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The war in Iraq: How our warriors view it

by Joe Tarr

In his first week back in the states after eight months in Iraq, Justin Harris rented a car to come home to Knoxville from Fort Bragg, where his reserve unit trains. What was normally a seven-hour trip suddenly turned into five.

Harris was anxious to get back to his family, but the trip seemed a little too short to him.

“I didn’t know how I had shaved two hours off that drive,” he says.

But it soon dawned on him. Driving in the United States isn’t like driving in Iraq.

“Imagine downtown Knoxville, the way the streets are on Gay Street. Imagine those streets sprawled out for miles. With our convoys, stopping was deadly. If you stopped and you quit moving, you became a target. If we stopped we had to dismount and set up a perimeter. Even for 10 seconds,” Harris says. “The cardinal rule was not to stop. You come across a traffic jam? That just meant the sidewalk became a road, the median became a road. And you didn’t travel less than 40 miles an hour. The average traffic speed was usually between 45 and 65 miles an hour, no matter what kind of road you were on, and you didn’t stop for anything.”

So, speeding along Interstate 40 back to Knoxville, Harris’ brain was unconsciously still in combat mode: speed is good, go fast, don’t stop. “Then I realized I was driving very badly, with very little regard for any traffic laws. It took me a couple of weeks to get used to, to get back in the mode of driving like a regular person, being a courteous driver. Once I realized I was doing that, I quit immediately.”

The point of the story is not that being in Iraq was traumatic for Harris; he’s proud of his service and in many ways enjoyed being there, serving because his country asked him to. But being in a war affects people. Most gladly serve, but there is a price. Few U.S. citizens will ever witness a war, but scores of Americans have served in the Iraq war. Whether you’re for it or against it, they serve in your name.

For this Veterans Day, we talked to a few who have served in Iraq to learn what they experienced.

Josh

Back in 2001, Joshua Gaither was not what you would have called Army material. He was working at Pizza Hut, had seven dreadlocks down his back and played in a number of rock bands. But looks are deceiving. Gaither had done a stint in the Marines, when he was stationed at Paris Island.

But the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks changed all that. “I just felt compelled to join,” he says. But his second time around, he selected the Army.

“I felt that if I got deployed that being in the Army wouldn’t be quite as abrasive as a strict fighting force. In the Navy I wouldn’t be able to interact with people that much. And I didn’t join the Air Force because I’m afraid of flying,” he says.

Gaither enlisted in the Army in 2002. After basic training, he was sent to Hawaii, where he was stationed until December 2003.

Sitting at the Downtown Grill & Brewery in September, the 28-year-old smokes cigarettes and talks about his experiences in Iraq thus far. His dread locks were shaved long ago. Gaither’s back in Iraq now with his unit, in the town of Hawijah, located about halfway between Tikrit and Kirkuk.

When he first signed up, Gaither expected that if he were to be deployed it’d be in Afghanistan. But once the war in Iraq started, he realized he’d probably go there. He wasn’t particularly worried about going.

“It sucks getting pulled out of Hawaii,” he says with a smile. “It’s easier for me because I’m not married.... Other guys are thinking about their wife who is just about to have a baby. I was worried about the long flight.”

He flew into Kuwait before his unit drove north into Iraq. He remembers passing sheep herders, camels, little kids waving, and occasional sandstorms. “There was a lot of poverty. A lot of trash,” he says. “It gets greener as you go farther north, you start to see a lot of trees.”

His title is 13 foxtrot observer, which means when his unit is attacked, he’s in charge of calling in mortar fire, naval gunfire or air support. A lot of his job involves accompanying various people places. “Certain people are designated to go to cities and speak with the leaders, talking about public projects. We escort people to those meetings,” he says.

He likes most of the Iraqis he’s met and he’s made a few friends. There’s one guy he regularly takes Moonpies to. “They accept that we’re not of the same faith,” he says.

But unless they’re working, they’re not allowed off the base.

Gaither’s living quarters is a small trailer, which he shares with two other people. They have air-conditioning. There’s a gym and a dining facility on base, along with an Internet and phone center. For about an hour wait, he can get on a computer for 30 minutes a day, emailing friends.

There are things he’s not allowed to talk about. “How ‘bout them Vols,” he’ll say when asked a sensitive question. Off limit topics include whether he’s shot or killed anyone, how often he’s been under fire, and what he thinks of the president’s war plan. “I have complete trust and confidence in my commander-in-chief,” he says when the talk gets political.

“I can tell you that I’ve taken fire. I can’t tell you how frequent that would be,” he says. “In some ways you get used to it, other ways you don’t,” he talks about the sensation of being shot at. “I’ve been in situations where I thought, ‘Well, it’s not as bad as flying.’

“You rely on your training. It’s that simple. Your mind may be going through one thing but your body is doing another. American soldiers get the best training in the world. It’s not a robotic thing, like the Terminator. The negative feelings you push out of your mind and deal with it later.”

That state of mind is hard to let go. One night during his leave at the Brewery, he heard a balloon pop and his senses jolted. Then on one football Saturday, he was walking into the back of the Brewery, which had set up a TV outside so people could watch the Vols play. Just then, a cannon went off in Neyland Stadium. He dropped to his knee slightly, catching the curious eyes of those watching the game.

“I didn’t get down and crawl for my life, but everything just stopped. Which is a good thing. If I came home and I wasn’t like that I’d be scared for my life when I went back,” he says. “Since I’ve been home for two weeks, I’ve been a lot more relaxed.”

As for actually firing his own weapon at people, Gaither says, “I can neither confirm nor deny that.” Later, he adds: “We have very strict rules of engagement. If you’re shooting your weapon, it’s in self-defense.”

Family and friends are what he misses most. But there are other things too.

“You come back and you swear you’ll never take for granted waking up and ordering a pizza. I miss women. At least us single guys do. Next time you’re stuck on Kingston Pike in traffic, look around and you’ll see four or five hot chicks,” Gaither says. “Women. And beer too. Seriously, just interacting with women. Just to even see women. I’m a 28-year-old man talking. God, I’m such a soldier.”

Gaither won’t get into specifics about politics, other than to say that he’s glad the United States intervened. “If we had done nothing, eventually something would have happened that would be very bad for America or one of our allies. I’m sure it was a hard decision to make,” he says. “But if it had to happen over, I hope it would be done the same way. You see people suffering—it’s hard to take.”

He believes in the mission of helping Iraqis. “In 30 years, I’d like to go to Iraq on vacation,” he says.

“I have to reassure people there are positive things going on. It is improving. I think we did the right thing,” he says, adding that the media only show the bad parts of the war.

But he also says he appreciates those who have been vocal about opposing the war. “I do not take that personally because I see it as an American exercising their rights. Either way, they’re supporting you. That’s really important to us to know whether people think we should be there or shouldn’t be there,” he says. “I can’t imagine what it was like in Vietnam to come home and have people spitting on you. I come home and see yellow ribbons everywhere, and people are buying me drinks and dinner.”

“Whether you support us being in Iraq or not, make sure you support the guys there. It’s your right to protest and your right to vote. But make sure you support the troops. You could send us the most worthless whatever and we’d be so excited to get it,” he says.

Gaither lost a good friend in Iraq. “One of the guys was my roommate in Hawaii. He was a kid. It’s really tough when you lose someone a lot younger than you,” he says. “At the memorial service when they started playing ‘Amazing Grace,’ I was crying like a baby. Once you lose that first guy, those guys you’re around, you become closer to so quick. I might not see you tomorrow.”

As he was preparing to head back to Iraq, Gaither knows the risks. He spends time reassuring his family and friends that good things are happening in Iraq and he’ll be safe.

“I just try to reassure them things are going well. You let them know some of the things going on, but you don’t tell them how often you’re in harm’s way,” he says.

“If I don’t come back I know I died in an honorable way,” he says.

Jay

Justin Harris—his friends call him “Jay,” or “Tattoo Jay”—followed a similar path to Iraq.

He’s served in the Army from 1998 until 2001. His unit served at the Pentagon, but Jay was discharged a month before Sept. 11 because of a back injury. (His old unit was outside at the time and none of them were injured in the attacks.) But the terrorists motivated him to rejoin.

“That pissed me off. The first thing I did was go back to my recruiter here in town and try to get back in,” Harris says. “They wouldn’t take me back active duty because of my injury. But finally I finagled my way back into the system and they took me in the Reserves.”

He got into the reserves in 2002 and the order came for Iraq in 2003.

“I was excited. I joined the Army as a combat photographer and my entire active duty was spent in an office at the Pentagon. That’s not what I wanted to do, a desk job. When they said we were getting called up to do some active duty stuff, I got really excited. It was the first time I ever got to actually use my training.

“There were quite a few people who didn’t want to go at all, but there were a lot of us really pumped up about going. If I got called up again, I’d feel the same way. I’d hate leaving my family and friends again,” he says. His tour is now over but he’s still in the Reserves and he could be called up at any time. With a fish aquarium gurgling in the background, Harris spoke about his experiences at his home in Lenoir City, where he lives with his wife, Kasi, and their two children, Tyler, 7, and Audrey, 10. Several computer monitors flash and blip behind—he’s a techno-geek, frequently sending instant messages to friends back in Iraq and around the country.

In September 2003, Harris’ unit flew into Baghdad, where they stayed for a few days.

“It was hot...It was the middle of September. The sky was unbelievable. I’ve never seen a sky so blue, ever...The sky was just gorgeous blue. It was as dirty and as beautiful as any Third World country could be.”

Then they flew north to Mosul, where they were stationed for the whole tour.

“As soon as we got off the plane in Mosul, we’re at the airfield. Our teammates, the guys we’re replacing, they come pick us up. We’re thinking we’re going to jump in the back of the truck and they’ll drive us over to our rooms. Well it turns out our rooms were six miles away from the airfield.

“So the first 10 minutes of being on the ground, we’re locked and loaded and pulling security and we’re driving through what’s called Ambush Alley in a Humvee going 60 miles an hour in traffic that’s doing 30. There was no pause or time to breathe. As soon as we were there, we were moving, and moving with intent.”

As a photographer based in Mosul, Harris got to see a good bit. His job was to document military activities—for training and planning purposes. His seven-man unit included a non-commissioned officer and three teams with both a photographer and a videographer (Jay was trained in both, but worked as a still photographer, which he preferred).

The teams would go along several different types of missions—including daily patrols, raids, as well as combat, humanitarian and diplomatic missions—usually with the 101st division.

The missions would last anywhere from a few hours to five days. A good portion of the mission involved planning and then compiling the photographs afterwards and sending them to headquarters.

The soldiers in the 101st were pretty conscious of making a good impression on the Iraqis.

“It’s not like it’s a bunch of mindless grunts. They’re all very intelligent, adept human beings. Everything they did in the 101st was geared toward making sure we were doing the right thing in the country all the time, winning the hearts and minds of the people,” Harris says. “They were always thinking, ‘If I yell at this person because I’m angry today, that’s not going to win their hearts and minds, that’s going to piss them off.’ They were conscious of being better soldiers and better people all the time.”

The danger level of the missions varied. There was almost always gunfire.

“It was not if you were going to hear gunfire, it was how much you were going to hear and how close it would be to you. Once you’re out and about, you’re going to hear it and you’re going to see it. I never felt like I was gong to die. I’ve been fired on and I’ve fired back. No matter how thick it was, I never felt like I was going to die. Maybe that’s American cockiness, I don’t know. I think if you got in the mode of thinking, ‘I could get shot, I might get hurt,’ you’d stop doing your job.

“We might go to five orphanages in a week and not get fired on at all. Other weeks you might do a couple of raids or a couple of patrols and you’d get fired on three times in a night,” he says. “You can’t ever pinpoint, ‘we usually got fired on three times a week.’ It’s not like that. There’s such randomness to it and it changes so much. One day you’re hanging out with kids and the next day you’re arresting their neighbors.”

It’s clear that he’s seen some ugly things, but he won’t go into details. When asked if he’s ever shot or killed anyone, he says, “I don’t like talking about that. I haven’t dealt with it yet. I haven’t talked to Kasi about it yet either. You take everything that happens in stride.”

“I cope with things differently than other people would. Talking it out with a professional, I suppose that helps a lot of people...but I’ve always been better taking things in stride and dealing with things by myself, meditation on it, slowly digesting it until it becomes an easy thing to deal with.”

It’s not something he’s struggling to push out of his mind, he says. He doesn’t have any traumatic flashbacks. But it sometimes comes to him in dreams. “One day I’ll wake up and feel real shitty, tired, unrested, my body sore all over. My wife will tell me I had dreams that night and I was up around the house moving and I don’t remember any of it.”

Since he’s been back, he’s had problems with his memory—something a doctor told him is posttraumatic stress syndrome. He has a lot of trouble remembering things, especially dates and timelines. One day he forgot when his birthday was and he spent all day trying to figure it out.

It also took a little while getting used to being in crowds again. In Iraq, he didn’t go out in public without his gun, Kevlar armor, camera and support. “When I came back, if I went to Wal-Mart or something, I felt very uncomfortable and exposed. It took a long time getting used to being around a lot of people and not looking over your back every 10 seconds to see what was going on.”

Physical contact with other people became rare there. People didn’t shake hands, not even among other Americans. Money never changed hands, since soldiers don’t have to pay for anything. There were no hugs. “I remember the first couple of weeks [in Iraq], if you nudged somebody or bumped somebody, it was very odd. Then I realized it was because I’m not used to touching somebody,” he says. “Here on an average day I’ll go to the coffee shop, and I’ll hug about 30 people and I’ll shake hands with another,” he says.

A more concrete problem for him is that he can’t seem to find a job. Because he could still get called up, few employers want to risk hiring him.

Those problems aside, Harris is pretty happy about the time he spent in Iraq. In many ways, he misses it.

“I miss the excitement of the missions. I miss feeling like I’m doing something useful every day,” he says. “Here, I don’t do anything useful in this county. I do things that are entertaining and time consuming.... Documenting combat for research and review is a useful, meaningful thing to do. Hiring deejays for a club night is entertaining and time consuming.”

He loves the country. He’s made several Iraqi friends, a few of whom he still keeps in contact with via email.

He’s disheartened that many Americans have such a negative impression of Iraq, an impression he blames on the media. “People think, ‘Clear the entire desert, wipe ‘em out, we’ll be done with it.’ That’s like somebody saying, ‘Wipe out America, we’ll be done with all this democracy bullshit.’ You can’t do that. They’re real people you’re dealing with. They’ve got feelings, they’ve got families, they’ve got children. You spend three days with them and you’re making friends.

“You could bring over all the infantry guys there. They might have gone down there with the impression of going into conflict and mowing down Iraqis left and right to secure the place. Leave them there for two weeks and I bet you couldn’t find a single solider who didn’t have one Iraqi friend. And that was probably the teashop guy.

“After a couple of weeks you’re asking ‘How is your daughter doing in school? What’s the market look like for gold this week? Did you get your car fixed?’ You start getting involved with him.

“They were just as curious about us as we were about them, asking questions about religion and what’s a regular Saturday night for an American,” he says.

The conversation rarely dips into politics—both Americans and Iraqis are so immersed in it, few want to bring it up. But when it does come up, the sentiment isn’t anti-American so much as pro-independence. “They’re irritated that the Americans are there having to help them progress toward democracy. There’s not as much hatred as people think. It’s not like every Iraqi hates every American.... They have very wide ranging political views just like Americans do. They even have opinions on American politics. The general impression, among the few people I talked to, they were happy about the progress being made. But at the same time they were a little sad it had to be an outside force that made it happen.”

“I wish we could take every American over there and show them the country for two or three weeks at a time. They’d see they’re just like us. They’ve got different religious beliefs, but the morals are pretty much the same. You’re dealing with a small group of people who are the insurgents,” he adds.

Despite the good feelings most Iraqis have, it’s not terribly safe for Americans. “You never go out on your own. I would have liked to, but I wouldn’t have done it. We talked about trying to throw on some civilian clothes and sneaking off...but it’s way to dangerous to risk doing something like that.”

Like Gaither, the thing that Harris missed the most about the states were women and booze.

“That sounds very male chauvinistic,” Harris says. “I could go into the woods here for four months and I’d never say anything like that ever. But when you’re over there, you’re so charged up all the time and I suppose the testosterone levels go through the roof.

“The only things I wanted when I got back home were Jack Daniels and my wife, and not in that order, but varying levels of one or the other and combinations of the two. What I miss most is being able to lie down next to my wife.”

For now, Jay is content to sleep next to his wife every night, spend time with his kids, and enjoy some whiskey. If he’s called up again, he says he’ll willingly go. Jay doesn’t criticize President Bush’s decision to invade; nor does he feel any animosity toward war protesters (he says they’ve gotten many care packages from those opposed to the war and he supports their right to dissent).

“Things can always have been done much differently. Given the situation and the information at hand, I think the best decision was made at the time,” Harris says.

“When we got there, I did the best I could at every decision I made to make sure it was the right thing to do. Whether we were there or not was nothing I could change or fix. Even now to look back to say if we hadn’t gone in or if we’d waited—it’s irrelevant. We’re there. We should deal with it the best way we can.

“It doesn’t matter to me whether we should have gone or not. We’re there. Do we need to get out right now? No. That would be very stupid on our part.”

November 11, 2004 • Vol. 14, No. 46 © 2004 Metro Pulse