Dispatches from Iraq

Back to Jersey

Tyson and I flew into Newark airport after a long flight from Kuwait.  But our journey is not over.  We brought home a number of stories, photo packages and multimedia presentations that we will produce in the coming days. 

I have always liked the Middle East, with its conflicted histories and deep-rooted passions.  I have reported on three previous assignments from Israel, the West Bank and Gaza, but never from Iraq or Kuwait.  So this was a first.  But what struck me about this assignment was something that always struck me before -- namely, that the people who live in that part of the world desperately want to create stable nations. So what's holding them up?

That is, perhaps, the essential question at the heart of every news event from this part of the world.  It's a question that will surely continue to confound us.

I was reminded of that while sharing a ride to Kuwait with a U.S. translator who was born in Iraq but has escaped with her family to live in the United States.  She has returned to Iraq because she wanted to  try to lend a hand at improving her country.  What I remember most from our conversation is this:  "Iraq could be so nice," she said.  "It could be the best in the Middle East."

Maybe someday.  Stay tuned to this blog for more observations and more stories.

Mike Kelly

Leaving Camp Bucca

We left Camp Bucca late last night on a Blackhawk helicopter with an Air Force rock band. Think of this as the military version of that scene in “Home Alone,” when a desperate mother ends up returning to her home-alone son in Chicago by resorting to the only ride she can find — in the back of a panel truck with a polka band.

I don't mean to joke, but the notion of flying around a war zone with a rock band struck me as funny. Anyway, we need a laugh now and then.

This Air Force band, whose name was “Mojave,” was actually quite good. Wearing their camouflage uniforms, they had come to Camp Bucca in the afternoon to entertain the troops, playing a wide variety of rock songs and ending their set with a rousing rendition of “We Are Family.”

Tyson and I had booked seats on the band’s return flight. Actually, “booked” is not the best word to describe the military’s version of flight reservations. About 90 minutes before we were scheduled to head to the landing zone — LZ to military folks — a sergeant with the air controller’s office caught up with us and told us that one of the Blackhawks had mechanical problems.

“You’ve been bumped,” he said.

At this point, after so many moments of frustration in trying to fly from base to base in Iraq, I think the sergeant noticed a look of despair and desperation in our eyes — maybe a little madness, too. So he suggested we carry our bags to the LZ and see if we could talk our way on to the helicopter.“I’ll sit on the drum set,” I joked. No one laughed.

So we packed up, headed to the LZ and discovered there was only one available seat. Would Tyson go? Would I?

We both decided to stay together, no matter what. Then, a very generous Army reserve lieutenant colonel, who is a lawyer in civilian life back in California and worked with military intelligence in Iraq , approached. He was at Camp Bucca to help assess information from some of the prisoners held there. As we told him of our situation, he said, “I’ll let you have my seat.”

So we boarded the chopper, crammed next to the rock bank. And then, something dawned on me. All the band members were wearing body armor, helmets and carrying guns.

“This is the first rock band I ever saw that had to wear body armor,” I said. (I knew, of course, that gun play was not all that uncommon in the rock and roll world. But body armor? Maybe it’s a new trend.)

As we buckled into our seats, a pilot approached.

“Where are you from?” I asked.

“Lakewood, New Jersey,” he said. He flew choppers with a New Jersey National Guard air unit.

I introduced myself. He did the same — Matt Lanese.

He said his parents both grew up in Bergen County — one in Hackensack ; the other in Old Tappan.

Once again, I was reminded — pleasantly, for sure — how small our world is.

Minutes later, we took off, flying at about 500 feet above the darkened desert as we crossed into Kuwait.

In the distance, the scores of spotlights of Camp Bucca’s detention center burned brightly, seeming like birthday candles against the black night. But, of course, those lights were not candles. And their brightness was no indication of a joyful birthday. If anything, they are a reminder of the job still to be done in Iraq.

I could still see those lights when we landed in Kuwait.

-- Mike Kelly

Heart of Bucca

 

A shop keeper at Camp Bucca, Iraq adds a price tag to some carpets for sale, there are several different shops for the troops at the camp, including a Subway and Pizza Hut. 

Notes from Camp Bucca

Click play above to hear Mike talk about the New Jersey National Guard's role at Camp Bucca.

Below, a woman sitting in a waiting area during a visit to Camp Bucca today. Detainees are allowed visitors several times per year. Photo by Tyson Trish.

NJ National Guard gets politically sensitive mission in Iraq

BY MIKE KELLY
STAFF WRITER

CAMP VICTORY, Iraq — The New Jersey National Guard is getting a new, politically sensitive assignment: to oversee the closure of one of Iraq’s largest prison camps and help free thousands of Iraqi prisoners.

In an interview with The Record, Gen. Raymond Odierno, the top U.S. military commander in Iraq and a New Jersey native, predicted that the Camp Bucca detention center, where about 1,000 Garden State citizen-solders supervise more than 13,000 Iraqi detainees, will be shut down next year.

“My guess is that Camp Bucca will be closed sometime in the middle of 2009,” said Odierno, who grew up in Rockaway and played football at Morris Hills High School.

The four-star general, who took over the Iraq multinational military command in September, said he has tentatively set a June 2009 deadline for shutting down the sprawling Camp Bucca.

The camp, which sits near the Kuwaiti border outside the city of Basra, is the largest detention center in this war-torn nation. Several North Jersey National Guard units — including Teaneck’s Foxtrot Company — have been based there since September.

Odierno said that New Jersey Guard soldiers and other units will begin releasing about 50 Iraqi detainees each day from the camp — or about 1,500 a month — for the next six months. In other cases, the U.S. troops will turn detainees over to Iraq police for possible prosecution.

Odierno said about one-third of the detainees who are believed to be especially dangerous will be held at a prison camp somewhere — just not necessarily by the U.S.

Read the full story here.

The Endless Sandpit

We left Baghdad just after midnight, flying southbound to Kuwait with a happy group of soldiers from the Army’s Third Infantry Division. The soldiers were heading home. Their deployment to Iraq had ended.

As we sat knee-to-knee, with our legs entangled amid our baggage in a C-135, I noticed something about the soldiers. They seemed carefree. Not overtly joyous. Just suddenly light-hearted, knowing that their days of walking the tense streets of Baghdad were over – for now, anyway.

I suppose the war does that. In my few days in Baghdad, I was struck by the tension that seemed to grip so many faces of Americans. Don’t get me wrong here; the soldiers were businesslike and, from what I could tell in brief conversations, dedicated to serving their country. But the knowledge that a bomb could explode in any car or a rocket might fall from an otherwise perfect blue sky is like a damp blanket that weighs on you and gets heavier as time passes.

We walked off the C-135 and across the tarmac of Kuwait’s Ali Al Salem Air Force Base, then caught three hours sleep in a tent.

Then, we got up, and journeyed again – this time back to Iraq and the next leg, our trek to the Camp Bucca detention center.

After some help from a very kind sergeant, we hitched a ride on one of the Army’s oldest two-rotor helicopters – a Chinook.

We finally touched down at Camp Bucca just after 2 p.m. – definitely a long, sleep deprived trip but well worth it.

By evening, we had connected with Teaneck-based Foxtrot Company as well as other National Guard soldiers from the Riverdale armory in Morris County.

One image haunted me all afternoon, though. This image had nothing to do with Camp Bucca or the National Guard.

It was a stretch of road we passed back in Kuwait.

As we drove to yet another air base, we passed the remnants of the "road of death" – the spot where U.S. planes caught the Iraqi Army trying to retreat during the 1991 Gulf War.

The rusted carcasses of trucks, jeeps, and unidentifiable vehicles littered the sand.

It was a reminder that this current war in Iraq is not the first time our nation has come to these sands.

-- Mike Kelly

Photos by Tyson Trish

Hurry Up and Sit

It’s almost 10 p.m. now in Baghdad and we’ve been waiting at Baghdad International Airport for almost 24 hours for a flight to Basra in southern Iraq, where we plan to meet up with several National Guard units assigned to the Camp Bucca detention facility.

At least 100 soldiers are here now too. 

All of us wait in a prefabricated steel building with a bare concrete floor that measures about half the size of a football field. The only seating is the floor and the rows of steel benches that stretch along the outer walls.

If that sounds uncomfortable, consider this: The steel benches have holes in them. Think of it as sitting on a piece of stale swiss cheese – for 24 hours.

It’s one thing to have journalists do this. But soldiers?

What struck me about today – besides my own self-obsessed frustration with the situation – was the fact that the men and women who serve our country have to endure this.

The airport is a hub for soldiers from across Iraq to fly home or to take a brief vacation from the pressures of serving in a dusty war zone. In one of the few perks of military service in Iraq, soldiers are granted a two-week leave during their deployment. Many try to go home or fly to a comfortable vacation spot. And yet, there is no set schedule of flights, no guaranteed system for reserving seats – nothing that resembles a modern organized travel regimen.

Military officials explain that the system may seem disorganized, but it is actually a victim of security precautions. If the military had firm schedules, then insurgents might have an easier time in staging an attack. Yet, on the other hand, the system is so haphazard that it cries out for improvement.

Soldiers (and journalists, for that matter) can try to reserve seats. But nothing is guaranteed. And often flights are canceled.

So many are thrown into a version of travel hell known as “flying space available.” What this means is that soldiers (and journalists) go to the airport and wait for a seat to open up on a plane. But since flights are not scheduled for more than 12 hours in advance, the experience is like waiting to eat, but not really knowing when the next meal is scheduled.

I met several soldiers who had been waiting four days for a flight. Many had been waiting at least two days.
And none were high-ranking officers. There are no generals and colonels here – indeed, very few officers.
 
This is where the grunts come, and it’s amazing they are still smiling.

We're now being told that we're on the next flight to Kuwait, and have been given assurances we'll be on our way to Camp Bucca soon thereafter. I'm keeping my fingers crossed.

-- Mike Kelly

Wall Calendar

 

An impromptu wall calendar hangs on the barren walls of Uday's Palace on the banks of the Tigris in Baghdad. The estate suffered a great deal of damage from the initial invasion though American troops left their marks while living in the bombed out quarters.

Heading South

We left Baghdad today and headed for the airport to make our way to Basra and the large U.S. detention center known as Camp Bucca.

Camp Bucca, which is named after New York City Firefighter Ronald Bucca, who was killed when the World Trade Center collapsed, is home to 15,000 Iraqi detainees and about 1,200 New Jersey National Guard soldiers who guard them.

One of the units at Camp Bucca is the Teaneck-based Foxtrot Company. We hope to link up with Foxtrot in a day or two.

As we travel south, it’s a good time to say thanks to all those who have commented on the blog and sent us notes. We have heard from ordinary readers and readers who have loved ones here in Iraq – and we feel grateful to be on the receiving end.

Please continue to write. We try to read every comment. And look for more of our reporting from Iraq in The Record later this week.

-- Mike Kelly

The Airport Road

We took a ride to the airport today, retracing our trek into Baghdad on the first day. 

That first ride, however, was at night. This time, the sun was out.

To drive on the the airport road – roughly eight miles and once considered one of the world's most dangerous thoroughfares – is to understand how badly damaged this country is and how, little by little, it is springing back to life.

Signs of destruction still seem to be everywhere. A palm tree with its top sheared off. A concrete wall with a gaping hole. An abandoned villa with its windows blown out and its walls sprinkled with bullet holes. Potholes the size of sofas. Road ruts that seem like ravines.

We boarded an armored bus – nicknamed “Rhino” – just as the sun was rising over Saddam Hussein’s “Believers’ Palace” here in the Green Zone.

The “Rhino” has become the U.S. version of a local bus service. Anyone can ride, as long as they are credentialed by U.S. authorities.

So it’s not uncommon to find colonels sitting with privates, journalists with food contractors, Marines with the Army. Everyone is alike in one aspect, though: To ride the Rhino, each passenger must wear a bulletproof vest and a Kevlar helmet.

The roads from the Green Zone were empty. And when we reached the “Red Zone” – the neighborhoods that are not completely under U.S. control – a sense of businesslike tension settled over the soldiers who were traveling with us. 

No one joked. No one even talked – it was hard to say anything above the roar of the engine. But on a command from the guard in the front, the soldiers slapped bullet clips into their weapons with a firm “click.”

This daily routine of carrying a loaded weapon in the “Red Zone” is a reminder of how this is a dangerous place. Yes,fewer attacks take place, though at tonight’s dinner back at a Green Zone mess hall, the sirens rang and a voice over the loud speaker asked everyone to “duck and cover” and to stay away from windows (fortunately, it was a false alarm).

Also, as we saw on the airport road, small signs of life can be found.  Children played on a swing set. In a parking lot, vendors set up a flea market. And all along the road, construction workers labored on bridges and sewer lines.

But this is a scarred nation. And those scars will take a while to heal, longer to disappear.

-- Mike Kelly