Kevin at The Command TOC posted one of his typically aggravating posts, railing on about the liar Bush, and distorting both recent history, and the arguments that undergird our liberation of Iraq, and our Global War on Terror more generally.

In response to a commenter Wildmonk who attempts to reason with him, Kevin resorts to the tired riposte, "Why Iraq? Why not Saudi Arabia?"

Every time somelike like Kevin makes this rebuttal argument, they underscore the point of "Why Iraq?"

In the geopolitical realities that faced the Bush Administration, the choices made have been entirely rational and logical. Attempts to derive ulterior motivations, while some may find them emotionally satisfying, reveal more about biases than actually realistically describe the likely points of decision since 9/11.

Immediately following 9/11, going after the Taliban in Afghanistan as the state sponsor and harborer of terrorist organizations, their leaders and training camps, was about as obvious and necessary a step as one could imagine. I don't know if Kevin was blogging then, I certainly wasn't nor reading any, but I was following many of the politicians and commentators often supported by those opposed to the war, who were entirely against our invasion of Afghanistan. Perhaps Kevin supported that, perhaps he didn't; but Bin Laden and such of his ilk were devastated by our assault, Bin Laden barely escaped, and has been on the run ever since, if he's even alive.

Subsequent to Afghanistan, the US still faced a very hostile world, despite the faux and short-lived sympathy for 9/11, and a world full of state sponsors of terrorism, both those of the institutional variety -- Libya, Sudan, North Korea, Iran, Iraq -- and ones more unofficially supportive, such as Saudi Arabia. Plus, many countries in Asia, the Middle East specifically, and Africa, knowingly tolerated radical Islamic terrorist organizations harbored in their midst (also including Iraq).

Attack them all at once? A recipe for disaster, surely, and those are disingenuous at best who even hint that they would have been supportive of anything remotely like it. Attack Saudi Arabia? Isn't that insane? Look at the hostile reaction to our effort in Iraq, and for most Arab states, Saddam was as much enemy as we were, no love lost there. Invade the home of Mecca and Medina? That would be a declaration of war against the entire muslim world.

Rather than inflame Muslims the world over, how about going after a select country or countries, who contribute to the overall terrorist effort, maybe are striving for nuclear weapons, mistrusted and hated within the region, a conduit for terrorist training, support, etc. How about making an example of a country that fits that description?

And oh by the way, how about finding a country that is in open violation of multiple UN Security Council Resolutions, which could be used as tipping points to either force cooperation (to thus neutralize the threat), or provide a justification for war, that a significant number of countries would be willing to join a coalition to conduct?

Not at all illogical, not a bit immoral. Practical, perhaps a bit cold blooded for some tastes, but how much less cold blooded than the heinous acts perpetrated against us (and aided, abetted, and cheered by such as the Palestinians and Saddam Hussein)?

The commenter Wildmonk has Kevin dead to rights. Bush "lied" only if everyone from the UN, NATO, European Leaders, all of Congress, Kerry, and of course Clinton lied as well. You've seen the quotes, I'm sure. About the menace posed by Saddam. The need to effect regime change.

There is no reasoning with such as he; for hatred is their only reason.

(NOTE: I might add, in an earlier post on a "censored MILBLOGGER," he also managed to slander Greyhawk and I, and suggest that our declarations that MILBLOGS are not being censored, nor shut down because they oppose our efforts in Iraq. Since the site he references is no longer online, I can't really comment specifically on his poster child for the censored MILBLOG. I would maintain skepticism, though, as the young man he highlights misstates several key facts about enlistment contracts and STOP LOSS policies. But that is another post, and another story.)

Links: Jo's Cafe, Wizbang, bRight & Early, Mudville Gazette

Joe Katzman writing at Winds of Change heralds "Chief Wiggles" book, Saving Babylon.

If you don't know who Paul "Chief Wiggles" Holton is, you need to go introduce yourself. Start with Joe's laudatory comments, then check out the Chief's website for the book, and buy it. They'll make great Christmas presents for anyone who wants to read an inspirational story about some of the best things that have come from our liberation of Iraq: the good works and sacrifices of the finest men and women to ever serve our country.

Here's an excerpt:

"Yes, war is hell; full of death, darkness, difficulties, and hard times. As soldiers we endure a lot and live without a lot, but all things can be turned into something positive as we look for ways to make a difference. Wherever we go, amidst death and destruction, there are opportunities to make a difference, to be a positive force for good. Small seemingly insignificant acts of love can bring about flowers from the graveyard of war."

Chief Wiggles is a remarkable man, a remarkable soldier, a remarkable human being.

Links: Mudville Gazette

In looking up the Bible reference for Jesus’ teaching related to hiding “a light under a bushel, I discovered some variances on how this parable is presented in Matthew, Mark and Luke, whihc prompted me to investigate.

In Part One of this three part study, I discussed Matthew’s Gospel and the context within which the light under a bushel metaphor is presented. Now, in Part Two, I will likewise explore the context within which Light and Bushel imagery is presented in the Gospel of Mark.

Over at Gladmanly.

(This is the second of a multi-part series I introduced, entitled "Conclusion.")

I’m glad these are the last days here. I’m going to miss them, I think.

You can miss something to which you might wish you had never grown accustomed. You might hate it, but speak fondly of it. One of our NCOs had a habit of responding, whenever others complained, “It’s free, ain’t it. Then it’s all good. It’s all good.”

Short of a week ago, our group of soldiers, the ones who I served with most closely, moved from the building we had inhabited for the past nine months. In doing so, we had to pack, ship, mail or get rid of all manner of personal and comfort items that helped all of us feel not quite so far away from the America of our leisure days (to the exten some of us had those).

A lot of us were stubborn about giving up our comforts, habits, or familiars.

What makes a place a home? Familiarity, certainly. We knew every broken door, every busted faucet, the way in which the water would settle in the low spots, and we’d use the squeegee to get rid of the water, to cut down on the bugs.

(The Squeegee, I’m convinced, was invented by Iraqis so all they had to do to wash the silt off stuff was hose everything down and then squeegee the water until it evaporated, which doesn’t take long at 120 degrees Fahrenheit.)

We had our routines, where we’d get our first cup of coffee, the Sergeant of the Guard bringing back breakfast items after posting the details. The habits of the staff, the wares of the Iraqi workers. (Rolexes, $20, DVDs, $5, all made under the unacknowledged but no less official auspices of the People’s Republic of China in state run factories.).

People make a home, too. The Nut with his boxes and boxes of everything he owned under the sun – a frustrating tale he’d not want me to share. Sanford and his junkyard truck, and scrounging trips to the dump. The Islander who can’t ever seem to get out of bed, the fitness fanatic with the wobbly digestion, the Old Timer and his rants about the Old Days, KBR, or any other piece of conversational toothjam that got caught up in his craw. The LT and his watery gruel, the CO and his workouts, the three Staff Sergeants that got thrown out of their respective rooms by aggravated roommates, and then shared a room amid friendly wagers of who would come out of the experience alive. Little Top and the precision of his daily schedule, and ability to get along with Mess, Maintenance and Supply while executing the Company’s administrative requirements. Sunday Night NASCAR, with precision tracking of whose predictions came the closest to the actual finishes of the drivers. The ever popular Mess Sergeant with her stickers, and her colleague Older Than He Looks, with his trivia questions written on the to-go plates.

I had my own room, and I know I was lucky to have it. A lot of soldiers have tents, or containerized housing units (CHUs). We were in a building that apparently was a kitchen, with a lot of tiled walls, lots of drains, and otherwise pretty spare walls and decorative flourishes. Sounds plain, and it was, but it also was very easy to keep clean, and as a result, a darn sight more livable than m ost of our buildings. Plus, we had room for everybody to have more than the minimum space and some privacy (depending on rank, of course).

We made it home. It was over to one side of the FOB, so we had a couple of close calls, rockets, mortars nearby, but thank God, nobody got hurt. A vehicle born improvised explosive device (VBIED) went off a couple of hundred yards from us, which was loud and quite a shock, and surprisingly, we were subjected to a rough rain of car parts, but nothing more.

We were a considerable distance from Battalion HQ, which was another advantage that increased livability.

We made it a home, we bounced against the walls and each other until we settled, we connected, and got to the easy familiarity of a neighborhood. And now, that part, that place is all gone.

Our relinquishing of living and work areas is a small microcosm of the overall reduction in US presence, writ large across the Iraqi landscape. As units rotate home and consolidate to several large, key bases, smaller and politically significant FOBs like ours are being emptied and turned over to the Iraqis, either the Iraqi Army or Government.

We had some fine real estate here. I’ve described the palaces. We have a near-2,000 year old Christian Church that is perhaps one of the oldest such structure outside of the Holy Land proper, and due to its age in the history of the Christian Churches of the Gentiles, of potential New Testament significance (if not known to Saint Paul himself).

I was blessed beyond hope with readily accessible Internet (CAT5 to my room), and an Internet Café and Phone Center right next door. We were able to install an Armed Forces Network (AFN) decoder/transceiver, which allowed us American television programming, if somewhat limited compared to cable.

We ran over 100 convoys, we had a couple of close calls, we still have a couple to go, but God willing, we’ve had no accidents or injuries.

We are winding down our last days on the FOB, and the entire unit is now stuffed cozily into a single building with the exception of senior officers and warrant officers. We ran the Lord of the Rings, extended edition, the past several evenings. Our maintenance and mess and supply sections – who were the ones who moved, along with my CO and I – are trying to feel at home in a new temporary home, before they get us all out of here.

We were dropped akimbo into this Other Neighborhood. This one had been inhabited only by our Intel and Staff soldiers, a place that, though very dark and dreary to our eyes, with day and night shifts sleeping throughout the entire day, had been their home, like ours. And we disturbed it. (They say we scared the fish away, but we did get the ducks to come by. And the fish return, when we feed them.)

Now we all settle into a new configuration, and grasp for semblance of home on the way back home. It has its attractions. Movie night was nice, the sunrises and sunsets are radiant.

It’s a lakeside chalet. The soldiers have enjoyed cool mornings and pleasant evenings, watching the sun come ujp or go down alongside water. Brilliant colors, a steady quiet, as far away from anything unpleasant as things get here outside of sleep.

They feed fish, and ducks. They get a chance to chat up soldiers from other sections who we haven’t really seen during the deployment. They work through new neighbor issues, the usual smack talking, trading insults, but with lighter hearts and brighter eyes than I’ve seen since we started.

Even the Battalion Commander (BC) has been seen spending a relaxed hour sitting out on the patio, talking to his soldiers.

We all had missions. Some were dangerous, some were tedious and frustrating, some were desperately dull. Dull is good, we say, boring is good. Every single one was important. Every one of us is somehow different than we were when we started.

Not least among the many things we each of us bring back from our time in Iraq, we each now have at least one new home we’ve made, and lost, and I suspect we’ll reminisce about for as long as we all sit around and tell stories to our friends and family, about those 9 months we made Iraq our home.

Links: Jo's Cafe, bRight & Early, Mudville Gazette, Outside the Beltway

Christian Carnival #93 is up over at White Ribbon Warriors.

The first part of my series on Light and Darkness is featured. Lots of fine and enlightening reading up at the Carnival, check it out!

(This is the first of a multi-part series I introduced, entitled "Conclusion.")

In some ways, I'm a War Correspondent.

Not that that's what I set out to be, but that's in effect what role I've taken on, trying to communicate sense and sensibility from the middle of a combat zone. Now for near-real time combat action, readers will need to go elsewhere (Ma Deuce Gunner, Thunder6 at 365 and a Wake-up, Michael Yon). My work at Dadmanly is more in the manner of Features rather than news, and perhaps aggravatingly for those who oppose our efforts, Opinion/Editorial (OP/ED).

But a correspondent on this war in Iraq, all the same.

I haven't seen mention of it specifically, rather than by comparison, but I conclude that Military Bloggers (MILBLOGGERs) are a new breed of War Correspondent. Talk about embedded, these men and women are a part of the very armed forces that serve America's national interests in the Global War on Terror (GWOT).

Throughout modern history, War Correspondents have taken on most of the risks and hardships that are likewise endured by the men and women who are the subjects of their reporting. They have been those voices closest to the fight, often the only means that their fellow citizens back home can learn anything meaningful about wars, and the people called upon to fight them. They capture the spirit of the fighting man or woman. They convey purpose, they articulate a larger mission, in human terms, even if they must shy away from operational details.

Often they become as attached to their subjects as they often are dependent upon them for their safety. The War Correspondent embodies the First Amendment placed in harm's way. He or she serves our country as much as if they signed an enlistment contract, took on a weapon, and followed the order to war.

Where are the War Correspondents today? Outside of Michael Yon and perhaps a bare handful of others, mostly in the Green Zone in Baghdad, more often than not, posted to the Hotel Bar. (Is it folly or wisdom that now causes Al Qaeda to now target the media at their places of employment?

I can't say I blame those reporters who seek safe haven. I'd rather serve my time there, too, if that had to be my mission (\irony off).

Which brings me to my point. I moonlight as a War Correspondent, an Army Journalist as it were, in addition to my day job as a Headquarters and Headquarters Company (HHC) First Sergeant. My Commander, key leaders, and some interested soldiers know what I do, but for the most part, I remain anonymous even within my own unit. I serve alongside those I may write about, and I write incidentally in the course of my serving here. For me, I rarely mention specific events -- out of Operational Security (OPSEC) concerns and an avoidance of any facts that might help enemy battle damage assessments (BDA) -- but more often, impressions and reflections.

One of the Army's great experiments with OIF, is allowing MILBLOGGERS to operate without censor or command control, with only the lightest of directives and proactivity, given the potential risk involved. Sure, in recent months military commanders at higher levels are beginning to express concern, clarifications were issued, some Blogs voluntary closed up shop. (See my earlier reports here, here, and here.)

But for the most part, the military has every reason to view the MILBLOG phenomena as a qualified success, with an overwhelming net gain in Public Affairs and media relations. The vast majority of MILBLOGS effectively self regulate operational details, at least sufficient to greatly degrade any possible exploitation by enemy intelligence agents or services.

Likewise, the MILBLOGS speak almost in unanimity, supportive of our efforts in Afghanistan and Iraq, and the Global War on Terror more generally. Of even greater significance, MILBLOGS came on the scene precisely when the American public was most hungry for some good news about our military, wholly supportive of our troops, and at the point of lowest public regard for an obviously biased and sometimes hostile mainstream media (MSM).

They were the right forces, at the right time, for the right mission. I'm proud to have been a small part in that effort. And I'd like to suggest an idea to the military brass no doubt mulling over MILBLOGS, what to do with them, what to do about them, and whether their obvious value is worth the potential risk in losing control of the military "staying on point."

The Army has a program whereby NCOs and Officers are identified as potential Army Trainers. They are given a Basic Instructor Training Course (BITC, but the name and acronym may have changed since I went through the program). Once trained in instructional technique (course preparation and teaching), a soldier is awarded an "H" designator after their military occupational specialty (MOS) designator. That makes me a 96B5H and 98C5H, which indicates that I am an Army qualified instructor at the rank of Master Sergeant in the MOS fields 98C and 96B.

These designations, and the requirement for most Army schools that only H qualified instructors be allowed to teach, ensures a professionalized Instructor base for critical Army education, especially MOS job training, but also non-commissioned officer (NCO) education system (NCOES) professional development courses.

I have this thought, that one of the ways the military can help professionalize blogging is to offer any soldier who shows aptitude and is willing to abide by some straightforward guidelines, training in blogging, writing, journalism, and OPSEC. The training would.be made available, with a certification that then would provide some enhanced access to military sources and information. The military could allow "B" (for Blogger) designated soldiers, for instance, display a logo as military certified (for example, thnat they are who they allude to be, role and assignment wise), to have a feed from press releases, to be invited to military events and press conferences, mission permitting, and could be part of the overall Information Operations (IO) effort.

Now some bloggers would no doubt object to being that tightly linked to the military, or fear that would limit their ability to speak their mind. These are valid concerns, and those bloggers could remain unaffiliated and independent, as they are now. But others, who don't mind a bit being part of the military's public relations campaign, and eager to further credential themselves as military reporters, observers, etc., would provide a capability for the military to enhance their communications plan within the overall GWOT.

Now it may be that the military will eventually want to professionalize bloggers, and re-establish and expand long-dormant MOS positions like Army Journalist, and create formal positions at higher levels of command.

In the meantime, I can imagine a day, when a Division sized unit might have several dozen "B" qualified Bloggers, assisted by the military in getting their message out, and giving the citizens back home ready access to military voices. While they are in the combat zone, as they conduct their missions.

The new War Correspondent: an Army Skill Designator? I know it sounds crazy, but who knows? Maybe that's where all this is headed. Soldiers will communicate, and the technology is expanding and improving in quantum leaps, providing capabilities to the average Joe and Jane that would never have been imagined even a few short years ago.

And if the Army is smart, rather than try to stop the trend, might want to seriously consider buying in and taking maximum opportunity to the best media relations men and women the military has: the MILBLOGGER.

Links: Jo's Cafe, Outside the Beltway, BRight & Early, Mudville Gazette, Indepundit, Dawn Patrol at Mudville, Cao's Blog

I am no doubt down to the last few of any communiqués I will generate as a soldier serving in a combat zone for Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) III.

I try to craft a rhetorical conclusion, a packaging of themes that sums up my time here, our time here, military web logging (blogging), or the entire mobilization experience.

Like some fractal image, as I zoom in and examine the complexity of the picture, I see the same complexity in microcosm that’s visible from afar. It’s just too complex an experience: the 18 month period of a mobilized Guardsman deployed with OIF III as part of our broader Global War on Terror; the insemination of the seeds of democracy in Iraq; the brave persistence of the Iraqi people; the emergence of Iraqi political will and leadership; purple fingers; the Land of Mesopotamia; the Modern Army; the American people, who shower their soldiers with love, prayers, and encouragement; and the families of our sailors, soldiers and airmen and women in the field, air, and ocean.

And the movement of God in me, our men and women, and those who lead us in this effort.

There’s too much to tell, the story suffers as I try to squeeze it into the demands of a (readable) blog post. So I’ll take it on, in pieces and in part, and trust my readers will forgive any discontinuity or occasional incoherence. (Ah, the value of an editor.)

Over the next several days (and perhaps weeks), I will try to take on a few major categories of experience to conclude my time in theater. Each of these will be identified with the word, “Conclusion,” but I am powerfully convicted that this is much more about things beginning, than anything ending, any time soon.

UPDATE: Posts in the Series:
The New War Correspondent
Leaving Home

Links: Indepundit

Jim Hoft at Gateway Pundit has an excellent summary of Secretary Condi Rice’s visit to Alabama, a highlight of which was her speech, "The Tide of Democracy is Rolling," part of the Frank A. Nix Lecture Series at the University of Alabama, on Friday, October 21, 2005.

As Hoft describes it, Secretary Rice made a direct connection between the democracy movement spreading through the world, and her own experiences relating to the Civil Rights movement:

Condoleezza Rice gave another exceptional speech to the delight of her homestate audience as part of the Frank A. Nix Lecture Series at the University of Alabama http://www.ua.edu/webcast/. Condoleezza weaved into her speech the Civil Rights Movement of her childhood, the great democracy movement we are witnessing in the world today, and the desire of each human being no matter what country, race, sex OR religion to the choices and gifts of democracy.

Hoft links to an account of Secretary Rice’s visit to Birmingham with British Foreign Secretary Jack Straw published by the NY Times, which also included this excerpt of her speech:

"It was meant to shatter our spirit," she said of the bombing. "It was meant to say that we shouldn't rise up. Just a few weeks after Dr. Martin Luther King http://topics.nytimes.com/top/reference/timestopics/people/k/martin_luther_jr_king/index.html?inline=nyt-per said, 'I have a dream,' it was meant to tell us that, no, we didn't have a dream, and that dream was going to be denied."

The NY Times article in which this account appeared intended this as part of a quite noticeable spin. The Times account suggests that Secretary Rice has pushed an activist Democracy spreading agenda on a reluctant Bush White House. It further intimates that Secretary Rice has previously avoided speaking of her youth in the difficult days of racial strife and the struggle for Civil Rights. Just from my limited experience with Secretary Rice’s public communications, this strikes me as mischaracterized.

What does occur to me, that does seem completely in keeping with the character of our Madam Secretary, is that she was not to be denied her dream, not by the Ku Klux Klan, not by the racists such as Senator Byrd, not by the common obstacles of anyone who strives towards the pinnacle of her profession.

How in contrast to what passes for liberal ethic today, as malpracticed by so many in the Democratic Old Guard. Condoleeza Rice did not let race stand in her way, and the real and lingering difficulties posed for African Americans in the ‘60s and ‘70s, as she progressed in a stellar career in International Relations and Academia. Condoleeza Rice did not let any glass ceiling or the persistent barriers to women in Diplomatic and Foreign Policy spheres limit her accomplishments.

She serves a Republican administration, pursuing a progressive, assertive, historic foreign policy. She is caricatured in cartoons variously as a Plantation Mammy, as a Minstrel performer, or other hateful stereotypes. She is eloquent in the cause of Democracy, she is loyal and dedicated and articulate.

The political enemies of this administration are as wary of attacking her as they are reluctant to be direct in their opposition to the war in Iraq or the Global War on Terror. She’ll be a formidable adversary, but they don’t quite know how to deal with her.

The American people may be growing tired of the War in Iraq, but they’ll grow a lot more satisfied with the result as history in time proves the rightness of the purpose. Democrats have a quandary on their hands. If they attack the war effort directly, they look unpatriotic (and often are, in the manner of personal attack and insults to our armed forces). If they go after the rising stars such as Secretary Rice, they diminish in the eyes of people who may not agree with policy but like and trust those who implement it. (Consider this the current version of the Colin Powell effect.)

She continues to shine. She continues to articulate a bold and progressive view, full of the power of our ideals, rooted in the finest of our aspirations and the richness of our legacy, all of it, the bad along with the good. Because America overcomes our obstacles. We make amends for our mistakes. And yes, we rise above our tragedies and become better than we would have been, without stumbling.

There was a time in Birmingham, Alabama, when a young girl might have trembled in fear, and resign herself to the limitations of hate and bigotry. Much like a young woman in Iraq, she might have stayed in that place of hopelessness. But she took that chance, she saw the possibility, she took hold of the hope of a Nation awakening to the evils of separate but unequal.

And we all are the better for her effort, today.

Condoleeza Rice in ’08. Whether she wins or loses, whether she even wants it, she’s a woman of character and substance, and representative of the best of America. The opponents of the Administration she serves should take note.

Hat tip: Powerline

Links: Cao's Blog, Jo's Cafe, Wizbang, Indepundit, Outside the Beltway, Dawn Patrol at Mudville Gazette

I oppose the Miers nomination.

While I have strong confidence that Ms. Miers, based on what has been reported of her religious practice and faith, would cooperate in scaling back the dramatic and unconstitutional overreach that is Roe v. Wade, that is not a reason to support her nomination.

Even less of a reason would be to fill a "woman's seat" on the bench. This is an insult to women. This country has travelled beyond the need for a "quota system" for female accomplishment, and women take leading positions in the large majority of professions, based on their merit. There are women jurists with excellent legal and judicial experience, nominate one of them by all means.

Conservatives insult the many principled stands they've taken on originalist interpretation and against judicial activism, if they yield in supporting Miers merely because she will support decisions they seek. That is the fabled litmus test that Democrats seek to impose -- when Republicans are nominating jurists, that is -- and should be anathema to "right thinking" (as in correct thinking) observers.

Miers has a good legal background, but her accomplishments bear little relationship to the actual processes of jurisprudence. A fine judge, she might yet be, but perhaps this might be demonstrated by a lesser judicial appointment, say the US Federal Court or the US Court of Appeals? I really don't like the idea of on the job training for a Supreme Court Judge.

Links: Dawn Patrol at Mudville Gazette

I have a new study up over at Gladmanly, Light and Darkness (Part One).

In looking up the Bible reference for Jesus’ teaching related to hiding “a light under a bushel, I discovered some variances on how this parable is presented in Matthew, Mark and Luke.

The nuances of the three presentations suggest something very remarkable about what I believe Jesus taught in this example. What’s more, the adjacent passages in all three gospels demonstrate the difference in emphasis that each of these disciples may have attached to this teaching.

As the first of a three part study, I first examine and discuss Matthew’s Gospel and the context within which the light under a bushel metaphor is presented.

For more, see Light and Darkness over at Gladmanly.

Christian Carnival is up at the World of Sven.

Check it out; lots of good things to read at the Carnival.

George F. Will appeared at a Hillsdale College National Leadership Seminar in Dallas, Texas, May 23, 2005. At the conference, he delivered a very fine speech on the necessity of a doctrine of preemption. Imprimis, the national speech digest of Hillsdale College, adapted Will’s speech for their September 2005 issue, which warrants wider attention.

Will’s posed the following thesis as his central theme:

…Only ideas have large and lasting consequences. We are in a war of terror being waged by people who take ideas with lethal seriousness, and we had better take our own ideas seriously as well. (Emphasis mine.)

This war uses bombs and bullets and rockets and mines, and even commercial transport fashioned as weapons, but make no mistake. This is millennial battle of ideas.

Will quotes Trotsky, “You may not be interested in war, but war is interested in you,” and declares:

And this is a war with a new kind of enemy – suicidal, and hence impossible to deter, melding modern science with a kind of religious primitivism. Furthermore, our enemy today has no return address in the way that previous adversaries, be it Nazi Germany or Stalin’s Russia, had return addresses.

Where we could effectively deliver the 500 pounders, the 1000 pounders, the Bunker Busters that could put an end to them. If that were all that was required, if we were facing that kind of enemy, we would have dispatched with them quite some time ago. As a people, we have exhausted our patience with whatever perceived grievances are supposed to justify their inhumanity to man. That kind of patience was incinerated and ground to dust as fine as the remains of the victims of 9/11.

Will uses a highly relevant anecdote from World War II to acknowledge that our enemies of 9/11 greatly underestimated our will and resolve. Will describes the recollections of Admiral Yamamoto, who could help his country launch their temporarily successful Pearl Harbor attack, but foresaw that in doing so, they would awake a sleeping giant:

He knew that after Pearl Harbor, Japan would have an enraged, united, incandescent, continental superpower on its hands, and that Japan’s ultimate defeat would be implicit in its initial victory. Our current enemies will learn the same thing.

Having heard it, I am now very attached to that image.

Any one of us may be a light unto others, a light for a darkened world, a light of hope, encouragement, or enlightenment. Many of our faith traditions, mine included, even urge faithful followers to be light, to spread knowledge or revelation or good news. That is a kind of light, and certainly the wattage will increase as people join together in shared purpose to shine that light.

But united and incandescent? That reveals a glimpse of something more powerful, something terrible to behold, and righteousness and vengeance. One candle can only dispel just so much darkness, or emit the smallest amount of heat. Two or three, somewhat more. I remember one of my buddies in Germany owned a Volkswagen like I had with no heat, and in the winter he swore 4 candles for 20 minutes was enough to defrost the car.

Will’s image emits so much more. A Nation full of candles, all burning in common purpose. What light we generate. What heat we create. We burned those incandescent fires in World War II, and we burned as bright, blinding light, in the days after 9/11.

In my faith community, our God reserves unto Himself that kind of vengeance. Yet, He chooses as He will to use His instruments to exact retribution. And that may well be our National resolve.

The flames of our common fire may abate. Discord grows, purposes diverge, and politics, as always, blurs lines that once were clear. Yet we persevere, and our military vanquishes foe after foe, and keeps the forces of chaos on the run. But dangers persist, and continue to disperse, if they do not grow. Our enemies, having no real hope and no vision outside of mayhem, proceed relentlessly.

And the well-intentioned on all political sides do well to seek some common ground, and find ways to prevent another tragedy like 9/11, or the apocalyptic visions that rightly many fear.

Will calls to mind J. Robert Oppenheimer’s famous warning that we would have to search every incoming package or container, as the only certain means to prevent the smuggling of a nuclear device into the US. This is even more evident today, with nuclear suitcases and the great dispersion of nuclear material. Which leads Will to conclude the following, advocating a Doctrine of Pre-emption:

You have to go get it. You have to disrupt terrorism at its sources.

Will correctly observes that the meaningful policy debate today is taking place between conservatives and conservatives, with liberals and progressives carelessly abandoning any serious discussion in favor of social bromides and revisionist histories ala Moore:

The old isolationism of the 1920s and 1930s was a conservative isolationism, and it held that America should not go abroad into the world because America is too good for the world. The contemporary liberal brand of isolationism – the Michael Moore view of the world – is that America should not be deeply involved in the world because the world is too good for America. This is not a serious argument, even though seriously held.

Thus we have conservatives arguing amongst themselves, with all others adjourned to the bar for refreshments during the break. Will identifies these as Realists and the Wilsonian Idealists, those with a “crusading zeal for the export of democracy.”

Clearly, Will ascribes the Idealist pedigree to Neoconservatives (“Neocons”). In his argument (as a Realist), Will diminishes the Idealists by extending certain of their general ideas beyond reason. Because Idealists (full discloser, count me as one) believe that the values and principles of liberty and democracy are universal, that we therefore believe that “every person is at heart a Jeffersonian Democrat, that all the masses of the world are ready for democracy,”

This is an exaggeration, and one, of course that sets a straw man up for Will to demolish. And yet, many of these same Idealists would agree with his conclusion, “Iraq may not be close to constitutional democracy just yet.” Yes, much work remains to be done, the greatest burden of which falls upon the Iraqi people themselves. But another election turnout that exceeded expectations, amid much greater safety for election workers and voters, has gone a long way towards convincing the Iraqi people themselves that they can responsibly take up the reigns of power and representation, regardless of the outcome.

Will goes on to remark that from the earliest days of our Republic, through the Modern era and the dark days of Vietnam, America has fretted over whether discouragements or discord will break our national will.

“This has been a constant recurring anxiety in America,” Will remarks, and quotes Winston Churchill’s bracing comments to America in the days immediately following Pearl Harbor:

“We have not journeyed all this way across the centuries, across the oceans, across the mountains, across the prairies, because we are made of sugar candy.”

Will goes on to describe this people, these Americans, who surely are not sugar candy:

The kind of people we are is a people who rise to the challenge of the new kind of enemy we have today. Our enemy has ideas. They are vicious, bad, retrograde, medieval, intolerant, and suicidal ideas, but ideas nevertheless. And we oppose them with the great ideas of freedom and democracy, which America has defined better than anyone in the world.

The American people are greatly enamored of the ideas of their foundation. And so they should be. The American Experiment has served as a beacon of freedom and hope for the entire world for over 200 years. We are a source of inspiration for many, and a place of dreams for more. When words fail, our example serves. We breathe free.

We may at times be forgetful, or complacent, like lazy inheritors of the great treasures of civilization. We may not always hold ourselves to the standards of our own ideals. We have problems and failings. But we always wake from our moral slumbers, and as we rise, with more often than not find new definitions for both the price and value of freedom. We need to know that our ideas are right, according to Will:

We must struggle today with the fact that the doctrine of preemption is necessary, and with the serious problems it entails. But what we must have overall is the confidence that our ideas are right.

We are not perfect. We will make mistakes, but like no other nation in the history of the world, we will do our best to right wrongs, to make amends, to satisfy old grievances, and harken to forgotten peoples the world over.

And when we are all in it together, we create quite a light. United and incandescent.

As Jesus said, as recorded by Matthew:

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven.” (Matthew 5:16)

Links: Indepundit, Jo's Cafe

We had another one of those mornings.





The Lord Fingers, again.

“Easy does it, slow down now. Take it easy.” Rosie used to say that a lot, usually as a way to break up tension or get his soldiers to laugh. I think it had to do with the saying, “We start slow, and then taper off.”

He always had a joke, or something funny to share, a story or some thing he’s seen that somehow caught everybody off guard, funny, even if we’d heard it before.

I first met Rosie when my Mobile Training Team was teaching an Intelligence Military Occupational Specialty (MOS) course to some National Guard soldiers, whose Military Police (MP) unit had just been converted to a Military Intelligence (MI) unit. (We always joked that someone at State HQ must have thought they were half way there already, it’d be easy to teach them the “Intel” part.

The MPs in the class were all characters, but Rosie was the King of Clowns in this bunch. He used to pull all kinds of gags on his soldiers, and always had some trick to pull on someone taking themselves too seriously. One of our Classified training sites had a PA system, and he had us in stitches when he would make announcements, directing the unsuspecting to a room number that turned out to be a latrine.

When I met Rosie, I was pretty gullible – heck, ask the LT, I’m still pretty gullible – and every other month Rosie would get me all fired up over something that wasn’t true. He’d tell me some story about some crazy thing the unit or the officers were planning, then watch me get all lit up and chase down some rabbit hole, only to find it was another of Rosie’s stunts. I took myself too seriously then, maybe I still can, but Rosie helped me shave about 50% of that away for good.

Rosie always took care of his soldiers, every one. He may have covered for them a few too many times, he may have given some too many breaks when they needed to get straightened out, but he always tried to do his best for his guys. “Youse guys,” he would say. He was old school, but he had the biggest heart in the unit.

He had the biggest footlocker, too. Every time we went anywhere, even the first times we went away for two weeks Intel training, with billeting being a Hilton Hotel, Rosie would bring his box. Peanut Butter in great big Cafeteria size canisters. Toilet paper, crackers, coffee, sugar, toiletries.

I was new to the unit then, newly transferred to the Guard from the Reserves, and new to this strange new creature, the First Sergeant. I don’t even remember any previous First Sergeants, in Active Duty or the Reserves, except the Samoan First Sergeant at the Language School in Monterey. I remember him because we once had to go home on Emergency Leave when my brother-in-law passed away tragically at the age of 16. And all I remember of that 1SG, is that he was incredibly helpful in getting us out of town.

Rosie ran everything, but he did it with an easy manner, a twinkle in his eye, he charmed far more often than he bludgeoned, and he knew everybody and everybody knew him. He was like everybody’s Dad, watching out for and over them, making sure they didn’t drive if they drank too much, that we steered them clear of trouble before it happened, and we helped them however we could if they stumbled or needed some help. He set up and ran a little coffee and roll operation, making use of fresh baked hard rolls, gobs of butter and peanut butter of course. Those rolls and coffee were there every day of every drill as long as he was there.

Rosie kept the officers off our backs, what few of them there were who really wanted to climb up on top of them. He made sure we did what we needed to, met requirements, got the job done before thinking about having a good time.

Rosie always had some funny expression he would inject for certain events, like when something went all FUBAR, “Work with me, people, work with me.”

It must have been hard for him, dealing with me. He and Harry, the other MP turned Intel Analyst, both of them got their E8, Rosie as 1SG, Harry as Master Sergeant in the Analysis & Control Element (ACE) shortly after I transferred in. They had convinced me to join the unit, and sold me on the much shorter commute (30 minutes versus 3 hours each way), as well as dangling a promotion to E8 as an enticement. I hadn’t realized that the two slots they were luring me with were already (for all intents and purposes) theirs. (Yet another thing I was kind of gullible about, but that’s another story.)

Here I was, the Active Duty Signals Intelligence (SIGINT) Guy, who spent the previous ten years teaching at the Reserve School, with a short stint with one of the last of the Combat Electronic Warfare Intelligence (CEWI) Battalions. A little while after switching over to the Guard, I ended up organizing and managing mobile Intel missions, where my team and I would disappear for several monthly drills in a row. We’d do the mandatory events, ranges, Annual Physical Fitness Test (APFT), Holiday Party, but for many months we’d be away.

When Rosie knew he needed to retire to take care of pressing family matters, he turned to me at first. Tough act to follow, but more than that, my personal and professional lives were not in a very good place to give the job the kind of time it needs. After about 4 months “in training” with Rosie, I asked to be replaced. It was tough, but I felt our unit deserved somebody who could give the extra time, evenings, whatever it took, and another of our NCOs took it on. Then that soldier did his 2 years and returned to his home in Rochester, and it fell to me again. This time I knew I had to take it, and shortly thereafter, we were mobilized.

You don’t get much time to think about how prepared you are for these kinds of responsibilities when you get these kinds of responsibilities. You just need to execute. One of the best Project Managers I ever worked with (and learned from), used to describe the critical skill thus: “Don’t think about how much you have to do, or how big the problems are. Just tee each one up one at a time, then knock them down. Pretty soon you’ll have it all under control – or you’ll be done.”

Still. Nothing quite prepares you for this, not well enough, and I’ve had time to dwell on what I think are shortcomings, on my part. Things I would do differently if I got the chance, and maybe some things I would have tried to learn ahead of time, instead of on the job.

I want to describe it in this way.

Like some Senior NCOs I know, I wish I had the ability to be absolutely sure I was dead right despite all evidence to the contrary. That comes in handy.

Like Harry, I wish I could look some superior right in the eye and say, “What are they gonna do, send me to Iraq?”

Like my Mess NCOIC (and acting 1SG), I wish I had instant deception radar detection. That man can see through BS more clearly than anyone I’ve ever met, outside Mrs. Dadmanly.

Like my CO, I wish I had that almost psychic ability to know who’s up to no good, and exactly when and where they’re up to it. Not that I want to be a Cop, but “law” enforcement is a pretty essential mission of the 1SG.

Like my favorite GSR “Romeo” Specialist, with whom I shared the ordeal of Leave, I wish I had an ability to find humor in absolutely any situation, and infect everyone around me with it as well.

Like my favorite S1 clerk, I wish I had her skill with composition and her ready ease with connecting to people and making friends. She charmed my entire motor section, the hard nosed ones, who now treat her like a kid sister, and would put a serious hurt on anyone who messed with her.

Like my company clerk, I wish I could bounce back from adversity with that much grace and dedication. He’s been quite the example in humility and loyalty.

Like my favorite LT, I wish I could keep a sense of total irreverence, when everybody else goes off the deep end of rigidly “towing the company line.”

Like my favorite NCOIC, I wish I had his courage, his instant judgment that holds up upon further reflection, his commitment to his soldiers, and his easy going manner when off mission.

Like my maintenance guys, I wish I knew half of what any of them know about vehicles. Like my cooks, I wish I could serve my soldiers as well as they do. Like my Analysts, I wish I could pursue the enemy with their relentless drive and dedication. Like our Staff soldiers, I wish I could have a fraction of the patience and perseverance as they’ve demonstrated under difficult conditions. Like my supply guys, I wish it was always the 4th best day of my life.

I stand at the end of this day, literally and figuratively. Sure, each day brings new surprises, but I lose my patience. I need to keep all of our heads in the game, but I weary of hard lessons and tough love and goodbyes that will only increase from here forward.

Rosie did something neat when he retired. As he stood out in front of the formation for the last time, he thanked “All youse guys,” and took off both his boots, left them standing where he had, and walked away. He had warned me what he would be doing, and I took control of the formation.

(He later asked me to get his boots, or he’d be going home in socks.)

But it is what I remember last, and most. I’ve never completely filled those boots, not in a lot of ways that I think he would think are important, and in many ways I know are important.

I have always tried to do the right thing, and by the Grace of God, perhaps that’s been for the good, enough.

“Your ears shall hear a word behind you, saying, “This is the way, walk in it.” Whenever you turn to the right hand, or whenever you turn to the left. (Isaiah 30:21)

Other Profiles in the Series:
The Chaplain’s Assistant
The Analysts
Supply Sergeants
Cooks & Contractors
The LT
The NCOIC
The CSM
The Motor Sergeant
The CO

No, this isn’t one of my normal Profiles, but I received this note from Mrs. Dadmanly. She wrote this for her final Family Readiness Group (FRG) newsletter. For deployed Soldiers, the FRG is a volunteer organization of family members and rear detachment personal who support the families left behind and help support and encourage their soldiers overseas. Mrs. Dadmanly offered to be a "Chaplain's Assistant" for our FRG, helping connect people with support resources and communicating between families and our Chaplain (and Command).

I read this note from her and thought, “If there’s one Soldier in this effort I admire and respect more than any other, it would be Mrs. Dadmanly.”

So without further ado, I present a Profile, some in her own words, with an occasional aside from her devoted husband. (That would be me.)

Mrs. Dadmanly in (mostly) her own words

“Somewhere over the Rainbow…” One of the wives put that on top of an e-mail she sent me, and I just love it. Especially if you know the whole song, the dream is coming true…

I have one regret during this deployment. I really wish I did not wait so long to get involved with the FRG and our soldiers’ families. I am truly going to miss the connections I have made with many of you, some spoken and some that are in my heart alone. Just seeing some of you and not even speaking, just knowing we are going through the same feelings, emotions, struggles, highs, lows, waiting, phone calls, e-mails. It has even been fun comparing with each of you dates/times our soldiers will be home, I think our soldiers wanted to keep us all guessing, and it is definitely something to talk about, lol. Believe it or not, that even brought a smile to my face.

(Dadmanly: OPSEC. We use it to drive our spouses crazy. That’s a devious ulterior motive to the whole “I really can’t tell you anything” bit.)

I’m looking out the window as I write this, from the sixth floor of my building at work, the clouds are moving swiftly across the sky. It reminds me that the time until our soldiers are home is moving towards us as quickly as the clouds go by. I look below the clouds to the ground, and there are people moving about busily, the cars going up and down the road, yet the clouds above are at their own pace, continuing to move along consistently.

I have felt many times through this deployment like the clouds that I see today, separate and apart from the rest of the world, but continuing to move, waiting, hoping, believing, wondering. Before long my feet will be back on the ground rolling along with everyone else I see below the clouds. I’m sure there will be days that I do not even notice the clouds passing by, when my soldier is home. Iraq will be a thought of “my past experiences,” tucked into that area in my mind that other events, situations, life experiences, moments in time….are kept.

Much has transpired in my own life during this deployment. I have become more reliant on God then I ever have. I have had to have faith even when I doubted, I have had to persevere even when I truly did not want to. I have had to believe that God would give me the strength I needed to get through each day, and to trust Him, that He knows what I need when I need it. He has done this for me and more.

We hear much about “when our soldiers return” and “the changes that may have occurred in them.” In reflecting over my life during this time, I see how I have changed. I welcome some of the changes. I worried about so much before my soldier left: Will I be able to “do it all!” Be the Mom, the Dad, the Wife, the Friend, the Daughter, the Sister, the Aunt, the Employee, the Volunteer.

(Dadmanly: I thought I wear a lot of hats, she’s got me beat by a baker’s dozen. Or a chef’s dozen. Or teacher’s dozen. A whole lot more of those dozens, anyway.)

Some days have been really really tough and I’ve gone to bed crying that I cannot do this another day, other days went by without a hitch and I thought, “Wow, that was a GREAT day.” I made it through driving the van into the ditch, the microwave being thrown out the door as the wires were burning, the vacuum cleaner smoking and being thrown out the door after the rug got lodged around the beater bar (I thought that was on fire too), the dishwasher throwing off fireworks as I tried to fix it, and the five very patient firemen that came to my rescue, when asked if they could do anything else for me, I asked them to check the refrigerator that now was dripping water into a bowl inside (heck I only have to empty it every few days, no big deal).

(Dadmanly: We’re lucky the house is still standing. She knows well enough to not let ME fix anything myself, but when I get home that goes double for her, too.)

And the little things: the caulking I did in the bathroom, the toilet seat I fixed (I just needed a screwdriver), the wobbly legs on the table, the shelves I hung, the $100 dollar bill that fell under the house through the tiniest of cracks on my porch (got it with several meat skewers taped together and I poked it).

(Dadmanly: She understates by some orders of magnitude the ordeal of getting that $100 bill back. From what I heard, Little Manly sacrificed at least one whiffle bat and we all lost two or three noodle floats that now reside permanently under the porch.)

Then the “have to’s”: the baseball games, the soccer games, practices, school work, projects, laundry, cleaning, cooking, oil changes, tune-ups, even proper tire pressure, doing the “balancing act.” The Mom things: playing board games (that I do not like), bike riding, watching the history channel (I know more about history now then when I was in school), saying for the 100th time I’m sorry for losing my patience, listening even when its 10:00 p.m. and all I want to do is have it quiet. Wiping a tear and giving hugs and disciplining when I want someone else to do it. Wanting to scream at little unimportant things (please get ready, please brush your teeth, please turn off the light, please finish your homework, please zip up your jacket, please tie your shoes, please pick up your socks) and replacing it with a sigh and a smile.

(Dadmanly: Most Moms I know have a much harder job than us Husbands ever dream about. Never, never, never will I allow myself to take this woman for granted.)

For me: a cup of green tea, so soothing, sitting in the dark and lighting just one candle in my living room, the one that is there for my soldier, hearing a favorite song, singing at the top of my lungs in the car, watching an old romantic movie, eating ring dings with friends, chatting on the phone about silly stuff. Using my lavender lotion, spraying my soldiers favorite perfume and wearing his cologne. Finding comfort in hugging my soldiers pillow and robe after being overwhelmed in ways I never thought possible.

Going to an FRG meeting and knowing that the people there, even if not spoken, are going through the same things I am, going to church on Sundays, reading my Bible and thinking of all the things I cannot wait to do when my soldier comes home. A whirlwind of emotions, thoughts, actions, life “during deployment.”

Now as our soldiers’ return is drawing near, I took out my soldiers shoes and placed them on the floor next to mine. I went through the closet to shake the dust off some clothes that are his favorites, thinking I should probably buy him some shaving cream and get some of his favorite foods. I’ve left behind much of the worry that I had going into this, mostly because I’ve changed.

God has gotten me through, I have survived. Well, I’m surviving and I feel good.

Things that used to be of utmost importance to me have lost much of there power, deflated. Good changes. I’ll miss writing to you all. This has been a great way to feel connected. Thank You, each of you. God Bless your reuniting with MUCH peace, joy, love, healing, lots of laughter, fun, and renewal. I pray your lives have been enriched by this experience we have gone through.

Skies are blue, Over the Rainbow! HOOAH! WE DID IT!

Dadmanly’s Epilog

Mrs. D, I will never be able to express in words to you, or Little Manly, or Jilly Beans, or Spud, our your family, or mine, just how completely you all sustained me and gave me the strength to keep taking on each day. Yes, I have God in my life, and yes, I try to place my faith and trust in Him, and I know He should be all I need.

Still. God’s second greatest gift to me (after Salvation), was you, and everything else good in my life happened from that. My life was redeemed, my relationships with family were redeemed, my hope in relationship with my daughters was redeemed, we all became a family, together.

And it was that great, great gift that helped me have hope when my faith failed; feel love when I felt without hope; feel joy when God reminded me of His great mercy and grace, by sending me a thought, or story, or note from one of you.

You are my heroes.

Mrs. Dadmanly Insists on the Last Word:

No, Dadmanly, you're the hero, I'm the very very blessed woman that threw my hook and it caught onto you and I did not let it go.

If it were not for you, so many many areas of my life would not have been made possible. You have given me courage, self-esteem, spirituality, worth, and other things I cannot mention, lol. You have stood firm and true to what is right, just, moral, in this crazy world we live in. You are and always will be my best friend and the one person in my life that I look up to, for guidance, understanding, hope, trust, love, and encouragement.

I truly do not think I could go on without knowing you would be returning. I have done this for you, us, the kids. I could not have EVER done it on my own. Thank You for completing ME and for being faithful, honest, and true. I LOVE You with all my heart.

Come home. I promise not to touch another electrical applicance again and I look forward to you driving...lol :)

Links: Mudville Gazette, Indepundit

Other Profiles in the Series:
The Analysts
Supply Sergeants
Cooks & Contractors
The LT
The NCOIC
The CSM
The Motor Sergeant
The CO

There's a new post up at Gladmanly, a continuation to an earlier post, Faith and Adversity.

In the first part of Romans Chapter 5, Paul spoke of how faith perseveres and even triumphs through adversity. It is the refiner’s fire, where gloss is burned away leaving that which is pure and unblemished. But Paul speaks of more, of something else God is doing in these experiences, not just scourge, but succor and restoration. We are chastened, but we are also rebuilt from the inside out.

Read the rest of the good news over at Gladmanly!

A close friend of ours has a family member in Afghanistan, and had a first person account of one of the recent suicide bombings there. (Apparently the Taliban are adopting some of the more media-attracting tactics from Al Qaeda in Iraq.)

This Soldier trains Afghan Army units, and one of the units he worked with suffered dramatic losses from a suicide bomber. This man not only shared a close proximity to the attack, but had passed by the scene shortly before the bomber struck.

He reports feelings and impressions that are quite common to Soldiers who have endured such combat experiences, or had close connection to those who have been injured or killed. In an earlier note, he shared some really powerful insights that apply to all of us who serve in harm’s way. These ring true, and are shared by those who serve in Iraq as well:

Everybody dies the same here. Infantry, Airborne, Special Forces, truck drivers, cooks. It doesn't matter what's on your uniform or what specialized training you've been through.

Training helps but only goes so far. Marksmanship is the most important piece here and how quickly you return fire. Our soldiers are excellent marksman.

You can tell almost instantly if someone is going to die right after being hit.

Everybody feels fear here. It comes and goes in different levels of intensity but is always there.

Out on the FOBs, you sometimes feel completely alone even when other soldiers are right beside you.

Riding in armored up HMMWVs or SUVs does not guarantee you will live during an attack...

You feel guilty when you survive something that others don't. It bothers you day and night. It never goes away.

When flying over enemy territory you feel intense heat inside your body.

Children here are completely blind to the dangers all around them. They play as though nothing will ever happen to them.

No day is ever the same here. You always see something you've never seen before. Sometimes wish you'd never seen it.

The desert wind does sometimes have a sweet smell to it. The desert is pitch black at night when there is no moon.

Politics don't matter, all that matters is coming home alive and in one piece.

Death is just around the corner for all of us, live life everyday like it's your last. People are the most important things in this life, take care of those you love.

God bless these men who go out everyday knowing they may not come back again, but go anyway.

We have a few Soldiers in our unit who do real combat patrols in towns and villages, who have been party of attacks, seen death and destruction, and known what it was like to come close to harm oneself. They have come through okay, but those of us who haven’t had to suffer through these experiences directly can only sympathize with our friends, pray for them, and be there to encourage them when they see too much or start getting rattled.

Others in the unit adjacent to us are responsible for FOB Security and other force protection missions on the FOB, and off. They are from Texas, and many had family directly in the path of Katrina or Rita, and many lost homes or had families disrupted or uprooted during the recent hurricanes, flooding, and other crises. I know they could relate to this Soldier in Afghanistan, and his impressions above.

It is a testament to human will and endurance, and reflective of the strong courage, and Faith, that sustains many of these Soldiers. I will forever be in awe of their strength, and bravery, and ability to just keep on keeping on.

Links: Dawn Patrol at Mudville Gazette

The Iraqi People have won. Again.

Listen to this. On January 30th this year, when Iraqis first voted for representatives for their National Assembly, former regime and other Baathist elements, coupled with Al Qaeda in Iraq, launched over 147 attacks to try to disrupt the elections. They failed, and the world first saw the purple-fingered triumph of democracy.

Yesterday, the Iraqi People thrust another purple finger in the eye of Al Qaeda, which managed to muster only 14 attacks throughout the entire country. Failed, and failing, chased and discredited, humiliated and shamed for their ruthless indifference to those they purport to help. They insult the very faith traditions from which their mutant strain of hate sprang, ill-born.

We’re winning. The Iraqi People are winning. Democracy, and its prospects around the world, thrives. We are witnessing a Century of Freedom unfold.

The Iraqi People have won, no matter what they have decided about this draft Constitution of theirs. Because they have experienced something dramatic, something new in their history, and as easily as they vote today, they can vote again the next time. They have vanquished those who truly sought to oppress them and keep them in bondage: if not Saddam’s, then the captivity of low expectations and cynicism.

The Iraqi Army and Iraqi Police are largely responsible for the relative safety and security enjoyed by the vast majority of Iraqis as they headed to the polls for the second time in less than a year. There are reports of courage, of resistance, of bravery in the face of danger. And of danger dissipated, of grievances surrendered in exchange for the possibility of inclusion and influence. We shall all know shortly if the result is as successful and triumphant and complete as initial signs indicate.

Kurd and Shia and Sunni. They have birthed themselves a Republic, if they can keep it (to evoke Franklin).

The Afghan people achieved their own purple-fingered milestone in late September.

Can there be a people where the hope of Democracy cannot reach? Can there be a corner of the world where the appeal of Liberty does not penetrate?

Links: Dawn Patrol at Mudville Gazette

I guess I may get a few more days of connectivity...not easy, not prolonged, but enough.

We passed two milestones last week.

The Battalion conducted our last Prayer Breakfast in Iraq this past week, and it served as a helpful reflection on where we came from, what we endured, and the more lasting aspects of this deployment.

The Chaplain welcomed us by saying, “We have come this far by faith.” Faith in our leaders, in our mission, in our abilities to be successful. He urged us to think about these last words we would speak in Iraq. Paul, at the end of his ministry (and earthly life) spoke both of “fighting the good fight,” and having “run the race,” and come successfully to the finish. (Given the many different audiences God intended him to reach over the better part of two Millenia, we can forgive and perhaps appreciate the mixing of these two metaphors.)

No regular reader here doubts my view of the rightness of our fight in Iraq, of the broader struggle against radical Islamic terrorism, and of the deeper and near ancient now commitment to ideals of Liberty and Freedom. It is no accident that this Task Force we are a part of has been called Task Force Liberty, symbolized by the torch that is held aloft by Lady Liberty in New York Harbor. Now this coincides with the moe stations of our parent Division and its subordinate commands, and the homes of record of many of our soldiers. But it also harkens to what many of us have in this fight, despite what any of the nay-sayers claim, those of us who either sat stunned and felt deeply the attack on the World Trade Towers, or in many cases, took up the task of establishing the military presence in New York City in the immediate aftermath, and assisted in the recovery efforts at Ground Zero. Many of our soldiers struggled through air heavy laden with dust and debris, smelled the smells of destruction, breathed deeply of the grief and ashen anger that pervaded that world, that moment, that time of our Great Awakening.

We take it personal. In fighting back, in bringing the fight to the doorsteps of Terrorism, we have sacrificed brothers and sisters. A portion of our Prayer Breakfast was dedicated to a memorial tribute to those who have fallen in our Task Force. I was powerfully struck by how many of those faces were as alive as any I have ever seen. It was as if the best photographers in the world had studied these men and women, gotten to know them, and taken the kind of photographs that captured for all time the essence of their personalities. I looked into the eyes of people I never knew, never would know, and thought, I’d have been good friends with him. Or, I would have been charmed by her. He would have made me laugh all the time. I would have greatly respected this man, or I bet he was a great Dad, or she was a heck of a Mom. Now lost to the ages, to history, to the sadness of their families and the longing of friends to see them one more time. And so we may, but not on this Earth again.

The soundtrack for the photos included “How Great Thou Art”(Removed misattributed story of what inspired this hymn):

Oh Lord My God, when I in awesome wonder
Consider all the worlds Thy hands have made.
I see the stars, I hear the rolling thunder
Thy power throughout, the universe displayed

Then sings my soul, my Savior God to thee
How great Thou art, how great Thou art
Then sings my soul, my Savior God to thee
How great Thou art, how great Thou art

They finished with another song, which the first time I heard the band play it, it made me angry. I must have just been in one of those unfeeling places, thinking, “That’s just stupid, our logo is the Rainbow, so they need to play ‘Over The Rainbow,’ for a memorial service?” I had first heard this performed at our Memorial Service for our two fallen officers.

Maybe I really heard it this time. The band has a lead singer, who sings the song at a very slow and haunting tempo, and done somberly with much emotion. (There must be some popular female singer who has covered “Over The Rainbow” with this kind of arrangement, but I am not familiar with who.)

Sung in grief, as a plaintive cry, it speaks to that part of us that longs for eternity, or at least long enough to outlast this earthly existence and meet again lost friends and departed love ones.

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby

Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

Some day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemondrops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

At several points, several serious crises have confronted the Chaplaincy, as well as the rest of the Command. Many times, the question was asked, “Do we need to send this soldier home?” In many cases, the Command was able to appreciate and do service in return to the soldier, and release him at least temporarily from his or her obligation. Many resisted, and one was heard to quote a recent Olympic athlete from Africa, “My country didn’t send me 7,000 Miles to start the race, they sent me 7,000 miles to finish the race.”

The Chaplain spoke of us yet keeping the torch lit for the Lord. For me, that brought to mind the scripture of the brides and their lamps, to keep them lit for the bridegroom. Their Lord visited those who maintained their oil and their wicks. Perhaps not the most apt metaphor for a bunch of Army man and women, but the essential point is that, throughout all adversity, God challenges us to keep ourselves ready for conscious contact with Him. He is ever present, ever ready, standing at our “finish line,” waiting for us to finish.

Our Commanding General spoke of the many troubles and trouble spots in the world. He described the many solutions to those problems, sometimes money, sometimes diplomacy, but sometimes, there’s a need for hands-on, and this time that meant us. We played our part. He remarked that of course we will find ways to thank our soldiers and our leaders, but that we need to reserve a big part of our thanks to the Divine Creator who watches over us in all we do.

Which brings me to our second milestone from last week, which was all about giving those thanks to our soldiers.

The Battalion conducted an End of Tour Awards Ceremony in the Division Conference Room. The room is possibly the most spectacular of any of the palace rooms in one of the more ornate of Saddam’s Palaces. The atmosphere befit the occasion, whereby the Battalion gave out awards for the unit’s 10 month deployment to Iraq. Section by section, soldiers came forward and were recognized by the Commander and CSM, and given awards for their service in Operation Iraqi Freedom (OIF) III.

That’s one kind of thanks, and important, but not the most important. It made me reflect on what my soldiers’ think is important, and I don’t think that’s usually these paper certificates or ribbons or even the medal with the pin clasp that we will almost never wear, save those few of us who will invest in Dress Blues. Certificates and medals and ribbons, those are creations from the world of Officers. Sometimes valued by non-commissioned officers (NCOs) or other enlisted, but generally only in proportion to the leader who leads them, the manner in which he leads them, and the care with which he or she takes in getting the mission accomplished.

Soldiers measure success differently. Honor. Honesty. Commitment. Trust.

For some, they know they are but a fair-weather stop for a self-serving military careerist. Soldiers know who they would follow to the full measure of devotion, if it ever comes to that, and they know who will save themselves before any of the rest of them will even think of that.

I looked across the faces of our soldiers, and I know each of us were in our own spheres of reflection. Some thought about home, no doubt, some thought about what’s next, as either civilian or full-time careerist, or even someone still in between. Many I’m sure thought about their mission, the things that went well, those things that didn’t, and formed thoughts of closure and judgment, and hopefully, some pride of accomplishment. I know it isn’t adequately reflected in medals or ribbons. I know that words at a ceremony can’t convey its essence.

Whether where we started, whether where we’ve been, or whether where we’re going, times like these get us thinking up, out and beyond ourselves and our limited line of sight. Somewhere over the rainbow, no doubt.

But those who wait on the Lord
Shall renew their strength;
They shall mount up with wings like eagles;
They shall run and not be weary,
They shall walk and not faint. (Isaiah 40:31)

UPDATE: A reader corrects my misattribution of How Great Thou Art, which was played at our ceremony, but was not inspired as described. As Anonymous correctly observes, that story I remember but mis-attribute is the source of It Is Well (With My Soul), which I surely should remember, as I have written on it several times. My apologies.

Well, this will be about it. I have lost easy access to the Internet, and that will greatly reduce my ability to email or post pieces to Dadmanly. It had to happen at some point, but this was a bit sooner than I expected.

No, I’m not being censored or shut down, and we are all well, in good spirits, and ready to start our redeployment operation home.

I am as busy as I’ve been since the start of this adventure, outside perhaps those first few months of Mobilization Training. I don’t get very much time for me, which means I don’t get very much time for all of you, either. Now the loss of ready connectivity means, I’m going to be far more silent than any of us have been sued to.

The guys here joke that I’ll be going through withdrawal. That’s partly true. But I will also be taking a few deep breaths. When I can, I will be finishing transcribing my notes from the last half of Sandberg’s Lincoln (plenty more posts there), knocking out another Chapter or two for the Jilly Beans Jamboree and Moss Don’t Grow on a Rolling Spud saga. (Those are my histories of the early life of my daughters, who sometimes get short shrift, as I started writing like a monster just recently, and hence Little Manly gets a lot more coverage. This is my effort to reminisce with them over the important times we’ve shared, good and bad.)

I can knock out any final profile or two. I can submit and final thoughts for Blackfive’s MILBLOGGER book (if the Editor doesn’t file a restraining order against me). I can read the excellent book on the building of the Erie Canal, Wedding of the Waters, by Peter Bernstein, that Mom and Dad sent. I may even dabble in one or two of the historical novels by Bernard Cornwell that Kid Sisly sent my way. I think I’ll write a few old fashioned letters of gratitude to my friends and family.

In short, I will withdraw somewhat further into that safe and reflective place that was long a feature of the Land of Sunday, and Land of Summer.

We are well, and we will be as successful in our return, as we were on our arrival, as we’ve been throughout our tour.

I will never successfully explain what a powerful effect your readership has had on me, how it’s changed my life forever. I cannot capture what God has done, working through this experience, in the many ways he has worked the clay as the Divine Potter. I will never be able to adequately express my gratitude for the love, encouragement, support and enthusiasm from you, my patient and forgiving readers. Never, not even a fraction of the fullness of my heart, or the emotion bursting in my spirit. But I will try, through words spoken and typed and written by hand, as I’m sure you would expect I’d do.

It’s with your help, echoing the love and support of Almighty God, that I remain, in one piece physically if not mentally, your friend,

Dadmanly

In his Wednesday Bleat, James Lileks uses his childhood experiences at his grandmother’s farm to describe the difference between carrots from the store, and carrots fresh from the ground. His daughter asks him to tell her another story about the farm:

I don’t have many. There aren’t that many of us. First you had the people who farmed, then the ones who grew up on a farm and left for the city, then the ones whose parents grew up on a farm and took you back on weekends, then the kids whose parents were the last to hold the connection to agrarian America, and never quite noted the moment when that cord ran through their hands and out of their grasp. Not that they were holding on particularly tightly.

“What other stories can you tell,” his daughter asks.

But there’s not much more to tell. Certainly not the Death of the Badger in the culvert, which formed the basis of my first novel in first grade. Moments, impressions, pictures – walking through the woods along the Red River, finding an ancient tractor abandoned 30 years ago; scraping the dust off your skin with Lava soap after a day on the combine; riding motorcycles down long thin empty county roads in the summer. The farm was another world, even though it was only ten miles from home. Every day was Sunday, and Sunday was another country. It was in the Land of Sunday I first saw Pong; it was in the Land of Sunday I first tasted a beer, courtesy of Grandfather: ew, how can you drink that? It was in the Land of Sunday I saw the first episode of Star Trek on NBC in Living Color – Grandpa had a set, we didn’t. Happy to go and happy to go home. In the days before the interstate we took Highway 10 home, the road where my mom and dad had spun out years before I was born – landed in the ditch in the winter. (I always thought the scar on his forehead was from that accident, until I asked; no, he was kicked in the head as a kid. Simple enough thing, but when you’re dead poor you don’t go into town to get it sewn up nice and neat.) I always fell asleep going home. The highway curved around an old farm and the new drive-in, and whenever the car made the curve I felt it, and knew we were close. Sunday was over and Monday was next; duty loomed.

I just realized that my earliest memories, the ones that stuck, are all from the Land of Sunday.

Have I said lately that Lileks is the best writer on the Internet? It isn’t the grace of his prose, or any particular finesse with the turn of phrase. It is the power of his themes, his evocative collections of stray images that build together into vivid portraits of the man alive, in place, in time.

I lived much of my recollected life in the Land of Sunday. The Land of Sunday had a stirring soundtrack, part classics, part early jazz, part American Musical, with some bosa nova thrown in for good measure. Bill Cosby did some gigs in the Land of Sunday, but only with his early routines of Noah and shaving commercials. The Land of Sunday also celebrated family life with early dinners, capped by TV suppers of pizza or family size popcorn, popped in the old tin lizzy electric popper. Every night in the Land of Sunday ended with the Wonderful World of Disney, and if we were lucky, a Disney movie that stretched the day another hour or more, before, as Lileks notes, duty loomed.

The NY Times was the newspaper of record in the Land of Sunday. In later years, half the day was measured in the cover-to-back exploration of that other, Metroworld so far away from the Land of Sunday. Mother and Father in their respective lairs, siblings piled around in various configurations. An occasional, “Bob!” that corresponded with Dad’s absent minded shift into some habit or another, Mom’s descent from any internal debates long enough to speak at him for half an argument over something she was reading, his reply a sporadic “humph,” carefully time through din of repetition and studied response to minimally satisfy the oath of attentiveness.

My son and daughters have not lived in the Land of Sunday, and visits there do not come close to capturing the import of the place, for them. We don’t subscribe to the Grey Lady surely, nor any other relic of those fading and print-shedding earlier times. We may spend an unforgivable amount of time in front of a television tube, but we might just as likely go for a bike ride together, or a ride in the country, capped by a meal at one of our many cherished spots of family treasure. All of course, after a morning spent in church, which only in the very earliest days was an artifact of the Land of Sunday. More clearly, my family today interacts and connects and dispels much opportunity for isolated reflection, in print or book or chorus or verse, or in any of the many ways we each were our own Island in that Land of Sundays. This is both a sad and wistful observation; alone in our struggles but insulated from much of what could hurt.

I also come from that last generation who had that farmland cord trailing through my hands, only to let it run out without seeing it gone. The most exciting destination when I was a kid was the annual trip out to my Mom’s and Dad’s families out in Southern Michigan. I remember fishing with my Uncle Karle. Clearly I still see in my mind the hallowed shrines that were every barn and shed, each revealing its treasures of a wall of bird wings or mounted fish heads, and all the other exotic assortments of everyday rural life. The pond, where Karle wisely kept us suburban kids occupied easily enough with a cane pole, a bobber, and a can of worms. As anyone with a farm pond can tell you, that’s where you toss the fish you bring home, either as intentional stock, or because you thought better of having them for dinner when the alternative was an already roasting piece of beef. These are fish that are regularly caught and released by each new flock of kidlings set down as we were to amuse.

I remember the rows and rows of corn, not even much production wise, just the remnant of an 80 acre parcel split up one too many times from generation to generation. The Pioneer Seed signs in each field, identifying the specific hybrid corn variety competing for yield. The BB gun pistol, another amusement for the children of the mom who forbid the use of such things, and abhorred their appearance to such an extent that she blanched at the acquisition of anything more threatening in appearance as the all too tiny plastic Winchester. This was not just exciting, but a forbidden and clandestine operation in which the kids of the enlightenment meet the values of the frontier, and learn about a few of the tools necessary for self sufficiency. That, and trying to hit the “movie theater” crows on the phone line was a challenge.

I remember sleeping near the foot of a glass gun case in the living room, full of rifles. I remember a dizzying assortment of “sugared cereals,” all the ones that, if they ever made it home at all, had to be cut 50-50 with Wheaties to ensure we weren’t all wired on sugar every morning. This is when I developed a lifelong attachment to those little cereal assortment boxes. My family, most from Battle Creek or the area on the southern border, all worked for one or more of the cereal companies at one time or another, my Uncle I believe retired from Post, my Mom I think worked at Kellogg’s one summer, and so on. You can’t live in that part of Michigan and not have a family connection to Cereal and Cereal manufacturing.

My Dad and I didn’t have much chance when I was young to do much by way of guy things together, but we did when we were with Karle. Karle gave us a place, a time, a way to relate as men must do with their fathers if they hope to understand how to be a man. It isn’t the fishing, it isn’t the hunting or outdoor pursuits. It’s the quiet confidence of standing in the outdoors, and saying we are together in this thing, and we can go down this road together a piece, and maybe sit and have a nice cool lemonade (or beer, later) when we get back. The young boy can look up in wonder at the world of men, and see quiet strength or gentle patience.

Karle and his family seemed like the family of easygoing virtue, of connectedness to a simpler and happier time. They had their struggles, tragedy more than most, and surely lived their life without any pretension that they were at all extraordinary, but they were to me. Jan, who I remember more vividly than my brief time with him explains, his Babe Ruth, his laugh and easy nature, his kindness and quiet strength. (Much like his Dad.) Linda, who was a copy in the mold of her Mother Miriam, as charming and loving and considerate as a person could be, and as oldest of the cousins, functioned as much as a Mom to us kids running around as our own. The twins, beautiful girls, Bambi the more outgoing and boisterous, Karen more reflective but warm to us and always generous of her attention and concern that all of us enjoy ourselves on our visit. With Miriam, we kids could never ask for anything that wouldn’t receive the thing itself or a near alternative, all in an easy charm and kindness. She had a happy way of talking, sounded like Grandma, but with a cheerful and lively twist. She and her brood worked hard, were respectfully and considerate, and never questioned for a moment the awkward moments when one of us would have a tantrum, or have some other problem that awakened the old but private patterns quite alien to this rural life (and usually safely hidden from view).

Karle has a farmer’s eyes, the kind that settle somewhere off in the distance, full of deep emotion that goes unspoken. He has seen, and suffered, a lot. He’s buried dear loved ones, he’s lost more than many men ever have. And yet, I can’t think of Karle without thinking of this great big bear of an encourager, who could always offer a bit of advice or observation about whatever earthly thing we were about, and we’d be the better for listening.

I think in some way they felt sorry for us. I know I did. They live forever in the idyllic pastures of my Land of Summer. Like the Land of Sunday, but writ expansively across the lazy summer, that always saw the log road trip to Michigan for a week with the Michigan families. And as those families recede further and further from view, and I watch that cord trail further and further away, I want so much to go grab it and hold on to it. I want to hold onto that cord until my children can learn the secrets of the Land of Summer. I want them to dwell for a time in the Land of Sundays. It may very well be too late.

We love to take drives, this one’s just 10 hours long. The road is still well paved, and the cars get better gas mileage. And maybe, if I try, I can still get a shot at those crows out on the line, and my son can look up at in wonder at the world of men, feel the strength and patience, and take hold of the cord. Someday, he might just want to pull it a little tighter.

Thanks, James. I enjoyed the visit.

Links: Jo's Cafe

Last week there was much discussion of the Zawahiri-Zarqawi Communiqué and its import for our efforts in Iraq and the Global War on Terror more generally. (See CENTCOM for the full text of the Communiqué.) Not surprisingly, Austin Bay provided the best analysis, available at his blog, but more concisely at RealClearPolitics.

As Bay describes, we have succeeded broadly against virtually any measure of success, tangible and intangible:

However, smashing Al-Qaida's claim to act on behalf of "all Muslims" is far more complicated than killing or arresting terrorists. Undermining its megalomaniacal appeal meant exposing it as the inhuman, ungodly Mass Murder Inc. it is. The optimal outcome would be to expose Al-Qaida as a threat to Muslims and detrimental to the best ideals of Islam.

When Al-Qaida's zealots blow up trains in Spain or subways in London, those are attacks of their choosing conducted on "infidel terrain." The genius of the war in Iraq is a brutal but necessary form of strategic judo: It brought the War on Terror into the heart of the Middle East and onto Arab Muslim turf. In Iraq, Abu Musab al-Zarqawi's theo-fascists have been spilling Arab blood, and Al Jazeera has noticed that, too.

Arabs have also seen the Iraqi people's struggle and their emerging political alternative to despotism and feudal autocracy.

Zarqawi's murder spree has revealed fissures among Al-Qaida fanatics. Last week, the United States released a letter coalition intelligence believes Al-Qaida's second in command, Ayman al-Zawahiri, sent to Zarqawi. Zawahiri describes Iraq as "the greatest battle for Islam in our era." But Iraq has become a political and information battle that Zawahiri realizes Al-Qaida may be losing. According to The New York Times, Zawahiri told Zarqawi to attack Americans rather than Iraqi civilians and to "refrain from the kind of gruesome beheadings and other executions that have been posted on Al-Qaida websites. Those executions have been condemned in parts of the Muslim world as violating tenets of the faith."

In February 2004, Zarqawi acknowledged a democratic Iraqi state would mean defeat for Al-Qaida in Iraq. To defeat democracy, he has pursued a strategy of relentless, nihilistic bloodbath. It's a brutal irony of war: In doing so, he is losing the war for the hearts and minds.

If our sworn enemies are privately admitting they are failing in their aims and losing the battle for hearts and minds, the battle is nearly done. They have been crushed militarily, they still pose a threat to civilian and Iraqi governmental safety and security, but it closer to a nuisance level not uncommon in the developing world than any form of vital insurgency (if it ever was even remotely that). They think they still have a chance to snatch victory from defeat, Vietnam template style, and there are harmonious voices in the West who echo that assessment.

Clear-eyed commentators grow increasingly convinced we have turned the corner and rack up real victories. At precisely this moment, the nay-sayers are rewriting the critical success factors for the effort, recasting the basis for the war, revising the measures of success, or restating the terms and conditions for withdrawal. That is, if they are not still shrilly screaming “quagmire” or “catastrophe.” You’d think our enemies had gathered to assess their bleak position, and put out word that information operations must launch an all-out assault on public perception before all is lost. Doesn’t it?

Smash at Indepundit has it best, I think:

We’re winning. We’re winning. We’re winning.

Okay, that's an excerpt, read the whole thing.

On the eve of victory, we may yet pull back, if we listen to those voices determined to prove us wrong.

(H/T Instapundit)

Links: Indepundit, Cao's Blog, Jo's Cafe, Hooah Wife

Josh Marshall, in a recent Talking Points Memo, reveals the revisionist history that underlies both \tilt and Nobel sensibilities.

Marshall exposes the base assumptions undergirding the new talking points for the war:

We never would have gotten inspectors back into Iraq without a credible threat of force. But once the inspectors were in, they quickly began undermining the case that there was any serious WMD program or capability in Iraq. Had we pursued the inspections process in good faith, which we would have done had our true goal been eliminating WMDs (or confirming they weren't there), we probably would have avoided this current mess because the war never would have started.

To speak plainly, this thread of argument tries to portray a sensible position on the need for Congressional approval for the threat of force to get Saddam Hussein to comply with the UN weapons inspection regime. But then, we were to somehow pause with sufficient apparent intent that Hussein would yield. (He did not.)

Call it the John Kerry Gambit.

Note that this requires a complete suspension of disbelief about Saddam Hussein and his now well-documented success in bribing, manipulating, and otherwise running circles around the international community, including first and foremost Hans Blix and El Baradei.

Liberals and other anti-war, anti-administration, and anti-Bush partisans continue to maintain that there was no WMD threat posed by Saddam Hussein, that he was no major state sponsor of terror, and that UN Weapons and Atomic Energy inspectors came up empty on significant violations because there were none.

Please. Not only were there major violations, there was compelling evidence that someone in the UN was tippuing off the Iraqis about the targets of upcoming inspections. The inspection rules were also nothing more than milquetoast niceties that allowed Saddam and his ministries a big say in what and how facilities were searched, what was within and off limits.

That, and Saddam had 6 months of the Coalition walking through the process of compelling him to comply with UN Security Council resolutions, and the increasing certainty that, this time, we meant what we said. Plenty of time to whsik materials out of Iraq. There is plenty of evidence that Saddam worked in collusion with Syrian and Iranian kindred spirits. Are the people peddling this Diplomatic history of the war in Iraq that credulous that Saddam was merely bluffing? That the very real indications of his WMD intents, not to mention established capability well proven by thousands of gassed Kurds, were just idle dabbling? That Saddam sought uranium, nucelar capability, forged links with terrorist groups, supported the PLO, none of this points at anything more sinister than a day-in-the-life of Average Middle Eastern Potentate?

In an earlier post (to which he links even as he tries to recast history), Marshall still clung to the old talking points, somewhat contrary to how he started this post on the threat of force:

So we have an immensely difficult, even impossible, challenge that we embarked on -- let's be frank -- for no good reason. And you don't have to be a genius to add up the pros and cons of that one.

The task we have before us is not impossible, and it won't be long now that the issue is settled quite convincingly by a free and functioning Iraqi democracy and a totally defeated and disgraced Al Qaeda in Iraq. And right up until the moment that happens (and possibly for quite a time after, there will be those who still cry out for the failure that might have been, based on the blind faith they yet cling to about the sufficiency of the UN and its peacekeeping regimes.

In good faith, we must not rely on blind faith, no matter what the UN or Nobel prize committee tell us.

Links: Basil's Blog, Cao's Blog, Indepundit, Jo's Cafe, Outside the Beltway, Mudville Gazette, Dawn Patrol at Mudville

The Christian Carnival #91 is up at Matt Jones' Random Acts of Verbiage. (I like that Blog name!)

My Letter to My Son is included in this week's Carnival, if you haven't seen it, stop on by.

Hihglights tomorrow if I get the time...

Be careful what you wish for. "May you have what you wish for." (Ancient Chinese curse)

My new debate partner is firing up the flame broiler and has two new debates roasting over at Debate Space:

If you're not with us you're agin' us

Does the left want war in iraq to be lost?

Both these threads are continuation of ongoing arguments between me and Kevin from Command T.O.C. and Dave Johnson from Seeing the Forest. These are taking place all over at this point, at Command T.O.C., here at Dadmanly, at Blackfive, Seeing the Forest, and now Debate Space.

Some highlights of the various discussions (don't ask me where these came from, I have lost track).

Kevin suggested that I am censored and reviewed for content based on some of the recent policy letters and focus on blogging and OPSEC, I responded:

With all due respect, you are dead wrong.

I am neither censored nor reviewed for content. I intentionally stay away from any content, operational specifics, or other specific military information that would be of intelligence value to our enemies. I keep my Commander informed of posts I think he'd be interested in, and twice I asked his opinion on whether I crossed any lines.

He leaves my writing up to me, because he knows I am 100% behind what we are doing here. I am in frequent contact with many of the MILBLOGS, and I am probably the most careful as to OPSEC. None of the MILBLOGS I know have ever had any problems in this area.

I do think some Blogs reveal way too much information, especially Battle Damage Assessment info that allows the enemy to know how they are doing (not that AP or CBS doesn't make every effort to help out). In this, I am glad to see some choose to close down, since these concentrate almost exclusively on near real time reporting of actual on the ground tactics, operations and results. Not good, if one of the things you care about is helping our soldiers do the best job they can do with as little risk as possible.

You are an advocate against the war. That's one thing, in my mind a perfectly noble and acceptable thing, however misguided I believe you are. In my opinion, based on numerous interaction with you blogwise, you take a single statement or fact and distort it. That makes you unwise, not unpatriotic, worthy of criticism, not censorship.

But you are a private citizen, an independent agent who declares up front where you are coming from. You do not create sympathetic portraits of the enemy, you don't (wittingly) abet their propaganda efforts, you don't intentionally pass off phony news or staged events as actual real time reporting. You cannot say the same about major media, who have been guilty of all of the above.

You say you hear the voices of the military, yet refuse to listen. To those us whose positions your distort, or reality you contradict, and whose service you belittle, you discredit yourself and the principles you so passionately defend.

On another post, one of the Commenters thought that Blackfive won the 2004 Best MILBLOG Award from the US Military, rather than readers of Military Blogs.

Another thought it funny (ironic) that MILBLOGS so frequently advertise for organizations that advocate against the ACLU. This was my response to that:

Given that ACLU and other activist human rights groups denigrate the US military and give a free pass to our enemies, no not funny at all.

Given that many of the left-centric advocacy groups are full of people who sympathized with or actively supported communist and socialists organizations with whom we were at were for over 40 years, no, not at all funny.

What's really funny is how twisted y'all get in your bloomers, with hysterical pronouncements of the looming Totalitarian State we live in.

And then a general comment to the Bloggers and commenters at left side blogs, who are outraged that Military Bloggers are conservative, and often Republicans:

Military bloggers are conservative. If there was room for any pro-defense conservatives in the Democratic Party, some of us might very well be democrats, we've been there before.

You can believe us the easy way, listen to what we're saying, develop a little balance in your views, or keep losing elections. Your choice, we really don't care.

Those of us in the military serve our country as a calling, we respect and honor our institutions, and we believe in the American way of life. We think the military has been poorly served by head-in-the-sand politicos and diplomats who can hug human scum like Kim Jung Il all in the name of "Talk talk talk beats war war war." Unless of course you're the hapless and hopeless schmucks who get trampled by the dictators and monsters, who are all too happy to take advantage of your Salon Naivete.

Point to one example where any of you have lost any freedoms, that weren't taken from you by activist judges who know oh so better than you what's good for you.

Anyone in jail? Any newspapers shut down? Anyone fired from their jobs? Any ghettoes being established? Anyone telling you where to live? Anyone preventing you from voting? And do you want Homeland Security to go away? Air marshalls? Border patrol?

I tell you what, we'll do all those things, if all those on the left who think we are not in a war, sign a contract to live and work only in high rise buildings in major American cities.

The rest of us, who are doing all the fighting and dying, we'll stop and quietly move out to Red State prairie and leave you all to your lattes and discussion groups.

We'll only have to wait a couple of dozen generations for the nuclear fallout to dissipate...And we won't miss the traffic, either.

I'm beat.

I promise, I'll come back to the fight tomorrow. My time runs short, and I still have many more things to say while I'm still in the sandbox.

Links: Basil's Blog, Jo's Cafe, Indepundit, Outside the Beltway, Mudville Gazette

Dave Johnson at Seeing the Forest is clearly very frightened of the influence military bloggers (MILBLOGS) and other right leaning bloggers are exerting over public, political discussion.

Responding to Blackfive’s post on Journalists and the Military, Johnson issues an ominous warning:

In other words, anything other than the right-wing viewpoint will not be tolerated. And it links to posts calling the press "anti-America" and advocating press blackouts when the press won't report what Republican governments want them to report.

This is especially chilling because the context of the post is "terrorists." Think about where these people are taking the country.

And what fascist nastiness did Blackfive utter to chill Johnson to the bone?

At some point, you have to pick sides. Not choosing a side is choosing not to be on our side.

Like the military, members of Congress and our other elected representatives likewise swear an oath to defend the Constitution, and fail to live up to that commitment.

The point Blackfive, and many other Military Bloggers make, has nothing to do with the press reporting "what Republican governments want them to report."

It has everything to do with willful ignorance and misreporting of facts on the ground, "ground truth" as we say. We are here, and see what is to be seen every day. Many less reputable (and certainly less honorable) members of the press peddle falsehoods, actively promulgate propaganda from sworn enemies of the United States, hire Terrorist accomplices masquerading as "freelancers," and otherwise seek to turn every news report into a childish exercise of "how can we use this to make Bush look bad?"

Either left leaning commentators like Johnson are too biased to see that for what is is, or they think we (and a majority of your fellow Americans) are too stupid to see it.

If the press will publish bad news, at least just stick to facts. Avoid subjectivity and judgment. Present context. Maintain perspective. Recognize agendas. Don't be a patsy, any fool can tell when something's staged. If some positive news can be included, that would be nice too.

If it weren't for MILBLOGGERS, there'd be no positive voices out there at all. And yet as few as we are, you suggest we should be silenced, and portray us as those who would deny anyone the right to dissent or vocalize their opinion.

Astonishing in its complete separation from reality.

What did Blackfive say again?

At some point, you have to pick sides. Not choosing a side is choosing not to be on our side.

In other other words (ones that are connected to reality), maintaining some bizarre sense of impartiality or neutrality (or objectivity, which would probably be okay if any of the Old New Journalists knew what that word meant), in the face of brutal inhumanity is to be on the side of evil. When a terrorist intentionally targets innocents, women and children, families, any form of non-combatant, they are not deserving of any sympathy or respect. And to remain non-judgmental about them is to condone and tolerate evil. And that, my morally tone-deaf friends, puts you on the other side.

UPDATE: I meant to link to two earlier pieces, a discussion of New Journalism, and a debate over "liberal bias" in media over at Debate Space.

UPDATE UPDATE: I took the time to read the excellent commentary of United Press International (UPI) Reporter Pam Hess, as linked by Greyhawk at Mudville Gazette.

Hess, who served as an embedded reporter in Iraq, reports:

...most soldiers do not recognize the Iraq they read about in the newspaper or see on TV, and it is deepening a gulf they feel with the media and with a large sector of America. The same goes for their family, friends and strangers who read soldiers' many blogs about their war experience.

The two realities just don't track.

Hess does a terrific job of capturing the disconnect between what's most commonly (and widely) reported from Iraq and what the avergae GI here experiences here. I feel that disconnect every day. I try to describe for those back home that my soldiers and I don't feel practically at risk or in danger, even out on convoys. We are alert, and prepared for trouble, but time and personal experience has taught us: that we can't predict when or if we will be the ones in the wrong place at the wrong time; that our own preparedness decreases likelihood of attack; and that we are more likely to suffer a physical training injury than be killed or even wounded in combat. (Or, for that matter, to even see any combat.)

Hess describes the cognitive dissonance in this way:

The dissonance between my own experience and the facts in front of me revealed an important truth about this war.

Iraq is like the elephant and the blind men. In that parable, the blind men describe the elephant as they experience it. One, holding the tusk, says an elephant is smooth, hard and sharp. One, feeling the belly, says it is soft and wrinkled. Another, holding the trunk, says it is long, thin and muscular.

Each is right. Each is wrong.

No doubt this is true, to a point. That is, to the point that comparisons are made or context is provided, something that happens somewhere in a continuum between objective reporting and subjective editorial commentary. And as the discredited (Old) New Journalism tore down that wall of separation between fact and opinion, the ability of readers to make intelligent judgments about what they were reading evaporated.

Hess concludes with a doctrine, which if fairly executed, would be a hopeful middle ground between what the Soldier sees as ground truth, and what the Reporter believes needs to be told:

There should only be true stories, accurately told.

Iraq is a deceptive place, with thousands of narratives running through it. None is more right or wrong than the blind men describing the elephant.

Links: Basil's Blog, Indepundit, Jo's Cafe, Outside the Beltway, bRight & Early, The Command T.O.C., Blogotional

An Example…

Terry Heaton, writing for the September issue of the Digital Journalist, explores the incredible challenges faced by traditional journalists in TV News in a Postmodern World: Chaos at the Door. Heaton used the occasion of a meeting of a Journalism “think tank” that met at Ball State University in Muncie, Indiana last week to make some important observations.

Heaton makes a very convincing argument that this isn’t a simple problem for media. Not one that will be meaningfully addressed by old time reporters sitting through a seminar or two, or an added “New Media” class in the curricula, or getting a youngster to sit down and teach the old dog a few new tricks.

The dramatic, incredible expanse of information distribution has changed everything. Really.

Heaton quotes Democratic strategist Joe Trippi in making his assertion, who can be credited for a lot of things, not least creating a false impression on the part of some Democrats that getting people’s attention online would necessarily translate into getting them out into the streets (or for that matter into voting booths). In this instance, though, Trippi is right on the money:

If information is power, then the Internet, which distributes information democratically to anyone who has access to it, is no longer distributing just information — it's distributing power.

And in a top-down society, it's empowering the bottom. Put more simply-in America, it's empowering the American people.

Heaton expands on Trippi’s conclusion:

And the paradox of power is that discontent increases with opportunities for acting on it. The more the bottom is given the tools to make and distribute their own media, the greater their power; the greater their power, the greater their discontent and, along with it, the opportunity for acting on that discontent. This bubbling caldron of energy is profoundly anti-elitist and anti-institution, because the more the bottom surveys the landscape these days, the more they realize that our culture has failed them, and this energy is palpable in the halls of power.

We see this clearly in the Blogosphere. We need to pause and reflect on the dramatic changes, just in the past two or three years. Think of the blog-swarms, the feeding frenzy more rapid, more open, more accessible and more readily distributable: Rathergate and the fake but accurate memo, Jordan-Gate and all the reporting that took place because of live blogging, without any transcript or video recording. Consider the power of the Swift Boat vets and their alternate media assault on the media stonewall against alternate narrative’s on Kerry’s record (still not open to inspection, one might add). Add as epilog the new developments of Pajamas Media or Porkbusters.

Conservatives long complained about an activist judiciary, and agenda-driven (as opposed to “objective” journalism). Did we get a peak at the opposition’s playbook? Now, conservative voices proliferate on alternate medias, and in many ways run circles around those political opponents who rely of their traditional media (and their traditional friends). Talk about a role reversal.

Heatons’ prescription for aging journalists who want to remain relevant (and a working part of their profession):

That's why it's important for mid-career journalists to get their hands dirty in using the technology of the personal media revolution instead of thinking about how and where to learn about it. Become a "doer" of the word instead of a "hearer" only. Learning is always accelerated by experience, so those who feel their careers slipping away need to get involved. Start a blog. Build a Web page. Pick up a camera. Play a video game. Get close to young people who are comfortable using technology, and ask questions. Read a book, or better yet, go online and look around for tutorials. They're everywhere. Most of all, don't let fear get in the way. It's only technology. DO something!

Or not. And continue the slide into irrelevance.

H/T Instapundit, who himself tips the hat to Joe Trippi

…And a Contrast

Jay Rosen at PressThink generates a similar discussion about the role of journalism in the context of Team Miller and “Judy Miller’s New York Times.”

The context for Rosen’s reflection was the realization that he no longer considered The New York Times the “the greatest newspaper in the land. Nor is it the base line for the public narrative that it once was.” Better late than never I suppose. All but the most recalcitrant left are on board, I would think.

In the case of Judith Miller, Rosen is merciless in pinning Miller, and by neglect, the Times, for failing their journalistic responsibilities (and I would say their public trust). Miller and her Times have failed their profession:

From what I understand of the code that binds reporters, if you have big news because it happens you are a participant in the news, then you phone the desk because you think of your colleagues and they deserve the scoop. Of course you answer questions from the press when it’s time for that because you’re a source and they can’t write their stories without you. You behave with an awareness that you’re usually in their position, trying to squeeze information out of harried people, who sometimes just want to go home and have a quiet meal. You remain a journalist, even though you have to operate as a source, and defend your interests.

Judy Miller has behaved like she understood not one word of this.

One might say, not only have traditional journalists failed to keep pace technologically, but they’ve neglected the ethical and moral framework that, theoretically at least, warranted the presses inclusion in a perceived societal (fourth) estate. You might argue this was always thus. Murrow was a cad and a fool who fell into irrelevance as he ponied up to Hollywood elites. Cronkite was as transfixed by televised war as his horrified audience, and unable to maintain perspective. Woodward and Bernstein paved the way for the “fake but accurate” philosophy that justified bartering off objectivity and truth.

Still. Once upon a time, The Reporter -- many more times than Conservatives may want to admit -- has earned public trust by dogged persistence and force of will and untiring commitment to the public good. Like many of us, I grew up on the legends of Watergate, and the heroic struggles of getting the truth out. Short of perhaps Claudia Rosett and the UN Oil for Food scandal, when have we seen the likes of the former legends?

Miller and her defenders (backed by the NY Times Publisher and Editorial Staff) have created a very unconvincing narrative for her sojourn in jail, but, as Rosen points out, “That’s Judy’s story and she will stick to it.”

Rosen’s conclusion near damns the Times:

Whether the Times can free itself, remember its loyalty to readers, and tell the larger story that incorporates and corrects hers is… totally unclear. Frankly, the organization may not be up to it. But this doesn’t matter to what I said at the start. There’s a new flagship paper, and just as the Times needed the Post to steam alongside and challenge it, the Post will need a strong New York Times to remain true.

So I hope it goes back to being the New York Times one day soon.

Or not. That much more room for the New Journalists.

Links: Basil's Blog, Jo's Cafe, Outside the Beltway, Wizbang, bRight & Early

BW noticed a decidedly conservative lean to the MILBLOGS from Iraq compared to history books and reprints of letters he'd read from WWI and II. He observes that we ended our draft about 30 years ago, that we're approaching the second generation of an all-volunteer army, and asks some questions...

Check out the new Debate Space if you haven't seen it, or haven't visited lately.

My new Debate Partner BW helped me reopen Debate Space today, with an initial debate over liberal bias in the media (is there any).

Canadian BW says, "what Liberal Bias?" and claims that what bias there is is towards the sensational. Dadmanly argues, "you bet there's liberal bias, and we MILBLOGGERS have seen it!"

Head on over to Debate Space to catch the excitement.

Mrs. Dadmanly shared with me some questions our son has been asking, and they're the kind of questions a Mom or a Dad sometimes might have trouble with, but we know they are very, very important.

So I wrote him the following letter, and it caused such a welling of emotion in me, that I know God was using is for something much more than something I would share with my son, as much as it needed to be that, too.

I believe it was meant for all of you to share as well, as it explains as well as anything could how I find myself where I find myself.

*****

Little Manly,

Your mom told me that you’ve been asking questions lately about God. It’s good that you ask questions, we all ask questions, even adults sometimes ask themselves or others, “How do we know that God is real? How come God doesn’t just speak to us and say, ‘Here I am.’”

Why does it seem so difficult sometimes, why do bad things happen, how can we know for sure?

The most famous and smartest people in the world have asked themselves these questions since human beings were able to think anything at all, and start to speak. It may well be that man’s first words were something like, “Where am I? What’s this all about? Is there anyone else here with me?”

I have asked myself (and those I trust) all of these questions, and more. So you are not alone in asking these questions.

Let me tell you why I believe in God, because once upon a time I did not believe in Him. I did not think He was real, I thought this was the only world there was, that there was no such things as heaven (or hell). I believed that each person only exists for just the amount of time they breathe and walk the earth, and when they die, they die and their bones turn to dust and they become just bits of matter. Eternity just meant longer than human beings can imagine, but nothing more than that.

So what changed?

My life changed, most importantly. And that has made all the difference in the world, all the difference in my world.

First, let me tell you that I always wanted to believe in God. When people did bad things, I wanted to believe that there was a God who would punish them. When dangerous things were about to happen, I wanted to think that there was a God who could save people. When terrible things happened to people, and they were hurt or killed, especially big catastrophes, I wanted to believe that there was a God who would love us and show us that there was still good, that we could be comforted and given hope. I very much wanted that Hope that He would provide. Because there are a lot of bad things that happen and that people do, even me, and I didn’t want to think, “These bad things are just facts, and this idea that there’s a God above us all is a lot of silly nonsense.”

So before I believed anything, I very much wanted to believe, because the alternative is to have no hope for something better.

So as I said, my life changed. You have often asked about how it was that I was married once before to Jilly Beans and Spud’s mom, and you wondered why we got divorced. Their mom struggled with a problem, just like people in our family have struggled, where drinking alcohol became a problem in their lives and they were sick from it. Because your Mom and I grew up in families that suffered from alcoholism, that ended up causing her and I some problems too. Now, that’s the kind of bad thing in the world that would leave us hopeless without God (or our Higher Power as some of our friends and family think of God).

Because your Mom and I had problems, and experienced things in our childhood like that, that’s why we sometimes need to talk to nice people like Joe, or Pastor John, or sometimes go to meetings where people share these experiences with each other and try to help other grow, learn, and heal these hurts.

I believe you understand what this means, because you are a very sensitive and aware young man, and as a family we have been very honest and open with you. And in the same way that it’s okay to ask about God, it’s okay to ask about what Mom and I experienced, and what alcoholism means, and why we sometimes need to talk to people who are trained to help other people understand and heal (just like a Doctor).

Your sisters’ Mom and I ended up getting divorced because, in trying to get well, each of us came to a different idea of what our problems were and whether we could be together to fix them. I was heart-broken and angry, and I couldn’t understand why my family had to be taken away from me. I cried and cried, and could have lost hope altogether. I wanted to stay married and I wanted to have my children with me. But that was not to be. And I needed to take a lot of time with counselors, meetings, and speaking to people to try to understand why that happened to us.

In the process of me learning about myself, and my family, and dealing with people and problems, I came to believe that there was a Power greater than me who could help me, who wanted to help me, who had always been and always would be a part of the world He created. How did I come to that? I’m not really sure, but it happened.

It made me want to find out more about this idea of “God,” and the only place I could think of to find out more were other people – asking them what they thought – and the Bible. (That’s supposed to be full of God’s words, right?) So I talked to a lot of people, friends, family, people I trusted, and I started reading the Bible. I got far enough to start thinking there had to be something to what the Bible said, I mean Jewish people followed God for at least 2,000 years before Jesus was born, and they believed in him despite really terrible things: slavery in Egypt in ancient times, and even the Holocaust in World War II. They never gave up on their God, because they believed He never gave up on them.

And the first Christians, the ones who were called Saints, the ones that saw Jesus with their own eyes, and those who knew and met people who DID see Jesus when he walked the Earth, those early believers really believed. Many times, they gave up everything they had for Jesus. They were killed for believing in him. That’s pretty hard to imagine they would do for something made up.

One day, I was walking along the frozen Mohawk River and Erie Canal. It was a brilliantly sunny day in January, the kind of day where the sun is so bright, and reflects so strongly off the snow and ice, it hurts your eyes. But it was brilliant, beautiful just the same. As I walked, I started talking to a God I wasn’t even certain was there. I told him I needed Him to help me know that He exists. I told Him I needed to know for myself. I told Him that I couldn’t pretend, wouldn’t pretend something I didn’t know, and He was going to have to convince me.

As I walked, He spoke to my heart. He suggested to my mind some questions to ask myself, which He must have given me because they were way different from anything I had been thinking.

I asked myself, “How can I know God exists? Is there one thing I can see or know absolutely to be true, that can only be true of there is a God?”

And I found an answer. In my heart, I know that there are certain things, certain acts, that are absolutely bad or evil. Likewise, I know there are things that happen, things people do, that are absolutely good. Killing someone without necessity, causing harm to someone else for fun, these things I know are evil. Sacrificing your life for someone else, protecting someone who is helpless, saving someone’s life, these are good things. I know these things with complete certainty, without ever having been taught or told this is so.

If there is no God:
If there is no Being who created the world, who caused all things to be, or set the world in order;
If there is no God who requires us to come to know Him and His purposes;
If there is no God who will weigh us and our actions here on Earth;
If death is the final everything, and there is nothing after;

Then it really wouldn’t matter whether I do good or evil. There is no hope, but no punishment either. No law that binds us, no Authority greater than what each of us, in our own selfish desires, decides is good for us. And I wouldn’t care at all what happens to anyone else. And there is NO EXPLANATION for why I would know, deep in my heart, that certain things are evil and bad, and other things are good. Because without God, there is no reason to think abut right and wrong.

But, I still do. I have to. I can’t help myself. Because I am His creation, and that’s how He made each one of us.

As I listened to what God was causing me to think about this, I became more and more excited as I walked along that frozen emptiness. I was not alone, and I knew it. God was with me that day, and He’s been with me ever since.

After that, I read the Bible with a new passion. I learned a lot more about God’s character, and His promises. I came to believe that I needed Jesus in my life, that John 3:16 was a promise of love for me. “For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, so that we would not perish, but have eternal life.”

I still needed reassurance, I sometimes still do. But what happened next made me certain, that I would never doubt His love for me. I would never think that He would abandon (nor “forsake” me).

I met your Mom along my struggle to understand, just after I walked with God on the ice. I met my best friend in the whole world, a woman who would love me with all her heart, who I would love with all my heart. We became parents together of Jilly Beans and Spud, and we made a new family, a family I thought I would never have again. God redeemed these parts of my life. That means, He made them new again. He made me a new creation, as His word says He will for all who believe, and He renewed my lfie and hope.

And then, he blessed me even more the day that you became a life inside your Mom. The doctors were worried about her, about how you were doing inside growing from tiny little embryo to a tiny little person to a baby. But we weren’t afraid. Many people prayed for you from the moment you started to form in your Mom’s body. Great men and women of prayer sought God’s protection for you. I even promised to God, that if He brought you safely into this world, I would offer you up to Him as a firstborn gift. What that meant was, I was pledging that I would teach you everything I could about Him, and that I would dedicate your life to serving Him. And how that will be, what God will ask of you, only God can tell you, in time. And He will, my son, because He keeps all of His promises, with you, and Mom, and Jilly Beans, and Spud, with my family and Mom’s family, He has given me more love than I ever thought was possible in this world.

That’s why I know there is a God.

And He has been with me, with us, every step of the way. He has kept me safe, He has kept you and Mom safe, He helped all of us become the family He wanted us to be.

My whole life has been a story of traveling from uncertainty and fear and sorrow, to joy, and confidence, excitement, and ultimately, peace.

I pray that God brings you on a journey like that, not that I want you to ever be unhappy, but I want you to be able to see How Great is Our God.

I love you more than I ever thought I could love, but it is only by the Power and Grace and Love of He who first loved me: God.

Links: Basil's Blog, Outside the Beltway, Mudville Gazette, bRight & Early, Blogotional, Cao's Blog, Jo's Cafe

Princeton University rendered great honor upon its celebration of the 75th Anniversary of their Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs, by inviting Secretary of State Condoleeza Rice to speak, September 30, 2005.

Secretary Rice gave a stirring speech, and revisited the great US Foreign Policy achievements of these last 75 years, and drew ready parallels between earlier perils and achievements, and today’s Global War on Terror (although Secretary Rice never used those words).

She set the current situation in just the right context:

Today, however, democracies are emerging wherever and whenever the tides of oppression recede. As President Bush said in his Second Inaugural Address, "The best hope for peace in our world is the expansion of freedom in all the world."

Now, to forge realistic policies from these idealistic principles, we must recognize that statecraft can assume two fundamentally different forms. In ordinary times, when existing ideas and institutions and alliances are adequate to the challenges of the day, the purpose of statecraft is to manage and sustain the established international order. But in extraordinary times, when the very terrain of history shifts beneath our feet and decades of human effort collapse into irrelevance, the mission of statecraft is to transform our institutions and partnerships to realize new purposes on the basis of enduring values.

This is the challenge the Bush Administration, against all odds and expectations, took on with great courage and commitment. No one can seriously argue that George W. Bush gave himself any great advantage in a future re-election by taking on the mission of the difficult transformations this struggle required. How much easier it would have been to bask in the glow of 9/11 and his huge surge in popularity and public approval. History shifted beneath our feet, and many still cannot seem to find their footing.

Is the path as clear as some seem to think it always was in our previous great struggles for civilization? Not at all, and it wasn’t then, either. Secretary Rice precisely describes the wreckage left by World War II:

The solutions to those challenges seem perfectly clear now with half a century of hindsight. But it was anything but clear for the men and women who lived and worked in those unprecedented change. Long after he was present at the creation, Dean Acheson remembered the early years of the Cold War as cloudy, and puzzling, and perilous. "The significance of events," he wrote, "was shrouded in ambiguity and we hesitated long before grasping what now seems obvious."

To assume such a view was obvious or universally acclaimed by the Foreign Policy elites immediately following the war, would be revisionist history indeed. No, there were those who still perceived FDR as nothing more than a Communist, and World War II an unfortunate accommodation to warmongers and Empire coddlers. No less in the modern era, naysayers adopt the mantle of isolationism, “America first,” or conversely, “America last,” in deference (and appeasement) to perceived aggrievements.

Secretary Rice also asserts why everything changed on September 11, 2001:

But lurking below the surface, old hatreds were gaining new power. And on a warm September morning, America encountered the darker demons of our new world.

People still differ about what the September 11th calls us to do. And in a democratic society, that debate is healthy and just and right. If you focus only on the attacks themselves and believe they were caused by 19 hijackers, supported by a network called al-Qaida, and operating from a failed state -- Afghanistan -- then our response can be limited. The course of action presumes that we are still living in an ordinary time.

But if you believe, as I do and as President Bush does, that the root cause of September 11th was the violent expression of a global extremist ideology, an ideology rooted in the oppression and despair of the modern Middle East, then we must speak to remove the source of this terror by transforming that troubled region. If you believe as we do, then it cannot be denied that we are standing at an extraordinary moment in history.

Some would argue that this broad approach to the problem is making the world less stable by rocking the boat and wrecking the status quo. But this presumes the existence of a stable status quo that does not threaten global security. This is not the case. A regional order that produced an ideology of hatred so savage as the one we now confront is not serving any civilized interest.

For 60 years, we often thought that we could achieve stability without liberty in the Middle East. And ultimately, we got neither. Now, we must recognize, as we do in every other region of the world, that liberty and democracy are the only guarantees of true stability and lasting security.

In response to those who say we are trying to impose Democracy on reluctant or hostile populations, Secretary Rice riposts:

It is not liberty and democracy that must be imposed. It is tyranny and silence that are forced upon people at gunpoint.

Condi Rice is a brilliant and highly effective advocate for this new, muscular and progressive era of American Foreign Policy. She understands the threat, and is deeply committed to courses of action that are validated every day that the American military stands astride the ratlines of Islamofascism, and guarantees freedom to peoples who have only know fear or threats. And she will not surrender our cause:

The choice we face in Iraq is, thus, stark. If we quit now, we will abandon Iraq’s democrats at their time of greatest need. We will embolden every enemy of liberty and democracy across the Middle East. We will destroy any chance that the people of this region have of building a future of hope and opportunity. And we will make America more vulnerable. If we abandon future generations in the Middle East to despair and terror, we also condemn future generations in the United States to insecurity and fear.

Ladies and Gentlemen: We have set out to help the people of the Middle East transform their societies. Now is not the time to falter or fade.

Secretary Rice ended her historic speech recalling the days immediately at the end of the Cold War, when the wall fell, when people rose up against the Paper Tigers of the Warsaw Pact, when even the greatly feared but largely decrepit USSR fell into the ash can of history:

I saw things that I never thought possible. And one day, they seemed impossible; and several days later, they seemed inevitable. That is the nature of extraordinary times.

But as I look back now on those times, I realized that I was only harvesting the good decisions that had been taken in 1947, in 1948, and in 1949.

Secretary Rice reminded her audience that there were many dark days in the fight against expansionist and totalitarian communism after WWII:

These were not just tactical setbacks for the forward march of democracy. Indeed, it must have seemed quite impossible, that we would one day, stand at a juncture where Eastern Europe would be liberated, Russia would emerge, and Europe would be whole and free and at peace. If we think back on those days, we recognize that extraordinary times are turbulent and they are hard. And it is very often hard to see a clear path. But if you are -- as those great architects of the post-Cold War victory were -- if you are true to your values, if you are certain of your values, and if you act upon them with confidence and with strength, it is possible to have an outcome where democracy spreads and peace and liberty reign.

Because of the work that they did, it is hard to imagine war in Europe again. So it shall be also for the Middle East.

So shall it be also for the Middle East.

Keep watching, Ladies and Gentlemen. For so you see the political rise of the next President of the United States. You better believe Hillary is building the playbook to beat her as we speak. And it shouldn’t look easy, and she might start losing sleep. Hillary, that is.

(H/T RightWingNation, who likewise gives a H/T Curiouser & Curiouser)

Links: Mudville Gazette, Outside the Beltway, bRight & Early, Dawn Patrol at Mudville, Cafe Oregano

My sister-in-law turned 50 last week -- Happy Birthday, Sue! -- and the whole family took her out to dinner to a very long-established Italian restaurant in the Catskills. This was a place that probably saw it's share of Borscht Belt comedians, back when the Catskills were an actual vacation destination. (Sigh. But that's another post.)

It also had some of the best traditional Italian food within 50 miles of Albany, and its nestled way off the beaten trail between Albany and East Greenville, New York. (You know East Greenville, don't you? Where routes 32 and 85 meet up as 85 comes back over from the Slingerlands through Rensselaerville. Those who maintain a stereotype view of New York City and yeah, the rest of Upstate, have no idea what it's really about.) Mrs. Dadmanly and I know East Greenville quite well, actually. My very dear friend Orrin lives in his family's ancestral home up there on the hill, the one with the terrific view of Hunter Mountain. The views of a friend, indeed.

Wow, big tangent there. As I was saying, the name of this place is Vince Anna's, and it has all the trappings of the real traditional Italian eatery. Waitresses in tuxedo type uniforms, linen napkins over there arms, Italian bread served with olive oil and oregano, a marinara with green olives, to die for, the food at this place.

Can you tell I miss our treasures back home?

It was Sunday afternoon, and the family was having a rollicking time, as always, and the final game of the season was on the television over the bar. Now, I really don't want to lose any readership, especially the hometown folks, but my son and I are die-hard Red Sox fans. As the whole world must know, the Yankees and the Red Sox ended their seasons with a three game series at Fenway Park. Little Manly really wanted to watch the game, and his Mom let him sit up at the bar until his dinner came.

Little Manly ended up sitting at the bar for three hours, chumming up with the bartender. (No, he doesn't drink but he can talk.

The bartender and Little Manly became the best of friends during that game. (Was he a Red Sox fan, too, I wonder?) They chatted up a storm, and the guy told Mrs. Dadmanly afterwards to "come back anytime."

"Excuse me," my son says to the waitress, "Could you bring my dinner over here please?"

Little Manly had his dinner served up there, on the bar, dessert too. Mrs. Dadmanly reports that his hands were flying all over, his mouth was going. As he tends to do when he has a willing audience, Little Manly starts, "Ask me any question about history, go ahead ask me."

So here was this middle-aged bartender and Little Manly becoming best friends, eating prime rib and tartufo, and having a barload of club sodas, with lemon and lime by the way.

It's a good thing they had lots to talk about. The Sox beat the pants off the Yanks, 10-1, and finished the season in a perfect tie with the Yankees. The NY team has the American League Eastern Division, the Red Sox clinched the wild card, so the two teams will see each other again.

And I imagine as soon as I'm back, we'll be paying a visit to a certain establishment outside of East Greenville ...

Links: Basil's Blog, Outside the Beltway, Mudville Gazette, bRight & Early

I'm in, I'm chillin'.

Yes, I was disappointed in many ways. A lawyer, not a judge. One who worked directly for the President. My CO said at the news, "Top, that means there's hope for you and I." I thought he meant our politics -- two different sides, both getting (some) satisfaction. No, he meant, even us "non-judges" could become a member of SCOTUS.

But still, I'm chillin'. He's my C-in-C, he's been every bit the stand up guy so far... And he knows Harriet Miers better than I do.

Blackfive has organized an anthology of military bloggers (MILBLOGS), that Simon and Schuster will publish mid to late 2006. Blackfive will be the editor, and he has rustled up a fine stable of contributors already, and continues a call for new material.

Here's how he describes the project:

We will bring together the best of the military blogs, the purest distillation of the myriad voices of this war. These bloggers provide a powerful insight into the military, the War on Terror, and the heart of our nation. By bringing these voices together, we offer the first real-time, “oral” history of a war while it still going on. We will provide stories from many of the military blogs that cover the full range of the experience of this war – from the decision to serve in the military to their return home, from the front lines to the home front, and from the med-evac units and hospitals where the price of freedom is paid in blood and suffering to the friends that made the ultimate sacrifice.

We will provide a new way to view the military - uncensored, unmediated, direct, intimate and immediate. For everyone on both sides of the computer screen—the military blogs have been an experiment in putting lives that are on the line, online: Now, by pulling together these voices into a choir, by giving the ephemeral internet bits and bytes a permanent place to live by putting them between covers, we hope to, in some small way, pay lasting tribute to those men and women who have opened this window into their lives and to convey a better understanding of what it’s like to be a part of the War.

This is a terrific project, and not just because Blackfive was gracious enough to invite me to participate.

This is some of the best writing and best reporting available today. Some of the voices training in this struggle today will become leading voices tomorrow: in publishing, literature, journalism, politics certainly, every area of our society. Seeing the list of MILBLOGS Blackfive has recruited, the book should be a big success. It would be an honor to appear in print with these fine writers.

Keep an eye out, and if you read anything that you really think needs a wider audience -- nominate it for inclusion in the book:

Please either email me (blackfive@gmail.com) suggestions or put a link (if use http:// with the URL, the link will be live) in the Comments of the best Military Blog posts that you have read.

As editor, I'm looking at a wide range of experiences - Saying Goodbye (from deciding to serve in the military to leaving loved ones behind), Combat, the Weight of Command, the Fallen, Homefront (spouse and parent blogs), Humor, Time Off, and Coming Home.

You can also add a comment to the post linked to here.

Thanks to all of you, the readers of MILBLOGS, for making this possible.

UPDATE: Blackfive and his effort got Instalaunched!

Also linked at Mudville Gazette, Indepundit, Michelle Malkin, Outside the Beltway, Project Nothing, The Daily Brief, CatHouse Chat, Small Town Veteran, Pajama Brigade, Gunn Nutt, Blogotional, Winds of Change

Once upon a time, I had a job that consumed me, that occupied just somewhat less than everything I knew. My focus was constant, and unwavering.

My years as an Analyst were, by far, the most exciting, the most challenging, the most rewarding in my professional life. And I’m not allowed to talk about much of anything about it.

Oh, it’s not what you might think. Not even a fraction as dramatic or exciting as what you see in the movies. In fact, you’d pretty much have to be a practitioner to even find it mildly interesting. The vast majority of intelligence work is more library than military science. And those that do it best are more likely the sort that finds the Dewey Decimal System an interesting study in organization, rather than operational types that drive Italian sports cars or take a fancy to weaponry.

Patterns. Warnings and Indicators. Sifting through vast amounts of information, for mere whispers of hints of fading images of fleeting significance.

Someday, there may be a place for Cold War remembrances, and those of us that were these small cogs of the bigger picture tracking the Soviet Threat and its related tentacles can chat away about the things we watched, the things we thought, and the things we waited for that never came. Thank God for the things that never came.

That was then. It’s a much different world for the eyes and ears of the US Military today.

I discussed some of the ways in which Intelligence Analysts by necessity will share some similarities with journalists in Patterns of Analysis. That’s part of what’s different today.

I’ve been mulling over this most difficult of profiles to write. I’ve commented on the grave concerns about Operational Security (OPSEC) before in this space (here, here, and even earlier here), concerns I share and take seriously. Several Department of Defense Policy statements and public announcements, most recently one posted in our Saturday Stars and Stripes, forcefully remind us that “safety and security measures must be strictly observed.” That the US Military even needs to worry about immediate accessibility as demonstrated by email and blogs, is another difference with things today.

Given all that, how do I write a profile without discussing what it is these Analysts do?

I had an amusing few moments imagining some Saturday Night Live sketch (okay, maybe a really weak one in the years when the pickings were slim), with a frustrated Army spokesperson trying to say something meaningful without saying anything at all. “Well, I could tell you … no, wait, no that’s classified. We did find out that, um, something that I can’t identify exactly suggested something I can’t categorize caused an effect that I’m not at liberty to reveal, leading us to take action that must remain unspecified…”

We’ve had many great successes, but I can’t describe them. We have some of the military’s best analysts, and I can’t give you any background that would help convey the magnitude of their achievements.

I can’t identify results, those are secret. I can’t discuss methods and techniques, those are specially classified. I can’t mention operations, individuals, or specific events. I can’t, and won’t explain any shortcomings or lessons learned in our operations. Some of those are classified, but that’s not the only reason why I won’t; I won’t because any perceived fault or failing might be amplified and used against us and our efforts.

So what am I left with?

While I’m trying to figure that out, I’ll share a couple of stories about some of our analysts.

We have an extraordinary group of Soldiers who were assigned to us from the Puerto Rican Army National Guard. Over the years, some of us have occasionally worked with the Guard from Puerto Rico, on various War Fighter exercises or at Ground Zero. This time around, the Guard with Intel military occupational specialties (MOS) were assigned for our deployment to fill unit vacancies. And from the moment they first joined us at the Mobilization site, these Soldiers have made quite an impression.

Initially, some of our men and women found this population of Spanish-speaking Guardsmen unusual. They stuck close together, maintained a very high standard in appearance and discipline, and worked best when led by their informal leader, a certain SGT who apparently is their NCOIC back home. They’re all bilingual, but some of them have better command of English than others. They all speak and understand Army better than most anybody.

They stood out from the first. At our first Health and Welfare Inspection in the barracks, the PRARNG soldiers were completely squared away, but they did something most of us had never seen and certainly didn’t expect. They opened up one of the wall lockers and offered the Command Sergeant Major (CSM) a hot cup of coffee as he inspected their rooms. Part of it is a custom not unheard of in Active Duty units, the other is all cultural. The CSM was visiting their living areas, and was to be treated with hospitality.

Along the way, unit leaders discovered that the PRARNG Soldiers had tremendous discipline and motivation, and would do anything they were asked well, and without hesitation, question or complaint. I wish I could say that responsiveness was more in evidence throughout the unit, but my Soldiers from Puerto Rico were outstanding.

One young man stands out in my mind, for he made an indelible impression on me several weeks ago. He was in a section that essentially ties all the incoming intel from all the disciplines together. I asked him what he felt about the tour.

“I used to feel that all the important things went on way way over my head. That we have no power as a lower enlisted soldier. What I learned is that we can have power and influence.” I had not heard anything quite like this before, so I pressed him on what he meant.

“It’s like, the powers above us make all the decisions, but here I see that even a Specialist, E4, can see something or identify something or make a suggestion and it becomes what gets done.” He explained about all the ways he saw that any one person can change his part of the world, and told me that this new awareness had changed his view of himself and what was possible.

“I had an epiphany,” he said today when I saw him again. Tracking all these bad guys, setting up all the possible targets for the unit that will follow us into our battle space, “to set them up so they have something to work with and go after.”

“I think when I go home, I want to be President someday. Anything is possible.”

He and his fellow soldiers have done some of the best work, with little attention or fanfare, and staying focused on their missions.

Similarly, I have two techies, an E4 Specialist and a SGT, who were the computer whizzes that all us leaders grabbed hold of trying to get everything to work. One ended up part of an obscure (and completely non-discussable) mission, but has done tremendous work relating directly to the security of near-in forces. The other became a SYSADMIN for all the computer systems, and makes sure all the million dollar technical stuff gives us what we need.

And that’s been the real story with my Analysts. Mostly all Specialists and buck Sergeants, these soldiers have outperformed their Active Duty counterparts. Not to take anything away from the unit we replaced, but nobody expected a National Guard unit to do as well as we did. And our junior enlisted soldiers are leading the way, exceeding all expectations for Soldiers of their experience level and rank.

At the very top of the list of remarkable Analysts, is a very petite young woman, a SGT, barely in her twenties. Mature for her age, a good leader and Soldier, during Mobilization, we frequently called upon her to help us deal with one of our chronic problem soldiers. What a study in contrasts. A typical teenager, but one who couldn’t understand that the Army wasn’t some game you drifted in and out of. He wanted out, he got himself enmeshed in some crazy relationships, finally glomming on to a disturbed young single mother, and claimed extreme hardship to get out of deployment.

Our stand-up SGT patiently walked him through a series of self-induced crises, and helped us do what needed to be done to get him out of our hair before deployment.

That was just the beginning of her outstanding capabilities. She taught herself and another Specialist a specialty area, new to all of our Analysts, and relatively new to Army Intelligence as a whole, at least in the current form of the mission. I wish I could explain the impact these Soldiers have had, but suffice it to say she is one of the very few lower enlisted Soldiers who was recommended for the Bronze Star for her efforts in the Intelligence fight. Her efforts have directly resulted in killing and capturing scores of targeted individuals, and doctrine is undergoing significant rewrite largely based on her efforts and the efforts of her team and Officer in Charge (OIC).

Not that she hasn’t had her share of frustrations. As an E5, she constantly struggles to make sure important information gets communicated to the General and his staff, and critical, time sensitive decisions are teed up. She is thinking about going for a Commission, which my CO and I enthusiastically support, because as she says, “that way I’ll have more of an influence.”

That’s one thing I have to disagree with her on. She’s had an incredible influence, not least of all as a shining example of Analytic excellence and NCO leadership she has demonstrated for all who are lucky enough to work with her.

All of my analysts have excelled, each in their own way and area. But I would be remiss if I didn’t remark on another remarkable young man who has sacrificed greatly in service to his country.

Many of us here may mistakenly think that only those of us who regularly do convoys, or go out on patrol, risk anything at all. And yet, thus far, the only casualty we’ve had, has been a Navy Analyst working in our midst. (Thank God for His cover and protection for the rest of us.) One evening he had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and was hit by shrapnel from indirect fire, and suffered extensive injuries. He is now recovering, having lost the lower parts of both legs. God bless him, his family and friends, and may He honor this man and his commitment to his country.

The Analysts. They use their brains, their intellect, their wits and their computer skills. They sit for long hours on position. They have the longest shifts, the most mentally demanding jobs, and they take a lot of abuse from my other Platoons, either Staff or Maintenance soldiers.

But they are no less in this fight, they work in harm’s way, their sacrifice is every bit as great, and they serve just as selflessly as any of us on the FOB.

We can say very little about what they do, and they may never be able to tell the best stories outside of a secure compartmented intelligence facility (SCIF). But those of us who have been there with them, we know. And we salute them.

Other Profiles in the Series:
Supply Sergeants
Cooks & Contractors
The LT
The NCOIC
The CSM
The Motor Sergeant
The CO

Links: Basil's Blog, Outside the Beltway, Mudville Gazette, bRight & Early

P.J. O'Rourke sheds some crocodile tears for liberals while speculating about Two, Three, Many Katrinas.

Note the gem in this paragraph:

Onward and upward is the maxim of the politically progressive. Liberals need to go straight to the top if they want more Katrina disasters. Where conservatives perceive only molehills of individual responsibility, liberals can make mountains of government accountability. Disasters are fostered by moving the responsibility for things up and away, as far from the things themselves as possible. Look what the Soviet Union's Himalaya of a government was able to do with atomic power at Chernobyl.

You have to wonder if writers as good as O'Rourke come up with pithy observations like that, then save them up in some kind of rhetorical rolodex until just the right opportunity.

(Sigh.) There's always some new way to put words together, right? I suppose. Takes me a lot more effort than that to find them, though.

TigerHawk reports a very important and illuminating speech given by Lieutenant General (LTG) David Petraeus at Princeton University, "A Soldier's Reflections on Iraq." Important and illuminating? That would certainly mean it received no coverage from major media outlets.

And yet it should have. TigerHawk manages to both cover the content of the speech quite capably, but get his picture taken with the LTG.

LTG Petraeus most recently served as the Commander, Multi-National Security Transition Command and NATO Training Mission. These are the folks working most closely with the Iraqi Army, and whose subordinate commands and detachments work with individual units, such as those described in my post A Visit with the Iraqi Army.

As reported by TigerHawk, General Petraeus described five primary missions for the Transition Command:

"Help Iraqis." TigerHawk reports:

"We believed what TE Lawrence said: “Do not try to do too much with your own hands. Better the Arabs do it tolerably than that you do it perfectly. It is their war, and you are to help them, not win it for them.”

"Organize" the Iraqi military. Most significantly, LTG Petraeus highlights truly this has been a coordinated effort between the Coalition and NATO, while Iraqi military leaders are making their own decisions about unit design, personnel and command structures.

Equip the Iraqi military. TigerHawk conveys the magnitude and scale of what’s been accomplished:

This is an enormous task. "I cannot overstate how big this mission is." More than 700,000 uniforms, 210,000 sets of body armor, hundreds of thousands of small arms, helmets, hundreds of million of rounds of ammunition, 20,000 vehicles and so forth have been distributed to Iraqi forces.

All these soldiers and equipment have been housed. We have built more than twenty facilities for the Iraqi military, including five large bases that can house an entire division, "each the size of Ft. Drum."

Train the Iraqi military. LTG Petraeus explained how much “re-education” the Iraqi Army requires, citing the example of the “the inshallah school of shooting,” whereby Iraqi soldiers hide behind some cover, raise their weapons over their head, and fire indiscriminatingly until out of ammo. “Inshallah -- meaning if God wills it -- you will hit something.”

There are a great many aspects of the cultural and personal attitudinal changes that are required, as I pointed out from my short visit with an Iraqi Army unit and comments given by General Aziz. The average Iraqis precondition towards fatalism and a sense of the permanence (and predestination) of God’s will is a big part of what needs to change for the Iraqi Army to significantly improve.

Mentor Iraqi military and police leaders. This is perhaps the single source for hope that we will be successful in helping Iraqis to help themselves. TigerHawk conveys LTG Petraeus’s optimism in this area:

So, what's the "bottom line up front?" Iraqi soldiers and special police are “very much in the fight,” as evidenced, “sadly,” by the casualties they have taken in combat, which are at least twice the American.

The most impressive thing about the Iraqi units is how tenacious they have become, notwithstanding early reports that they would cut and run. According to General Petraeus, since the January elections, from which the Iraqi security forces “took an enormous lift that still persists,” the Iraqi forces "have not run from a fight, they have not backed down." This strikes me, by the way, as enormously hopeful for the future of Iraq, the persistence of the counterinsurgency, and the power of democracy to motivate the fight against the war on terror.

Those who dismiss and disparage our mission in Iraq likewise greatly discount the power of the ideals embedded in any experiment in Democracy. The Iraqi Security Forces, military and civilian, grow in experience. Their civilian counterparts grow familiar with the mechanics of representative government. The Iraqi People experience the beginnings of freedom, amid a continuing redefinition of those who cling to violence as mostly foreign, wholly evil, and completely non-Islamic.

TigerHawk captures some of the better questions LTG Petraeus was asked, and this received the most pointed answer:

"Are we losing the PR war to the enemy? What are you doing on the marketing PR front?"

General Petraeus said that they have given the media an enormous amount of information, including countless important metrics for measuring progress, but that it is largely ignored. He observed that the enemy “On many days it is impossible to break through the steady drumbeat of sensational attacks occurring in Baghdad throughout the country. The opening of the new military academy got no coverage at all, even though it was a big event with the whole Iraqi government in attendance."

Petraeus is obviously extremely unhappy with the monomaniacal press coverage.

In his excellent post, TigerHawk also captures the General’s explanation of the “readiness levels of Iraqi Army units, and put these into proper context, in contrast to much of what has been widely reported by less informed sources. It’s worth taking the time to read the whole thing.

(H/T Instapundit)

Links: Basil's Blog, Outside the Beltway, bRight & Early, Mudville Gazette

The brother-in-law of a close family friend is serving in Afghanistan, and has graciously allowed me to post a few pictures he took during the recent elections.

These first two pictures shows Afghans lining up to vote:













The Afghan Elections shared a common icon with an earlier election elsewhere...

















And lest we forget who all this democracy will really benefit ...


Links: Mudville Gazette and Dawn Patrol

John Hinderaker of Powerline, in commentary on Judith Miller's release from custody, relates a very disturbing story about Miller. It seems Hinderaker has a New York contact who passes along the following:

I wrote you about this several months ago. In a published decision, U.S.D.J. Robert Sweet (S.D.N.Y.) denied Fitzpatrick's motion to compel Miller to testify before a grand jury relating to a leak to Miller about a warrant issued to the FBI for a search of a New York Muslim charity's offices. A source leaked this information to Miller, who, incredibly, promptly contacted the Muslim charity and revealed the warrant prior to the search. Fortunately, no FBI agents were injured when they searched the offices the next day, in what clearly could have developed into a very dangerous situation.

District Judge Sweet (I will resist reiterating my comments regarding him included in my other email to you) denied the prosecutor's motion to compel Miller's testimony about this incident, finding, if you can believe it, that Miller's conduct was permissible because it was merely in keeping with the Times' editorial policy of contacting subjects of upcoming articles for comment prior to publication. In opposing the motion Miller stated that she was contacting the charity to get its comments about an article she planned to write after the search had been conducted. In doing so, of course, she divulged the existence of the warrant and created a situation where the office could have been booby-trapped, or at a minimum crucial evidence destroyed or removed. As an attorney, I found the facts of this case and Judge Sweet's reasoning so disturbing that I continue to be shocked, months later, that this incident hasn't received more public comment.

Hinderaker's contact states that the judge's decision was published in the New York Law Journal, for those who have ready access to it.

If there is any substance to this story, Miller should have been charged with either conspiracy or obstruction of justice and given an acvtual sentence for which she could serve real time in jail.

She tips off a potential terrorist front group or sympathizers, could have set up law enforcement for an ambush, and certainly gave the investigative target sufficient time to remove any evidence of wrong doing, if any was there.

Sheesh. Can journalists be any more reckless and partial in their coverage of the war on terror? Can even these, who used to live in the shadow of the World Trade Towers, be so oblivious in their dealings with both law enforcement and suspected or possible terrorist front organizations?

And yet, the media was all over this non-story about the "outing" of a well known CIA employee, the public identification of same was clearly instigated by her publicity hungry husband. All because it allows them to score some points against the Bush administration. Pathetic, stupid, and arrogant. Is this what they teach in Journalism School these days?

Not just against the war, but on the other side.

(H/T Instapundit)

Links: Basil's Blog, Wizbang, Mudville Gazette, Fat Steve's Blatherings, Wizbang