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Name:
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MAJ USA RET
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Subject:
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The Ugly American
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Date:
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11/4/2009 9:36:33 AM
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Between the sandbagged CHUs (containerized housing units), the areas are paved with cast concrete squares. They paved around Saddam’s date palms, and some survive to drop their nasty black fruit on the rough surface (the soles of my combat boots are still stained from this!) In the evening, after the withering, desiccating sun goes down, the temperature drops under 100F and the ever present wind actually brings some faintly cooling respite from the Tigris.
My friend Bill, the elderly, cosmopolitan, civilian contractor… and self-avowed atheist… sits in his canvas chair across from me. Bill doesn’t go home to America very often… maybe then only to see his grandchildren and inventory the legion of skeletons his closet must surely hold. Bill’s home base is his permanent invitation to a guest house with servants, on a friend’s plantation in Sri Lanka. White haired Bill is a sage. We were next to Bill's CHU.
Ruben, Bill’s Armenian genius assistant, sits also with us in his (ubiquitous) folding canvas chair. I practiced for a week to say Ruben’s surname… and still cannot recite it without first hesitating to rehearse in my head. Ruben’s eleven year old daughter, who lives with his PhD Jordanian wife in Amman, speaks and writes in 4 languages…fluently (English, Arabic, Russian, and French). Ruben is a listener… a taker of mental notes.
This is an opportunity for this displaced son-of-a-son-of-a-sailor to debate real issues with real intellectuals. Under the dull porch light, wafted by the wisps of smoke from very fine cigars, we allowed our musings to free-flow. Discussion meandered over to anthropogenic global warming. Hmmm… this is something about which I am well qualified to speak. My discourse is punctuated by intelligent questions from my comrades.
Suddenly, the door to the door to the CHU adjoining Bill’s is flung open. Out barges an enraged man with his mouth fully engaged. He begins to lambaste me. He attaches disparaging monikers such as “iconoclast” and “denier” and “myopic”.
I am ashamed to admit I hadn’t learned the meaning of “iconoclast” (but, have since consulted Mr. Webster.) The man's invective rolled over us… though directed at me. If I opened my mouth to speak I was allowed little time to respond before he unleashed another barrage of canned phrases (I’m sure you know the ones prepared in support of the Inconvenient Truth.) Bill and Ruben made no attempt to intervene. I do believe they had some prior experience with this source of incivility.
Finally, I said, “Okay, I am wrong – you are right – I concede! Please leave us alone”. This failed to mitigate the verbal mortar fire. After a few more hours of the tirade (it was probably less than a minute)… during which I adopted the attitude of silence… The man stormed off in a huff.
After a few moments of silence, Bill spoke quietly. “That is so unacceptable. He works for the State Department. Doesn’t that sort of behavior make you embarrassed for your country? ”
I replied, “It is your country too.”
“So, you say.”
We never resumed our conversation that evening. The unfinished cigars smoldered and died in the coffee can.
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