The first time I left the country was a trip to Baghdad, Iraq, in 2005. I didn't even have a passport then.
I felt directly connected to the conflict, because my father had just returned from there. I wanted to share the burden of it all, and experience the conflict first-hand, so I joined the army.
I went believing we were there for the welfare of others. I returned with a more nuanced understanding of the conflict and the people on all sides.
This experience would be the catalyst for the trajectory of my life. It inspired my interest in international relations as a study, but, also, my desire to accept and understand people as an instinct.
I saw a Theodore Roosevelt quote captioned on an army recruiter's office calendar, "No man is worth his salt who is not ready at all times to sacrifice his well-being, to risk his body, to risk his life, in a great cause." I just wanted to be "worth my salt." I was desperate for it.
I signed up for what I thought would be the most challenging job - the infantry. I wanted to be hard pressed and pressure tested; and I wanted to be in the center of the conflict and share the burden of it.
A little over a year later there I was, in arguably the most dangerous place on the planet, listening to a radio in an abandoned building, with some friends.
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"No one engaged in warfare entangles himself with the affairs of this life, that he may please him who enlisted him as a soldier." Paul the Apostle - Timothy's Letter
I was only a few days in country, and hadn't developed a tolerance for the terrifying, before I was thrown into the driver's seat of a humvee. A quick class and test drive in the security and comfort of sandy Kuwait was my only prior experience. The streets of Baghdad were covered in large debris - cinder blocks and tree trunks - and then there were giant gaping holes and pipe ditches which appeared to be long abandoned by city workers mid-task. Then, of course, there were bombs. I remember being intensely anxious fearful. A miss turn in this two ton beast of a vehicle was going to get me in trouble.
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We had a combat photographer embedded with us once. I was too star-struck by the guy to muster much conversation with him. I was enamored by the work of Combat photographers - they were fascinating to me. He told me he had done work with outlets like Reuters and spent years covering wars in Chechnya.
The first day he came with us was total chaos. A car loaded with explosives detonated nearby and street-to-street gun battles with sniper fire ensued. It was a symphony of blasts and yelling; with snap-shots and fast-speed motion of us getting in-and-out of vehicles, running down streets, and into buildings. I barely remember seeing him outside of the vehicle, and only recall him taking a few shots during the early calm times.
When we got back to base that night, I remember he thanked us and said he'd see us the next day. I was looking forward to it, because I was ready to ask him questions. But we never saw him again.
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Condoleezza Rice was visiting the Green Zone, so units were given all kinds of additional tasks to ensure a safe visit. We were sent out to this area we hadn't patrolled before - the Palm Groves. It was palm tree forest on the side of the Tigris occupied by regime loyalists to Saddam. It had an erie feel to it. And the sight of people popping their heads out from bushes and others with unwelcoming glares was ominous.
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"Easy 2-1, this is Easy 2-7 over!...Easy 2-1, this is Easy 2-7!" After the transmission returned static, there was a long pause by the lieutenant in my passenger seat - a former special forces medic and real stalwart. "I think their gone," he said, visibly shaken. I don't remember thinking any thoughts. I was jarred, seconds ago there were two vehicles in front of us, but now they were gone in the billows of dust and smoke. All we could do was wait until the dust settled. Later the explosion was said to be the result of five 155 artillery rounds.
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When the dust cleared the back half of the once stout Humvee was completely mangled. Tools from the trunk were said to be found over a hundred meters away. A teammate was launched from the gunners seat while others walked away from the vehicle disoriented like zombies. If there was ever a time I questioned whether or not I was crossing a boundary with my compulsion to capture moments, it was this one. The threat was still real - maybe it's an ambush. Maybe there's a secondary improvised explosive device.
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One of the most impressive things I've seen in war is the resilience of children - how they maintain their innocence and playfulness, while living on streets cratered by bombs and other evidence of the horrors of war. One of the most staggering things I saw was when I gave a kid a pen and he bit into like it was a piece of candy. After getting a mouthful of ink, enraged, he yelled in arabic and threw the pen at me. I was so confused. It was then I realized that in the capital city of the country this kid didn't know what a pen was.
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