Baghdad: Patrolling Yarmouk (part1)

Baghdad: Patrolling Yarmouk
Counterterrorism Blog
By Daveed Gartenstein-Ross
May 25, 2007

On May 23 and 24, I went on a couple of evening patrols in Baghdad's Yarmouk administrative district. I went with a platoon from the U.S. Army's 2nd Battalion, 32nd Field Artillery, with which I am embedded; they are working with the 2nd Brigade, 1st Infantry Division while in Iraq. The battalion of which 2-32 is a part is responsible for a large section of northwest Baghdad, which includes a couple of districts that have been hot lately, Kadamiyah and Mansour. But the districts that 2-32 patrols -- Yarmouk and Hateen -- are relatively quiet. The most dangerous aspect of patrols in those districts is the drive to reach them.

In a briefing earlier this week, I learned that 2-32 has four lines of operation: security, governance, economy, and essential services. During Wednesday night's patrol, the main objective was for the soldiers to introduce themselves to Iraqis on a couple of blocks and get the residents to fill out security surveys with basic information about themselves. The troops would also speak with the Iraqis, with the help of a translator, asking about their basic needs as well as follow-up questions geared to ferreting out a possible insurgent presence in the neighborhood.

On Wednesday's patrol I caught my first glimpse of Baghdad outside the wire in the daylight. The fact that a war is raging in this city is apparent at first glance, yet life goes on. Some of the areas we passed were composed of abandoned ruins and burned-out shells of buildings -- areas where nobody should want to set foot, not even in the daylight. Other areas were residential, with large handsome estates right next door to bombed-out buildings that must have been equally handsome years ago, before the American invasion. Some Iraqis walked down the streets casually, some were standing and conversing. Some -- particularly those with kids -- waved at the American Humvees as they passed, while others glared with manifest anger. All of the women I saw on the streets wore either burkas or heavy hijabs, and had male escorts. Although the roads themselves were relatively clean (almost certainly to reduce the chance of an IED attack), the sides of the roads were littered with trash.

I was told that there are subtle signs of whether a neighborhood is safe. One of the signs of a safe neighborhood is the presence of kids, and there were a large number of kids running around in the first neighborhood we visited. Some of the soldiers secured the street to make sure we didn't get ambushed, while the platoon leader, the translator, and a few soldiers went into houses to speak with the residents. While having a bunch of heavily armed American soldiers show up at your door unannounced must be a shock, the translator (who identified himself only as "Mo") did a good job of explaining what was going on to the residents. In every instance, the troops were invited in without incident.

At the first house we visited, the Iraqi men immediately said in English: "This is good neighborhood! It is safe neighborhood!" Lieutenant Kevin Mills of 2-32 would later tell me that this is the first thing Iraqis always tell them, "even if they're right next door to a couple of bombed-out buildings." He noted that for many, claiming the neighborhood is safe is a matter of honor: often it's only in the second or third line of questioning that you get a better read on the actual security situation, such as the fact that they heard mortar fire nearby or that a lot of strange men have been going in and out of a neighboring house at odd hours.

But this really did seem to be a safe neighborhood. The kids came right up and spoke to us with the raw enthusiasm that small children can have. When they realized that I spoke some Arabic, a throng of about five kids surrounded me. We made basic conversation, but mainly they asked me to give them things. The first thing they wanted was a football; when they realized I didn't have one, they decided they could settle for a lesser ball, and asked for a baseball. They then asked for money, for my helmet, for my anti-ballistic goggles.

The people in both of the neighborhoods we visited Wednesday were friendly. The neighborhoods were cosmopolitan, with a mix of Sunnis, Shias, and Kurds. A couple of men we encountered claimed to have been generals in the old Iraqi army. ("We run into a lot of former generals," one U.S. soldier told me. "They must have had a lot more generals than our military does.") I particularly enjoyed watching one of the servicemen, Specialist Rene Hernandez, interacting with the Iraqis. One of the other soldiers explained that Hernandez was on his third tour in the Middle East and could speak enough Arabic to joke around with Iraqis. When I drew a bit closer to investigate, I found Hernandez speaking a mix of Arabic, English, occasional Spanish, and often just plain gibberish -- at one point impersonating a donkey, which drew raucous laughter from the young men he was speaking with.

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