|
The compound is composed of a few dozen villas. I am spending the night in a relatively luxurious one in the room of one of their "executives" who is out of town. I was going to say "brass" but they are really more like management or executives than military brass; or perhaps "commanders" works well; equally at home in a battlefield and a boardroom.
The facts and observations below are all true but I am changing and switching a few details so that the particular compound and individuals are not readily identifiable. I do this because (only somewhat tongue-in-cheek) these are not people that I want to be on the wrong side of, but more importantly because whatever you think of the way contractors operate and the fact that we hire mercenaries, the individuals and particular company I visited are not at fault nor would I want to single them out just because they happened to be hospitable to me. Insofar as you agree with me that there is a problem, the fault lies with the system and the America's utilization of private for-profit armed militias.
The guards throughout this compound are Angolan, and their commanding officers (or "managers") are South African. The senior staff they protect are a variety of nationalities including American, Western European, Egyptian, and Romanian, and stateless. The company that employs them, like most (all?) of them, is American. Mercenaries have always existed and have participated on all sides of major wars, but the corporatization of mercenaries is a startling spectacle to behold and Iraq is ground zero.
Concrete bunkers form a maze throughout the compound, and walking around the compound staring into the eyes of armed Angolans, images flash in my head of the movies Blood Diamonds and Lord of War and I wonder what kind of life stories these men have. The hardened and sometimes battle-scarred faces stare back as they check to see that I'm wearing the correct company badge to let me pass by. One time they spotted me with my camera and they called over their supervisor who "reminded" me not to take pictures and then thankfully let me on my way.
I have been able to take far fewer pictures than I had hoped; Photographs are generally not allowed anywhere someone official can see you. There are two kinds of photography-forbidden zones, one in which they will warn you to put away your camera and stop taking pictures, and another in which they will shoot you. I do not pull my camera out in areas where they might shoot first and ask questions later, and I've only been successful a few times in covertly filming fairly mundane areas before being caught in "warning" areas. Every time I film in a "warning" area I am taking the risk that they will take all my film (tapes) away and I will lose everything I have. So I have some film I will digitize when I get back, but precious little.
I couldn't help but feel that the armed mercenaries would just as soon shoot me as not shoot me; it's all in a day's work. Needless to say, I am posting this blog after I have left Iraq and am now safely in Amman. Fear is an instinctual and subconscious response. Surely we've all felt our hair rise and our senses heighten. On this trip, I felt more fear on the mercenary compound than anywhere else including the streets of Baghdad.
A Dire Prediction
I think it likely that there will be a mutiny from within the lower ranks of contractors. It's only a matter of time. The fact that they are of various nationalities and speak different languages might mean it will be a poorly coordinated and easily put down mutiny, but it is a virtual certainty to occur if the presence of armed contractors continues; the people at the bottom of the chain of command have all the guns and outnumber all the others. They don't have a heck of a lot to lose (they are working in Iraq as mercenaries for $1,000/month after all) and I highly doubt they have any scruples relating to war given their line of work.
I frankly asked the executive (commander?) of the compound about this, and his answer was far from reassuring. He recognized the possibility but said that because (in this case) the commanders of the Angolans were South African, they spoke the same language and understood "how to keep them happy." Right..
All it will take is a slight, real or perceived, from a corporate employer; perhaps a late paycheck, a corporate error that costs lives, or orders that the mercenaries don't want to follow. It's a question of when and how, not whether this occurs. At its best, the mutiny will be a work-stoppage; at its worst there could be bloodshed on all sides. Inevitably a company will have hard times or greedy executives, a paycheck will be missed, and so meone will need to break the news to the guy who has been shooting people for a living since he was fourteen.
I believe that taxpayer money should not go towards private contractors to operate militia forces. Corporations should be prohibited from operating armed militias for combat operations. We will regret it if we don't pass a law to set parameters around the hiring of contractors and encourage other nations to do the same (perhaps seek a United Nations approach towards eliminating corporate mercenaries). There can be a place for private contractors in a war situation, but we should not place the contractors into combat roles like manning checkpoints and conducting official searches. We must not privatize the core purpose of our military. I will introduce a bill in congress to ban corporations from operating armed militias in combat operations.
I am most interested in the contractors who bear arms and organize fighting forces. Who owns them? How large are their respective contracts? Can anyone direct me to a consolidated list of armed corporate contractors that operate in the Iraq theater and elsewhere? If so please post the link in the comments.
If no one can find a site like this, let's start one. Let me know if you're willing to help be a researcher; this will be an all-volunteer effort to promote transparency and advocate for the end of arming corporations.
The cafeteria hall at the mercenary compound was far better than I had all trip (although that's a pretty low bar). The contractors' cafeteria features a great buffet offering and had the appearance of a mediocre college dining hall (five-star by Iraq standards!). They even bake the bread on premises and have staples like hard boiled eggs, fish, and chicken which are vastly superior to the extremely limited food available at the Al-Rashid. Our American troops are not allowed to drink any alcohol in Iraq, but the mercenaries imbibe freely. One mentioned that American troops stop by from time to time for the better meals.
This is the only mercenary compound that I have ever seen, so I don't have a basis for comparison, but it is in a luxury neighborhood and probably ranks among the nicer compounds. The pay is better too (except for the armed Angolans). I was told that the contractor is "leasing" all the houses from the original owners, most of whom are in exile in Jordan and Syria, but I have no idea about whether it is at market rates or if payments are even being made. If I owned one of these houses where the mercenaries are staying in and valued my life, I highly doubt I would tell them "no."
We sat with the senior manager/executive/commander in charge of the compound. We had a great discussion about their work and who their employees are; he said that three kinds of people sign on to become contractors in Iraq: Misfits, Missionaries, and Mercenaries. The misfits are those who are socially awkward, perhaps seek adventure, or simply don't get along well with others. The Missionaries are those who believe that we are bringing freedom to the Iraqi people and are there to help. The mercenaries are just there to earn a buck (or a Peso, or a Dinar, or a Euro).
After hours, everyone gathered in one of two bars on the mercenary compound. The westerners generally tended towards the Red Kangaroo across the compound (about 100 yards) from our apartment. The makeshift bar was 50% Jabba the Hut's den and 50% M*A*S*H's "swamp". Playing "Don't you love me baby" and filled with cigarette smoke, the mascot is a red kangaroo with two inflatable versions on the walls, which are painted a garish red to echo the theme. A nice CD sound system, a dartboard, a well-stocked bar, a kitchen table, and some couches fill out the ~800 sq/ foot room.
At the bar, I talked to a short, 50ish bespectacled man with a bad comb-over and distinct eye twitch. I asked him where he was from and he said "everywhere" and elaborated that "I was born in Czechoslovakia which no longer exists and have lived all over and don't consider any place home." An American visitor who was here with me, and whom I had talked with about the three M's a little earlier (and who had a couple beers) asked whether our stateless friend was a misfit, mercenary, or missionary and the crumpled contractor readily responded "half misfit and half mercenary." His self-honesty was admirable and he didn't delay a moment before responding.
The senior ranks of contractors providing technical expertise to the Iraqi government are nearly all over fifty. There are a few in their forties and I think I met only one under age thirty. They are a hardened lot. Some have worked oil rigs, some have worked other wars, some are just out of the military, and some just don't say (and I'm not about to press them). The armed mercenaries themselves from South Africa, Angola, Uganda, Peru, and Chile among other nations are perhaps in their late 20s, 30s, and 40s but it is hard to tell because they are so battle-hardened and old for their chronological age.
Before I left America, a good friend of mine warned me to be nice, polite, and courteous to the contractors here because it would be easy to have me killed as an "accident" if I published anything they didn't like. I only slept two hours tonight mostly because I wanted to complete writing this post, but also because my friend's words echoed in my head and I tried to stay alert.
The first question here is always "who are you with?" rather than "where are you from?" The contractors hold their corporate identity above their national identity. Indeed, they come from many nations and the common corporate culture bonds them and allows them to work together for their mutual benefit. It is eerily reminiscent of the post-nation state futures depicted in dystopian corporatocracy science fiction or anime. To a person, the contractors we talked to were confused by us because we were with an NGO and not a corporation.
Some of the contractors are American (at this compound, perhaps a quarter are). They are typically social eccentrics over age fifty. One of the more obvious "misfits" I played darts with at the Red Kangaroo was a pleasantly mannered accountant in his fifties with flowing white hair and a penchant for repeating himself and asking the same question over and over. He also had his own set of darts he didn't let anyone else touch and said he always takes his food back to his room and eats alone. Among his more rational behaviors, he said he never goes to the PV in the International Zone (where I went yesterday, with the well stocked American commissary) to shop and rather makes due with what he has on the compound, because "I don't want to die over a bag of potato chips." He added the cynical (but not altogether unjustified) remark that if he were to die over a bag of potato chips the official story released by the government would probably be that he died "heroically fighting to bring freedom to the people of Iraq."
After playing darts, I stopped by the hookah lounge which was just closing. It was mostly patronized by the non-American contractors on site including many Iraqis that work for this Company. It was a more lively scene than the Red Kangaroo, but not very many of them spoke English so I wasn't able to connect as well.
The bedroom was incredible. One-room dormitories and workspace now filled what was once a proud family mansion with its own drained swimming pool and three full stories including a pool table in the basement. Built in white marble, it was extremely tasteful and it seemed awkward that four people had desks in the foyer. Each of the villas on the compound had the feel of a frat house; individual doors leading to rooms were decorated with posters on the outside and an air of loose camaraderie prevailed.
Adding insult to injury
Part of the problem with the occupation is the way that the planners of invasion had utter disregard for the honor of Iraqis. I've been told Iraqis value "honor" even more than Americans do, but we too are a people with some degree of honor and pride and it shouldn't be too hard for us to understand these matters.
For instance, in addition to occupying the Republican Palace (the closest thing to our White House) as our embassy and major base of operations, we have renamed their major roads for our own convenience. I saw a map of Bagdhad on the wall of a contractor's compound that showed major streets posted over with names like: Cardinals, Huskies, Oilers, Irish, and Pluto. I was told that names like these are the official names that our forces "gave" to major Bagdhad roads.
Can you imagine how it would feel to wake up one day and discover that the veins and arteries of your ancient city have been renamed by the invading forces for their favorite sports teams, as if the occupation were some sort of game?
I realize that it might be a little harder for members of our military to learn the real Iraqi names for things, but it is worth it in public perception rather than renaming their major roads for our own convenience after sports teams. That's just demeaning. This is typical of the incompetent way this invasion has been handled; According to Wikipedia, "Route Irish and the other MSRs and ASRs in Iraq were named during the invasion planning period." People are people. We need to put ourselves in their place for goodness sakes and imagine how we would feel if the shoe was on the other foot! Iraqis are no different than us.
Return to Amman
Much like the American invasion of Iraq itself, I too found that leaving Iraq is much more difficult than getting in. No, there is not an automatic Kiosk in Baghdad airport. There really isn't even an airline agent. Our flight was scheduled for 2:30 pm, but after my restless two hours of sleep we were taken to the airport at 7:00 am because that is right after American troops clear the "Irish" way and it's safest to travel through the red-zone to the airport. Especially given the mortar attack yesterday, the contractors wanted to get me to the airport early and who am I to argue (never argue with a mercenary).
We put our bullet proof vests and helmets back on and got to the airport quickly. Friday is the Iraqi Sunday so there weren't many cars on the street at 7:00 am and we saw little signs of activity about as we successfully made our way to the airport.
While the flights are commercially scheduled and operated by Royal Jordanian Airways and Iraqi Airways, it's really an iffy proposition at best whether they fly on any given day. Today Royal Jordanian cancelled my flight, and I had to try to get a ticket on Iraqi Airways. The Iraqi Airways agent refused to take my Royal Jordanian ticket unless it was stamped by a Royal Jordanian agent, but there weren't any agents at the airport except for one junior guy who said he didn't have the stamp. So I had to find $300 to pay cash for the ticket. Nowhere in Iraq can take credit cards, nor are there any operational ATMs in Iraq (except perhaps on the American military base). After counting my money, I only had about $200 left in Iraqi Dinars and Dollars. I had about $50 in Jordanian Dinars and fortunately there was a money changing office at the airport, but I was still $50 short. Fortunately I met an American who loaned me the money and I promised to repay her when I got home.
The Iraqi Airways flight was scheduled for 4:30 pm, but it didn't leave until 8:30 pm. I was at the airport since 7:30 am with no power outlets for my laptop and no cell coverage; fun! I observed the Iraqis around, and was encouraged by how they are striving for normalcy in the situation.
The airport is run by Iraqis, but there is still some kind of vague American military presence there (an attaché?) because I saw the same senior American officer walk across the public areas several times during the day and a few other Americans in uniform looked like they were working, not waiting for a flight.
Corruption, however, has already reached the airport. The junior Royal Jordanian Airways representative told me not to pay Iraqi Airways anything because they didn't need the stamp on the ticket. Nevertheless, the Iraqi Airways guy demanded the $300 to give me the ticket. Someone also had an enterprising idea to make a handmade "departure tax" sign and block a corridor. I had to pay him $2 to get past. We will hear a lot more about corruption in the months ahead. The mainstream media will likely feature "corruption in Iraq" as a main story line from Iraq through 2008.
The flight finally left, and I arrived back into Amman Jordan around 9:00 pm, having slept only 2 hours in the last 24, I still had to do a public conference call at 10:00 pm (noon, Colorado time). I dialed in and was thrilled that over 300 of my future constituents (and a few people from other places) had called in, and I gave a trip summary and answered questions. After the call I returned a few calls from participants on the call who hadn't gotten their question answered, then I fell asleep and slept soundly through the night, safe in Amman.
Jared Polis
Candidate for US Congress
Colorado 02
www.polisforcongress.com
Donate now to help our fight!
Previous installments:
I am going to Iraq
My Arrival in Amman, Jordan
Arrival in Baghdad
In Iraq for Thanksgiving
Tomorrow:
IRAQI REFUGEES IN JORDAN
Coming soon:
THE LGBTQ STORY: The systemic execution of gays and lesbians in Iraq
Crossposted on DailyKos, rec me!
|
RSS Feed
