From

The New Year Seen From In Country: Resolutions Versus Reality

The sound of a single explosion in the distance plunges my heart into my guts. The group of Iraqi workers that I have been over-watching stops working for a moment. They lean on their makeshift shovels and watch the smoke curl up over the horizon. It is like a declaration of the insurgent's New Years resolution. An Iraqi laborer throws me an almost toothless smile 'Ali Baba nooooo good,' he says in a thick Arabic accent. I look at him without returning a smile and then back to the line of black smoke dividing the blue sky, all awhile hoping it isn't one of my friends hit by an improvised explosive device. We are too close to going home.

It has been such a long year and our battalion has had to endure almost every hardship that a modern war against a guerilla enemy can offer. Each day is an eternity of suffering. Although it seems like yesterday that we came into Kuwait to prep for our tour in Iraq. Like soldiers from all over the States are doing the now. My relief that I will be returning to Germany soon is washed by the sadness of seeing the young men of OIF 3 replacing me. The death toll has increased steadily since the beginning of the invasion and appears not to be declining soon. So many of these Iraqi people have turned against us. Since the attack in Mosul the Iraqi workers on camp are watched by soldier escorts very closely. As I stare at my Iraqi laborers, they pass around a homemade lunch, barely enough to go around, I picture them with AK 47s. These men, aged from sixteen to mid-forties, are no different than the insurgents. Some of them even pick up arms against us when they leave our base. They are almost all farmers with some other odd skill. They make buildings out of brick and cement, they are electricians, painters or can lay asphalt. None of them can afford a plane ticket to the United States or arrange a means to get their on their own. They would spend the money, if they had it, on more practical things for their families. What threat would these peasants pose on me if I were back home playing catch with my little brother? Would they try to kill me while I sleep or bomb the building my father works at, blow up the train he rides home in? I don't see it. However, the longer we make enemies of these poor people the more likely it seems.

The last of the food is dealt out to the youngest and oldest of the group. They are all hungry; however, there is no argument as who shall get the remaining scraps. Would a pack of starving Americans be so civilized? They try to preserve their strength and life. My thoughts wander to the people killed accidentally by our bullets and bombs. I think about a mother's struggle to keep her children alive in such a harsh environment only to have them taken away one day without much thought to the lives affected. People's history, people's goals and dreams erased forever. Will I have to kill again before leaving Iraq?

It is New Year's Eve. If I could make a resolution it would be to never kill again. I don't think I can hold that one for long. It is like a resolution of a guilt-ridden mass murderer and here I am trying to struggle with the words. Did I volunteer to be a murderer? The way I am used by my country I suppose I have. When I joined, I imagined the honor-bound Army of the morally pure. I thought I was enlisting to better the world, like some virtuous super hero. I am as dry of honor as the Middle Eastern desert is of rain. My wicked assignment leaves nothing in my soul but shame. This is the mercenary war party I signed up for.

The insurgents fight with more spirit and dedication than our soldiers. They fight for something more than college money and a lie. A person who is out for money doesn't blow themselves up in a Army chow hall. They don't fight to the death in the streets of Fallujah. They can quit whenever they choose, they aren't punished by their comrades, they have no rank structure. Yet, they fight on. Why is our Army different? Because we are not an Army with the support of the American people.

We go to war and then the government informs the citizens the reason for it. Because we are not a democracy. My mother was never asked to vote on whether her son should go to war. She does not benefit from war. I don't fight for the will of my country, but for the elite one percent that gains profit from fat government contracts and manipulation of the oil market. At some point the US Military was hijacked by corporate America. It could have always been that way, however it shouldn't be. Maybe my resolution is to fight only for the people of the United States. However, that is also an impossible goal.

A Red Cross-marked Black Hawk chops through the air in the direction of the trailing smoke. What are the pilot's resolutions? What about the men hurt in the explosion? Are they practical? The common lose-some-weight, stop-drinking, quit-smoking promises don't seem to hold much importance while in the combat zone. Although any resolution I can come up with is beyond my control. Perhaps, only because I am thinking of change I can make alone. If I were united with more people of like ideals then there would be hope. Then there would be power for positive change. As I come to find my resolution I snap back to my duty at hand. I take a quick count of my appointed workers and relax when they are all accounted for.

So as any resolution. It comes down to will. It comes down to breaking apathy and motivating myself. My wishes are steep, however I don't resolve to complete my goals, only to try. That I can do. That anyone can do. As the helicopter passes again the ground vibrates with the concussion of another explosion. More dark vapors stream up from the city. More points to the board as each team runs up the score before father time blows the time buzzer. Perhaps a resolution answered. Perhaps a resolution failed. 'Noooo good' says the toothless Iraqi with a smile. 'No good,' I reply.

Heretic Baquaba, Iraq