Musings at 50 Days In

1. I got into a discussion with a friend of mine who passed along comments he'd gotten from a friend who attended a lecture by a well-known author. The author said that he tended to write in restaurants because if he tried to write in his office (he was a college professor), he had too many people bothering him to get any work done. As I tend to turn every discussion into something about myself, even when it's completely unwarranted, as it was in that discussion, I added my piece on the creative process. How I had the gall to insinuate myself into comparing what I do to a published author, I have no idea. I chalk it up to my Carpenter-ness. Nonetheless, 2 cents on writing:

"Though, of course, not a selling author, I do my best writing in bars and restaurants, but for a different reason. If I'm secluded, I'll think of something else to do: read a book, call someone, play a videogame, watch a movie. Anything but write. If I'm in a noisy place, where I've gone specifically to write, then I focus. Also, and this probably sounds horrid, but I get caught up in details that the reader wouldn't think about ordinarily. A few drinks frees the pen, at least for the draft, and I get a lot more done. Also, much of what I write, fiction-wise, is dialogue based, and I get great material and ideas from listening to the banter around me. Or a lot of cuss words. Plus, if you're really, truly writing when you're in a place like that, and not just pretending in order to attract women, you are virtually guaranteed of attracting a woman; ordinarily, one interested in books, writing, and/or weird men: the trifecta of qualities I look for in a woman."

2. I find what soldiers write on port-o-potty walls to be quite instructive. Apparently, situational homosexuality isn't homosexuality at all. "I'm 100% straight, but when you're deployed, there's nothing wrong with letting a dude..." I had no idea.

3. I hate cell phones. I've always hated cell phones. I got (illegally) ordered to get one when I was in the army. When I got out of the army, I deactivated it and then swore I'd hold out as long as I could. I find them to mostly be codependency enablers or electronic leashes. The year after the army, I bounced around from place to place, traveling to all manner of places and I did what the hell I wanted and my family and friends understood that if they wanted to get in touch with me, that email worked just fine and that if it was truly an issue, they could email me and I'd use a calling card to check in.

Finally, at law school, I broke down and got a cell phone for personal use. I was pretty darn broke and after my first semester of landline, the cell phone was simply much cheaper. I got the phone and tried to stick true to my beliefs. I left it plugged in at my apartment for maybe a month. Then I got used to the convenience and it was attached to me for the next two years. Argh! I felt like a hypocrite, but what to do? When I got the job in Afghanistan, I was thrilled to be able to deactivate the cell phone again. Woohoo! Autonomy!

Except that over here, every employee gets issued a cell phone. The cell phone network we use is called Roshan. It's an Iranian company. We have to be careful what we say because the assumption is that everything is being listened to by various foreign intelligence services. For the most part, they get to listen to me make supply requests. The thing that I despise about this particular cell phone is that the one they issued us had a battery life of, no lie, approximately one hour. It failed to recognize the SIM card 50% of the time. It shut itself off occasionally when you pressed a button. I hate cell phones, but I really, really, really hated the cell phone they issued me. What the hell was the point of saving a few dollars for those horrible phones when they didn't work? After 3 weeks, I broke down and bought the cheapest phone I could find ($57). The battery on this one lasts four days and it doesn't shut itself off. I hate it, but at least it works.

I don't give anyone my number unless I'm basically ordered to. When I finally leave Afghanistan, I'm gonna try to hold off from getting another one again. Probably not gonna last long on that one, but sometimes you have to fight the fight, even when you know you're gonna
lose.

4. One thing that I always annoys me when I've watched movies set in the future is the patent stupidity of the weapons. The weapons in those flicks are the same weapons we have now, but just with assorted crap bolted on. Yup, patent stupidity...except that 5 years after I got out the army, I discover that the weapons all have assorted crap bolted on (scopes, laser targeters, bipods for M4s, rail systems).

5. When I first starting running to get myself back in shape, while I was in Bagram, I was surprised by the fact that my speed and cardio were a lot better than I thought they'd be. Within a week or two, I was running 2 miles in about 13:30. Not bad for being, by my estimation, 30lbs overweight. I had to wait a week after I got sent here to the base in Kabul to exercise. The first time I tried to run here, I felt like I was gonna die. I barely made the two miles in 18 minutes. I've dropped it down to 16 minutes in a couple of weeks, but, still, it's brutal running here. Bagram is 4400 feet, Kabul is approximately 5900 feet. I knew I was susceptible to altitude, but I thought that was really only an issue at over 10,000 feet. Nope. This lowcountry boy ain't made for heights. Which is strange, considering I love the mountains so much.

My Job Has the Same Idiots Your Job Has

I've been a bit ornery of late, arguing with folks about various things (mostly the Confederacy...don't get me started...no, really, don't get me started), all of which boil down to ego issues (them, not me...I am modest and meek).

Anyway, I am at a satellite camp here in Afghanistan. The main camp is Bagram. There, our planning cell (two bosnians, and an American woman), arrange the next day's flights. The planners routinely make mistakes. They routinely can't get out the list of flights until very late each night because they do God Knows What during the day. Virtually all problems the Air Operations department have start and end in the planning cell. Because they are virtually always wrong, they are constantly being checked on by the Boss, Tom. Because they are constantly being checked on, they constantly do whatever they can to cast the blame of any issues on others.

I've had to fight with them tooth and nail recently just to get some very basic, common sense changes made. All it took was them saying "sure. not a problem," but first we had to go through two days of me explaining why I needed (A) done, them responding something about (Q) which had no bearing, me explaining (A) again, as if to a child, them arguing (pi), me circumventing and explaining (A) to Tom in a matter of seconds and Tom emailing the planning cell and telling them to do what I tell them. Then the planning cell mass replies to the email from Tom, saying the suggestion to change (A) was theirs all along. It's lovely.

I've tried to work with them and just smile and be nice and give them way, way more information than they need. I call them with updates so they're not surprised by any of my requests. Today, I had way, way, way more people show up for flights for tomorrow than I had counted on. I didn't call the planning cell to demand an extra helicopter. I usually put people on military helicopters (which the planners have nothing to do with and so can't screw up), so it wasn't a huge issue. Still, I called the planners to let them know I had a very large amount of people needing to fly. I worked out over the phone with the American, Holly, that I'd send them on military but I'd send an email just to confirm our phone call. I did this in an email titled "Sweet Jesus!" Thirty minutes later, I sent my daily report to the planners which showed the people who needed to fly from my location.

Five hours later, I got this response to my daily report from one of the Bosnian planners. He made sure to include Tom on the email.

"If we had this information before 10 AM this morning we could plan to support this on Fluor Rotary.

Thank you for Fluor Rotary

Adnan"

That was his snide way of saying "We can help you if you tell us in time, but you didn't do your job." I'd had enough, and I've been in a combative mood of late, so I replied (to all):

"Adnan,


This information was included in my email to Bagram Travel titled "Sweet Jesus!", where I explained the situation. Please read all emails before flaming me to others. Especially when the explanatory email came thirty minutes before this one.

Or we can continue to send "your fault" emails. I'm a lawyer and I have a lot of time on my hands. I wouldn't recommend it, but it's your call.

Cheers.

Ajax Carpenter"

Update**********************************************
Adnan's reply:
"Ajax,

First of all considering traffic of emails which are coming to Bagram Travel inbox I have to admit that I do not have time to pay attention on Spam emails.

The subject of email should reflect the content of email and its importance otherwise it can be missed.

The purpose of my email was not pointing the finger to anyone, it was simply highlighting the importance of timely information for us. ( A day before you have been complaining how we do not support you enough).

Friendly advise: If you have a lot of time on hand please try to get information on time so that all of us can work better and end their workdays on time.

PS.
Your family must be very proud on the fact that you are a lawyer. "

Oh Boy...Political Time: The Confederate States of America

Of late, since Virginia's decision (or, rather, the governor's) to commemorate April as Confederate History Month, I have seen several incredulous remarks here on Facebook about how horrid and moronic anyone is who supports such an indefensible institution as the Confederacy. I feel the urge to address that contention.

I, on the Carpenter side, am a 14th generation South Carolinian. The Carpenters were French protestants (Huguenots), who came to the Carolina colony in 1685, the year of the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes. The Carpenters, originally in and around the Charleston area, moved, with many others of French Huguenot descent, to the High Hills of the Santee. There, as planters, they acquired slaves. Carpenter, SC, is the site of the old family plantation. As I assume is the case for other southern whites, I am reminded of my family's slave-holding past when I run across a black folks with my surname. They are not my kin (on the by and large...a completely different discussion).

I am far removed from my slave-holding forefathers. I went to a public high school. I took out student loans and joined the military in order to afford college. After my service, I paid my way through law school. I am no recipient of silver spoon treatment; indeed, far from it. I will say, unabashedly, that while, as those who know me have readily assumed, I abhor slavery, I cannot and will not thrash the memory of my ancestors, regardless of the loathsome activities of which they were part. Outside of that though, aside from not denigrating them, yes, I do remember the cause for which they stood up and fought (and died) and respect their doing so.

For those who may not understand the apparent incongruence of that, please allow me to propose a scenario:

We, the United States of America, consume approximately 20.8 MILLION barrels of oil a day. That's more than the next five most oil consuming countries COMBINED. That's approximately 1/3 to 1/4 of all oil consumed on the planet. There are 300 million of us. There are 7 billion people on the planet. We, 2.1% of the population, consume a third of the oil. That's not remotely fair. In fact, that's patently disgusting when you put any thought into it.

Outside of oil consumption, we, the blessed 2.1%, also dictate the world economy. We allow our corporations to manufacture overseas where they pay a pittance to foreigners compared to what they'd have to pay American workers. We have to do this so that our Nikes can "only" cost $100. So that our Levi's jeans can cost "only" $50. We don't like to think about the people getting paid $3 a day, if that, to manufacture them. Nope, don't like to think that at all. But damn if these jeans don't look good.

We Americans like our freedom. We like choice. "I want my Levis! I want my Nikes! I want my Chevy Z71! It's my God-given right! Sorry they're poor, but they should have been born in America! America!"

The United States is part of the United Nations. The UN is an international organization whose stated aims are facilitating cooperation in international law, international security, economic development, social progress, human rights, and the achieving of world peace. We joined because we felt it was in our best interests to do so.

Suppose the rest of the world was tired of our wildly disproportionate consumption. Suppose, our Security Council veto aside, that they used the United Nations to order us to curb our oil consumption to our population (let's just go with 1 million barrels). Suppose they ordered our corporations to pay all of their workers according to what American workers would make, including benefits. It would be "fair" for the world to demand that. At least, it makes a sort of sense.

Would we accept the UN's demands? Of course not. "Insanity!" we'd cry. "There's no way!" we'd scream. Our entire economy would be destroyed. Our entire way of life would be destroyed. Do you think you're evil? You buy affordable blue jeans; you own a car and drive it daily; you do any number of things, most things, that you would not be able to do were it not for the fact that you were born into the situation you were. Sure, it would be great if everyone could have the benefits that you have, but there's just no way to do it. Ugandans dying of malnutrition is nowhere on your radar.

Say eventually, after years and years of watching the chorus of the rest of the world grow, the UN finally elects a Secretary General who was elected solely by the anti-US faction. The US sees that there is no point in being a part of the UN since it is obviously no longer not only not in our best interests to remain, but positively detrimental.

But no. The UN won't allow the US to leave. After all, a large proportion of UN funds come from the US. "No," the UN says, "you can't leave. This is an insoluble bond." Of course, nowhere in the charter does it say that it's an insoluble bond, but that's not the issue. "It's the UNITED Nations, after all. United means the US can't leave when the going gets rough for it," the UN says.

"Like hell we can't!" American hippie vegans and meat-eating SUV owners would cry in unison. Well, maybe not the hippie vegans...

Let's say that we do leave and that Secretary General, noble man that the rest of the world sees him as, says, "That's fine, but you have to continue to pay your share of the UN budget and provide resources to us. After all, we can't function without you."

"Too bad. No way in hell!" we'd scream.

Let's say that we waited for the UN to evacuate the UN headquarters building that we allowed to be built on our land. The UN knew our position, that we no longer considered ourselves part of the UN and wanted the UN off of our soil. Let's say they refused to leave. Not only did they refuse to leave, but they went to send the next election's worth of representatives to the UN Headquarters. Would it be wrong for us to prevent them access to the building? Would it be wrong for us to cut the power to the building? To shut off the water? To cut them off from supplies so that they'd leave. And, when they finally did leave the building, we'd escort them to the airport and send them on their way.

Let's say the rest of the world called to arms because of that. "That's it! We must save the union! We can't function without the US!" The UN mustered what military it could, which is not altogether insignificant in terms of sheer numbers, and invaded.

What would happen? Even those in the US who admitted that the US was existing on a relatively unfair system would be awfully angry that foreigners would dare to attack us. How would we handle it? Well, the US has the best military in the world. Even in the face of numerically superior numbers, we'd be able to hold them off. Not only that, but many red-blooded, patriotic men and women would get their guns (yay for the 2nd Amendment...the anti-invasion amendment) and fight. Because we have such a love of our country, even if it is fairly obvious that our practices keep others in virtual economic slavery, we'd fight tooth and nail.

Let's say that at first, the UN simply tries to take Washington, DC, but due to our advantage of having better soldiers and fighting on our soil, they just couldn't do it. The rest of the world also feels the pressure economically of the war. It needs to end quickly. Some of the other countries, those who were doing fine in the old way of doing things argue that there never should have been a war in the first place, that the system simply is at it is and can't be changed without destroying so much. A minority of the countries, the impoverished, clamor for economic fairness. Though it wasn't really the driving force of the war, that was more trying to keep the US in the UN regardless of whether it changed its consumption or not, the embattled Secretary General seizes on the ideology of economic fairness. "Jeans in the US will now cost $400! Nikes will now cost $1000!" he declares, with no authority to change the price of anything in the US. Of course, he makes sure that he doesn't expand that proclamation to Canada, a border country, because the UN needs Canada as a staging ground for its invasion and Canada would join the US if it were forced to pay for everything at its true price as well. But that's beside the point.

Eventually, shut off from the rest of the world, regardless of how fine our military is, we would begin to suffer from want. It would be hard to manufacture all we needed to supply our war machine. Still, we'd fight. We'd fight tooth and nail. No longer would we even consider the root causes of the war. We'd fight because we'd been invaded. We would be relentless in our defense. The UNers would die in droves.

Finally, the Secretary General, seeing that assault on Washington isn't working sends invading forces to the West Coast and instructs them to wage Total War. They start in Seattle and work their way down to San Diego, raping a little here and there, but mostly leaving the civilians alone. There goal is to bring the US to its knees economically, so they demolish Seattle, Oregon, San Francisco, San Jose, Sacramento, Bakersfield, Los Angeles, and San Diego. They destroy the homes and businesses of even those few people who might have agreed that the US was being unfair

Eventually, the weight of the world would be too much. The US would eventually fall in light of superior numbers and blockades. We'd surrender; even though we'd hate it and we'd hate the countries that attacked us. None of our leaders would be convicted as war criminals, because, legally, they were right to remove the US from the UN and were right to defend their country. We'd know we had the will to fight though and that if we had the means, we'd still be fighting, because no matter what the rest of the world accused us of, we were not all Corporate Executives, lavishly consuming far out of proportion to our actual contribution. We were Americans and we'd been invaded and the invaders hadn't just shot the Corporate Executives or the Washington Fat Cats. No, our brothers and sisters had died in that war. Our parents. Our children. Our cousins. Our friends. Our neighbors. We'd carry that will with us for the rest of our lives. We'd always remember our war. The UN would call it the American Rebellion and we'd call it the War of Foreign Aggression. We'd tell our children about it and make sure they were raised to tell their children about it. And so on and so forth.

The United States would be no more. The United Nations would set up a puppet government and set about rebuilding our infrastructure to meet their needs. UN governors would run our states. We'd hate them. Eventually, the system would work out to where the former US (I have no idea what we'd be called when we lose, maybe the United Nations Protectorate) finally consumed in proportion to its population. It would be fair. Eventually, we might even recognize it was just. We'd even get used to the system. Still, we'd remember.

And when 150 years from the end of the war, if my grandchildren's grandchildren want to wave the old Stars and Stripes and commemorate their forefathers, who fought invaders valiantly even while driving Hummers and wearing Air Jordans, I won't begrudge them that, even while the descendants of UN countries who participated in the invasion and even a goodly number of US descendants call them boorish, ignorant, and elitist.

One Month Down

1. If I ever hear a woman complaining that she can't find a man, I'm going to tell her to get a job in a warzone. The women here have their pick (though these contractors are not the pick of the litter, admittedly). I'd estimate the male/female ratio is 60-1, if not greater. The women need not be particularly attractive either, but if they are, look out. There is a female contractor, a forklift operator by the name of Amber, with a potty mouth that would make a sailor's toes curl and gigundous gigundas. When she comes into the office for any reason, 20 Bosnians appear out of thin air. I'm only a month in so I am not able to look past her startling vulgarity, weathered looks, or painted-on eyebrows, but who knows. Look for the wedding invitations.

2. Sleeping at an airfield is fun. Aside from the helicopters and fighters and cargo jets, a couple of times a night, the Voice of God comes on the base loudspeakers and announces that the "Aerial Firing Range is now hot." I don't mind so much when the Voice of God sounds like he should, his deep voice booming out, but when a highpitched 18yo squeaks on there, my faith is tested.

3. My boss, Tom, is easygoing and likes joking around. I like that. I was concerned that my bizarro sense of humor might get me in trouble, but, nope, I fit right in. Someone came in the office looking for information. I asked if he'd spoken with Tom and he told me he didn't know Tom. Tom was on the other side of a divider wall where I knew he could hear and I saw that Tom was coming around to talk to the guy. I said, "How do you not know Tom? Everyone knows Tom...but that's because he has to register in every neighborhood he goes to." Tom laughed. Time to my firing: +/- 20 days.

4. While I like Tom, he makes some of the most inexplicable management decisions I've ever imagined. The big one was that he brought Emir back to our FOB. Tom told me that it was for a day or two until he could ship Emir off to another satellite FOB. My guys, who hate Emir, panicked and wanted to know what was going on. I told them what Tom told me. One of them said Emir said when he got off the helicopter he was back to get his old job back. Suffice to say, Emir's being back did not work well. He kept antagonizing the others and they'd come, terrified, to me. I cautiously expressed my concern to Tom, but Tom refused to do anything about it. Finally, when Emir boasted to my guys that I was getting pushed out and he was taking over, they threatened to mutiny. I calmed them down but went to Tom about it. He said nothing of the sort was going to happen.

5. So, of course, he shipped me off to FOB Phoenix, a base in Kabul, to do a "recon." Tom mentioned it the day after Emir got back, so despite his protestations that there was nothing to look into, well, it was pretty obvious. Phoenix is the only air FOB in Kabul (minus the Kabul International Airport, which Fluor employees are not supposed to go to for the time being) so he tried to sell it to me as a big step up in responsibility and autonomy. He'd sent Emir to do a recon also (when Emir got off he helicopter on his return, he asked my guys "Andre packed yet?"), but I needed to go because Emir didn't have a security clearance and couldn't see everything I could. I went, and sure enough, while I was there, Tom told me he was placing me there full time.

I don't mind in the least. The FOB is much smaller and easier to get around. It's mostly paved so there's not nearly as much dust. I have no bosses, no colleagues, and no subordinates. I do my job and have a snack. I'm no longer sleeping on a top bunk in a smelly tent, but rather, I'm in a massive hangar with plenty of space. The bathrooms are nicer. There's pool tables, ping-pong tables, horseshoe pits and an indoor basketball court. The internet isn't blocked like it is at Bagram so I can go pretty much wherever I want. Yup, for Afghanistan, Phoenix is pretty much heaven.

6. Okay, by now, most people, including my mother and people that worry, will have checked out, I hope. I couldn't really mention it in my first communiques, but when I was getting off the airplane from Dubai, literally I was standing at the top of the rolling stairs, about to walk down onto the tarmac, I watched an airplane crash on the runway next to me. Disasters are nothing like in movies or TV. I sort of expected tragic music to blare in the background, but nope, I simply watched in silence as the left engine clipped the runway (I later found out the landing gear had failed), burst into flames, and the plane began skidding down the runway, making a wide left turn before coming to a halt rolled on to its left wing. What impressed me was that the fire engines were chasing after it within about 45 seconds and that there wasn't an explosion. I later heard the pilots came out of the plane (only pilots since it was a cargo plane) screaming and crying, which is understandable when faced with a jet fuel incineration of a death. If I were them, from that point forward, I'd feel invincible in the air. I mean, who's ever heard of someone crashing TWICE?

At any rate, that was an inauspicious beginning to my Afghanistan adventure. I was very glad I was getting off of a plane when I saw that, as opposed to getting on.

7. We got rocketed twice while I was in Bagram, within days of each other. The first attack, I didn't even hear. The Voice of God woke me up. Many of the other contractors in my tent went running for the bunker as they tried to get on their body armor and helmets. I checked into my office for accountability, to show that I wasn't dead. Then I went back to sleep. That rocket hit a B-Hut, which is a long, one-story wood house that is subdivided into a bunch of compartments that people use as rooms. Think cubicles for living. The rocket killed one guy but the other two people next to him were fine. That just goes to show that my attitude about the rockets and mortars is correct. It's a lottery. It pretty much has to be a direct strike. If that happens, you were just due.

Two nights later, I heard the rocket go over my tent but didn't hear the impact. In Iraq, I'd not only hear the rockets and mortars impact, I'd feel it. I'd wake up on the floor of my hut, my hands covering my head, my lungs giving my heart a bearhug as it tried to set the beats per minute world record. Not being cavalier, but this just hasn't bothered me in Afghanistan. I signed in and went right back to sleep.

8. In Phoenix, the hangar that I sleep in counts as a "hardened structure", meaning that in case of rockets or mortars we are safe in there. I'm amazed by American technological advances. Apparently, we've come up with a an aluminum that can repel incoming explosive projectiles. That, or idiotically, the powers that be simply slapped a sign that says "hardened structure" on a death trap. It's okay though, should a rocket hit, it's not like it would send secondary shrapnel from the aluminum roof all over the place. Waitaminute...

Actually, there are bunkers just out back of the hangar, so they must have realized that aluminum does not make good protective material. Oh wait, the bunkers are aluminum tractor trailer boxes with no sandbagging. I'm starting to think they just want a place where they can corral all the dead bodies.