Notes from Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq and other areas of conflict in the post-9/11 era.
September 25, 2013
Part 1: Idealism or Realism When It Comes to Syria?
Dan Savage, a former infantry officer, analyzes the debate over Syria through his perspective as a veteran.
By DAN SAVAGE Since President Obama began weighing the possibility of military strikes against the government of President Bashar al-Assad of Syria, many veterans have been discussing the pros and cons of another armed intervention so soon after the Iraq war ended, and at a time when American troops are still engaged in Afghanistan. One theme often heard in that debate is that policy makers in the White House and Congress should listen to the voices of veterans in calculating the cost of another war. With the United Nations expected to debate Syria – and the possibility of resolving the crisis – through diplomacy this week, At War offers two essays by former soldiers, one a veteran of the war in Iraq, below, and one of the war in Afghanistan, on the issue.
One unanticipated effect of my service in Iraq has been the running debate in my head about what justifies our involvement in future conflicts. I’m not naïve enough to ignore the widespread perception that the conflict I served in was an unnecessary mistake – a strategic blunder made by policy makers who expected quick victory, but which instead devolved into a nearly decade-long slog of bloodletting. Sometimes the wars we get involved in are worth the cost, and sometimes they aren’t. Anecdotally, at least, it seems the majority of Americans think that mine wasn’t.
Dan Savage Dan Savage prepared for a mission in Baghdad in September 2007.I was eight when President George Bush began Operation Desert Storm, but I probably paid considerably closer attention to what was going on than the average third grader. I quickly learned the difference between an Iraqi Scud missile and the American Patriot batteries that would shoot them down. I thought the F-117 stealth fighter (cutting-edge technology at the time) was the coolest thing I had ever seen. I was far too young to understand the causes of the conflict; it didn’t matter so much to me – I was 8. I thought war was cool.
Ten years later, when it came time to head to college, I chose to go to West Point. I remember proudly answering in the affirmative when, during my high school civics class, one of my classmates asked, “Wait, so if we go to war, you have to go, too?” Little did I know, my bravado would eventually be tested. One sunny Tuesday in September of my plebe (freshman) year, Al Qaeda attacked America, forever changing the future for me and my classmates. The seniors were chomping at the bit to get into the fight, and the younger cadets even worried that they might miss the war altogether. Only a few months later, the drumbeat of another war got louder and louder, eventually leading us toward the invasion of Iraq.
I was proud of NATO’s air war over Kosovo and disappointed when we didn’t intervene in Rwanda. I didn’t care so much about the strength of the intelligence case against Saddam Hussein’s unconventional weapons – I had joined the Army to punish the bad guys and protect the good guys, and on the surface, the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq seemed to be doing just that. My fellow cadets and I were tired of the cat-and-mouse game we had seen play out with Mr. Hussein since we were kids. We wanted to go knock off the tyrant. He was a bully to his own people and a menace to the world. It was time to give this jerk what he had coming.
Between the invasion and my own deployment, however, my enthusiasm began to wane. People I knew started dying. My roommate was killed. I had seen videos of the burned corpses of contractors being dragged through the streets of Falluja. This didn’t seem so fun anymore. I had chosen this path, though, and I would do my duty. I signed up for the infantry and volunteered for Airborne and Ranger training, because I couldn’t look at my classmates and ask them to take on that burden while I chose a less dangerous, more comfortable role. My idealism might get me killed, but I wasn’t going to let one of my friends get killed in my stead.
I deployed in 2007 as the leader of a 46-man Stryker infantry platoon. When I first set foot on Baghdad soil, I remembered being 8 years old, watching CNN as the antiaircraft fire rose from the very city in which I stood. My unit was tasked with high-intensity nighttime raids in the heart of Sadr City, the most dangerous district in Baghdad at that time. Getting shot at became a regular occurrence, and politics was the farthest thing from my mind – I simply wanted to do my job well and bring my soldiers home alive. Fate would have it otherwise, and in a tragic episode none of us will ever forget, we lost two of our brothers.
In the months after their deaths, I wondered what we – my unit and my country – had accomplished during our time in the desert. What did my men die for? What in the world could possibly be worth such a sacrifice, or the nine years of my own life that I spent willing to die for America in a conflict which many view in retrospect as a poor idea, myself included?
In the years since, these questions have not faded, and today, I hear the drumbeat sounding again. In my mind, I hear echoes of the past – of my initial position on both Kosovo and Iraq. I hear a case that appeals to my instinct to protect, and I feel a strong desire for our country to crush Mr. Assad with the ferocity with which he has abused his own people. While I appreciate the recent possibility for a diplomatic solution, I remain distrustful of President Vladimir V. Putin of Russia and Mr. Assad, and I’m reminded of the decade of cat-and-mouse we played in the 1990s. Part of me asks, “Why play this game again if we have the power to end it now?”
Then again, will bombing Mr. Assad actually make a difference? If our goal isn’t regime change, are we just doing this to make ourselves feel better about the fact that, until now, we have watched more than 100,000 people be massacred by their own government, and we have done nothing to stop it? And if we did want regime change, we’ve learned that doing so essentially means we own another country for another decade. I think we can all agree not to do that again. Who are we supporting, anyway? Some of the rebel groups – not one of which is strong enough to take control of the country in Mr. Assad’s absence – are allied with Al Qaeda, our darkest enemy whose actions kicked off these past 12 years of war. Do we really want to help them?
Military action never comes without cost. Despite popular perceptions of our military strength, we don’t just get to do whatever we want around the globe. People shoot back. Whether pilots or sailors, our people can be harmed or killed. These decisions fill cemeteries. They tear families apart. Each life matters – it’s not just a statistic, a price tag. It’s someone’s father or mother, son or daughter. Our leaders in Washington don’t always feel it, but for those who serve, it’s our brothers and sisters whose lives are at stake.
I don’t offer answers to these questions, and I don’t envy any president for having to answer them. But as the military-civilian divide in our country grows, I think it’s valuable to understand (and critical to take into account) the experiences of those who have served, especially when deciding whether or not to send more of our finest into harm’s way yet again. As a veteran, I am torn between the idealism which led me to join and the realism I’ve earned in the process, and I’m sure I’m not alone. It’s the burden of being a soldier, I suppose.
Dan Savage is the chief of staff at the Institute for Veterans and Military Families at Syracuse University. He is a graduate of the United States Military Academy and the Kennedy School of Government at Harvard, a former infantry officer, and a veteran of the war in Iraq. He is also a fellow with the Truman National Security Project.
Part II: Lessons From Post-Soviet Afghanistan Haunt Debate on Syria
Kristen L. Rouse, a captain in the Army National Guard, says the
all-consuming flames of civil war are unforgiving, and the damage can
never be undone.
Since President Obama began weighing
the possibility of military strikes against the government of President
Bashar al-Assad of Syria, many veterans have been discussing the pros
and cons of another armed intervention so soon after the Iraq war ended,
and at a time when American troops are still engaged in Afghanistan.
One theme often heard in that debate is that policy makers in the White
House and Congress should listen to the voices of veterans in
calculating the cost of another war. With the United Nations expected to
debate Syria — and the possibility of resolving the crisis — through
diplomacy this week, At War offers two essays by former soldiers, one a veteran of the war in Iraq, one of the war in Afghanistan, below, on the issue.
In 2010, I was deployed to Afghanistan to provide logistical support
for a team of combat troops, but found that part of my job was as a sort
of front-line diplomat — an Army officer assigned as my unit’s primary
liaison to an Afghan National Army battalion. After many cups of tea,
shared meals, small talk and planning of joint missions (facilitated by
some fantastic interpreters), I soon gained a great deal of respect for
the Afghan officers and noncommissioned officers I worked with. And,
although their country is thousands of miles away, much of what I
learned from my Afghan colleagues is on my mind as I take in the news
and debate about intervening in Syria, as diplomatic efforts to resolve
the crisis get underway this week in the United Nations.
Captain Mirwais and I had many cups of tea together, and we even cooked together over the propane burner he kept in a supply closet at his barracks. We talked often, and one day I decided to ask him what it was like in the Afghan army in those tumultuous years after the Soviets left. He was at that time a medical logistics officer, a job he said he was glad not to have anymore. He organized ambulances and medical supplies to support Afghan troops on the front lines of fighting against the mujahideen —many of whom had been the American-backed “freedom fighters” against the Soviet army. (The United States withdrew support after the Soviets departed in 1989.) Captain Mirwais said it was a terrible time, but he had no choice. Every man in Afghanistan, it seemed, was fighting as the country descended into civil war.
A woman he knew, the mother of a teenage boy, begged him to take the boy with him as a medical soldier. “They will kill him if he stays at home,” she said of the approaching mujahideen, and Captain Mirwais reluctantly agreed to take the boy. In the morning, he put the boy in a uniform, and sent him to work driving one of the ambulances. That day saw hours of brutal fighting, overwhelming the ambulances and leaving literally thousands dead on the ground. “We didn’t have enough trucks to take away the dead,” he said. He showed me with his hands how he and his men piled the dead and destroyed bodies onto the backs of what flatbed trucks they had. There were no spare trucks to carry the wounded — and so they had to pile the wounded on top of the dead to carry them away, he said. He looked down at the floor and shrugged his shoulders.
“What happened to the boy in the ambulance?” I asked. Captain Mirwais pulled from his pocket a tin of green snuff, pinched a large dip, and placed it inside his cheek. He paused. “His mother gave him to me in the morning, and by night he was dead. He did not even survive the day,” he said, giving a short, sardonic laugh and shaking his head.
“When the forest is on fire, everything burns.” He laid back onto his pillows against the wall and half closed his eyes as he adjusted the snuff in his cheek.
The fire of civil war raged in Afghanistan for more than a decade between the Soviet pullout and the United States-led invasion in 2001. Some 400,000 Afghans lost their lives as a result of fighting between militia factions and the mujahedin, and later the Taliban, who emerged from the mujahedin and rose to power in the late 1990s. I asked some of the other Afghan officers and noncommissioned officers I worked with what they did during those years. Some had similar stories of fighting in the army, some fled to stifling refugee camps in Iran or Pakistan, others fought in the militias. All had tragic stories of death and loss.
Kristen Rouse Kristen L. Rouse was deployed to Afghanistan in 2010 as an Army officer.
I struggled to respond. I remembered reading about Afghanistan in the
1990s as I attended college, focused on my immediate needs and my hope
for the future, while Afghans were embroiled in a living hell. Little
could I have imagined that years later, I would be there, face to face
with people who barely survived. “I had no idea how bad it was,” I told
Captain Mirwais. “I wish it hadn’t happened like that. I wish someone … I
wish we could have done something,” I said, hoping my interpreter could
make my statements a little less awkward. But even my interpreter had
lived through this horror, too.
The all-consuming flames of civil war are unforgiving, and the damage can never be undone. Lives and livelihoods are destroyed. Cities lie in ruins. Thousands or millions are displaced. Children grow up in refugee camps, incubated in ideologies of hopelessness, rage and retribution. Aid groups and other countries may contribute millions or even billions toward reconstruction — but recent history shows us that the most likely outcome of civil war is more violence.
As we’ve stood by and watched the death toll rise and the atrocities worsen in Syria, I am haunted by the lessons I learned during my three tours in Afghanistan. When everything in a forest burns, no matter the sincerity of the rebuilding efforts, it may take decades or even generations to reverse the cycle of destruction and restore what was lost.
I am thankful that we’re finally debating some form of intervention in Syria. But I worry that America’s discussion is losing sight of the urgent need to quench the raging inferno before it worsens further and spreads to the dry tinder beyond Syria’s borders. My hope is that military strikes are reserved as a dire, last option after all others are exhausted. Humanitarian aid may seem neither aggressive nor decisive, but it spares lives, eases suffering and allows the rebuilding process to begin before all becomes scorched to the ground. And it may prevent violence, terrorism and war in the years to come.
Lately I think often of Captain Mirwais and my other Afghan colleagues, and I feel myself wanting to show them that I’ve taken what they taught me and made a positive impact as a result. I hope Americans can collectively take the lessons we’ve learned from our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and apply them wisely in our future actions abroad. We have to remember, first and foremost, that wars take a profound and lasting human toll. Sparing lives and alleviating suffering can be an effective strategy. Because in the end, the lives we save may be our own.
Kristen L. Rouse, a captain in the Army National Guard, deployed to Afghanistan in 2006-2007, 2010 and 2012. She is a logistics planner with the New York City Office of Emergency Management and also a member of the Truman National Security Project Defense Council. She writes at trueboots.wordpress.com. You can follow her on Twitter. The opinions stated here are her own.
Captain Mirwais and I had many cups of tea together, and we even cooked together over the propane burner he kept in a supply closet at his barracks. We talked often, and one day I decided to ask him what it was like in the Afghan army in those tumultuous years after the Soviets left. He was at that time a medical logistics officer, a job he said he was glad not to have anymore. He organized ambulances and medical supplies to support Afghan troops on the front lines of fighting against the mujahideen —many of whom had been the American-backed “freedom fighters” against the Soviet army. (The United States withdrew support after the Soviets departed in 1989.) Captain Mirwais said it was a terrible time, but he had no choice. Every man in Afghanistan, it seemed, was fighting as the country descended into civil war.
A woman he knew, the mother of a teenage boy, begged him to take the boy with him as a medical soldier. “They will kill him if he stays at home,” she said of the approaching mujahideen, and Captain Mirwais reluctantly agreed to take the boy. In the morning, he put the boy in a uniform, and sent him to work driving one of the ambulances. That day saw hours of brutal fighting, overwhelming the ambulances and leaving literally thousands dead on the ground. “We didn’t have enough trucks to take away the dead,” he said. He showed me with his hands how he and his men piled the dead and destroyed bodies onto the backs of what flatbed trucks they had. There were no spare trucks to carry the wounded — and so they had to pile the wounded on top of the dead to carry them away, he said. He looked down at the floor and shrugged his shoulders.
“What happened to the boy in the ambulance?” I asked. Captain Mirwais pulled from his pocket a tin of green snuff, pinched a large dip, and placed it inside his cheek. He paused. “His mother gave him to me in the morning, and by night he was dead. He did not even survive the day,” he said, giving a short, sardonic laugh and shaking his head.
“When the forest is on fire, everything burns.” He laid back onto his pillows against the wall and half closed his eyes as he adjusted the snuff in his cheek.
The fire of civil war raged in Afghanistan for more than a decade between the Soviet pullout and the United States-led invasion in 2001. Some 400,000 Afghans lost their lives as a result of fighting between militia factions and the mujahedin, and later the Taliban, who emerged from the mujahedin and rose to power in the late 1990s. I asked some of the other Afghan officers and noncommissioned officers I worked with what they did during those years. Some had similar stories of fighting in the army, some fled to stifling refugee camps in Iran or Pakistan, others fought in the militias. All had tragic stories of death and loss.
Kristen Rouse Kristen L. Rouse was deployed to Afghanistan in 2010 as an Army officer.The all-consuming flames of civil war are unforgiving, and the damage can never be undone. Lives and livelihoods are destroyed. Cities lie in ruins. Thousands or millions are displaced. Children grow up in refugee camps, incubated in ideologies of hopelessness, rage and retribution. Aid groups and other countries may contribute millions or even billions toward reconstruction — but recent history shows us that the most likely outcome of civil war is more violence.
As we’ve stood by and watched the death toll rise and the atrocities worsen in Syria, I am haunted by the lessons I learned during my three tours in Afghanistan. When everything in a forest burns, no matter the sincerity of the rebuilding efforts, it may take decades or even generations to reverse the cycle of destruction and restore what was lost.
I am thankful that we’re finally debating some form of intervention in Syria. But I worry that America’s discussion is losing sight of the urgent need to quench the raging inferno before it worsens further and spreads to the dry tinder beyond Syria’s borders. My hope is that military strikes are reserved as a dire, last option after all others are exhausted. Humanitarian aid may seem neither aggressive nor decisive, but it spares lives, eases suffering and allows the rebuilding process to begin before all becomes scorched to the ground. And it may prevent violence, terrorism and war in the years to come.
Lately I think often of Captain Mirwais and my other Afghan colleagues, and I feel myself wanting to show them that I’ve taken what they taught me and made a positive impact as a result. I hope Americans can collectively take the lessons we’ve learned from our wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and apply them wisely in our future actions abroad. We have to remember, first and foremost, that wars take a profound and lasting human toll. Sparing lives and alleviating suffering can be an effective strategy. Because in the end, the lives we save may be our own.
Kristen L. Rouse, a captain in the Army National Guard, deployed to Afghanistan in 2006-2007, 2010 and 2012. She is a logistics planner with the New York City Office of Emergency Management and also a member of the Truman National Security Project Defense Council. She writes at trueboots.wordpress.com. You can follow her on Twitter. The opinions stated here are her own.
COPY http://global.nytimes.com
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