By Christopher Lillibridge

Lillibridge

Readers may remember the 1979 peace accord brokered by President Jimmy Carter between Israel and Egypt. The agreement is monitored to this day by the U.S. State Department. The U.S. Army supports the mission in Egypt by providing soldiers and equipment to the Multinational Force and Observers (MFO), an 11-nation contingent based in Rome. My last assignment was as a technical inspector and bodyguard with the Aviation Company directly supporting the MFO.

I was placed on orders for Egypt in October 2004, about seven months after returning home from the war. At that time I was very disappointed. I had been looking forward to adjusting to life in the United States. It is difficult for me to approach the subject of the war for many reasons. My war memories are still very clear in my mind - they don’t go away or diminish with time. I am still there, every day.

When I deployed, I had an entirely different perspective about what I wanted to accomplish. When I crossed the berm into Iraq, I suddenly became accustomed to the idea that I might not live through it. I had one goal: I would not shoot a child; no matter what the consequence, I simply would not kill a child. I am thankful that I never did.

My best friend in my unit, Steve Bertilino, was shot and killed in a direct ambush on his way to Al Quiem Nov. 29, 2003. Until then, Steve and I had gone on every single convoy. We alternated lead or trail, but most always Steve would take the lead. This, for a gun truck commander, was the most dangerous position in a convoy. If you were going to get hit, the lead gun truck was the prime target.

Steve and I talked a lot about our life’s goals. He had three boys and was a devoted, loving husband. I truly respected him, as a person, father and soldier. When Steve was killed, my first sergeant said to me, “If we lose one, the best one, and we lose no one else, then we would have to lose Steve.”

Different convoys took us all over Iraq. We slept under the stars at base camps when we escorted food and water to other camps. We watched crystal-clear water flow down the Euphrates River in the north. We talked with Iraqis who worked at a uranium plant by the Syrian border. They spoke perfect English. Of course they did, they’d say, they were educated in the United States!

We pushed wrecked, blown-up equipment off the road to clear debris and make way for our convoys. We towed French, German, British, Russian and American cars and equipment off the road. As I looked at the burned wreckage of so many nations, it occurred to me that everyone in the world has a stake in Iraq in one way or another.

When I came back from the war things looked different to me. Things sounded different. Inflections in the voices of people I cared about were clearer. The sound of my children’s voices was more beautiful. The fresh mountain air of Fort Carson, devoid of sand flies and dust, was simply awesome.

But there was a dark side to returning to my own country. Where I had seen people half-starved and scared to death in Iraq, I saw my fellow Americans asserting their right to burn the flag on the steps of the Capitol. I saw people drive by the hungry with their windows rolled up. I saw, and I still see, Americans largely taking their freedom for granted.

Soldiers are warned before returning to the United States not to make substantive changes in family structure, be overly critical of spouses or expect things to have remained the same. We’re told to watch our tempers and walk away from arguments, to seek counseling if we really need help. We’re reminded we’re not in Iraq anymore, where you can make anyone do just about anything from the working end of a .50-caliber machine gun.

But I want to go back.

When you face a weapon trained on you, hidden explosives at every turn and fellow soldiers who believe what you do - that America is a great land, that democracy is everyone’s right, that our Constitution is worth defending and extending to others, that the free world has an obligation to spread freedom - that’s when you truly begin to live.

It’s strange, but as close as I may have come to death in Iraq, I’ve never felt more alive. Can you live like that as a civilian? Can you begin to feel that sense of joy when you wear that flag on your shoulder and you give a little child a piece of candy? I don’t know. I haven’t lived like that here.

Iraqis have children and families. They want their kids to grow up in a better world. They want to farm their land, build their house or run their business. They also want to govern themselves; but they - like us when we were fledgling nation - have a long way to go. Remember the Civil War? Is the in-fighting in Iraq among Shiites, Kurds and Sunnis really any different than our nation’s struggles with state’s rights and slavery?

Is the United States doing the right thing in Iraq? Yes. If you compare Hitler to Saddam Hussein and his sons, they’re similar - hell-bent on self-glorification, even to the detriment of their own people. The fact that Iraq may be destabilized now far outweighs having a tyrant and an enemy of our nation in power.

If Americans think it is in our best interests to abandon our course of action in Iraq, I would offer a word of caution.

If we as a nation don’t want the responsibility of preserving and nurturing peace in the Middle East, then we need to make some adjustments in the way we live, particularly regarding our levels of oil consumption. If we don’t want to change our way of life, then we need to look at our vested interest in peace in the Middle East as a very real and very dangerous part of our lives, at least for the next 50 years. Didn’t we help rebuild Germany after World War II? I was stationed in Hohenfels, Bavaria, for three and a half years, where there is still a large American presence. I also served a year in Korea. We are still there as well.

I guess that’s what I’m most thankful for in my job - I have lessons in world history that I can’t forget.

Staff Sgt. Christopher F. Lillibridge, who grew up in Los Altos and attended St. Francis High School, is stationed in Hawaii. The views in this essay are his and not those of the U.S. Army or the U.S. government.