In the end and somewhere in between, I am in the process of centering myself. I know who I am, I know where I’ve been, and I am beginning to get a sense for where I’m going. I am not a classically trained anthropologist nor am I a scholar. I’m a simple paratrooper who’s lived an extraordinary life in the service to his country. Instead, I’m learning how to live, and in doing so, I must tell the story of the men I’ve lost. I must find some semblance of reason, some notion of rationale to their sacrifices.

In Iraq, my presence was far from that of a neutral observer. I was an occupier who’s second and third order effects are still being felt on this society; however, through a series of events, I established long-standing ties. I penetrated the deep seeded ancient politico-social-religious networks of the tribes. From an Iraqi perspective, I am a Tamimi; I am a Zuharie. I am Naqeb Few. If I ever return as a civilian, I have land grants, two wives and a girlfriend awaiting me.

Paradoxically, I’m just a southern Baptist boy and a product of the North Carolina public school educational system. I grew up absorbing the Judeo-Christian western values system that laid the great foundation for our nation. I fear the God of Abraham, David, Jesus and Peter. A great, great, great, great grandfather of mine signed the Declaration of Independence for the state of Georgia, yet I’m two generations removed from the coal mines of West Virginia. For undergraduate studies, I pursued an understanding into the study of money. I chose to attend West Point, and I’m fully indoctrinated under the MacArthur principles of “duty, honor, and country.” In sum, I have significant ingrained blocks into truly understanding the Diyala River Valley.

Nonetheless, I’m inextricably linked to Zaganiyah. The plight of the modern Arab society is deeply woven into the fabric of my life. This understanding transcends the superficial support the troops, transnational terrorism, or you’re with us or against us. This understanding is real.

For far too long, we’ve failed to grasp a true understanding of Iraqi society. We simplify thousands of years of rich dialogue, history and tradition into thirty-second sound bites. It is our great failing as Americans. Despite our amazing capacity to design the best manmade form of government conceivable, despite our tremendous ability to overachieve, despite all of the wonderful things that make our society great, we have an unapologetic short-term memory. In this day and age, we are slaves to our IPODs and Blackberries. We walk along unaffected by anything outside our immediate surroundings. In my downtime, I am no better than you in that regard.
I’ve struggled with where to go with this next part. I can make a compelling argument that we should stay the course in Iraq for the next one hundred years.

Contrastingly, I can suggest that we should leave tomorrow. I do not know. Referring back to my indoctrination under Samuel Huntington and Colin Powell’s lead, I will make no policy statements. Just listen.

I cannot tell you what to think. All that I can ask is that you listen to my story, appreciate the heroic tales and sacrifices of my men, feel the pain of the Iraqi society, and come to your own conclusions. I will only ask one thing- please do not go back to sleep.

Past Iraq, the world is a changing, and they desperately need our leadership. These are amazing times, and we have the opportunity to positively shape the future for our children and generations to come. As a wise old boss used to tell me when I was not focused, “Mike, go back to work. The troops need a leader.” We should take heed to his wisdom.
For me, all roads lead to Zaganiyah. In some ways, I’m still there. It is time to tell the story of Zaganiyah. From this story, we can begin to understand this culture. From this culture, we can separate ourselves from their plight. From this plight, THEY can begin to re-engineer the lines drawn in the sand after World War I. Then, we can begin leading again. The sine que nai is that all politics are local, so we must begin there.