If I am not on or in a US Military installation here in Iraq, then I am escorted by US Military Personnel. Each time I travel somewhere – anywhere – away from the facility controlled by the Army, at least one American soldier is with me.
And each time, the escort – dressed in full protective gear and heavily armed with an automatic rifle and 9mm pistol – asks me why I came to Iraq. I tell them I am here to investigate child trafficking. As I mentioned previously in this bog, their response is the same. They consistently offer whatever help Ahava Kids needs in our mission here. And they mean it.
The young man escorting/guarding to me now exemplifies the convictions of American Soldiers. In a time of confusion, doubt, and horizons filled with uncertainty– these men and women stand firmly on their dedication and virtue. They are filled with heart and soul. They are the good news.
When I began Ahava Kids five years ago, it was our intention to help and support the front line people protecting children from exploitation anywhere and everywhere in the world. Typically, these are small groups operating in the shadows, on the streets and in places few of us would dare go. So, we set out to work in partnership with these “little armies” to bolster their efforts to save kids from whatever evil they face. It didn’t matter who they were, as long as we had one thing in common: the goal of protecting the lives of children who are in danger.
I never imagined that our strongest ally in this fight would be the US Military. Certainly, no “little army.” However, once I began to interact closely with those who serve in its ranks, I realized a new hope for the children we are trying to reach.
That’s why I am not surprised that one soldier, just completing his third tour of duty with the 101st Airborne - the “Screaming Eagles,” is eager to get back to the US and join us when we conduct street intervention there.
That’s why I am not surprised that another soldier is compiling a list of all the orphanages in Iraq for Ahava Kids. At present, no such list exists.
And that’s why I am not surprised by the deeply emotional response of the soldier escorting me today. After I explained Ahava Kids and our work against child trafficking, he said, “We see kids in trouble here all the time. They’re in so much danger – so many kinds of danger. You know? And most of us have kids back home. But, these kids here - these could be our kids.”
Children are the victims of war in so many ways. These soldiers see the injustice perpetrated against young people on a regular basis – and they do everything they can to protect them. For these military professionals, there is no question about why they are in Iraq. They are fighting for something – something it takes very little time to see once you are here . . .
Right now, I am writing this in a dusty tent which has about ten online computers set up for use by military personnel and others, like myself, working with the military. The computers are placed on old folding tables and we are all packed together in close quarters, sitting next to each other on flimsy folding chairs. Typically there is a person at each computer, peering through electronic portals to their lives back home. Except for the tapping of the keyboards, the room is silent. This is a rare moment of privacy and no one violates its sanctity.
Next to me sits one soldier wearing an armored vest. His unit’s patch is displayed on his shoulder. His M-16 rifle along with his helmet, are placed carefully by his side.
I don’t notice his first sniffle. But after two or three, I realize it’s not the constant dust in the air that’s causing a leaky nose. I lean back to stretch and steal a flashing glance at his screen. Children. Photos of two children among the blooming flowers of spring back home.
I lean forward and continue typing. He exits the computer next to me, gathers up his gear and heads out quickly; his head down.
This is a strange war. Soldiers who are thousands of miles, and many months away from home can see and hear their children in real-time; a first for any war. But, they not only see their children whenever they can get to a computer, they also see them in the faces of children on the streets of Baghdad, Basra, Mosul and hundreds of other towns across Iraq, Afghanistan, and around the world.
Let there be no doubt. They are fighting for something. They are fighting for the lives of those who are crushed by intolerance, violence and abuse. It is not a matter of politics, policy or protocol. It is simply a matter of life and death.
Like the man said, “these could be our kids.”
Raymond Bechard
Iraq
April 7, 2008