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GEORGE CURTIS
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Simply Semper Fi

By Roger Roy | Sentinel Staff Writer
Posted April 27, 2003

The gas mask had hung at my hip for so long it felt almost permanently attached, and I'd gotten to where I'd reflexively reach down to make sure it was there, like checking for keys before locking the car door.

But now I handed the mask and the rest of my issued gear to the Army captain, and he checked off his list: atropine injectors, pants and jacket to my chemical-weapons suit, rubber overboots and gloves. He marked off the list and slid it over the counter, and I signed it.

"You are now officially disembedded," he told me, and I'd been around Marines so much I was almost startled he hadn't said, "Good to go," the Corps' catchall phrase that means you're ready for anything, even if it involves bayonets and a beach that somebody else thinks belongs to them.

I almost mentioned that to the captain, but I figured, he's Army, he wouldn't get it. A few weeks earlier, I wouldn't have gotten it myself.

For more than a month, I'd been, in military parlance, "embedded" with the 1st Marine Expeditionary Force, traveling and living with the Marines as they pushed north from Kuwait to Baghdad.

It was an experience that had swung dizzily from rewarding to exasperating to frightening, and now that it was suddenly over I was still sorting through its ups and downs. That night after turning in our Marine-issued gear at the military press headquarters in Kuwait City, I had dinner with a reporter I'd been with since before the war started, Wayne Woolley of the Star-Ledger in Newark, N.J., who'd been embedded with the same unit. At the five-star Hilton looking out over the Gulf, we ate smoked salmon and fresh fruit and smoked Iraqi cigarettes. We wished you could buy alcohol in Kuwait, and managed not to feel guilty even though we knew the Marines we'd left in Iraq the day before were still eating MREs.

Over dinner, we rehashed our experience and came to a conclusion that would have stunned us if someone had suggested it a month earlier: If we were 18 or 19 again, neither of us was sure we'd be able to resist the urge to join the Marines.

The idea was troubling on several levels. First, practically speaking, we should have known better by then. Being with the Marines meant we'd been through the whole war without a hot shower, learned to consider ourselves lucky when we had a new MRE box for a toilet and occasionally worried we were about to be shot. We'd seen how the Marines had to make do with old or insufficient gear, some of it dating to the Vietnam era. It's hard to argue that willingly subjecting yourself to such a thing isn't a sign of simple-mindedness.

Beyond that, it was hardly a ringing endorsement of our ability to keep our distance from those we were writing about. I'd covered police, courts and politics without ever once wanting to be a cop, a lawyer or a politician.

Fortunately, I'm old enough that our discussion that night was purely academic.

But I think our reaction explains much about the Pentagon's decision to embed several hundred reporters for the war in Iraq, the first time the press has enjoyed such close war-time access to the U.S. military since Vietnam.

Someone at the Pentagon had figured out what we now recognized: No matter what you think of the military as an institution, it's hard not to admire the actual rank-and-file troops.

Who would write glowingly about the Marine Corps bureaucracy for trying to push a convoy of 150 supply trucks through hundreds of miles of enemy territory with too little fuel, too few radios and not enough heavy weapons?

But it's a different story when told from the seat next to a 19-year-old lance corporal at a wheel of a truckload of high explosives who hasn't slept in two days and is just trying to get the mission done.

Before the war, I'd never spent much time with the Marines, and I wasn't sure what to expect when I was assigned to them. I think I understand Marines better now, but I'm not sure I can explain them.

They tend to do things the hardest way possible.

They call each other "devil dog" and say "Hoo-rah."

They are loud and rough. They have lots of tattoos. They'll ignore you or torment you if they think you're a fake. They'll do anything for you if they like you.

They'll believe the wildest rumors. One told me, early in the war, that he'd heard the Army, rather than the Marines, would occupy Baghdad because the Marines "break too much stuff."

Marines tend to think and travel in a straight line.

They have a talent for complaining and swearing that I've seldom seen surpassed.

I heard entire conversations between Marines that consisted of nothing but acronyms laced with profanity, something like:

"Where's your #&% NCO?"

"At the ^*&$ COC for *+$ CSSB."

"We need some #@* LVSs and a couple of *#% MTVRs."

"$*&#."

"Hoo-rah."

Marines get things done. They follow orders. They would sometimes do crazy things if they thought they'd been told to.

Once, during a convoy stop, a young Marine begged us out of an MRE box we'd been saving for a toilet. When Woolley gave him the box, he made a joke about bringing it back, but the Marine thought he was serious.

Five minutes later, the Marine was back, offering the no-longer-empty box back to a horrified Woolley.

It had Gunnery Sgt. Kevin Mlay, who was standing there when the Marine brought the box back, shaking his head.

Marines may not be the smartest, Mlay said, but you have to give them credit for following orders.

That doesn't mean they're afraid to point out that their orders may be, to politely paraphrase an often-used Marine term, messed up.

"That's (messed) up, sir," is a phrase I heard countless times.

I'm sure it was the first thing the Marines said when they saw the reefs at Tarawa or the Japanese positions on Mount Suribachi.

There were endless variations of the phrase -- "Sir, that's totally (messed) up," and "Sergeant, you won't believe how (messed) up it is."

But after complaining, the Marines would do what they'd been told, even if it didn't make any sense.

Most of the Marines were very young, most lance corporals only 19 or 20. That may be why I ran across so many of them who managed to have both a sentimental streak and a mean streak.

I saw Marines who didn't have any extra food or water give what they had to Iraqi children begging on the roadside. But the same Marines laughed like crazy when they heard about a Marine who filled an empty MRE bag with sand, sealed it up and threw it to begging children.

One Marine officer I knew liked to call his Marines "the most demented young people our society can produce." He wasn't really kidding, but he still admired them, and I did, too.

The Marines Woolley and I had been embedded with were in the Transportation Support Group, which included the Orlando-based reservists of the 6th Motor Transport Battalion. They were running convoys of ammunition, food, water and fuel, and fighting wasn't supposed to be their main job.

They were ordered to more or less ignore civilians unless they were hostile. If they took fire, they weren't to stop: Getting the supplies to the front was more important than getting into a fight, especially since the fuel and ammunition trucks in a convoy would have been vulnerable targets.

Their orders encouraged a sort of don't-mess-with-me-I-won't-mess-with-you policy. But if someone messed with them, they were inviting the worst.

Marines return fire with a relish.

At a base south of Baghdad, I heard a young Marine reporting to an officer about how his convoy had taken sniper fire from a mud brick hut near the highway.

Did you return fire, the officer asked, and the Marine told him casually that the Mark 19 gunner had gotten off "about 100 rounds."

The Mark 19 is a sort of machine gun that fires grenades, and 100 Mark 19 rounds would be enough to level most villages in southern Iraq, let alone one mud brick hut.

But the Marines figured anyone who messed with them had it coming.

Maj. Michael Yaroma of Oviedo, like all officers a dedicated student to the psyche of his Marines, told me how he'd found a young Marine tormenting a fly at their base south of Baghdad.

The flies in the desert are big, ugly, biting things, and the Marine had caught one and pulled its wings off. As it tried to crawl away, the Marine poked at it with his finger, asking "How do you like it, huh? How do you like it?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Yaroma asked the Marine.

"He was (messing) with me, sir, so now I'm (messing) with him," the Marine said, and then he went back to his fly.

When the Marines began pulling out of Baghdad last week, replaced by Army units, news reports noted how the Army tended to patrol the city in convoys of Humvees, while the Marines had been on foot and mixed with the locals.

I'd seen it myself. There were times in Baghdad when a few Marines would be on guard at a busy intersection where there were hundreds, even thousands of Iraqis filing past.

Many of those Marines seemed to enjoy the close contact, laughing, waving and joking with the Iraqis the best they could given the language barrier.

But I also knew that none of them would hesitate to light up the crowd if it came to that.

A lot of the Marines I met recognized that their experiences in the war had changed them.

After dark at a camp in Central Iraq, we were sitting with about a dozen Marines, and one of them of them was telling the group about his experience handling Iraqi prisoners, which the unit transported back to holding camps.

The prisoners weren't treated gently, and the Marine was demonstrating how the guards would give them a string of contradictory orders the Iraqis didn't understand anyway, making their point by aiming their rifles at the prisoners' faces.

"We're like, What's your name! Shut up! Stand up! Sit the hell down!"

The Marine was waving his loaded M-16 around wildly and finally Sgt. Rob Anderson told him, "Put your damn rifle down."

The Marine sat down and, after a few seconds, he said, "When I get home, I'm taking an anger-management course."

Everybody cracked up, mostly because they knew he was completely serious.

I found that even officers who had been studying Marines for years still scratched their heads over them.

One fascinated by their quirks was Maj. Jeff Eberwein, an oil-company executive in civilian life who has a degree in medieval literature from Boston College. The books he'd brought to read during the war included Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.

Eberwein liked to joke about how Marines did things the hardest way. Since they'd arrived at Camp Saipan in January, the Marines had to wear their full battle gear -- flak jackets and helmets and carrying their weapons -- even to the mess hall and latrine.

I thought the conditions at Camp Saipan were bad, with tents that didn't keep out the dust storms and foul-smelling portable toilets. But it was luxury compared to conditions after the war started.

And the Marines, who had assumed they would be using holes for toilets and eating standing up even in camp before the war, thought it was great they had toilets and a mess tent with chairs.

Eberwein did a hilarious version of a sergeant's reaction to any Marine who complained about the mess hall food, which was actually awful.

"Do you think they had strawberry jam on Tarawa, Marine?! Did they have orange juice at Iwo Jima?!"

One day at the big Marine base south of Baghdad, Eberwein and I watched a Marine take a wrong turn with his LVS, a monster all-wheel drive truck, and come up to a ditch with a berm beyond it. The Marine could have backed up a little and turned to avoid the obstacle. But the shortest path was straight ahead, and after sizing it up the driver just gunned the motor and the big truck plowed over it, tires spinning and steel groaning.

Eberwein liked to say that Marines think finesse is a French sports car. But the truth is he admired their single-mindedness to getting the job done. That day as the truck disappeared through the cloud of dust, he just shook his head and said, "Mission accomplished."

But while Eberwein tended to be more reflective than most of the Marines, I came to realize he was one of them.

We were at a camp late one afternoon when one of the Cobra helicopter gunships patrolling outside the Marine positions suddenly began firing.

Marines grabbed their rifles and ran over the berm, hoping for a fight.

In a few minutes, they all came back grumbling: The Cobra gunner must have been only clearing his weapon, and there was nothing out there to shoot at.

Afterward, Eberwein joked about how only Marines would be disappointed that they couldn't get into a firefight.

But he'd been the first one over the berm.

If we reporters often puzzled over Marines, there were things about us that didn't make sense to them, either.

The first two questions Marines would ask us when they found out we were reporters were: Did you volunteer to come, and do you get paid extra for covering a war?

They acted like we were crazy when we said we'd volunteered, even though they were all volunteers, themselves, for the Corps if not for this particular war.

They also thought we were crazy when they found out we weren't paid any more to cover a war than to cover a city council meeting. But I always pointed out that the extra pay the Marines were getting in Iraq was only a couple of hundred dollars a month, scant compensation for being shot at.

A surprising number of Marines, unaware that journalists were forbidden to carry weapons, asked if we were armed.

When we told them the rules prohibited weapons for journalists, more than a few assumed our denials were just to make it seem we were complying with the rules, and that we really had some sort of weapons.

Others seemed almost alarmed for our sakes that we were unarmed. Many insisted on showing us how to fire their M-16s.

After one long, scary night on a convoy in southern Iraq, Sgt. Joseph Gomez had asked me if I could throw. I knew Gomez played baseball last year on the Marine Corps team, so I answered that I could throw about like a girl, why?

He held out a green ball printed on the side, "Grenade, Frag, Delay." You pull the small pin first, he said, then the larger pin, and throw it.

I couldn't imagine ever using the thing, and tried to stay away from the spot in the bed of the truck where Gomez kept it tucked in between the sandbags.

At first, when we'd climb into a truck we'd wait for one of the Marines to move the weapons that were lying around. But after a while we'd just pick up the rocket launcher or M-16 and move it ourselves. Most of the Marines, after we'd spent some time riding with them, would hand us their rifles to hold while they climbed in or out of the truck, and it became so second nature I never thought about it until later.

Maybe that would have made us fair targets. But on the convoys, one of the biggest dangers was snipers, and there was no reason to believe they'd have any idea we were reporters rather than Marines, or that they'd avoid shooting us even if they knew.

The reporters I knew, myself included, didn't expect any Geneva Convention niceties if we were captured, noncombatants or not.

In any case, my sense of security was directly in proportion to my confidence in the Marines around me.

We spent the first week of the war with Marines I came to trust completely -- Gomez and his crew on a truck that provided security for the convoys, driver Lance Cpl. Robert Kissmann and .50-caliber gunner Scott Stasney.

Gomez, whose parents live in Sanford, was only 23, but the others on his squad had the same sort of confidence in him. "He's my daddy," was how one Marine in Gomez's squad described him.

Gomez called his M-16 Marie, after his wife's middle name, and even his choice of wife I regarded as a sign of his bravery, since he'd married his platoon sergeant's daughter, a thought that made even the toughest Marines cringe.

I always figured nothing bad could happen until Gomez had fired his last round, but I was with him during my scariest moment of the war.

On an Iraqi highway south of the Euphrates, during a blinding dust storm, our security truck stopped to guard a stalled truck full of ammunition and guided missiles while the rest of the convoy drove ahead.

The dust and howling wind cut visibility at times to only 50 or 60 yards, and Iraqi trucks and cars would suddenly appear out of the dust, often turning to speed off.

We felt like a whole Iraqi army could be 100 yards away in the dust and we wouldn't know it.

The wind blew dust in my eyes even with my goggles on, and I was standing behind the truck, out of the wind. I wasn't particularly worried until Gomez came back and told me he couldn't see and asked me to take a look at his eye. That was when I realized all my confidence was tied up in him.

His eye was bloodshot and full of sand, and I dug out the worst of it with my fingernail, then washed it out with a bottle of water. It still looked bad but he said it felt better, and he went back to the road.

The mechanics were still working on the truck, and a few more Marines had joined us, when we heard a loud squeaking clatter coming up the road behind us.

We all knew what it was even before someone said it was tracks, which meant armored vehicles.

A day earlier, American Cobra gunships or F-18s would have massacred any Iraqi tanks that dared to venture out, but now nothing was flying in the dust storm.

Eberwein yelled at a Marine to grab the AT-4 rocket launcher from one of the Humvees, but I had no confidence in the little rocket.

Besides, you could tell there were several sets of tracks coming up the road. And I already had a vision of a column of Iraqi tanks coming up the road and was trying to figure whether it would be better to run north or south and how long it would take to get out of sight of the road in the dust storm. I was about to disembed myself on foot.

But when they clattered into sight, the tracks belonged to four U.S. Army Bradley Fighting Vehicles, which were as surprised as we were by the encounter. They stopped suddenly, backed up and crossed the road, keeping their cannons trained on us even as they rolled past and disappeared into the dust.

I managed to snap a photo of the Bradleys just as they came out of the dust, but when I looked at it later the image was blurred, as if I'd moved when I took the shot. I don't think I could blame the wind.

Aside from the fact that the Marine's inclination was to fight and mine was to run, another difference between the press and the Marines is we tended to see things as black and white, sometimes in ways that seemed comical to the Marines.

One night, some Marines had dropped me off after dark at an advance camp for our unit. I was fumbling around trying to unroll my sleeping bag when I startled a Marine who came walking around the command tent, which I was sleeping next to so I wouldn't be run over by a truck in the dark.

"Friend or foe," he asked me, and I had no ready answer. Technically, I was no one's foe, as a non-combatant. And while I'd made friends who were Marines, to call yourself a friend implies some compromise of objectivity

After a long pause I finally mumbled "Reporter," and when the Marine laughed I wasn't sure if it was because of my answer or how long it had taken me to spit it out.

To the Marines, the biggest difference between us was that we were more or less free to do as we wished.

Technically the rules were that we would stay with our assigned unit, and that someone would keep track of us. Our press badges said "Bearer must be escorted at all times."

But within a day of the war's start, we were pretty much free to do as we wanted, jumping on and off convoys and wandering around wherever we could get a ride and find Marines to give us water, MREs and a place to throw our sleeping bags.

We learned to avoid unfriendly officers, and the friendly ones directed us to convoys that were heading closer to the action, even telling us when we should jump off to another unit.

Unlike the Marines, we could dress as we wanted and sleep until we wanted to get up.

But the biggest difference was that we could leave whenever we wished. Many Marines told us they couldn't believe we would stay out there if we had the option to go home.

I think it was the knowledge that we could pull out whenever we wanted that cemented our connection with the Marines.

Just before Woolley and I flew out of Iraq on a C-130 back to Kuwait, we were saying our goodbyes to the Marines at their base south of Baghdad.

Staff Sgt. Charles Wells, a firefighter and EMT for Orange County Fire Rescue, made a point of pulling us aside before our flight.

The Marines hadn't known what to expect when they heard reporters would be living with them, Wells said, and some had feared the worst, that we'd pry into personal details or try to portray them as bloodthirsty baby killers. But Wells told us his Marines appreciated how we'd lived as they'd lived, gone where they'd gone, eaten what they'd eaten, used the same MRE boxes as toilets and slept on the ground they'd slept on.

By then Wells knew we'd understand exactly what he meant when he told us, "You guys are good to go."

We considered it the highest praise.

Special THANKS to

T. C. Brock, Jr.
Phrog Phlyer

&

popasmoke@earthlink.net

George T. Curtis (RIP. 9/17/2005)

 
Posted : 2003-05-04 21:21
Anonymous
 Anonymous
(@Anonymous)
Posts: 0
New Member
 

This could have been written in our day.

These guys sound the same as the one's I remember.

 
Posted : 2003-05-05 09:11
Ray Norton
(@ray-norton)
Posts: 322
Reputable Member
 

Great Article...

...except for this quote.

"We'd seen how the Marines had to make do with old or insufficient gear, some of it dating to the Vietnam era."

Our Marines deserve better than this.

/s/ray

Raymond J. Norton

1513 Bordeaux Place

Norfolk, VA 23509-1313

(757) 623-1644

 
Posted : 2003-05-05 13:55
GEORGE CURTIS
(@george-curtis)
Posts: 896
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Topic starter
 

I retired in 1991 and we were not using anything that was from Vietnam., that had not been modernized.

He may be referring to our CH-46s, CH-53s and M16s. They have however all be updated

George T. Curtis (RIP. 9/17/2005)

 
Posted : 2003-05-05 14:16
jdullighan
(@jdullighan)
Posts: 128
Estimable Member
 

Reporter's Attitude Change

PHILADELPHIA INQUIRER Sunday, 4 May 2003

REPORTER'S WAR ENDS WITH RELIEF, AND RESPECT FOR US TROOPS

By Ken Dilanian
Inquirer Staff Writer

My route out of Iraq felt like science fiction, like going through a time warp.

One minute I was at a pitch-black airfield in Kurdistan, where as the wind blew cold, soldiers huddled in tents, and ate monotonous fare from brown pouches. A jet ride later I was in Frankfurt, Germany, wolfing down a sumptuous breakfast at the Hotel Intercontinental, fresh from a long hot shower.

Relief flowed over me: My days of deprivation were over. But as I sat with two CNN reporters wolfing down the first fresh meal we'd eaten in a month, I thought about the paratroopers I had left behind, the men who had taken me into their confidences during weeks of preparing for the war that, for them, never really came.

The soldiers of the 173d Airborne Brigade are still patrolling Kirkuk, keeping the peace, sleeping on the floor, and living out of their rucksacks.

You don't hear much about them anymore, now that those of us reporters who were with them have come home - now that Iraq has begun to fade as a news story. After parachuting into northern Iraq a month ago with great fanfare, they have been all but forgotten, along with thousands of other U.S. soldiers, not only in Iraq but in Afghanistan, Kosovo, Korea, and a dozen other dangerous places across the globe. Forgotten by all but the loved ones they have left behind.

But I can't forget them. I keep thinking of them even as I prepare for my approaching wedding, which was the reason I had to leave them in the first place.

I think of how they climbed on the back of exposed flatbed trucks and rushed over a ridge into what they were told would be an onslaught of Iraqi fire - only to find that the Iraqi troops had melted away and Kirkuk had fallen without their help.

And how they never complained, even when they had to spend a freezing night in the open with no warm clothing. Even when they went without food for 24 hours.

And how they opened up to a stranger who was thrust into their ranks - told me their stories, lent me their equipment, and offered their protection.

The post-mortems are starting to come in on how the "embedding" of journalists shaped the coverage of this war. Most observers agree that, whatever else it accomplished, embedding was a public relations coup for the Pentagon, because the reporters bonded and empathized with the troops they covered.

Whether that empathy compromised our objectivity is for others to decide. I personally don't think it did. Our affinity was for the troops, not for their bureaucracy or the policies that sent them there.

But as a reporter who had no prior experience with the military, I came away with a profound respect for the professionalism and ingenuity of American soldiers.

And, as someone who has spent most of his career covering politics and government, I returned asking myself why the rest of the public sector can't be made to work one-tenth as well as the military does.

The answer is obvious, I guess: Once a soldier has enlisted, the military all but owns him and can impose its training and discipline on him the way no other employer can. That's how 19-year-olds from all walks of life become elite paratroopers who can jump out of planes, gather up their equipment, and build an airfield in the middle of nowhere in a week.

You can't expect that kind of performance out of, say, public employees at Philadelphia City Hall, even though most of them earn vastly more than soldiers and live far better. Still, I'll have a hard time listening the next time to a unionized bureaucrat grousing about his working conditions without thinking of the paratroopers - most of whom make less than $20,000 a year - whose bathroom facilities consisted of a ditch: no shower, no soap, no privacy.

What impressed me the most about these men and women was the way they laughed off hardship, embraced it, conquered it.

I still shudder when I think of the night we were caught without our gear and had to sleep outside next to an oil field in Kirkuk. The temperature dropped into the 30s, and none of us had jackets or sleeping bags or anything else warm.

I was the only one who groused. The soldiers just chuckled and told me they'd endured far worse in training in Germany. It was the same way they had laughed about having parachuted into a foot of mud, mud so thick and heavy that they spent the night digging one another out.

A few days earlier, we were standing on a sunny field north of Kirkuk, believing we were heading into battle.

"Ken, are you really, like, going with us?" asked one of the medics. "Cool!"

Then Capt. Eric Baus, of Collingswood, N.J., the Able Company commander, took me aside.

Don't do anything stupid to put yourself in harm's way, he said, because these kids won't hesitate to risk themselves to save you.

It was all moot: Ours was a war without combat. After enduring weeks of unimaginable destruction delivered from B-52 bombers, the Iraqi troops in the north took off their uniforms and blended into the countryside. When we crested the ridge, all we saw were abandoned gun emplacements. Uniforms and helmets were strewn on the ground.

"I feel like I've been stood up at the prom," lamented Spec. Brian Gaudette, 20, of Eugene, Ore.

The paratroopers became peacekeepers, and for the most part they performed admirably. Baus, for one, helped find the engineers who were needed to turn the water and power back on in Kirkuk. A week after I left, the news broke that troops from the 173d had arrested Turkish special forces troops trying to enter Kirkuk.

I heard Col. William Mayville, the brigade commander, whom I had interviewed a dozen times, speaking to a radio reporter with characteristic bravado.

"I caught 'em," he said.

I wished I was back there with them.

This piece appeared in Sunday's Philadelphia Inquirer. What a change in attitude. Whoever thought up putting reporters with front line units is a genius. I'm sure there were many fears about things going wrong. But exposing the troops to the press could only be a good thing, they were able to see that in spite of everything thrown at them, the guys did a great job.

I heard a reporter say " I saw incompetant officers, those who lost their temper under pressure. But I mostly saw professionalism, skill and calm. I wondered how I would have done in the same circumstances. And even the incompetents were trying. I've been reporting on the military for 20 years and I learned things I never knew. I'll never look on the military in the same way."

What struck me is the way the kids accepted outsiders and took care of them. That is if the outsider truly accepted the same conditions as the troops. I noticed the same thing in Vietnam as well as the incredulity when the guys found out that if I told Boeing I wanted out, I'd be gone in 48 hours. They say they'd be out of there but I don't think they'd leave their buddies.

John

 
Posted : 2003-05-05 19:43
jdullighan
(@jdullighan)
Posts: 128
Estimable Member
 

Who's idea was EMBEDDING

Following are extracts from "Digital Journalist" which details the evolution of the policy on "Embedding". It seems that the idea came from Virginia Clarke but it is clear, reading between the lines that Donald Rumsfeld's support and encouragement was extremely important if not vital, especially his willingness to let the chips fall where they may.

Extract from “Digital Journalist” May 2003
Assessing the Embeds
by Dirck Halstead

>>>Earlier this year the press and the Pentagon tried to come up with a new plan. Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, who has been a friend of many photographers, decided to take a chance and simply allowing the press to accompany the troops, letting the chips fall where they may. There were, however, a few caveats. The Pentagon would decide to which units the press would be assigned, and most importantly, once a reporter or photographer was embedded, the assignment would last until the job was done. If an Embed decided to leave a unit, he or she could not return. There was to be no switch-outs, even for the likes of Ted Kopel, who distinguished himself by staying with his unit throughout the bumpy ride to Baghdad.

This was a wise choice. It gave the photographers a chance to become a "member of the family" with the units in which they were embedded. They got to know the men and women they were covering, and shared the same discomforts and dangers.<<<

Extract from “Digital Journalist” May 2003
Putting the Media in Soldiers Shoes
by Susan B. Markisz

>>>>>In its official policy, posted on the Department of Defense website, The Pentagon acknowledged that “media coverage of future operations will to a large extent, shape public perception of the national security environment now and in the years ahead.” (www.defenselink.mil/news/Feb2003/d20030228.pdf)<<<<<

>>>>>In a telephone interview on May 6, Bryan Whitman, Deputy Assistant Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs, and one of the co-authors of the plan, addressed the motivations for the embedded journalists plan. “As the potential for military action increased, there was a conflict on the horizon,” he said. “We were getting information from media managers and reporters that they wanted to cover alongside the troops, up close and personal and we needed to find a way to bridge that gap while protecting our position.”

One of the factors which ultimately motivated the Pentagon to allow embedded journalists was Saddam Hussein himself. “Our potential adversary was a practiced liar, who used deception to fool the world community and what he was up to. The question was how to mitigate,” said Whitman. “We believed by putting a trained observer in the field---which I think is the definition of a reporter---to report in near real time, we could counter some of the disinformation coming out of the Iraqi Ministry of Defense.”<<<<<

>>>>>While the embedment process offered narrow coverage from a particular vantage point, it offered reporters the opportunity to develop close relationships with the troops and therefore the ability to report in depth from that position. “We are proud and confident in the professionalism and experience of our forces; how well-trained, equipped they are; and the dedication and care used to execute their duties to avoid collateral damage,” emphasized Whitman. “It was a good way to let Americans and the world community witness what our troops do. In our experience it is inescapable that after spending some time with our troops, reporters would see their professionalism and determination.”<<<<<

>>>>>Largely credited to Victoria Clarke, Assistant Secretary of Defense for Public Affairs, Bryan Whitman, and other service chiefs of Army, Navy, Air Force and Marine Corps units in the Pentagon, and approved by Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld.<<<<<

>>>>>For now, perhaps one of the greatest benefits of the embedding program has been an altered perception of the media by many in the Pentagon. “Although I’ve always viewed the media as hard-working,” said Whitman, “it gave many military members and commanders newfound respect for their dedication and willingness to assume risks and put their lives on the line.”<<<<<

13 journalists were killed in the war, out of 600, of which just over 60 saw combat.

John

 
Posted : 2003-05-10 11:30
jdullighan
(@jdullighan)
Posts: 128
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Says it all

I was searching the web and came across the following post. I don't know who Texas Cowboy is but he sounds like one of us:

I stopped at a truck stop in South Texas yesterday.
As I was paying for a cup of coffee, I noticed behind the counter a full shelf of plates commemorating the Iraqi Freedom conflict, all with emblems of our military.
As I walked down the row I saw the Army, the Navy and the Air Force seals, but no Marine Corps.
I was a little pissed when I asked the clerk, "Where in the hell are the Marine Corps plates??"
She said, "Sorry, sir. We can't keep 'em in stock!"
True story, but I don't mean to turn this into a rivalry.
As y'all know, I love 'em all!
MAY GOD BLESS EACH AND EVERY ONE!

33 posted on 05/23/2003 6:59 PM PDT by TexasCowboy (COB1)

John

 
Posted : 2003-06-24 10:11
jdullighan
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Posts: 128
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Interservice Competition

This article ran in the London Daily Telegraph. Keegan is a great fan of the USMC. There are a lot of mildly derisive stories that each side has about the other but they are insider ‘family’ stories. Insiders can tell them but outsiders had better not. The British Army likes serving with the USMC better than any other service. Something about shared values, 'always do what they say they will'. But it is best summed up for me by the US Navy Chief who told me, “If I can’t have a US Navy ship supporting me, I’ll take the Royal Navy over anyone else.”

Let the infighting begin: British and US rivalry resumes

By John Keegan, Defence Editor, Daily Telegraph, London

Now that the fighting is over, supporters of our soldiers are beginning to ask how the respective contingents did. The Americans captured Baghdad. Does that mean that the American army is better than the British?

War arouses highly competitive emotions, between allies and also between armies and within armies. No doubt the American 3rd Infantry Division and 1st Marine Expeditionary Force are secretly contriving uncomplimentary remarks about each other at this very moment. Soldiers are like that. They quickly forget whatever hatred they had for the enemy. A rival organisation getting above itself, on the other hand, is not a matter to be forgotten lightly. There will already be British anti-American gibes, American anti-British gibes. What do they signify? Mainly, slight nuances of difference.

In fact, the two armies are quite like each other and the American Marine units are in some essential respects more like any British regiment than they are like an American army unit. Senior Marine non-commissioned officers, for example, are accorded the same respect and responsibility as their British equivalents; regimental spirit is similar and so is unit identity. Ask a US Marine to which unit he belongs and he will say "3rd Battalion, 1st Marines", for example, as automatically as a British soldier will say "2nd Greenjackets". Because battalions are small enough for all who belong to know each other, that sort of unit identity is crucial to combat performance. It makes Marine battalions very formidable indeed.

It is a mistake, however, to think that American Marine units are superior to American army units, in the way that they notably were during the Second World War. The American army is not only highly efficient, as British officers admiringly testify, it is also a terrifyingly effective fighting force. That has partly to do with its equipment, which is superior in every category to that of other armies. It has also to do with its personnel, who are highly motivated and well trained.

If the American and British armies do differ, it is most noticeable at the personal level.

British soldiers join the army for the military experience, which often runs in the family. They choose particular regiments, which have very great importance, usually because of a strong regional connection.

(The major reason for the difference in age is the British serviceman signs on for 21 years and has to apply to get out. The American serviceman joins for 4 years and has to apply to stay in. John)

American servicemen and women, by comparison, seem young. Though they have to be 18 to enlist, few have been away from home or outside their immediate home area. Some, particularly those from the South, a traditional recruiting ground, will have a military connection. It was noticeable that Private Jessica Lynch, from the very military state of West Virginia, has a brother in the army and a sister who wants to join.

Recent immigrants, however, another common group, usually lack a military connection. They see the service as a means of joining the American mainstream, a path blacks took in the 1950s with marked success. Enlistment provides work, particularly in regions where work is scarce. Overwhelmingly, however, the motive to join is to get an education. The government pays college tuition to former service people with four years of active duty. Jessica Lynch wants to be a teacher and joined up for that reason.

There is a marked cultural difference between American and British army officers (Marines much less so). The British notoriously exhibit an unhurried and amateur manner, while Americans are formal and conscious of rank. The British officer's tendency to wear odd clothes and use Christian names to other officers strikes Americans as unserious.

The differences, however, do not run as deep as might seem. Officer training in both armies is intense and prolonged. Moreover, though the British may privately mock American earnestness, the sheer efficiency of everything the US army does has made its impression. The British are particularly impressed by American logistics, which deliver necessities where and when required, and their mastery of advanced equipment.

Despite their similarities, the armies will probably each bring away from the action a fund of stories that emphasise their differences and do each other discredit. Most will be quite harmless and for internal consumption only. Soldiers preen themselves by running others down. It is a very human instinct.

Fundamentally, Americans and British know they are on the same side.

John

 
Posted : 2003-06-24 11:10
jdullighan
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Posts: 128
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John Keegan's latest article

It is sadly ironic that I posted John Keegan's earlier article about the 'in' stories the Brits and Americans tell about each other the day before 6 British 'Toms' were killed in Iraq. The Brits were crowing about how much better they were than the "Yanks" at policing and 'hearts and minds' operations. They especially were derisive about Americans still wearing full combat gear. They aren't crowing now.

Give them their due, the talk in the UK is "Maybe the Yanks are right. We should at least re-examine our procedures."

By the way, to the Brits, all Americans are "Yanks", no matter where in the US they are from. In the same way that in the old South, if you are not from there you are a Yankee even if you are from Liverpool, England and fresh off the boat. (This from personal experience)

DAILY TELEGRAPH, LONDON. 26 June 2003

Getting out of a war is always harder than getting into one
By John Keegan

The two attacks on British troops in Iraq on Tuesday, one of which resulted in six deaths, announced that the occupation of the country has taken a nastier turn. They may presage more deaths. They certainly warned that British self-congratulation on the success of its occupation policies was optimistic.

It has become a catchphrase of American strategic policy that starting wars is easier than ending them. As the Pentagon puts it, the real difficulty is not war initiation but war termination, and the discovery of an "exit strategy".

The US armed forces came to this view because of their experience in Vietnam, where extricating half a million troops from the conflict proved almost as difficult as fighting the seven-year war.

The problem of war termination is comparatively new to Western states. Traditionally, wars between sovereign governments were ended by the victory of one over the other, which had to surrender and accept a peace settlement. Armies obeyed their respective political authorities, while populations usually lacked the weapons to sustain the struggle even if they wished to do so.

The first notable alteration of this arrangement came in 1870, when the French people refused to acquiesce in the defeat of their army by the Prussians and, after the flight of the discredited Napoleon III, armed themselves out of the government's arsenals and continued the struggle.

The people's war of 1870-71 was an isolated incident - though it helped to explain the harshness of German occupation policies during both the First and Second World Wars. The Germans were outraged by French popular resistance, which they denounced as illegal, and used to justify their policies of reprisal and deportation both in 1914 and after 1940.

The obverse of German repression of popular resistance to defeat in the field was German acquiescence in surrender. Both in 1918 and in 1945, the defeated Germans accepted the verdict of battle, disbanded and returned home as soon as armistice or surrender terms were signed. There was no resistance, but rather a swift return to civil order, in 1945, under the occupation forces of the conquerors.

Both British and Americans accepted this outcome as the norm. Outside Europe, however, it had rarely been the case. Wars of empire, even if apparently ended by outright conquest, all too often resulted in protracted post-war strife.

The Americans found themselves involved in pacification operations in the ex-Spanish empire, both in the Philippines and the Caribbean, for years after their victory of 1898. For the British Army, pacification in the colonies became a way of life, in India, Africa and the ex-Ottoman empire year after year.

That was particularly the case in ex-Ottoman Iraq after 1918. Then, as now, Iraq was a region of distinct ethnicities - Kurds, Sunni and Shia Arabs - each of which sought self-rule. The propertied class, particularly among the Sunni, resented the imposition of foreign government, all the more under a Hashemite king who had no historic link with his new domain.

There was a revolt in 1920, which required the deployment of three divisions, almost the size of the current occupation force, and resulted in 2,000 British casualties.

The British solution to Iraqi disorder was twofold. First, London experimented with a policy of "air control", using the RAF to bomb dissident tribesmen into obedience. Second, it created an internal security force drawn from the Iraqi minorities, a conscious policy of "divide and rule".

The Iraq Levies, set up in 1922, consisted of separate units of Marsh Arabs from the south, Kurds from the north and Assyrians. The Assyrians, refugees from Turkey, were a Christian people without friends. They were detested by the Turks as rebels and disliked by all local Muslims because of their religion. They nevertheless made excellent soldiers and, under British officers, maintained the peace.

Meanwhile, the British were also creating a native Iraqi army, largely recruited from Arabs who had served in the old Ottoman army. After 1930, when Iraq became nominally independent, it assumed responsibility both for external and internal defence.

Nevertheless, the levies remained in being and were used by the British to sustain their authority in the country, notably in 1941 when Iraqi army officers attempted to arrange an alliance with Hitler.

Post-Ottoman Iraq has never been an easy country to govern. Only under Saddam, who sustained his tyranny by terror, has rule from Baghdad been country-wide. Even so, both the Kurds and the Marsh Arabs gave him frequent trouble.

The current situation therefore perpetuates a pattern that has persisted since 1918. What is remarkable is that, so far, there have been so few casualties among the Anglo-American forces. It has been complacent of the British to believe that their relaxed method of internal policing would spare them losses.

True, the British are good at internal security and are experienced in that role. That is not a guarantee, however, that the Iraqis will love them. Whitehall, Westminster and the Ministry of Defence should have taken more account of history. The Iraqis have twice rebelled against British involvement in their domestic affairs, in 1920 and 1941. There was no reason to suppose that they would not do so again.

What is now needed is that "exit strategy". It cannot be found either in the previous British experiments with "air control" or "divide and rule". For one thing, there are no Assyrians left. The whole community emigrated to America 50 years ago.

A better solution is that of recreating an Iraqi national army, as the British did in the 1920s. There is plenty of raw material - the 200,000 unemployed soldiers at present not under orders and only erratically paid. Their discontent is fuelling the disorder.

It must be a matter of priority to enlist as many as possible, give them Western training and use them to replace the American and British soldiers patrolling the cities and countryside. That programme will take several years until it is completed. Casualties among the Western occupation forces will, meanwhile, continue.

John

 
Posted : 2003-06-26 09:42
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