Getting Iraq To Work

By Jim Golby
Sunday, October 14, 2007; B01
Outside TIKRIT, Iraq

I'm sick of hearing about all the horrible things that happen in Iraq without ever hearing about any of the good ones. That's not because horrible things don't occur here every day; they do. I've witnessed far more death and sadness than I wish anyone ever had to see. And it's not because I believe in some left-wing media conspiracy. If I'm affiliated with a political party at all, I honestly can't remember which one it is.

Rather, I'm sick of hearing about all the horrible things that happen in Iraq because I've been deployed here for more than 24 months since this war began, and I think I have a story to tell that's heroic, maybe even noble. It's not my story. In fact, I'm quite average, and I'm certainly not noble. But I've been blessed to serve with some amazing officers, noncommissioned officers and soldiers who have sacrificed another 15 months away from their families -- and, for once, produced something that I don't think looks all that bad, even in this desolate country.

Over the last six months, I've served at a large U.S. base in Iraq. My soldiers and I have been responsible for securing the area around the main entrance. We've played a major role in protecting thousands of soldiers and civilians who reside on the base. That's a significant accomplishment in itself, even though it's not sexy, and it has required a lot of discipline and dedication from my troops to do it so well.

But this past summer, we accomplished something else that seems to me almost unequivocally good.

In April, I began working with a group on an initiative that the U.S. government calls the IBIZ. As adept as most of us in the military are at deciphering acronyms that would befuddle the average man, we couldn't figure this one out. I think my first sergeant guessed closest, hypothesizing that it stood for "Iraq's Big-Ass Iguana Zoo." Unfortunately, IBIZ involves no arboreal lizards. It stands for "Iraqi Business and Industrial Zone."

This is an initiative intended to give Iraqi companies better access to U.S. contracts, establish security to let Iraqi companies develop, and train individual Iraqis in skills such as carpentry, plumbing and electrical work. It consists of a contracting office, two Iraqi industrial plants -- one for producing concrete and the other for crushing rock into gravel -- alongside a shipping and receiving yard and a skills training area. It also has the potential to save the U.S. government a significant amount of money by using cheaper Iraqi labor for many jobs usually performed by other contracted foreign nationals.

That's it? you say. That's all we get? Plumbers? Carpenters? I understand your frustration. It's not the stuff of a box-office hit or a gripping novel. But it's heroic. And it's noble, and I'll tell you why.

Every day, soldiers here pull duty in numerous defensive fighting positions or in guard towers, risking their lives for this idea called IBIZ. Our soldiers run the access control and security systems that screen the Iraqis and the thousands of other personnel and vehicles that come through here each week. Or they sit in up-armored Humvees and oversee contractors who construct fences or barriers around the new concrete plant and rock crusher.

And, for once, it really seems to be about Iraqi freedom.

I'm often surprised that many Iraqis still take us seriously. They see the news and listen to us lament the nearly 4,000 U.S. troops who have died while forgetting the far greater tragedy to Iraqis. I have to admit that I was shocked at what I saw when I arrived back here this year for my second tour. If the local electricity, water or sanitation systems had improved, I couldn't tell; meanwhile, the base where I was living had grown threefold and was much cozier than the two smaller bases where I had lived just 20 months earlier.

Several Iraqis I talked to at the time expressed genuine concern about how much better Americans were living in Iraq than Iraqis themselves. But then things started to change. It didn't happen as quickly as I would have liked, but some Iraqis started to see that some things might be improving for them, too.

They saw some construction begin and heard a few comments from several U.S. soldiers about 35 good jobs that would be starting near the base. Many villagers probably wrote this off as another failed U.S. promise, but the construction continued and the talk grew more concrete. Finally, the project actually opened, and nearly 100 Iraqis lined up to compete for those jobs.

For once, Iraqis see hope and money, and they want both desperately.

In the first month after the contracting office opened in June, the Iraqi contracts in the province jumped by more than 20 percent and nearly $4 million. Villagers watched two Iraqi-owned plants go up in a semi-secure area in less than two months, grabbing several enormous contracts that typically would have gone to better-positioned Turkish firms. And 35 residents from four small villages received apprenticeships for on-the-job training as carpenters, plumbers and electricians, jobs that provide lunch and a decent salary by Iraqi standards.

Now, when we tell them to expect an additional 85 jobs this winter when we expand the IBIZ skills training program to include welders, small-engine mechanics and air conditioner repairmen, Iraqis are more likely to believe us, even though it might be a different "us" after my unit rotates out of theater.

I'm the one who receives the glowing appreciation and the e-mail invitation to lunch from an Iraqi contractor in broken English for what we've done with IBIZ, but my soldiers are the heroes. And they deserve the credit.

They're not the only ones, of course. Dozens of other officers, soldiers, civilian contractors, linguists and airmen on the base have played a crucial role in making this concept a reality. Some of them balked at it initially because they thought it too great a security risk, creating a magnet for attacks; others openly opposed it. But in the end, the idea prevailed because it was a good one. It may even turn out to be a great one.

And of course, there are the Iraqis working at or with the IBIZ themselves.

Here are some remarks sent to me recently by the Iraqi who owns one of the industrial plants:

"We and each honorable Iraqi should not forget each drop of blood that the US military dropped it for our sake to put us in right way to life and we should know that we owe much for the US people."

Those words made me proud. At the same time, I realize that therein lies the problem. Iraqis owe much, possibly too much, to the American people and the U.S. military. The contracts are all U.S. government contracts, the security is all provided by U.S. soldiers, and the jobs are all dependent on massive U.S. military bases. If they weren't receiving U.S. support, these Iraqis wouldn't have many options. And if the U.S. presence fades, the Iraqi plumbers, carpenters and electricians will face a stark decision: leave the country with their families and their new skills, or fight so that their tribe or sect or village will get some share of the remaining oil revenue.

The IBIZ is only one small tactical victory in need of a much larger strategic or political triumph. Some scholars and foreign policy experts claim that one of the major lessons of Vietnam is that tactical victories do not equal success at the strategic or political level. They may be correct, but the politicians who quote them often fail to mention that tactical victories don't necessarily preclude strategic victories, either. Gen. David H. Petraeus and Ambassador Ryan C. Crocker are courageous men who believe that we are making progress. When they say that, I believe them because I, too, can finally see some results. I just hope that the investment in projects such as IBIZ hasn't come too late to make a lasting difference.

In a few years, I'll have the opportunity to examine how we won or lost this war while I study public policy in graduate school. No doubt, I'll uncover mistakes that our government, politicians and military leaders made over the first few years. But for now, I am up far too late at night, worried about maintaining discipline and accomplishing my mission as my soldiers and I finish our tour.

As I drift off, I think of my wife and two daughters waiting at home. And I see once again the strange combination of hope and desperation in those Iraqis' eyes on that first day of work. Then I see the fatigue on many of my soldiers' faces as I pin awards on their chests. They are noble, and they are heroes. And I am immensely proud of what I did with them in Iraq last summer.

james.t.golby@gmail.com

Jim Golby is an Army captain on his second tour of duty in Iraq.

This article reflects his personal views and does not represent the official position of the U.S. military or the Department of Defense.

Jim Golby will discuss his article at 1 p.m. Tuesday at www.washingtonpost.com/liveonline.