bombings and mortar attacks, the IED’s and the RPG’s. I have even become a bit complacent because over the last few months these attacks have become routine; therefore, it’s just something I deal with. Two nights ago, however, I was quickly reminded where I am and the many ways we are in danger. Around 1:45am on Sunday a few soldiers from the 170th Military Police banged on our door, startling the hell out of us, and demanded we open our door. SGT Campsey and I jumped out of our beds, barely awake but scared to death, and opened the door. Two men dressed in full battle rattle, holding loaded M16’s and M9’s, wanted to make sure we were alone. Prior to this sudden awakening, an Iraqi local national attacked a soldier on his way back to his trailer. This person was stabbed several times on his way home to get a good nights rest (at 1:30am). He is currently in stable condition – he was flown to Germany then to Walter Reed – and we are hoping he will make a complete recovery.

Every day, hundreds of local nationals file on to the compound of CPA (Coalition Provisional Authority) for work around the palace. I do not know how they are accounted for throughout the day or who watches them, but one of them was not accounted for when they finished their work day on Saturday. Apparently, he hid around and behind the massive piles of sandbags (meant to protect us from mortar attacks) and waited for someone to walk by. This scares me. I never imagined something like this would happen. I feel very safe in our ‘trailer park’ but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out this would be a prime location for attacks. I walk the same route home every day; and every day I pass these workers. I never once thought something like this would happen. It never crossed my mind. But now, I am worried. I will be looking over my shoulder and around the corner as I walk to my trailer each night. There are so many trailers and so many sandbags - it’s like we’re mice in a maze. And it’s dark – very dark. Point is – this attack affected me because it was in my ‘neighborhood’ and it could have been any one of us. Moreover, it’s a frightening reminder that when we finish our work day over here, we never relax….because our mind and our nerves are always working.

Let’s now move on to the flip side of things. Yesterday I went with some MP’s (military police) who have been here for a year as they made their final trip to visit some schools they have ‘adopted.’ This is of particular interest to me because I am a huge advocate for the education system and its growth over the next few decades. Having said that, I was anxious to gage a better understanding of the conditions under which they learn. I don’t know what Saddam Hussein was thinking (clearly he wasn’t) when he allowed these children to go to school in such disgusting conditions. Most of the schools don’t have running water or electricity. The ‘buildings’ are in worse condition than dilapidated garages. The text books and learning tools are completely outdated and a library or cafeteria or playground does not exist. The teachers seem to have good control over the students but you can tell these are very frustrating conditions under which to shape and mold and teach young children. The MP’s are doing their part to change that, however. They took a handful of new blackboards (none existed before) and books, countless supplies of pens and pencils, and lots of candy. These kids have nothing. Literally, they have nothing. They live in the poorest of conditions. They use the bathroom by squatting in a hole in the earth and they wear whatever clothing they have. Their smiles are full of broken and rotted teeth. Their hands are dirty and their hair is course. Their shoes are falling apart and their skin is dry. But they have what is commonly found in children all over the world – a huge heart and a warm smile. In spite of their living and learning conditions, a heartless dictating tyrant who withheld their basic human rights, and a scary and frightening war in their back yard, they still welcomed us with open arms. They are, quite simply, fascinating. And it was my honor to visit with them and their teachers and share our hope and optimism for their futures.

After our visit to the school, we went to a ‘village’ to deliver some basic necessities – soap, shampoo, toothpaste, etc. The homes are built on landfills and this is poverty at its worst. Again, we are greeted like superstars. Not because we are bringing them supplies – but because now they can envision not living on landfills and their children, the ones we take pictures with, will no longer dig through the nation’s trash looking for bottles to sell and clothes to wear.

This place is a constant contradiction. One minute I am scared for my life and the other I am thankful for my life. One day I am happy to be here and the next I can’t imagine I have so long to go. What concerns me the most is I am starting to look at everyone as suspect when I want to look at them as friends. I am struggling with the guilt of befriending people I can’t completely trust. It’s an awful feeling. And I’m having a hard time making peace with it. Two nights ago, as MP’s tore through our room in the middle of the night, I hated it all. And yesterday, as hundreds of kids hugged and thanked me, I loved it. Like I said, my life is a constant contradiction.

With Love,
Addie

Hands In The Air - Babylon

2004-02-24T20:02:00.000-08:00

February 24, 2004

Hands in the air. This is what I see over and over again when I am on a Blackhawk, looking down on the country and people of Iraq. Iraq is about the size of California and has roughly 26 million people. Of those 26 million, about 40% are children. We don’t fly very high on these helicopters because we have to be able to see what is going on below us. What I notice more than anything else are the people, particularly the children, running after us – waving with their hands in the air. That is how they all do it and if it didn’t happen in different areas of the country, I would think it was rehearsed.

Men herding sheep, hands in the air. Women covered from head to toe, hands in the air. Children on mules, hands in the air.

I’ve been on a Blackhawk three times. On this particular trip, I was following the Under Secretary of Defense Comptroller. Translation: he deals with money for the DOD (Department of Defense). We went to As Samawah to visit with the Japanese troops, Ad Diwaniyah to visit the Spanish troops and Al Hilla to visit the Polish troops. The most interesting place, by far, was Al Hilla, which is modern day Babylon. We visited the Babylon ruins, built by King Nebuchadnezzar II in 600 BC. It’s an awesome site to see. At the risk of sounding like a complete idiot, I didn’t realize Iraq has such a rich history. But now that it’s my home for the next year, I am taking the time to learn about the country and its people – where they come from, their beliefs, their expectations and their role in the world. Iraq is so incredibly rich in resources and it has the potential to be the richest in the world. The problem is it’s been ruled by a man who would rather fill his palaces with gold plated toilets than put updated educational tools in the classrooms. President Bush said his reason for waging war against Saddam Hussein and Iraq was based on Saddam’s alleged stash of weapons of mass destruction. I don’t know why we haven’t been able to find that stash, if it does exist. But we have found mass graves and they contain thousands of the 1.3 million citizens of Iraq who are missing. We’ve found the greatest weapon of mass destruction. His name is Saddam Hussein.

I read in the magazines and on the internet that Iraqis don’t want us here, yet I see and hear something completely different. The ones who don’t want us here are former members of the Ba’ath party. The ones who lived in nice homes, who had electricity 24 hours a day, who were allowed to eat bananas and whose children went to school and played sports. The ones who didn’t worry about feeding their families or maintaining a steady income. Of course they don’t want us here. Because now they have to share the electricity and the bananas and the basic human rights that every Iraqi should have had for the last four decades. It doesn’t take a genius to understand why they don’t want us here. But there are people who do want us here. And I talk to them every day. They are the people who are grateful we brought down a murderous tyrant. The ones who now have a brighter future. The ones I see running after us in the Blackhawks, knowing we will never be close enough to see their faces but hoping we will see their hands in the air.

We are so lucky in the United States. I am so proud of where we come from. Baghdad is a fairly modern city but the rest of the country is incredibly primitive. Just when you think there couldn’t possibly be homes in an area – boom – there’s a home, or what the Iraqis call a home. They look like they are built with mud and water and they are covered with bamboo-type material. I honestly don’t know how they function as anything more than a structure under which to sleep. But somehow there are kids running around outside and mothers and fathers working on the land. I’m sure there is happiness in those homes. They don’t need all the necessities we have become accustomed to in the States. But thanks to the U.S. they will soon have the necessities they didn’t even know existed…and we can smile knowing we had a hand in it.

With Love,
Addie

Breakfast Stories

2004-02-12T20:00:00.000-08:00

February 12, 2004

CPA is the palace that never sleeps. All the top brass (high ranking officers) and important people running the aftermath of the war and the transition to sovereignty work here. It just happens to also be the place I work. My job offers me the opportunity to meet a lot of high ranking and important people. I didn’t realize until the last month what an enormous task it is to get this country moving toward democracy. A place where its people decide what is best; and learning, for the first time ever, to think for themselves. For the last thirty-five years, Saddam Hussein made all the decisions - decisions that benefited only him and his regime. I found out last week that bananas were considered a delicacy in Iraq and Saddam only allowed himself and his highest ranking generals to have them. The common folks in Iraq didn’t even know what they looked like. Now they are selling like crazy in the streets and in the public markets. It’s not that bananas are hard to come by over here and only the ‘important’ people in the country could have them. It’s just another thing he kept from his people.

I very rarely eat breakfast. On Tuesday morning, however, I decided to grab a bite to eat because I knew we were going to have a long few days (I’ll explain later). When I sat down to eat, I met a man named John Diaza. He is an Iraqi but has lived in the states since his family fled in 1968. I barely touched my food because I was so enamored by his story. He just recently arrived in Iraq to work for the Ministry of Electricity and he said he cried when his feet touched ground. One of his cousins was an engineer and was opposed to the Iran/Iraq war in the mid to late eighties. His cousin wanted to continue to build his business and provide for this wife and kids so he refused the draft. John says his cousin didn’t believe in the genocide and simply didn’t want to go to war. Because of his opposition, he was killed. They found his remains but still don’t know how he died. It works like a chain of command. Someone in Saddam’s regime hears of the opposition and tells someone in a higher position. That continues until someone is told to kill the person who spoke against Saddam. This was the norm, not the exception. There was no such thing as freedom of speech; but they have that freedom today. John said he believes in the gospel of knowledge and he is taking advantage of every opportunity to tell people, particularly Americans, how very grateful he is for what we (America and the coalition) have done for the people of Iraq. He said the US and Iraq is the most chemical form of togetherness he has ever seen and he is so proud to come back to Iraq after 37 years and see his family again. I knew there was a reason I went to breakfast. I meet people like this every day.

A few more fun facts for you: teachers in Iraq made about five dollars a month. Because this was not enough money to support their families, they were forced to become corrupt. In order to make more money they would intentionally fail students so the students would have to pay them to pass. Wrong? Yes, and they knew it. But it’s the only way they could survive. Good people were turned in to corrupt people because they had to. I know you are probably thinking no one has to turn to stealing to make it work – well you don’t live in Iraq. The entire country was corrupt because they were forced to be. If you wanted to leave the country, you had to pay close to 400,000 dinar – about 300 dollars. No one could afford to pay that so no one ever left; therefore never seeing the world outside the borders of Saddam Hussein’s Iraq. Satellites were banned and if someone got caught with one, it was confiscated and that person was sentenced to six months in jail. Doctors were not allowed to leave the country. Why would someone become a doctor I asked? Answer: Because they were hoping it would change – and it has. The doctors here are very intelligent but they aren’t skilled in modern technology. They are equivalent to the West in the 80’s. But with the efforts of American military doctors, they are learning the most modern medical practices. It’s a process, albeit a slow one.

Now on to why I was going to have a long day on Tuesday. I don’t think it’s any secret now but six Governors from the States came to visit the troops and to see how Iraq is progressing. Governors from Hawaii, Louisiana, Idaho, Minnesota, Oregon and New York. The most commonly known, I think, is George Pataki from NY. They flew in Tuesday morning and left late Wednesday night. I was to cover their trip and provide help to two ABC crews who were also with them. It’s so interesting to be part of a highly organized security detail. Our convoy was made up of at least 5 armored SUV’S, two helicopters overhead and military police escorts in the front and back. The Governors went in to downtown Baghdad to visit some shops and to talk to the Iraqis. You should see the organized chaos. We all get out of the vehicles and have to move quickly. All the CID (Criminal Investigation Division of the Army) guys provide security, but we are also expected to. Remember - first a soldier then a broadcaster. So I carry my camera and always my M16. Everyone is looking around and trying to figure out what is happening. They look at us with sheer amazement. I can’t imagine what it must feel like to have a country come in and take over. I know they are grateful but it must feel odd. It feels odd to me. In any case, it was a long two days but I was happy to see them come over. I don’t know if they were asked to come or they chose to but it’s cool they did. I don’t care about the politics of all this. I really don’t. I am not trying to get a President re-elected. But to really understand what is happening and why this liberation was necessary, you have to see it with your own eyes. Those talking heads on TV have to come here and talk to these people, learn about them and see what their lives are like. They have to get out of the comfort of their homes and TV studios, travel the thousands of miles and see for themselves. Then they can make assessments. You all don’t have that opportunity, so I am telling you what I see. And it’s good, in spite of the bad. There is no excuse for the bombings and attacks – but I truly believe the good outweighs the bad.

I have the pleasure of meeting some great people in the palace that never sleeps. But all the Ambassadors, Generals, Governors and Senators of the world will ever compare to the joy of meeting an appreciative Iraqi over breakfast.

With Love,
Addie

“Better to let them do it imperfectly than to do if perfectly yourself for it is their country, their way, and your time is short.” - T.E. Lawrence

Reality

2004-02-04T19:57:00.000-08:00

February 5, 2004

Life in Baghdad is different to say the least. I think it’s obvious from my emails that I am enjoying it here because I am learning and seeing so much – about another culture and about myself. But this is a war and there are things I withhold because I don’t want you to worry. I saw something a few days ago and it’s been on my mind ever since. So it’s time to share.

Three weeks ago a suicide bomber took it upon himself to end the lives of almost thirty people when he detonated a bomb he put in his truck. In the back of that truck was a handful of Iraqis under the impression they were going to work at the Palace. Little did they know they would soon die. I saw the pictures from that bombing the other day. Not the ones seen on the evening news or in the morning paper but the ones that show the horrendous result of a selfish man. I’ve worked in news long enough to see some pretty awful things – car wrecks, house fires, etc. But I’ve never seen anything like this. These people didn’t have a chance. Their skin was literally hanging off their bodies and I could see their bones. It took my breath away.

I don’t generally react that way to gruesome images but this got to me because it’s my reality. That bomb exploded right next to the place I sleep. In fact, the explosion woke me up that morning. I don’t know about everyone else over here but I always wonder why I am not the person who happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time. There are strange realities to being in a war zone. Anyone who reads this and has been in one will understand. Every night as I lay in my bed I hear gunfire and I wonder who is on the receiving end of those shots. I hear jets and helicopters overhead. I hear explosions. SGT Campsey and I just look at each other with wide eyes and continue on without saying a word. But I’m thinking and I know she must be – “What is going on out there?” We’ve gotten used to hearing it and, admittedly, we’ve become complacent. I don’t feel threatened on a daily basis. In fact, sometimes I have to be reminded where I am. Those pictures did a good job of reminding me.

I have a confession to make. I was on the shuttle one day last week and an Iraqi man got on the bus as well. He sat in a seat toward the front, all alone, and was nervously looking around. I noticed he was clinching his jaw a lot and he seemed preoccupied. I couldn’t help but think “please don’t blow this bus up – please let me get back to the Palace in one piece.” I was feeling very guilty for thinking like that but those were truly my thoughts. Obviously I got home just fine and he was just a hardworking guy anxious to call it a day.

I could go on with more examples but I think you get the idea. This is a truly unique and awesome experience. What I am going through now is nothing compared to the actual fighting during the war – an experience thousands have had before me. But people are dying around me every day and I can’t ignore that. I just finished reading letters from troops to their families in Esquire magazine. When those men and women wrote those letters I’m sure they didn’t anticipate it was their last. But I bet they knew it could be. After all, that’s our reality.

Missing you all,
Addie

My Father's Eyes

2004-02-01T19:56:00.000-08:00

February 1, 2004

Ahhh, how do you spell relief? T-R-A-I-L-E-R. We’re out of the snoratorium and in to the trailers! This does nothing to dispel the myth about West Virginians but at this point, I could care less. Life is good – SGT Campsey and I have clean rooms, new beds, a nightstand, closet and a television (no cable) and DVD player. You are probably wondering why the military is spending money on those luxuries, but let me assure you, we are paying for it. They put TV’s in our rooms without access to cable so we are forced to buy DVD’s from the PX; therefore pumping money back in to the military. They’re not dummies. They know what’s going on. There’s a cadence in the army that goes ‘Give you a hundred dollars and take back ninety-nine.’ That didn’t come from nowhere. On the real tip, though, it’s great. I will no longer complain about my living conditions. The military is going to great lengths to take care of us, and after living like a nomad for the last 4 months, I fully appreciate it.

In any case, it’s Super Bowl Sunday and I wish I was home. They are showing the game in the Palace but it’s at 2:00 AM!!! Are you kidding me? No thanks, I’ll read about the highlights on the web. But really, its days like these that I miss home. I miss everyone having parties and getting together to watch the game. I miss the commercials and the (usually) lame half time shows (the exception is U2 two years ago). I miss watching the Today show the next morning to get the breakdown of the ad campaigns. I miss watching sports. I miss seeing Tom Brady in a uniform. Sorry, had to sneak that one in.

I’ve resisted telling this story for a few weeks because I didn’t want to be a complete open book. But as you know, I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I think this story is too good to keep to myself. So here goes. Three weeks ago, just as we were getting in our Humvee’s to leave Balad I got a letter from my second cousin Mandy. In the letter was a small silver cross encrusted with the words ‘Jesus Christ is Lord’ given to her by my father 25 years ago. She has carried the cross with her ever since. She told me she believes this cross has special meaning because it was given to her by a man who showed the strongest faith she has ever witnessed. She felt it may give me the same feeling of hope and peace that she has felt by having it in her wallet.

I put the letter in my back pocket so I would always have it with me. We went to Baghdad, got situated, and the next week I turned in my laundry. Yes, you guessed it. I forgot to get the cross out of my pocket. This was Sunday. I didn’t realize what I had done until I woke up panicked Monday morning. I got to the laundry as soon as it opened but my laundry was already gone. They told me they would look out for it but they literally do hundreds of loads of laundry a day. I was incredibly upset with myself for being so careless with something so meaningful. I felt helpless, but all I could do was go back on Wednesday and pray it was there.
For those of you who don’t know, my father died of cancer in 1987. I was 11 years old and he was just 38. In the 11 years I knew him, I learned a lot from him, through his example. But I didn’t know my father before he found God. The only person I knew was the man who picked up hitch-hikers and took them home. The man who would buy groceries for someone, leave them on the front porch and never leave a note. The man who would read to his kids from the Bible every night. The man who could no longer work because the cancer overwhelmed him. The man who would take care of his home while his wife went to work. The man who sold vacuum cleaners, door to door, to contribute to his family. The man who would speak to large audiences knowing the seizures would eventually take away his voice. The man who taught his daughter to throw a baseball. The man who cleaned the gym where his daughters took gymnastics classes. The man who was teaching his son to be a man. The man who thought his wife was the most beautiful woman in the world. The man who loved his family more than anything. The man who was taken from them way too soon.

When I opened the letter from my cousin Mandy, I felt my Dad’s presence. I felt safe, in spite of the war that surrounds me. I felt God was making sure my father was protecting me 8,000 miles away. I felt the cross was to remind me he is always with me, no matter where I go in the world. I felt instantly connected to him for the first time in 17 years. I felt proud to be serving my country in a part of the world with such Biblical significance. A place in the world my father treasured and studied for the last ten years of his life. His youngest child, the one who knew him the least, finally felt connected to the man she calls Dad.

So, did I get the cross back? You better believe it. A young Iraqi man who works in the laundry found it, put it in a separate bag, and gave it back to me with a smile and a broken “you’re welcome.” I offered him the ten dollars I had on me but he refused. This man makes a few dollars a day at best. And he wouldn’t take the money. If this isn’t proof we are here helping wonderful people, I don’t know what is. And in the back of my mind, I knew I would get the cross back. After all, my Dad will never leave me. He never did.

With Love,
Addie

News From Baghdad II

2004-01-23T19:54:00.000-08:00

January 29, 2003

I can’t believe how quickly the weeks are going by. It’s unreal how much happens in such a short amount of time. I don’t get a chance to write as often as I would like so I have to cram a lot in one letter. There is so much to catch you up on so let’s get started.

Last Tuesday (20th), we went to the Ministry of Electricity. I met a lot of people and made a great friend named Alia. I can’t believe how lucky I am to have this job. Hands down, I have the best job in the military. I go to a new place every day – and I get to talk to everyone. I mean, that’s my job. I get paid to make friends and see the best and worst this world has to offer. I’ll get to the good stuff but let’s talk about the bad for just a minute. Saddam Hussein basically used electricity as a weapon against his people. The folks in Baghdad had electricity for as long as 20 hours a day because they were ‘friends’ of the regime. Translation - Saddam lived in Baghdad and wanted electricity; therefore, the people who lived here did too. The people who live in the south had electricity as little as a few hours a week. If he didn’t like you or he wanted to punish you, he would cut off your power supply. That is how he worked. Every resource essential to life – electricity, water, gas, technology – gone, if you didn’t comply with his rules. I wish you could see the torment and sadness in the eyes of the Iraqis. When they see us, however, they light up. They really do. Every once in a while I notice some hesitation, but I get the feeling it’s because they don’t know how I will embrace them. Let’s get real – they don’t see blonde hair and blue eyes every day…and I am carrying a loaded M16 on my shoulder. I’m sure it’s not the most inviting thing in the world. In any case, a lot of them don’t know how to react to me. I don’t know why, but I put them at ease. I have more friends than I know what to do with right now. I am attaching a letter from my friend Alia. She is my new great friend, and as you will see she is so very thankful for us. She wanted this liberation 10 years ago.

On Thursday, I went to the College of Agriculture. Again, Saddam Hussein didn’t allow any advanced technology across the border so everything the colleges have is outdated. College in Iraq is free - if you are educated enough to go. The problem is all the schools and colleges are dilapidated and in ruins. He didn’t put money in to anything except his own comfort and personal security teams. After the war there was a lot of looting and now the buildings are a complete mess. With the combined help of the US and the coalition, the schools and buildings are being rebuilt and students will now have access to the internet and new technology. Saddam Hussein was afraid of educating his people – for obvious reasons. But there are really smart and hungry people here who have been waiting patiently for a way to expand on what they already know and to catch up with the rest of the world. I’ve learned how wonderfully equipped they are and it’s a joy to see how eager they are for things to change so they can get on with their lives.

Every time I go out I meet so many people. I am especially drawn to the children but I love to talk to everyone. A 16 year old at the college offered my battle buddies 10,000 dinar for me. That’s 10 U.S. dollars. That’s a step up from 15 cents but I’m still hoping for a nice round offer of at least 100 dollars before I leave here next year! We took pictures with him and he wouldn’t look away from me to smile. Check out the picture. We had a lot of fun that day. But let’s get back to the kids. They are truly the best thing about this job. They say so much without saying a word. The language barrier is tough, no doubt. But the universal language of hugs and smiles and touching is an amazing thing. They don’t know how to react to our technology – cameras, video cameras- it’s just awesome to take a picture and to show them the image a few seconds later. They don’t know what to make of it. I just love these kids. So innocent, yet they have seen more in a few short years than we can ever imagine. Their homes are so primitive. There are no power tools, and they do everything by hand. I mean everything.

Today (Tuesday) we went to the Police Academy with the Ministry of Interior. They are training Iraqi police to adopt a more democratic system of running the security in the country. They are giving classes on how men learn to live with women working alongside them. This culture doesn’t allow the women to do much outside of taking care of the family and the occasional office job, so having female security is a whole new concept. They are getting it, slowly but surely, and women are seeing a future they couldn’t have imagined just a year ago. Today as I was taping some Iraqis at the military academy, I was talking to them and they couldn’t understand me, as usual. Then out of nowhere, one of them goes “Fashizal my nizzel”…like Snoop Dog!!!! He didn’t know “how are you” but he knew “fashizal my nizzel.” I almost fell over. I was taping at the time, so I will try to send it to you. We also saw the dogs they are training. They stay in the cells Saddam used to torture people. It’s odd to walk around an area where so many have died - both in this war and before it. The realness of it is not lost on me, in spite of my enthusiasm for what I am doing. I am not losing sight of the horror of this war and the danger I am in daily. I’m just given the incredible opportunity to also see the goodness of it.

On our way to these places, we travel to all parts of Baghdad. Downtown reminds me a lot of China Town in NYC and Philly. Everything is cluttered, the apartments are so run down, and there are people and cars everywhere. The traffic is a mess. There aren’t any street signs and certainly no lights. So it’s a fight to get anywhere. I see cars, donkeys, trucks, and scooters sharing the same roads, and more times than not, the sidewalks. People (mostly kids) come up and ask for money or food. We are told not to give them anything because it’s been heard (but not confirmed) that some kids are being killed for taking gifts from Americans. It breaks my heart. In any case, the people in town are very diverse. I see people in very modern clothes and others are wearing robes. One man looks like he just had dinner with the 12 disciples and the other looks like he jumped out of GQ. I’m in awe every time I go downtown. In the pictures, you will see the insane difference in lifestyles for Saddam Hussein and his people.

Every time I see something I wish I could tell you all about it, but I just don’t have the time. Even the smell out here is unique. The city is really rundown and the signs of war are everywhere. You would be surprised to see how busy the city is – a lot like a public market. You can probably get anything you need down there. Hopefully before we leave here next year, it will be safe enough for us to walk around and go inside some of the stores. It would be nice to pump some of our money in to their economy. For now, however, we trail around in SUV’s with force protection and pray nothing bad comes our way.

For now, however, I am going to bed. We should be out of the ‘snoratorium’ soon and in to the trailers. I can’t wait. Thanks for being patient with my long letter. I will try to write every few days so I don’t have to cram in so much. I do realize you also have jobs to do and don’t have time to read my novels.

Until next time,
Addie

News From Baghdad

2004-01-18T19:51:00.000-08:00

Okay people, let’s talk.

It’s been a crazy week for me, but one of the best I’ve ever had. I have had the opportunity to see and talk to people who have taught me more about the human spirit than I thought possible. I’ll tell you about them, but first let me tell you about where I am living and my new job.

I am at Saddam’s Palace once again and I have about 75 roommates. I am living in the ‘chapel’ of the CPA (Coalition Provisional Authority), a room with such opulence and grandeur I can’t imagine what purpose it served. In any case, it’s overwhelmingly crowded with ‘newbies’ who are awaiting assignments to trailers in the back of the palace. We were told our stay would last a week at the most, but found out today it is being extended for another glorious three weeks. Granted, this place isn’t all that bad. The dust is no more, the porta potties are no more, the air quality is great, it’s very clean, and the chow hall is right outside the door. It’s all gravy…until night falls and it’s suddenly Jurassic Park. I have never been around so many snoring men in my life. It’s all around me – there is no escape – and I want to flip out. Honestly, I cannot imagine being married to a man who snores like that. Don’t yell at me for saying that – I only said I couldn’t imagine, I didn’t say I won’t. But I probably won’t. Anyway, back to the Chapel. There really isn’t anywhere to change so the men feel free to drop their drawers’ right in front of us. No kidding – SGT Campsey and I went to one side of her bunk yesterday and sure enough, the moon was out. A middle-aged white butt in our faces before 7 am. How is it possible to have a bad day when it starts out so wonderfully entertaining? The Brits are interesting people. Great accents – absolutely no discretion. Furthermore, why didn’t I get the memo that tighty whities are back?

Now on to the J-O-B. I am working for the press office of the CPA. I am assigned to cover stories about the good things that are happening for the Iraqis as a result of Saddam’s demise and our occupation in April. I am covering the growth of each Iraqi Ministry. Ministries are to Iraqis what Departments are to Americans (Health, Education, etc). The stories I cover will air in markets all over the US – the hometowns of the people I interview. They are sent from here directly to the Pentagon. From there, they are sent to each station. Apparently, there is a Presidential election coming up and the White House is eager to get the great stories out to the American public. Politics aside, this is a great mission. Collins is a Democrat. I didn’t vote for ‘W’ but he is my boss, and there are amazing things happening. You don’t hear about them very often because “if it bleeds, it leads” but there are so many undiscovered stories and I get to tell them. It’s no wonder everyone is so worried about me. The only news you hear is bad. But there is so much more happening. Since you will probably not see the work I am doing, let me tell you about it.

On Thursday I went to the Ministry of Health. For the first time in 35 years, healthcare for Iraqis is a priority. In 2002, Saddam Hussein budgeted just 16 million dollars for 26 million Iraqis. You do the math. Now the US, under the guidance of Ambassador Bremer and Jim Haveman, is helping them establish an adequate healthcare system. It’s not only a lack of funding; it’s also a lack of skill and technology. Saddam Hussein cut Iraq off from the rest of the world. He didn’t allow internet connections or technological advancement and trade. That’s progressive thinking – and that was a no-go. I met a young lady named Meso, who grew up under the iron fist of Saddam. She went to school and graduated from college, but life for her was “like being buried alive.” She said all she could do was eat, sleep, and go to school. Their libraries have about 100 books in them, most of them were photocopied and the most recent publishing date found was 1996. Meso opened up her own Pharmaceutical practice….and made $1.50 a month. Think about that. I spend $4.00 on a latte from Starbucks. She graduated from college, started her own business, and made $1.50 a month. After the occupation, she waited outside the Ministry of Health because she knew there would be jobs. She is now working closely with the Senior American Advisor to the Ministry and will be getting her PHD in the States. She has never been to America, yet she taught herself English. And now she says, “I can breathe again.”

I met a 72 year old man who has worked for the Ministry for over 50 years. It’s the only job he has ever had. He serves tea to guests and makes sure the ministers are accommodated. This is the first time he has profited from the work he is doing. For 50 years, he worked and got nothing in return. His words to me (translated by Meso), “I am not bitter, because when I serve people, I serve my God.” There are five pillars to the Muslim religion. One of them is an annual pilgrimage to the Mecca. This year, for the first time in 72 years, he is making that pilgrimage. He says this experience makes up for whatever he has been through in his life. But most of all, he still smiles as he continues to accommodate his American guests – his way of thanking us for accommodating him.

When this thing with Iraq started, I couldn’t understand what it had to do with Osama Bin Laden and 9/11. I hated what I saw when the fighting began. I had no idea if it was right or wrong and what it meant. Just because I wear a uniform doesn’t mean I know what’s right. I wanted to believe in it – but couldn’t – because all I could see was the carnage that resulted. My fellow soldiers were dying and I was in California drinking $4.00 lattes. Even after I got here, I still wasn’t sure. I knew we were helping, but I didn’t see it. I knew Saddam was bad, but I didn’t know how bad. All I saw were the long faces, the dirty uniforms, and the distant stares. I questioned the cost of saving another country. Then suddenly, after this week, it started to make sense. There was tangible evidence for me to hold on to. My uniform suddenly symbolized one woman’s chance to get a PHD, the flag on my shoulder symbolized one old man’s pilgrimage to his Mecca and my M16 symbolized the 400 plus who died to make those dreams come true. So when you begin to doubt what ‘W’ is doing, just remember there is more to this than what you see on TV. There are real stories about human suffering and one man, Saddam Hussein, being responsible for it all. We found that man hiding cowardly in a hole and the very people he suppressed are finally able to “breathe again.”

With Love,
Addie

Balad Vs. Baghdad

2004-01-09T17:12:00.000-08:00

January 9, 2003

Everyone keeps asking me if where I am going is safer than where I am now. I really don't know. If you ask anyone over here, they will probably give you the same answer. We are conditioned to believe that it's dangerous everywhere. And it's true - especially in this war - it doesn't matter where you are, it's possible something will happen. But the odds are it won't. Having said that, I'm sad to leave this mud pit we call Camp Anaconda. In spite of my constant complaining about things, I am going to miss it. After all, it was here that I almost found my husband...let me explain.

After the U.S ran the Iraqis out of here in the early 90's, this place was a mess. So in order to pump money back into the Iraqi population (using Saddam's money), we are paying the Iraqis to fix it up again. Every morning a handful of Iraqi men come to work in our building. You all know me - I am not an egomaniac -but these men LOVE me. SGT Campsey and I are the only females in this building, so when we walk in, they literally stop working, take a moment (or ten), stare, say hello, and talk to each other in Arabic, about us. SGT Campsey has no time for that nonsense so she just keeps walking and really doesn't pay them any attention. But I have a complex about dismissing them, and then they, in return, think Americans are mean. That's a lot of responsibility to put on my own shoulders, I know, but welcome to my way of thinking. So the first time I see them, I shake their hands, introduce myself, and take pictures. After all, we just bombed the hell out of their country, killed their relatives, took over their country and now we're paying them $5 a day for labor. It's the least this American can do. So, it's all good - I have a handful of new friends, I am doing my part in the peace process, and I've given them a reason to look forward to work. But I had no idea that I just laid the foundation for a 'promise'.
Two days ago, one of them came up to me and showed me an article in PEOPLE about how American male soldiers are meeting Iraqi women and marrying them. So he says, “American - you. Iraqi - me. see? we do. you – me.”, in broken English of course. So I laugh and blow it off. Then yesterday, one of the men pulls out about 250 dinar, which is about 15 cents. He says “promise, promise” to SGT Dayes, a guy on my team who is guarding them. I was in my room at the time. SGT Dayes is thinking he wants to exchange money and he says “no thanks man, i'm cool” and so the guy says, “no, promise, girl” and points to my room. He was giving SGT Dayes money to promise me as his wife! SGT Dayes about fell over and started laughing. The man already has 2 wives and 10 kids! Doesn't he realize I need someone all to myself? What's worse is he's only 5"5'. My husband has to be 6" at least!

So much for the continued individual peace efforts on my part. I'm now a hostage in my own room when they are here. And it's my own fault. Next time I will “pull a Campsey” and keep walking. I've learned my lesson. They're harmless, except when they make 'promises'. And since we are leaving in the morning, I'm no longer a hostage.

With Love,
Addie

Happy Birthday Michael Smith

2004-01-08T17:08:00.000-08:00

January 8, 2004

This morning I woke up and found a request in the in-box of my email. I was asked if it was possible to wish someone a very Happy Birthday from his wife, Mary, in Ohio and his friend, Rose, in West Virginia. SGT Michael Smith is part of the 1485th Transportation Company and is also based on Camp Anaconda. He has almost 20 years of military service under his belt, including the Marines and Army. He is now part of the Ohio National Guard.
I didn't have anything on my 'to-do' list except pack up my stuff, yet again, and inventory my sensitive items (M-16, ammo, cipro, gas mask,etc). So, I set off on my journey to find Michael Smith, one of 18,000 soldiers on Camp Anaconda. My journalistic instinct set in - first, find the name. Michael Smith...hmmm, that's unique. Turns out he isn't the only Michael Smith in town. Imagine that. So now I am looking for his Unit, the 1485th. Turns out there are several transportation units in town as well. After walking, hitching rides, and wondering around for a while, I found the 1485th. Only problem - he wasn't there. We go by last names around here so everyone in his unit was saying 'I think SGT Smith's first name is Michael...I think but I'm not sure.' Oh Great. I found the unit, now can I please find the man???

Finally, I found him - across the street, in Tent City. He came out to see who was searching for him and I delivered Mary and Rose's Happy Birthday messages, along with a hug for extra credit. He didn't say, but I think he was surprised. And I didn't say, but I was honored. It felt good to deliver a heart felt message from a wife who misses her husband of two years, and to make a new friend. So, to Mary and Rose, mission accomplished. Your message and hug traveled over 8,000 miles and found your husband and friend.

What a great day. My final mission in Balad was a success. And if I do say so myself, I'm the bomb.

Combat Stress

2003-12-30T17:05:00.000-08:00

December 30, 2003

I went to cover a combat stress class early this morning. It focused on anger management and a few of the soldiers were uncomfortable with me taping it so I just sat down and listened to a lot of their stories. These soldiers have been here for a long time and obviously they snapped or something because the class is mandatory for them. Their uniforms are much dirtier than mine, and I felt so sorry listening to their stories. I can see how living this way wears on a person after a year, and it was very clear to me that for these people, it is becoming too much. During breakfast, I found out that a soldier on our base killed himself during the night. From my perspective, a lot of soldiers don't like to complain or talk to people when they are feeling alone or sad or weak. We are taught as early as basic training to be tough no matter what –“suck it up soldier” is what they say. So, whether you are a talker or not, you suck it up and drive on. You continue with the mission and you deal with it on your own. There are counselors set up but the stigma attached to it keeps people away. It's really sad because that mentality may have killed that boy.Most soldiers don't want to be pitied because we signed up for this job willingly. Although everyone is proud, we are also scared and tired and we miss our friends and family. Point is, after a while the meter starts to run low. In spreading our wings and experiencing something new, we sacrifice other parts of our lives. I am seeing the toll it is taking - on the soldiers in that class this morning, on the kid who took his life last night, and on me and my team eventually. I am only at the beginning. I guess that is why I write so often to all of you - so that I don't let it get the best of me eventually...and so I have an outlet that has nothing to do with the military. I am learning something new every day. I don't think I was supposed to tape that class this morning because by not taping it, I learned a lot more. Now hopefully, I can be a friend to someone and less people will think they have nowhere to turn.

With Love,Addie