A few weeks ago I wrote a blog about a suicide bomb attack that killed many Iraqis, including two local journalists.  After I read the story, I wanted to know more about those two men who worked for Al Baghdadiya television.  That led me to the news that for the third year in row in 2008, Iraq was the most dangerous country for a journalist.  Sixteen journalists gave their lives here last year while seeking the truth and exercising their newly-acquired freedom of the press. 

Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist Jerry Kammer speaks to a group of Iraqi journalists at the Combined Press Information Center.

Why are so many journalists dying?  It is because they, like terrorists, look for places where people gather.  The journalists were there to peacefully collect the news when the bomb exploded. 

The threat of terrorist attacks is not the only thing that worries journalists here.  On Saturday, the CPIC welcomed Pulitzer Prize winning investigative journalist Jerry Kammer to a meeting with local journalists.  They listended intently to the stories Mr. Kammer told of his experiences in the United States.  When they had a chance to ask question, they talked about the deaths of their colleagues, but they also talked about the threats from corrupt individuals and others who didn’t want freedom of the press to succeed in Iraq. 

Mr. Kammer is no stranger to his.  He earned his Pulitzer Prize in 2006 for investigating Rep. Duke Cunningham, a corrupt Congressman and military hero.  Cunningham was convicted of several charges that stemmed for accepting more than $2.6 million illegally.

During the CPIC event, Kammer said he knows U.S. investigative  journalists who have received death threats in the pursuit of their work.  His comments struck a chord with the Iraqis in the audience who are faced with similar ethical dilemmas.

“The work you do is more than just about yourself,” Kammer told the audience.  “You must ask yourself what kind of world we are leaving our children.  That should guide your actions.”

I know that some soldiers, including high-ranking officials in Washington, DC, speak ill of journalists; and I know they sometimes deserve the criticism.  However, as a student of journalism and a one-time newspaper reporter, I can tell you that the life of journalist deserves our respection more rather than our ridicule.  The profession does not pay well, and those who choose it know that the public often seems more interested in stories about Hollywood drama rather than public policy decisions that will affect the future of our whole nation.  And more recently, I hear about another U.S. newspaper losing its battle to stay afloat.  The internet and blogs are a new part of the American information landscape — and the professional journalist can see the writing on the wall.

When I talk to those soldiers who don’t share my point of view, I remind them of a statement Abraham Lincoln made before our own Civil War:

“Public sentiment is everything.  With public sentiment, nothing can fail.  Without it, nothing can succeed.”

The media is our military’s conduit to the American public.  It is through the media that we are given the opportunity to shape public sentiment.  The media, like the military, are both specifically mentioned in our Constitution.  Even though the public always gives members of the military much higher approval ratings than members of the media, the public expects and demands that we answer their questions. 

So, to our friends in the Iraqi media, I say this:  Your new freedom of the press is an important one; it is one that you and your countrymen must not only cherish, but also defend on a daily basis.  Whenever and wherever you see a threat to that freedom — whether it is corrupt officials threatening you or terrorists using you as a high-value target — you must not waiver.  As we have demonstated here in your country with the price paid by of our sons and daughters, and as Ronald Reagan said so eloquently:

“Freedom is never more than one generation away from extinction.  We didn’t pass it to our children in the bloodstream.  It must be fought for, protected, and handed to them to do the same.”

UPDATE:  Just a few hours after I posted this blog entry, Brett Zongker, an Associated Press writer, posted this  story: http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20090330/ap_on_re_us/journalists_memorial.  His story mentions 13 dead in Iraq; I mention 16, which includes journalists AND media staff killed in 2008.  Either way, it is too many.

SFC Benari Poulten aims and fires during recent marksmanship training at Camp Prosperity in Baghdad, Iraq. (Photo by SPC Brittany Gardner)

Thanks to the support of SSG Timothy Devoy and CPT David Hampton, soldiers from a fellow Army unit here in the IZ, the 314th PAOC was able to secure enough ammunition to do weapons qualification this past week.  Always on the lookout for a good picture, SPC Brittany Gardner snapped this picture of SFC Benari Poulten at EXACTLY the right time — capturing the bullet as it left the barrel of the weapon.

A handful of soldiers were able to increase their scores, but all were glad for the familiarization firing — especially PFC Christine Bernat, our resident weapons expert.

Just a game of dominoes?

A few days ago, SGT Kellena Leech sent me a picture.  I immediately knew I was drawn to the picture, but I was not sure why.  I think that sometimes we have an subconscious attraction to  a thing and we don’t understand why until we take a minute of introspection.

She has asked me if the photo would qualify for a Public Affairs contest we have for the best stories, photos, TV and radio products, graphic arts, and special projects that support our mission in Iraq.  Although I liked the picture, I could not in good conscience say it met the submission criteria.  However, I did want to talk to her about the program, her picture and why I liked it.

I sat down with SGT Leech last night to do just that, and I was forced to put into words what had drawn me to it.   As I began to talk to her, the words about the picture began to come to me. 

“I think this picture is symbolic of a lot of things that we and the Iraqis are experiencing here,” I told her.  “Sometimes art says things that represent more than we think.”  I thought out the expression that “a picture is worth a thousand words”, but it seems a little too cliche.

The picture itself was taken a few weeks ago outside the Combined Press Information Center.  Most days the local Iraqi men who work the custodial and maintenance section here gather after lunch for a friendly game of dominoes.  They sit on an old picnic table that has seen better days.   The same could be said for the dominoes that they use — a little dirty and ragged around the edges, but they are the best that can be found.  That does not seem to both the men at the table.  They are making the best of what they have and the circumstances of their lives. 

“To me, that picture tells a story,” I explained to SGT Leech, thinking back to a class I had taken a couple years ago that focused on the use of metaphors to explain life.  “The table and the dominoes seem to be symbolic of Iraq today.  Things are a little ragged around here”.  I guess living through decades of oppression followed by six years of war and related violence can do that to a society — and its picnic tables. 

“Even the way those dominoes are placed says something to me,” I added.  “They seems to be just thrown onto the table without much precision.  You can see they are in the right place, but there is not much attention to detail.”  The same could probably be said about the way many things have happened over the past six years — we and the Iraqis have put things in a place hoping they would work, but they have not been precise.

The final symbol in all of it for me, and maybe the one that is most ironic, is that the story this photo tells is being told with dominoes.   They are keeping track of who the winner is , but this game is more than that.  The Iraqis may not have same expression that we do about “domino effect,” but it probably does not escape Americans.   It might be just a game, but if one falls, so goes many others. 

As I finished my conversation with SGT Leech, I left thinking about all the other things I see every day that are affecting me — things that I need to spend a little more time considering.   I thanked her for taking the picture and let her know it had a great impact of me. 

“Keep taking those pictures,” I told her.

Here is another piece of art from SPC Brittany Gardner.  This time the subject was the recent promotion of SPC Justin Wright, one of her fellow 314th PAOC Soldiers.  The promotion took place at the Ocean Cliffs compound in downtown Baghdad.

SPC Justin Wright is promoted by LTC Ignacio Perez, Commander of the 314th PAOC.

Early this month, I finalized my leave plans with the decision to take a few days in “The Big Easy”  — New Orleans, Louisiana. Of course the days will be spent taking in historical tours & swamp rides & nights will be remembered on Bourbon Street, but my stomach will more than likely be the highlight of the whole trip.

I’m going home to Mississippi first to get some of my mom’s egg pie and ox tails & potatoes, then my dad’s chitterlings, turnip greens & spaghetti. I’ll take a few days in Tuscaloosa wrapping up some of Dreamland’s ribs, Wright’s bologna breakfast, & Melton’s EVERYTHING (especially mac-n-cheese & collard greens [neck bones on the side].)

Now I’ve been making sure I take on extra ab workouts to help my stomach prepare for my “Sip/Bama” tour, & still have plenty room for the creole capital of the world! Of course I’ll take in plenty of gumbo, jambalaya, & all things that can be seasoned by whiskey. However, all I really want right now is a hot dog…

In Columbus, MS there is Skeet’s hot dogs whenever you get the craving & I’m sure most people are familiar with Pete’s in Birmingham. You may argue, but the best hot dog I’ve ever had was the $.75 dog from Gray’s Papaya in Manhattan, NY. WOW!!!!

Ya know, throw on a little mustard & sauerkraut & you’ve got a frank! Well I thought I’d be able to at least get one of the chow hall’s beef/pork dogs with kraut when SPC Gardner & I headed out for midnight chow last night. I had tortured myself the whole way there because I just knew they’d have a dog; they serve them everyday at almost every meal. I know you’ve probably guessed by now & no, they didn’t have my hot dog! Of course my heart was broken & my stomach disappointed because I had to settle for a mere ham & turkey sandwich instead.

Oh, if only I could order online!!!

THE RESULTS ARE IN!!!  Thanks to SPC Hope, Mr. Cat is pleased to announce his new “American” name: Kamar .

SGT Leech shares a treat with Kamar.

Kamar, which is Arabic for moon, is a yellow-haired tabby cat who still joins me most evenings for dinner. SPC Hope suggested the name because of Kamar’s “moonlight visits” to my office.  But (duh duh duhnnnn,) the saga continues.

All my life I’ve always had cats around. My mom, my sisters & I could narrate the never-ending soap opera with them over the years.

It all started with my grandmother’s cat Jane, then our adopted tabby Donovan (who died of a heart attack in 95,) then my teenage best friends Yogi & Scari, who dated & produced generations leading to the present man of the house, Bud (who is currently dating a younger woman who just had babies.)

SGT Leech hard at work, Kamar looking for a treat!

Now, it’s only right that the storyline would follow me here… Maury says: THERE IS ANOTHER MALE!!!

That’s right, there’s another cat meeting me for dinner when Kamar isn’t around & his name is Gravy! (My neice Hannah named him that for some strange reason Gravy & I bond on nights when Kamar is away on guard duty (or so I’d like to think) & is obviously a war vet who is disabled because of his damaged left eye.  Gravy doesn’t speak as much English as Kamar but I understand him just the same.

...and here's Gravy!

The two haven’t been around at the same time but in the words of SGM Falardeau, hopefully, “It’s all gravy!”

It’s been weeks since I’ve blogged but I’m just getting used to the new change of schedule. I’m working night shift now & that has created a whole new world for me. (thanks Aladdin

When I arrive, its almost evening & when I go out for lunch, all i see is the moonlight shining. I don’t get to see or do as much in the daytime as I did when we first got here but that’s exactly where it gets interesting…

You see, every night I have a friend that stops by to visit. He doesn’t speak much English besides “meo’am”- which is supposed to be ma’am, and the occasional nod but he still stops by every night & catches dinner with me.

He actually looks quite American; long torso, blonde hair, green eyes, but his looks aren’t too deceiving. Last night, he just so happened to run into Lt. Col. Perez while I had stepped out of my office which, as you can imagine, was quite the surprise.

SPCs Lee  & Gardner both talk to him & do their jobs of escorting him my way if they see him. I even call home & talk to my mom about him as I’ve grown pretty found of him. His name? He hasn’t told me yet, but I call him, Mr. Cat. : )

Mr. Cat, or maybe you have a better name?

He’s a yellow haired tabby cat who swings by for my dinner leftovers every evening around the same time. I’m careful not to touch or get too close to him or he me but we both light up & seem to enjoy each others prescence.

I wrote home to my neices asking them to help me name him & maybe you can too. So if you have any suggestions, let me know & when dinner time comes, I’ll be sure to ask my new friend what he thinks about it.

SPC Mary Lee's bags -- ready to go last year in her barracks room at Fort Dix, NJ. (Photo by SPC Mary Lee)

SPCs Brittany Gardner and Mary Lee share some presents with local Iraqi children. (Photo by SGT Emily Anderson)

Most children under the age of five have only lived in a military occupied Iraq. Before I came to Iraq, I would hear on the news, various reports of the Iraqis opinions of American Soldiers. Some were heartwarming stories about the military building schools and providing medical care while others were not as positive. I always said that I would love the opportunity to make a good impression on the Iraqi people if given the chance. I want to do my part in building a bridge between two cultures who have historically not been allies.

Although I am not able to build a school, neighborhood, or hospital, I feel that I can still make a difference here, even if it seems small. Interacting with the children and their parents reminds me that we all want basically the same things out of life: love, security and happiness. Seeing the looks on the children’s faces when we give them a small toy makes me feel that I helped provide some of those basically necessities. Over time the toys will surely lose their luster, but I hope their memories of us will last forever.

A week of so ago, our unit had a visit from one the Peruvian guards who provide contracted security services to the U.S. government here at the Combined Press Information Center.  The visitor was one of the supervisors and spoke English very well.

We ask a lot from these guards; in some cases they are the front line of defense against those who wish to do harm to others in the International Zone.  They are also our de facto Spanish-language teachers during breaks and lunch. 

When the commander and I visit with the guards, we ask that they let us know if they have any issues that need our assistance  (SPC Mary Lee mentions them in one of her blog entries).  Though they did not specifically ask for help in the past, we have passed on some basic first aid items and shared some of the homemade treats we receive from friends and family (you really did not expect us to eat ALL those cookies, did you?).  The visit by the supervisor today was the first time they openly have asked us to help. 

It seems our Peruvian guards and guards from other coalition nations started an informal soccer league in February, playing against each other at locations around Baghdad.  They play matches on soccer fields at the Embassy, on Camp Prosperity, and elsewhere.  To inspire pride and increase morale, the team members wanted to wear a soccer uniform.

They don’t make a lot of money, but I suppose they are just as happy as we are to have a steady paycheck these days.  To show them our support for keeping us safe, we told them we would find a way to get them some soccer uniforms, but truthfully we did not know where to start. 

Because we are ordering only a few uniforms, we did not know which vendors would be the best to approach — here or back in the United States.  We figured it would be best to seek the advice of someone who had experience buying uniforms — so we sent an email to Shon Ewens and Cindy Reams at Vestavia Xpress YMCA in Birmingham (see their website at http://www.ymcabham.org/yBranches/Branches.asp?bch=9). 

For those of you who have read our blog from the beginning, you know that this YMCA and its staff were a great help to our soldiers and their families.  They gave each of our soldiers a free membership to the YMCA during pre-deployment in Alabama   Our upcoming military training at Fort Dix demanded we all be in great shape (long hours, heavy body armor, etc), and the facilities and staff at Vestavia helped us make sure we all were up to that challenge.

We sent an email off to Vestavia and within 24 hours we had word back from Shon .  Not only did she have a recommendation, she had the owner of a local Birmingham company willing to send the uniforms to our guards for free — Mike Richards from One Stop Promotions.

In the following weeks, we plan to get some video and photos of the CPIC soccer team on the field with those new uniforms.  We are sure they will be as successful as your loved ones have been in our military mission.  Their “World Cup” championship games are coming in late April and early May — so stay tuned for more.

Muchas gracias Mike!

This morning I was talking to some soldiers from another unit here in Baghdad, and the conversation turned to what we would do when we returned home late this year.  One of the soldiers mentioned what she wanted to do during Christmas, and immediately my “stream of consciousness” brain threw something at me.  I started to laugh, and the soldier asked me what was so funny.  I told her this story about Christmas — and I swear it is true.

About 10 years ago I was assigned to the 89th Regional Support Command in Wichita, Kansas.  I worked as the lone full-time soldier in the 203rd Mobile Public Affairs Detachment, so I was part of the annual family Christmas party planning committee.  Every year, one of the staff sections was responsible for taking the lead for the party, and this year it was the Drug Demand Reduction staff that carried the torch. 

During the planning meetings, it could see it was good having Public Affairs there.  We helped the DDR folks with the programs, public address system, speeches, and other things.  The DDR folks told the others on the committee that they could handle the rest.  We stepped back and let them do their own thing.

When the day of the party finally arrived, the training center cafeteria was packed with soldiers and their families.  It was a great turnout.  We had too much food, of course, and the Christmas tree was beautiful.  It looked like the party was on track to be a great success.

After everyone has finished their food, there was a noise in the back of the room.  All the kids turned their heads when they heard a loud “HO HO HO!”  It was Santa Claus — well actually it was one of his civilian helpers from Drug Demand Reduction.  He was especially jolly and seemed to have had his share of Christmas cookies (so padding did not seem necessary).  Slung over his shoulder was a red and white bag filled with something, and the kids knew exactly what that something was — toys! 

This Santa’s helper walked slowly up to the front of the cafeteria and waved to the crowd.  He then reached for the microphone and announced that he was happy to be here with soldiers and their families…and that he had some presents for boys and girls…but first their would be a guessing game.

At this point, everything seemed to be going well.  Happy children, smiling parents, and a guessing game…what could go wrong?  I needed to wait only a minute to get an answer to that question.

“Ok boys and girls, gather around,” said the fat and jolly DDR staffer.  “Santa Claus wants to make sure that you know how to say ‘no’ to drugs.”  The little voice in my head started whispering, “Be afraid, be very afraid.”

I looked at the other Public Affairs staff sitting next to me.  They looked at me with a questioning look.  I stared back with the same look.  Unfortunately the worst was yet to come!

“Ok, boys and girls, all of you know that drugs are bad for you, but some of you might be asked to take drugs, so you need to say ‘no’ to drugs,” said the jolly one.  “But, you might not know what someone is talking about when they talk about drugs.   I’ve got some prizes for any of you that can guess the name of the drug based on the street name that you might hear.”

OH MY GOD, did Santa’s helper just say that he was going to quiz kids about their knowledge of the street name of illegal drugs?

“Oh kids, how about ‘horse’?,” he asked. “Who knows what someone means when they say ‘horse’?”

A couple of kids raised their hands, and an equal number of very startled parents stared at their street-smart kids.

“Heroin,” yelled one kid when he was asked for his response.  ”That’s right,” said Santa’s helper, throwing a toy from his red and white bag. 

At this point I was not sure whether to cry, laugh or look for the ”candid camera” behind the Christmas tree.  Since there were no media in the room, I simply rolled my eyes and laughed a bit.  “Note to self,” I thought, “do not have people involved with drugs – in any way — responsible for being Santa’s helper.”

After five very “interesting” minutes of good kids getting no prizes and bad kids taking home all the loot, Santa’s helper moved on to giving each child a wrapped present.   He then threw the bag over his shoulder, turned and strolled out of the cafeteria, with a loud “HO HO HO, just say ‘no’ to drugs!”

Folks, this is a Christmas tradition you should definitely avoid.

Today was supposed to be my day off.  I was really looking forward to it, since it would have been my first day off work since December 27, 2008, back at Fort Dix, NJ. 

I was supposed to report for a ride in an up-armored vehicle for a short ride to a location about 3-4 miles east of the International Zone.  I was planning to spend some time visiting a former Public Affairs colleague I have known for more than 15 years.   He works as a Public Affairs advisor for the Iraqi Ministry of the Interior, and he had planned to show me some of the work American soldiers do training Iraqi police.

That never happened because when I called for some last minute information last night, I was given the wrong report time by someone at the unit that was going to be giving me that ride.  When I got to the designated location this morning, I was told that the time my ride had left 90 minutes early.  I called my friend and left a message, packed up my bag and headed back to work. 

When I got there, I found the office in need of some support.  We had a very important press conference and the extra set of hands came in handy.  Although I was upset when I heard I would not be able to visit my friend, I was happy to see that I could make good use of my time.  I guess I am optimist.

At the end of the press conference, I think I told the commander “everything happens for a reason.”  I am not 100% sure what people mean when they say that.  I am not a real religious person, so I am not saying that some supreme being planned for me to miss that ride this morning so I could help the unit through a rough spot back here at the CPIC.   I know some people might say that, but it’s just not me.

What I mean when I use that phrase is that we can never really know what lies ahead.  When I tell it to a soldier who has sustained a set back, what I want him or her to consider is that something better might be just around the corner. 

We can make the grandest plans, but there are just so many variables in life that we just have to roll with the punches and not fret when we miss a ride occasionally in an up-armored vehicle.  Even when I am really upset, if I tell myself this I feel like I open my mind up to the possibility that something good may come from disappointment.

When I sat down to write this blog, I planned to finish it with that final paragraph, but when the Internet opened up, I was caught by a photo and story.  A picture of two Arab men carrying  a coffin splashed across my screen with an accompanying story titled “Suicide Attack Kills 28 in Baghdad” , written by a New York Times reporter here in Baghdad.  As I read the story, each word drew me in…and made me think more about the reasons for things.  It seems this particular attack happened early this morning, maybe the same time I might have been on my way to visit my friend.  The story also said that the attack happened near an Iraqi policy academy.

I’m not sure exactly when during the “early morning hours” the bomb went off in the middle of a crowd of oil workers protesting for better pay, or if the adjacent police academy was the same one I was planning to visit.  I saw no reports about U.S. soldiers being killed or injured in the attack. 

As I write this expanded blog entry, I am more certain that everything does happen for a reason.  Perhaps that reason is to remind me that despite all the work that has been done here in Baghdad and the sacrifices made by many Americans and others, the struggle is not over and peace has not arrived fully.  There are still risks here for all of us, and today’s turn of events raised my awareness that those risks might be only 3-4 miles away (or even closer possibly, if you happened to be on an up-armored vehicle early this morning.)

If you want to read the story about this morning’s suicide attack, check out this website: http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/09/world/middleeast/09iraq.html?hp

Some of my favorite memories of childhood center around the radio.  I remember listening to CBS Radio Mystery Theater under the covers of my bed many nights — too frightened to take off the blanket, but equally too enthralled to turn off the stories that came out of my bedside radio — beaming in from two states away. 

After I graduated high school, one of my first jobs was working at a public radio station on the campus of my local community college, KAXE-FM in Grand Rapids, Minnesota.  To this day, I love to listen to public radio…and NPR is always at least one of my preset stations in my car.  I admit it — I get most of my news from Morning Edition and All Things Considered, and don’t get me started about Fresh Air with Terry Gross.

I don’t know why I never liked television.  Maybe it is just the fact that radio leaves so much more to the imagination.  It’s true with music as well.  Forget “I want my MTV”; I want my radio! 

So it makes sense that one of my favorite things during this deployment is the many radio stations that I can hear.  If I want my fix of “real” English-language stations, I can hear BFBS (British Forces Broadcasting System) at the right end of dial, and BBC (British Broadcasting Corporation) news services on the left.   They both offer me a different take on music, news and humor — those crazy Brits! 

Even more exciting is American Forces Network (AFN) — which is literally 10 feet outside the door of my trailer.  When they announce that it’s time for “80s at 8″ requests, all I need to do is walk over there and hand-deliver my choices.  I’m so glad the DJs put up with my stories of what I was doing back in 1982 (years before some of them were born). 

Luckily, all three of these stations are also available on the radio in my dark blue Ford Explorer that I have been assigned (otherwise known around here as “the Sergeant Major’s SUV”).   While I am driving around the IZ, I usually have the radio playing (not too loud) one of the three stations.  The only problems are that the volume dial is broken and also built for Arab drivers.  I quickly learned that turning the volume dial counter-clockwise did not reduce the volume — 0nly increased it (I forgot that Arabs read from right to left, not left to right).   The other problem — the broken dial — took  a little more time to address.  To ensure the music does not blare at ear-splitting decibels, I have to use only the index finger on my right hand, and only in a soft downward motion.  Oh well, whatever it takes to keep my radio fix from drying up…

If I am feeling adventurous while I am driving around, I sometimes turn my radio to one of the four other stations I have preset — two modern Arab music stations and two more tradititional Arab music stations.  The former ones have a rock beat to the music, and the latter ones have more vocals and traditional instruments.  I’m not sure what they are saying in the lyrics, but listening to them reminds me that I am in a far-away land.

While some of the soldiers in the 314th are watching television or playing video games to pass the time, I usually stick around my work trailer or hop in my SUV, turn on the radio, and let myself drift away from the world around me.  Now if only I could convince NPR to open a station in Baghdad!

Being in the military full-time means having to move — long distances and often.  I have mixed feelings about that aspect of my job.  I like the idea of moving to get to see a new part of the United States or the world — it means new people and new situations.    On the flip side, I hate the idea of having to pack everything up, because it always seem to involve some level of risk — losing things, breaking things, or just straining my back muscles when I pick up that really heavy box.  Luckily, I didn’t have to pack up for the move to Iraq — all I needed was a couple duffel bags and a rucksack (the Army gave me everything I need while I am here and had a travel plan that had proved successful for hundreds of thousands before me).  I can’t say the same for what lies head of us now.

After less than two months here in Baghdad, it is time for our unit to move again.  NO, not Afghanistan.  Instead we are moving our Combined Press Information Center from its current location near the Baghdad Convention Center to a new location on Camp Prosperity, the place where we live.

Although the move is only about 3-4 miles, it is a huge undertaking for our soldiers, the contractors who support us, and others who visit our offices.  Our unit has already begun loading up non-essntial equipment in portable storage boxes (the Army calls them CONEXs) in preparation for the move next month.  Since the CPIC has been here for a few years, it is much like moving out of a house — lots of clutter to sort through and pack.  Little by little, we are resigning ourselves to this daunting but important task.  It’s time for us to leave here and return this piece of property to the Iraqi people and their government.

When we leave here, we will not be wandering nomads inthe desert.  We have a new home that is currently under construction.  It’s a beautiful building that needs only a little TLC to shine — and that polishing has already begun.  I visited there today and the workers are clearing out the makeshift walls, clutter and dust left by its last inhabitants, and beginning to install new internet outlets and other wiring.  Overseeing the project are a team of Army, Navy and Air Force officers.   It was exciting to see the progress.  When it is done, we will post pictures on the blog so you can see our new home. 

Although our soldiers are happy about the opportunity to move to a beautiful, new home, the people who we serve — the international media representatives — are withholding judgement.  For most in the International Zone, change is sometimes looked at skeptically.  Change, even when it is a positive change, means that there are new protocols, new badges, new checkpoints, new traffic routes, new parking spaces, new procedures, and finally, new concerns for personal safety. 

The soldiers of the 314th are aware of their concerns, and we are working behind the scenes to prepare everyone for these changes, reduce the risk for both our soldiers and those we serve, and remind everyone about the good that can come from new places and new experiences. 

I am excited about what lies ahead, but I do hope someone reminds me not to pick up those extra heavy boxes on my way out the door.

BG Rudescheim from Multi-National Division - Baghdad finished his press conference on Sunday, March 15, and exited the stage and slipped out through the door.  He spent a few minutes talking to his advisers and then left the Combined Press Information Center for one of the many other appointments he had in Baghdad and elsewhere in Iraq that day. 

LTC Perez told the staff to go eat lunch but be back at 1 p.m. for an all-hands review of the previous press conference.  We all assembled at the appointed time and began the review.  After a 15 minutes of discussion, LTC Perez asked SPC Brad Richardson what he thought of the day’s press conference, and asked him what he did to make sure it went off without a hitch.

“I was responsibile for the dais.  I made sure the table was clean and the glasses were filled with with for the guest speakers, sir,” he said.

The commander smiled and told SPC Richardson that he had done a great job, and told him that commitment to excellence deserved recognition.  He called him forward and gave a nod to someone else in the room, and then asked SPC Richardson to come forward.

“Attention to orders,” was called out and all the Soldiers of the 314th PAOC took their feet with a smile.  All but the soldier called forward knew what was about to happen, and even he was now beginning to understand.

AS SPC Richardson stood in front of the commander –face to face — orders were read promoting him to the rank of sergeant — a rite of passage for every Soldier as they enter the ranks of other noncommissioned Soldiers.

When the orders were completed, LTC Perez took the specialist rank from SPC Richardson’s uniform and replaced it with sergeant’s rank.  He then placed a patrol cap with sewn-on sergeant rank on SPC Richardson’s head.

Salutes and hand shakes followed — all captured by a camera (photos to follow soon).  SGT Richardson turned with a new smile of pride (and increased paycheck) and returned to his seat.

Thank you to the 11th Military Police junior enlisted promotion board members for recognizing the leadership potential of SGT Richardson and recommending him for promotion last month! 

NOTE:  Several soldiers in the 314th PAOC will be submitting promotion packets for consideration in the beginning of April with Task Force Jayhawk (326th ASG from Kansas City, now serving at Camp Victory).  We hope to share more good news in the very near future.

January 20, 2009 will always be remembered as the day when the “audacity of hope” became a reality for what is considered to be the best country in the free world.  The inauguration of President Barack H. Obama was a huge milestone and accomplishment for the United States of America, and this presentation to the world is indicative of the progress we’ve made in America.  I’ve ALMOST been brought to tears experiencing this historical moment as it unfolds.  I have to admit, I was one of those individuals, back in 2007, who didn’t think the timing was right for Obama to step out and declare his candidacy. 

President Obama’s “audacity of hope” for change in the U.S. has reverberated around the world.  Now young black kids can actually believe they can be President because they can now look in the history books and see that someone who looks like them indeed held that position in the Oval Office. 

President Obama’s trek to the White House is inspirational to all.  So much so, the lone African Iraqis have drawn inspiration from his journey and decided to take their inspiration to the provincial elections as political candidates in the Basrah Province of Iraq.  As we celebrate the freedom and realities of actually having the first Black President, African Iraqis are celebrating the idea and possibilities of running in the provincial elections for their respective province.  

Someone once said “we are like dwarfs on the shoulders of giants, so that we can see more than they, and things at a greater distance, not by virtue of any sharpness of sight on our part, or any physical distinction, but because we are carried high and raised up by their giant size.“ 

President Obama is definitely that giant for us because now we all can see much farther.  Many moons ahead of our own existence, the way was made straight for us by the likes of so many who had foresight to make sacrifices that would benefit all of us.  We’re all able to see our bright future because someone saw to it to make sure we had a better life than they experienced. 

We salute those giants who came before us, but today as we celebrate the close of another Black History Month, let’s not dwell on what has gone wrong.  Let us all try to become those giants so generations to follow can stand on our shoulders and see what the world has to offer.

(African Iraqis: http://www.usatoday.com/news/world/iraq/2009-01-18-iraqobama_N.htm)