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Ralph Peters is a regular columnist with the New
York Post.
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 The
Sewers Of Babylon
In Iraq...
[Ralph
Peters] 3/3/06
Our Humvees
splashed through troughs of sewage, between ponds of filth
that covered several acres. Shanties crowded on accidental
islands fringed with stands of reeds. A stall selling brilliant
vegetables did a brisk business at the edge of the sludge.
The Risalah
slum is home to hundreds of thousands of Iraqis no one ever
cared about. No one. Until the U.S. Army arrived.
And tried to make their lives better. We were on our way to
inspect a "minor" project to change the lives of
the poor.
Contributors
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Ralph
Peters is a retired Army officer and the author of 19 books,
as well as of hundreds of essays and articles, written both
under his own name and as Owen Parry. He is a frequent columnist
for the New York Post and other publications. [go to Peters Index] |
Slum life
in Baghdad is grim, yet colorful. Garish shop-front ads blaze
through layers of dust under the midday sun. Black-robed women
scurry past loitering young bucks. Bent old men laze in castoff
plastic chairs. Garbage is everywhere, in phenomenal amounts.
It's a world of instant dilapidation.
According
to the media, our three-vehicle patrol should have gotten nothing
but hostile glares. Instead, we got a surprising number of
friendly waves. The turret gunners remained alert, but all
we saw were simple human beings trying to get on with their
lives.
I rode with
Lt.-Col. Joe Gandara, the commander of the Special Troops Battalion
of the 4th Infantry Division's 4th "Cobra" Brigade.
In two decades of service, Gandara's never faced a tougher
job than this one: hands-on oversight of 45 "immediate-impact
projects" strewn on both sides of the Tigris River. He
does everything from monitoring new construction to struggling
to convince Iraqis that maintenance really is important (the
Iraqis run the gamut from the risk-your-life dedicated to deadbeats — Gandara
sorts out the latter over time).
From top
to bottom, Baghdad's culture is broken. It often seems to be
every man for himself, and damn the world. Yet, that first
impression deceives: More and more Iraqis are stepping up to
build a better society.
Saddam didn't
just ravage the physical infrastructure — he wrecked
the moral infrastructure, too. The recovery will be long and
often painful. But the patient wants to get better, something
that's easily lost amid skewed headlines.
After inspecting
a number of antiquated water-processing plants, where Gandara
offered tough love and tools to Iraqi managers (he'll deliver
expertise and spare parts, but won't do their work for them),
we wrap up the tour at the far western edge of Baghdad, where
the dug-in poor live in shanties, and new arrivals huddle in
squats.
At the edge
of a clotted irrigation ditch, we pull in beside a small compound.
As they do at every site, threatening or not, the troops flow
smoothly into a defensive posture, making it look far easier
than it is. But even before we can set up a hasty perimeter,
we're attacked. By a horde of children. Rushing out from the
edge of the slum.
I'm no softie
for kids; I like 'em best after they hit 30. But these ragged,
dirty children even get to me.
Gandara and
his men are here to save the children's lives. The "minor" project
is a nearly completed "compact sewage-treatment plant." Built
from scratch for relative pennies, the plant will drain the
sewage that routinely backs up into alleys and homes while
further polluting a wretched water supply.
Gandara and
his NCOs handle the business end first, inspecting the progress
on the site. Then it's the children's turn.
The colonel
and his troops take along a bit of candy for the slum kids.
More importantly, they hand out school supplies (these children's
families can't afford a tablet).
Pens, notebooks,
rulers: You'd think we're handing out gold coins. The NCOs
are great about making sure the bigger kids don't make off
with the bulk of the goods, teasing them a little but putting
something into the smallest child's hands.
Of course,
those notebooks will be used up and the pens will go dry. It
doesn't do to exaggerate the good impression our soldiers might
leave behind. That sort of thing can be readily forgotten.
What really matters is that new weapon of war, a bare-bones
sewage-treatment facility.
We hear no
end of tales of failure in Iraq. But because of one small project
(and there are hundreds such in Iraq), 10,000 of our fellow
human beings won't have to live with sewage in their streets
and shanties. That makes a real, human difference. Yes, it
might be minor in the great schemes of global strategy. It
won't make us loved throughout the Middle East. But America's
soldiers make a profound difference in here-and-now lives.
How many armies in history could make that claim?
We've all
heard plenty about human-rights abuses. What about those 10,000
dirt-poor Iraqis whose children will have a chance to escape
disease? The old regime wouldn't spare them a few pipes and
pumps. Isn't exposing a child to cholera while building palaces
for yourself a human-rights abuse?
By the way:
I didn't see any of our self-righteous critics in the Risalah
slum.
But I did
see Sgt. Maurice Harris, Spec. Victor Tsung and PFC (hey, promote
that guy!) Brad Sheets, along with their comrades in arms.
They were soldiers to the core, mastering a new type of war.
And they were great Americans.
For all the
bad news you hear — much of it viciously skewed — Baghdad
is a city of hope. And it isn't thanks to Saddam — or
to those in the West who opposed a tyrant's overthrow.
Great job,
GI! -one-
Ralph
Peters is in Iraq on assignment for The New York Post.
Ralph Peters'
latest book is New
Glory: Expanding America's Global Supremacy
This
piece first appeared in the New York Post
copyright 2006 - NY Post
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