My 4th of July
The palace stands in stark contrast with what I have seen in the rest of Iraq. They all do, Saddam’s palaces. Often times they are glamorous in a cheap way – fake crystal chandeliers and golden faucets that don’t run. But this is a truly classy joint, without some of the overblown murals and gaudy extras that I have seen elsewhere. It sits in the middle of a man-made lake, stocked with what I am sure are frankenfish by now. Three-eyed carp and whatnot. The floors are all marble, along with the columns that rise three giant stories above the rotunda to a beautiful dome decorated with what looked like intricate tile work from my vantage point on the ground. A giant chandelier full of halogen bulbs lit the area nicely, although my camera would have preferred a little more light. A giant American flag, like bigger-than-Perkins-giant, hung from the ceiling.
I was there as a spectator, sitting in one of Saddam’s palaces on the 4th of July. While my friends roll out of bed at the lake to have a beer, prepare the fireworks, start the potato salad. While Iraqis struggle with sovereignty. While American Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, and Airmen struggle with Iraqis struggling with sovereignty. It was surreal, but so much of this experience is surreal that the word starts to become cliché. I was in good company – 237 servicemembers ready to become citizens, General Ray Odierno, and Vice President Joe Biden. Not going to lie, it was pretty cool. A Soldier in my unit, a native of Kenya, was there to be sworn in, and I was there as the unofficial/official unit photographer. I am not a Public Affairs Officer (PAO) or a Combat Camera guy, just a joe with a nice camera that likes to take pictures.
My standing room along with the rest of the crowd was not going to afford me much of a vantage point, so I bided my time and waited for an opening. I snuck past the chains, was approached by the head military press honcho, apparently answered the questions correctly by lying through my teeth (I am a PAO now), and I was in. I struck up casual conversation with a civilian photographer with the usual question: “So, who do you shoot for?” The answer: “The New York Times.” Wow. OK, so I’m in the big time now. I figure I was there to take pictures of my guy, and I was doing what I could to make that happen. All good. I ended up ringside for a truly special Independence Day.
These men and women come from almost sixty different nations. Every one of them, without even being able to have a vote as to who their boss will be for the next four years, decided that there was something about these United States that was worth serving. It was humbling. You all know why I joined, and maybe they had similar reasons, but to me their choice seems bolder, more pure, more powerful. In his keynote, the Vice President told them that “there is always room for more in the United States.” I wanted to jump up and yell “Amen!” but I figured that would have blown my cover and gotten me escorted from the press area before I could get what I came for. So I smiled. Really big. I do that.
It made me happy and proud in a way that I haven’t felt in a while. Proud of the military, but not in a Toby Kieth/Lee Greenwood sort of way. Proud of our country, but not in the way that says “for us or against us.” Proud of my newly-fellow citizens for understanding what it’s all about. We are a nation of immigrants, and therein lies our strength. General Odierno rephrased Emma Lazarus, saying that rather than the poor, huddled masses, he saw before him “the best, the brightest, and bravest.” I have to agree sir. Well-said.
Cross-posted at Open Salon
