Breaking up is hard to do

During every deployment there is a process called RIP/TOA, which stands for Relief in Place/Transfer of Authority.  This happens when a new unit comes into theater and then when they leave again.  It's a fancy acronym for the process that relieves one command as another takes charge.

Our Civil Affairs company arrived in theater in the middle of our higher unit's deployment and we recently welcomed a new higher unit to my FOB here in Afghanistan.  For the past few weeks, we've been involved in the RIP/TOA process between the two units.  The old unit is heading back to the states, the new unit is just getting their feet wet, and I've made a few observations.

It's not better, it's not worse, it's just different.  I keep this phrase foremost on my mind during a deployment transfer process because it speaks volumes about the changes and challenges you encounter.  One unit's way of doing business is usually very different from another unit's.  For example, we are in the process of transitioning Afghanistan into the hands of the Afghans as we look to extricate a significant military presence by 2014.  Because of this strong effort, the military is stepping back to allow the Department of State to take a much more prominent role.

This has a direct impact on how we do business on the military side.  You could say the old unit, with ownership of the area, did it better by entrenching themselves at every level of Afghan government.  You could say the new unit has made it worse by stepping away from this involvement.  But I don't think that's the case, it's just different.  The new unit has a new set of challenges in relationship to the planned pull out of troops and as such needs to approach the problem set differently.  If that means reducing the prominence of the military in order to promote the prominence of the Department of State, even if it reduces our influence, it's the right decision.

First impressions shouldn't be lasting impressions.  The old commander of this area was a very affable, if formidable, leader.  He often joked with his staff and was very inclusive in his leadership style.  The new commander's first impression was exactly the opposite.  A stern, smile-less face accompanied him on many of his first meetings leaving many of us that served both units with the impression that he was difficult, unyielding, and solely focused on the kinetic fight.

I had the opportunity to meet with him one on one the other day and he is anything but his first impression.  The man is genuinely intelligent and understands the importance of the governance and development efforts we're undertaking here in Afghanistan.  I look forward to working with him over the next few months.

Complacency here has a whole different meaning.  One of the biggest problems you face when leaving theater after a year-long deployment is "senioritis."  Many of us have experienced this in our high school years, that time between exams and graduation when you relax your standards, take greater liberties with those around you and sometimes simply not show up.  But here in Afghanistan, senioritis gets you killed.

About a month before this unit pulled out, another unit under our Brigade became complacent.  When you are out on a mission to an area you've been before, it doesn't matter if you've been there once or a hundred times, you never try to do the same thing twice in the same place twice.  That gives the enemy the ability to judge your patterns and prepare an effective assault.

That small unit went out on a patrol and in their complacency, ignored these rules and stopped at the same place to rest at the same time three days in a row.  On the third day, an IED was set off where they would rest - they lost two soldiers and a few others will spend a long time in recovery.  We don't have the option of ever letting our guard down, whether it's day one or it's day three hundred and sixty five.

You never forget the friends you make in war.  When the old unit's last personnel were on the bird and flying away, I was genuinely sad about watching these friends leave.  It wasn't about them going home without me, it was that the relationships we developed were formed more quickly and were more lasting than they would have been if we had known each other in the civilian world.

Billy Joel wrote lyrics some years ago about soldiers from the Vietnam war where he sang, "we would all go down together."  These soldiers and I had been in firefights, been hit by IEDs, run to bunkers when the mortars came flying in, and said a final goodbye to friends that didn't make it the whole tour.  I will miss those soldiers but I am happy for those that were able to return to their families and friends.

The future will be challenging as we continue to push for transition here in Afghanistan.  I head home on leave soon and am not looking forward to getting on the flight back here.  I know things will continue to change when I'm gone and I'll need time to re-adjust on my return.

I know I've already changed a bit myself from this experience.  I'm not any better, not any worse, I'm just different.

Character by association

An open letter to my best friend:

I read a Japanese proverb today, "when the character of a man is not clear to you, look at his friends," and couldn't stop thinking what a difference you and your friendship have made in my life.  It seems only yesterday when we met though it was so long ago I had hair on the top of my head, I was very single and wasn't really thinking about the future.

When we met, I didn't think we were going to develop a friendship that was going to last this long.  We were simply too different, you had your own path to follow and me, well, I really didn't have much of an idea what path I was on let alone where it was heading.  Our friendship had a few stalled starts because that's sometimes how life happens.  Building friendship - true friendship at least - is something we had to work at.

Over the years our friendship has developed such that trust is implicit, communication is easy and we've discovered a great many things that we share an interest in.  All the things a true friendship is supposed to be.  At some point it's good to have a friendship where the hard work is done and you can really enjoy just being friends and I'm grateful we've reached that point.  Sure, there are always things to do to make sure the friendship doesn't become stale, but that becomes less and less of an effort over time.

The benefit of being associated with you isn't that I can publicly claim you as a friend, it isn't that you have a pick-up truck I can borrow and it isn't that you host great football parties.  It's that you help make me a better person as I look to you for inspiration, an example of how to live my own life.

If the Japanese proverb is correct, then I am deeply thankful for character by association.  I know you are regarded in the highest esteem personally and professionally, have an extremely positive outlook on life, are a great mediator with an even-keeled personality, and possesses an unimpeachable work ethic.  I am fortunate that by this association, people might look at me a little differently (and hopefully a bit more forgiving of my personality flaws) because of how they view your character.

I know that life is especially difficult for you right now, but I can say with certainty it's not impossible - something I learned from you that I wanted to remind you of.  I'm thankful that one of the most important lessons I've learned from you is how to put my own need for support off to the side to devote support to someone else.  I hope that I'm able to provide the same level of support, care and understanding that you've shown me over the years to help you get through the rough times.  It's your character to look on the brighter side of things, to look past the difficulties to the goal.  I'm hoping to remind you that it's your character, the true person you are, that will help get you through this.

I know things are difficult and I wish I could be there in person to help you through it all.  Just know how thankful I am that you have been my best friend for all these years and I look forward to many more.

I'll be home soon, I love you Carrie Lou.

Time

How many times have you thought, “If only I had more time!”  I don’t think it matters if it was while cleaning the house before your mother arrives, in the hours before college finals or when your boss is hovering over you because you didn’t get a 10-hour project done in 30 minutes.  In the end, it’s the same; the perception of time running out can be a strong motivator.

It doesn't get easier

Warning: some graphic detail.

A question I am often asked is, "does it get any easier the longer you are in Afghanistan?"  You might guess the short answer is both yes and no, somedays yes and some no.  Yes, it gets easier because more things become familiar and the pangs of family separation ease.  Yet also no, because all it takes is one day to remind you of all the reasons why you have resigned yourself that wiping the Taliban off the face of the earth is what may be required to cure this country of its ills.  It's those days that never get easier.

I am privileged to be able to work for peace and development here in an economically burgeoning province.  I work with local officials, meet with village elders, travel to project sites and meet locals feeding their families with American dollars on projects we sponsor.  It's rewarding and frustrating, but for the most part, my day is spent trying to help build Afghanistan.  But this day was not one where I felt positive; in fact, I could not have felt any more disheartened. 

This feeling started several days ago when I was meeting with a group of provincial line directors to discuss the status of some of our projects.  One of those projects is to help develop a local bazaar that is doing so well, it is running out of room.  It also could benefit from extending the municipal water supply and electrical grid to support business growth other than just necessities.  The people whose shops are in the bazaar are legitimate entrepreneurs, building their business in an area where they are under constant threat of intimidation and violence.  The locals you meet there are friendly and for the most part, the elders welcome us.

We discussed a number of options for the bazaar including how the Afghan government could also support its growth.  It was a productive meeting and we found a possible way forward.  Just as we were moving on to another topic, we felt a loud blast that shook the room's single pane windows to the point they might break from the shock.  What was surprising was the fact that none of us really seemed all that concerned.  These events are all too common.

The real disappointment came when we heard more details about the blast - it was an IED that was detonated in the same bazaar we had just talked about.  Our discussions then went from how to build the bazaar's capacity to how we might have to rebuild the bazaar.  The innocent civilian lives that are lost and the toll the Afghan people are extracting upon themselves is incomprehensible to me.  As we left the meeting, we all knew that even the best intentions, some things are completely out of our control.

The few days after that meeting was one of the worst and leaves me seething.  Two young boys, that were not yet teenagers, became entangled in the Taliban's web of violence.  I had blogged once before about the Taliban sending children into harm's way in order to draw attention or draw fire from Coalition Forces.  Thankfully they haven't been that successful; however, the Taliban are nothing if not resourceful at finding ways to wreak havoc on their own people.  

The two boys were apparently given money to emplace an IED on a road.  That IED went off prematurely and killed one of the boys instantly, the other boy had a chance to live.  He was rushed to the local Army base missing an arm and a leg, both torn off by the blast.  The only reason he was still alive is because he wasn't the one carrying the IED.  His courier was carrying him, covered in blood, and pleading with the soldiers at the gate to let him in.  

It's hard for a young soldier at a gate to weigh such a decision in his mind with precious little time.  He hesitated; unsure what to do, likely shocked by the scene, and called his higher.  The soldier couldn't understand the pleas for help in Pashto as frantic discussions ensued on whether to let the boy onto the base.  There are legitimate reasons for being cautious.  The Taliban try every tactic they can to gain an advantage, this could be another one of those tactics.

The officers in charge of the entry point rushed to put on all their kit (body armor, helmets, etc.) and get to the gate to assess the situation.  Meanwhile, the boy was fading and seconds became minutes.  By the time the decision was made to let the boy in and provide advanced care, the deepening pools of moist, red blood that filled around the feet of the man carrying him foretold the end of the story as the boy's wails had fallen silent - it was too late.  

I don't want to assume we could have saved the life of this boy, and I don't want to second-guess the actions of the soldiers at the entry point.  The boy's injuries were severe and the soldiers were just trying to prevent more lives from being lost.  The only bad decision that was made was by the Taliban, using children as their pawns in a sadistic game of chess.

I cannot see any quality in the Taliban leadership that speaks of honor or courage as they only impose fear and terror on their fellow Afghans.  I cannot see any actions by the Taliban to improve Afghanistan as they only seek to improve their own power base.  I cannot see any value in allowing their leadership to live.  The first time I had an insurgent in my sights, I hesitated as I wondered for a second whether taking his life would be the right decision.  I'm past that.