When I Was in Iraq: Part Eleven - the Iraqi Weight Loss Plan

I have struggled with weight for much of my life. I just love food! In particular, I love things like pizza, potatoes, and, of course, Big Macs.

I arrived in Iraq heavier than I wanted to be. But Iraq was going to present the unique opportunity to lose weight in a controlled setting.

The Weight Loss Plan

I would be spending three months total on a US base. I would be eating meals planned and prepared by our kitchen staff. I also would have access to gym equipment. 

So I resolved that I was going to spent those three months strictly avoiding things like sweets and empty carbs. I would also practice portion control. And I would also plan my life around working out every single day.

Now, the base kept things like ice cream and potato chips freely available for anyone who wanted it. So I had to exercise considerable discipline to not indulge myself.

Since the temperature would be reaching potentially 120 degrees in the afternoon while I was there, I fell into a schedule wherein I was lights out at 8:00PM. I slept eight hours and then woke up at 4:00AM. I went to the main building of our base, drank a cup of coffee and worked out. I did a combination of weight training and cardio on an elliptical machine.

The Results

For three months I maintained this regimen. And here's what happened.

Here I am in pictures taken in early July and then in early September.

In total, I had lost thirty pounds in that time frame.

The Position of the Gun

Notice another detail between those two pictures. In early July, I had clearly pulled my holster forward so that my gun was more visible in the picture. I was like, "Hey, look at me! I'm in a war and I'm carrying a gun!"

In September I was still required to be carrying that gun, but in the picture you might not even know it was there, because by then I was like, "Just get me the fuck out of here."

The fact is, I've still spent the next twelve years in yo-yo dieting. I'm heavier right now than I wish I was. I know what I have to do in order to address the situation. And I'll do it, as I've done before. I'll miss you, Big Macs (for a while...;)!

When I Was in Iraq: Part Nine - July 4th, 2004

The Fourth of July

I did not keep a diary in Iraq. I wish I had, because there are some details that have become cloudy as a combination of the fog of war and the passage of time.

I believe that the first mortar attack against our base, which I described in an earlier post, happened after the June 24 attacks and before the Fourth of July.

No matter. In the midst of working 90 consecutive 11 hour days, the Fourth of July arrived.

And when you are in a war zone, that means it's just another work day.

It was a Sunday. But it turned out that the people running our camp managed to make it a little bit of a party despite our conditions.

I got up that morning as I always did and completed my workout. We worked our 11 hour day as usual.

But when we were done, we learned that dinner that night was steak, burgers, and brats, cooked on the grill!

After days of eating various imaginations of lamb, this was a welcome treat!

Furthermore, this meal would be served by the pool. That's right, we had a pool on base. Our base had formerly been a well-to-do villa in [CITY NAME WITHHELD BY NSA CENSOR].  As my CIA colleague and I arrived to dinner, we learned that steaks and burgers were the least of the surprises of this July 4th party.

They had beer.

This was unexpected. Alcohol was forbidden to US warfighters in a war zone.

But our Allies didn't all share this sentiment. Our Australian counterparts, as I understood it, had plenty of Fosters to issue to their soldiers.

And our base administration had managed to buy a bunch of cans of Fosters from them to embellish our celebration.

It had been well over two weeks since I took a drink. (I drank wine in Jordan on the very night before I left for Iraq. I mean, why not?)

The rule was that we were not allowed to wear our sidearms and drink alcohol. Our base was secure. I had no problem taking off my belt holster and leaving my Glock in my living quarters for the time of the party.

As I cracked open a Fosters and sucked it down, I felt the sweet open-mouth wet-kiss of alcohol upon my brain.

Oh, how I had missed you!

But I was not going to let this opportunity completely derail my schedule. I ate a burger, loved it. I took a second can of Fosters. They had inflatable pool mats laying around. I took my second beer, and I laid down on the float. I pushed myself out, beer in hand, looking out into the night full of stars. I recall taking deep breaths, sipping that beer, and coming to terms with it all.

The night sky, floating on that pool, was peaceful. It was beautiful. That beer was delicious. The alcohol on my brain was an unexpected and welcome experience amidst all the danger and chaos.

Now, [CITY NAME WITHHELD BY CENSOR] is a pretty big city. Even so, there was no light pollution such as we experience it in the USA. As a result, the sky was a white swath of stars; I lay on a float on a pool with a beer, contemplating the Milky Way. 

 As you look out into the abyss, you feel so tiny in the big picture. But at the same time, I could not let go of the simple reality of my situation. I had a job to do. I was in a dangerous place. I had to maintain control.

And so, that had to be the end of it. I finished my second beer and I left the party. I went to bed, not knowing how alcohol-infused sleep would change my schedule the following day.

It didn't. I woke up at 4am. I drank coffee. I worked out.

In terms of work, July 5th was the same as July 4th.

But there had been a brief stop along the way. The memory of the party would sustain me for weeks to come. And there were many more weeks to come...

When I was in Iraq: Part Eight

The Second Attack

I had heard the low thuds of car bombs going off in the distant city on June 24. Our base was on the outskirts. I sincerely hoped that my three months could pass without any significant incident in my immediate proximity.

That was all about to change.

I don't remember what day it was. It doesn't matter. As I have described, you are constantly rehydrating in Iraq, so I was on my way to the latrine (in the daytime I treated myself to the bathroom itself).

On my way, I heard someone slam a door so hard, so loudly, that my visceral reaction was anger.

"Why should someone slam a door like that??!!" I thought.

I kept walking. And then it happened again. Someone was slamming a door shut, so hard that it echoed through our compound. And my anger mounted. Why the f%$k was someone slamming a door shut like that?

And that's when I saw it. This object was tumbling end over end through the sky, it landed outside our concrete walls. And then I both saw, heard, and felt the shock wave of an explosion. I had just seen a mortar land. And I retroactively realized--the slamming door had also been mortars.

And then I saw another one. It was tumbling end over end. I stood there, watching it as it also, thankfully, landed on the other side of our wall. The explosion washed over me.

A moment of silence. It was over. Only then, I suddenly realized, HOLY SHIT! WE'RE UNDER ATTACK! I ran to the CIA blast resistant work space. I would wait there until they declared the all clear.

I should have run to cover the moment I knew I was in danger. But I had not done so. And that's because, like so many people, I don't realize I'm in danger until long after the danger passes. 

I have learned after the fact that the human body turns new experiences into things it understands. That's why I heard those first mortar attacks as slamming doors. My brain was turning those sounds into something it understood. Once I saw the bombs in the air, I was able to hear the explosions occurring around me.

I have called this the "FIRST ATTACK" because it would not be the last.

As we all caught our breath that day, we took stock of the fact that we were in a war zone. I recall pensive and nervous glances exchanged over dinner. It was only somewhere inside July. I would not leave until mid-September. My tour would not be as long as many people. But it was longer than anyone I knew at the time. 

That would not be the last attack our base would face. But that's for another day...

When I Was in Iraq: Part Seven

As an NSA agent in Iraq during that war, I served my country to the best of my ability, using my talents in the area of "Force Protection," meaning finding any information that implied attacks upon our War Fighters and communicating that to our Military Command.

But in the course of my time living in that country, I did one thing in particular that I am not particularly proud of. That is perhaps why it needs to be told.

I have previously described how I jealously maintained a schedule which ensured eight hours of sleep every night.

And I learned my first night sleeping at my base why that would be difficult.

Keep in mind, it's always above 100 degrees during the daytime in Iraq during the summer (it was June when I arrived). So you need to be constantly hydrating. And that means that you will invariably need to relieve yourself. I woke up in the middle of my first night on base needing to do just that. I walked the 100 or so feet to the latrine and urinated. I walked the 100 or so feet back to my little cabin...and never slept again before morning.

Houston, we have a problem.

I have a particular issue wherein, if I wake up too much in the middle of the night, I have serious difficulties in falling back asleep. Even now, when I wake up,  I do the best I can to do my business, keeping my eyes shut as much as possible.

But obviously, I could not keep my eyes shut and walk 200 feet every night.

I was describing this problem the following morning to a CIA agent at breakfast. And he told me of the solution he had already discovered. Keep several empty water bottles around. Relieve yourself into them. And empty them in the morning at the latrine. 

That night I tested the method. I awoke. I went. A minute later I was back in bed. A minute after that, I was asleep.

Thank you, CIA agent! It worked!

The following morning, on my way to brush my teeth, I took the previous night's piss bottle along, emptied it, rinsed it out, and set out into another day.

I worked that assignment for a total of 90 consecutive, eleven hour days. At some point, I decided that there was no urgent reason to bring the previous night's single piss bottle to the latrine for disposal. I could surely wait until the next day and bring two.

Piss bottles awaiting latrine delivery would be stored under my bed, which you can see in the picture to the left. That was my simple dwelling. I watched the 2004 Summer Olympics on that TV. Ah, good times...

You see where this is heading, right? I am a lifelong procrastinator. And so, in the course of time, it would not be unusual for me to be carrying four piss bottles to the latrine for disposal.  

I had agreed to three months at the assignment. My handler suddenly was asking me just a few weeks before my departure if maybe I could stay another month. I utterly refused. I was imagining surviving those three months and the attacks it included and then the potential of being killed in that final month. No way I was going to risk that. As a result of my refusal, personnel were shifted around and the man who replaced me arrived on the very plane I would fly out on. He would take over my job and my living quarters. He and I shook hands on the tarmac. I wished him well.

I was thousands of feet in the air on my way back to Baghdad, and then onward travel to Amman, Jordan, before returning home when...I realized...there were three piss bottles under my bed.

Sorry, dude. 

I'm not proud of what I just described. Forgive me. It was war.

When I was in Iraq: Part Six

The First Attack

I had come to Iraq knowing it was a war zone. The fact that I was required to wear a side-arm at all times showed how dangerous it all was.

But despite the constant weaponry around me, I had not encountered anything that meant I was in a war.

Until June 24, 2004.

When I first came to work at the NSA, I was sent to have a hearing test done. People doing the "listening mission" spend most of their day listening to audio and there is the concern that such a job could eventually minimize someone's ability to hear. As a result, they constantly test the hearing of linguists and if there is any degradation of hearing, they will pull someone off the listening mission as a precaution. Good of them.

I noticed my test was taking a long time. I didn't know if this was good or bad. I had been told to press the button whenever I heard a tone. I kept hearing tones, so I kept clicking. 

When it was all over, I was informed that I had supernaturally good hearing. The analyst told me that I performed as hearing an octave above and below the normal range for human ability. This served as confirmation for something I had noticed all my life. I would wake up in the middle of the night and not be able to fall asleep again because I heard dogs barking. Now I know that they were probably miles away.

Even now, I have the problem that I seem to not be able to hear someone close up, but that is only because I am seriously distracted by a conversation happening on the other side of the room.

All that serves to explain why, when I was sitting in my work station on Thursday, June 24, 2004, I suddenly heard several low thuds. They were far away. But they were real. I told my CIA agent boss, "Something just happened." 

"I didn't hear anything," he said.

Some minutes later we were learning that there had been a series of coordinated car bombs in the city. In the final count, there were 60+ dead and hundreds more wounded.

This was the first hint that things were beginning to unravel. They stationed a group of soldiers from the Pennsylvania National Guard on our base after that, in recognition that the security of our base needed to be bolstered. They would begin conducting patrols outside our perimeter, previously only monitored from within. 

I made friends with those guys. But, despite that, I never wavered from the strict schedule I have described in previous posts--asleep by 8pm, so I would have eight hours of sleep by 4am, to then work out for at least an hour before I had to begin my work.

The Pennsylvania soldiers would ask me over dinner to join them in a game of Risk. They had the hard copy version of the game. I told them I would, but not tonight. And not tonight turned into never.

They were part of the security detail that went to the airport when I eventually left in September. We were waiting on the tarmac for the plane that would fly me away. There was a mortar attack at some distance. We felt and heard the thuds but we knew it was far enough away that we did not need to take cover. Then we saw some American asset begin firing tracer rounds into the sky. I looked at them, streaming into the night. It was actually beautiful.  

Then one of the Pennsylvania soldiers said, "Hey, we never got you to play a game of Risk with us." 

In that moment I felt a deep remorse that is still with me to this day.

In my final few weeks, why didn't I just decide that my precious schedule didn't matter anymore? Those guys should have mattered more to me than my eight hours of sleep or my time working out.  I will always have a deep regret for not having accepted their invitation. 

That was almost twelve years ago. All I can do now is try to live my life in such a way that I don't ever repeat that mistake...

When I was in Iraq: Part Five

It eventually sunk in as to what exactly I had gotten myself into. I was an Intelligence Officer at a US Base in Iraq, during the Occupation Phase of that War. And I would be there for three months. Not as long as most soldiers. But longer than anyone I knew at the time.

When I was offered this deployment, I was asked by the assigning officer, "How long do you want to be there?"

In my naivete, I asked, "What's a normal deployment?"

She said, "Three months."

I replied, "Then give me that."

I was then and remain so naive...

When I arrived, I learned that my boss had arrived just prior to my arrival and he would be leaving in a month. 

Okay.

And then my next boss arrived, who said, "Looking forward to working with you for the next month."

Okay.

When my third boss arrived in August with the news that he would be there for a month, I inquired as to the normal tours of duty of civilian intelligence officers at this time in the war.

And I learned that ONE MONTH was the norm!

She had the problem of finding Arabic linguists to man that base, but I had, through my naivete, given her essentially two months off! 

In the final month of my service on that base, the CIA Station Chief was regularly calling me into his office to ask me questions about things that had happened in June and early July, because I WAS THE ONLY PERSON ON BASE WHO WAS THERE IN THAT TIME FRAME!!!!

And then, with just a week before I was scheduled to leave, I got a call from the assigning officer.

She was asking me if I might be willing to stay an extra month. It was immediately obvious that, with two months off from worrying about that post, she had dropped the ball on finding my replacement.

I told her in no uncertain terms that the answer was no.

Because, it shot through my mind, imagine this guy goes to Iraq for three months, he survives it, despite mortar attacks and sniper fire that did happen while I was there. And then, he agrees to stay another month and...

I was not going to stay there another month for the even remote potential of the "and..."

She was annoyed by my answer, but that was now her problem.

I had dreamed of overlap with my replacement, but instead, she moved one agent from this place, to fill in for this agent to that place.

I ended up shaking hands with my replacement at the airport. He arrived on the plane I flew out on.

The trail of this article took me to my departure, but I'm not at all done sharing the emotional side of my deployment. When I resume, I will be back in Iraq in late June, as the attacks were about to begin....

When I was in Iraq: Part Four

As I've said, this series will be more about my emotions while I was on my deployment, than about details that I have already published in other blog posts, as well as in my book, Top Secrets: Lessons for Success from the World of Espionage.

I settled into life on the base. I slept every night in a little cabin, packed on the roof and around the area of my bed with sand bags in case a mortar landed in the night.

The CIA agents slept in the main house, where we also took our meals. It was a big house. It was never away from my mind how much safer they were than me.

The Shack in which I slept

They worked in a FEBR (Federally Evaluated Blast Resistant Building).  I worked in a cabin identical to the one I slept in. When our base was targeted in a mortar attack on two occasions when I was there, we ran in terror to the FEBR. They didn't even hear the attack inside.

I worked 90 consecutive 11 hours days in Iraq. 

We started at 6AM, worked an hour and then took a half hour for breakfast. We then worked until 12PM, when we took another half hour for lunch. Then we worked until 6PM, after which we went to dinner at the main house where the CIA agents lived in comfort.

I decided early on that the only way I was going to do any exercise was to do it before my regular day began. And so, I was lights out at 8PM every evening. I slept eight hours every night and woke up at 4AM. So I worked out from 4AM for an hour and then took a shower and prepared for my work day to begin.

I had been given advice before this deployment from a long term agent that the best way to survive any deployment was to plan your life around eight hours of sleep. Here were the reasons. First off, you are simply healthier with eight hours of sleep. When you are in harm's way, such as living in a war zone, you never know when something will require you to skip nights of sleep. And you will pull that off better if you are completely rested--caught up on sleep on your sleep. 

In 90 days of that deployment, my sleep was only disrupted twice. Once we received a shipment of a bunch of technical equipment that arrived at 2ish, and that meant I was up to help with the processing and never slept again. On another occasion, the CIA Station Chief decided to hold a base-wise security drill at 3ish in which we all ended up in the main house and I basically missed only the final hour of my regular night's sleep.

Okay, I've covered a lot of technical details in this post on my life at my posting in Iraq over ten years ago. And I promised that this series would be more about my emotions than about the mission.

There are plenty of emotional tales that will take place in months two and three of this deployment.

But I close with the following anecdote.

As I said above, I worked out from 4 to 5ish before my regular workday began.

Early on, I was working out and there were all these feral cats around. (The Prophet Muhammad loved cats, hence their widespread prevalence in Arab lands.)

As I was working out on a particular weight machine, one of these cats kept rubbing her face against my foot. I was avoiding her, because she was this horribly mangy mess of an animal. 

And then I looked out into the brightening morning sky. I was in Iraq. I was in serious danger. And I realized in that moment that I needed that animal's affection.

I picked her up and I cuddled her to my chest, and I cried. And I felt her purr against me. 

And I thought to myself, "What the fuck [pardon my war jargon] have I gotten myself into?"

When I was in Iraq: Part Three

For this post, I need to actually take a step back in time. Today is my twin brother's wedding anniversary. He and his wife, Shari, married this day in 2004. 

I was, of course, in attendance, but I knew that I would be getting on a plane the following week to fly to Egypt, and that I would not return to the United States before then spending the three months in Iraq that I had agreed to.

And so, twelve years ago right now, I was enjoying a bittersweet time of contact with my family, and the angst--the dread--of where I was about to go.

My late mother was in poor health, as she had been for many years. In consultation with my father and others, we had decided to keep her in the dark about my upcoming trip until just before this weekend.

It was a delightful time; a traditional Jewish Wedding.

And my family, including my mother, all knew what was happening the next week.

There were laughter and tears. There were hugs. And as I separated from them all, I felt a deep sadness. I had to do this thing. But what was I putting my mother through? 

As a mother of four boys and one girl in the height of the Cold War, she undoubtedly had the low grade anxiety of wondering how she would face sending sons off to War in the inevitably expected war with the Communists.

But then Communism ended. She probably then never thought she would send a son to war. But now, here she was doing exactly that.

She told me that, no matter what, I was not to change my mission. 

She said that because she knew she was in poor health. And anything can happen. I understood and I promised her I would obey. Little did I knew that the issue would arise a few months later.

I hugged her and we both cried and cried.

And so, twelve years ago today, I took leave of my family and moved in the direction of my service in Iraq,

My mother arranged for me to be prayed for every Sunday at her Lutheran Church.  Every Sunday she heard, during the General Prayers, "For Keith...in Iraq."

She had become...a war mother. Like so many others in times such as WWII or other conflicts. I hope she received regularly consolation from her faith community as she passed through that time.

She would pass through days upon days of knowing I was in harm's way but not knowing really how I was.

As I continue to tell this story, I will recount how she experienced a major health crisis while I there...

When I was in Iraq: Part Two

When I was in Iraq: Part One

It was in June, 2004 that I arrived in Iraq. I was immediately coming to terms with the fact that I was in deepest danger I had ever faced in my life. I was in a war zone. 

They issued me body armor. They issued me a helmet. And they told me I should wear these articles constantly--for the next three months.

And they were heavy. As I acclimated to the little check-in base at BIAP (Baghdad International Airport), it was immediately apparent to me that most people weren't, in fact, wearing that gear at all times. I wore it while I awaited onward travel to my base of operations for the next three months. But it all weighed upon me, literally and figuratively.

I slept a fitful night in a room with about 20 other snoring guys and begged for morning to come.

I've told details of this story in my book Top Secrets: Lessons for Success from the World of Espionage. In that book, for instance, I tell about the emergency drill that happened that night, how I was issued my gun, and other points of interest. In this post I will primarily focus on my emotions as I was passing through my months in Iraq. (But I sure wouldn't mind if you buy my book!)

After lunch, I was waiting for a late afternoon flight to my eventual base. I recall sitting in a bright hall, studying Romanian vocabulary cards, since I had started to date a Romanian-American just prior to leaving on this mission.

There was a huge pile of MRE's sitting next to me. That stands for "Meals Ready to Eat." These were designed to sit potentially for years on end and still be edible to war fighters. I remember wishing I could try one of these. I mean, I was in Iraq. Yes, this little base I was on at the Airport had a full cafeteria, but these MRE's were here for a reason. They were laying here because of the potential that things might turn sour and the personnel here might have to eat off this pallet in an emergency.

I wanted to eat an MRE because I knew that there were war fighters in country who ate them every day. I was so fresh "off the boat" that I didn't know what my living conditions on base were going to be. 

I remember writing out vocabulary cards for Romanian next to that pallet of MRE's and eventually putting my pen down and just sitting there, trying to come to terms with it all.

I was in Iraq. In a few hours I was going to get on a plane and fly to my onward base. And I would be there for three months. Not as long as many people spent there. But longer than anyone I knew at that time.

I took a deep breath. I was still in my first full day in Iraq. There would be 90 more. What had I gotten myself into?

When I was in Iraq: Part One

Me, in Iraq...

The fact is, when I speak the words "When I was in Iraq," it kills the room. People know that something dangerous, scary, and potentially exciting is about to be anecdotally reported.

I suppose that was true after WWII. When some man in 1950 said, "When I was in Germany," people prepared to hear a story about the war.

But in the course of time, that eventually came to an end. I mean, if someone today says, "When I was in Germany," people prepare to hear a story about a vacation in an extraordinarily organized country, not a war story.

Sad to say, the flow of history has made it such that "When I was in Iraq" remains an intriguing statement that implies danger.

When I left Iraq in 2004, I remember looking out on the country from the airplane and wondering when I might be able to return as a tourist. I longed for the potential that I might be able to walk in the places I reported on as a spy and maybe drop in for a meal at restaurants in places that I might have formerly directed war fighters. 

I hoped, sincerely hoped, that five years would be enough time for that to be possible.

It is now ten years since I left Iraq. My dream is an impossibility in the current situation.

Anyway, I continue with Part One of my recollections of being in Iraq. I can only share such memories as are unclassified. But that still lets me report the heart and soul of the experience.

During the Ground Phase of the War, I worked the Iraq mission. That meant I had on my desk constantly a map of Baghdad, and I became very acquainted with the way the Tigris River snaked its way through that city.

In June of 2004, I was on a cargo plane, looking down from several thousand feet at exactly what was on my desk for all those months!

We landed using what is known as a "Cork-Screw" landing, circling down to minimize the danger from a ground-to-air missile until we were nearly on the ground, only to turn out at the last moment and land on the runway of Baghdad International Airport (BIAP).

I was on the ground in Iraq. I remember taking a deep breath as I got off the airplane. I would be there for three months. And I was scared out of my wits. I had volunteered for this service. But now I was thinking, "What the hell had I gotten myself into?"

An Eleven Year Streak Has Come to an End...

It frankly surprised me that I could serve my country in Iraq, while we were still the occupying force of that country, and afterwards I would dream about it so little.

And by "so little," I mean, not at all.

Until last night.

Once upon a time I was an Arabic Linguist at the National Security Agency.

I enlisted for that service after 9/11. And I later readily accepted the opportunity to do a tour in Iraq in 2004, while the war was still raging.

I was in Iraq from June, 2004 until September 2004. Strangely, for the entire time I was there I never dreamt I was there. But the first night I was finally out of there, sleeping in a hotel room in Amman, Jordan, I dreamt that I was in Iraq.

And then I never dreamt about it again.

Until last night.

More than eleven years have passed since I flew out of Iraq. The absence of dreams about it became something of a curiosity. 

I mean, I went to college, like so many other people. And I have, from time to time, that classic college stress dream in which I find a book in my bag that implies I am enrolled in a class I never went to and to which I must now sit for an exam.

But I also went to Iraq. I was in a war zone. I ran from mortar fire. I feared for my life. 

Why did that not become a recurrent theme in my dream life?

Until last night.

Anyway, in my dream last night, I was not there in 2004, rather, I was there NOW. I was at a secret CIA base somewhere in Iraq, I didn't even exactly know where.  And I was expected to be doing the job I did there in 2004--monitoring intercepted communications primarily for Force Protection purposes. (Force Protection means finding any indication of a possible attack on Coalition Forces.)

But they had no work station for me. I kept saying to my boss, I can't do my job if you don't give me a work station. Please, give me a work station. I want to do the job I'm here to do.

I looked out a window and reflected on the fact (in that dream) that I was in Iraq. And I felt angry that I was helpless to help, since they had no work station ready for me to do my job.

And that's when I woke up.

I'll be going to sleep in a little bit. I don't want to dream I'm in Iraq ever again. 

But now that it has finally happened, I simply offer a prayer for all of our war fighters in harm's way. 

I wish I could assist you to the best of my ability. And if they gave me a work station even now, you could be assured of my attention.

Keep your head down. Come home safe...

People on the "No-Fly List" Should Indeed be Allowed to Buy Guns!

President Obama stated in his weekly address on Saturday that "Right now, people on the No-Fly list can walk into a store and buy a gun. That is insane. If you're too dangerous to board a plane, you're too dangerous, by definition, to buy a gun."

In this post I will explain why people on the so-called "No-Fly List" should be able to buy a gun (if you and I are legally able to do so). 

I'm deeply disappointed that the President (for whom I voted) should know better but still played petty politics with this issue anyway.

Does Keith Really Want to Arm Terrorists?! 

Don't think for one minute that I want terrorists to have guns. I served my country for four years after 9/11 as an Arabic linguist at the National Security Agency. During that time, I served for three months in Iraq in 2004, during which time I came under enemy fire. I received the Global War on Terrorism Civilian Service Medal for my service there.

But I was willing to risk my life for my country precisely because I believe in the principles of Liberty and Justice the United States of America stands for. 

So is Keith a Pro-Gun Nut?

I

Me, in Iraq, Glock at my Side

was certified on the Glock 9mm and M-4 assault rifle, both of which I was required to have on my person while serving in Iraq. 

But there is no gun in my home. I don't want one in my home because I know that, statistically, the chances of me or my loved ones being harmed or killed by my own gun are vastly greater than the chances I would ever actually use the damn thing to defend myself. 

And I am perfectly fine with restrictions on what types of guns should be legal and vigorous background checks on people seeking to buy one.

But, if you were seduced by the argument that denying the right to buy a gun to people on the "No-Fly List" was a "No-Brainer," as it has been publicly called, let me explain why you should be ashamed that you tossed out core principles of our Nation so readily.

 

The "No-Fly List"

First off, people are not on the "No-Fly List." Names are on the list. If someone named John Smith has terrorist connections sufficient to warrant putting his name on the "No-Fly List," then everyone named John Smith has his name on that list.

And if you are named John Smith, in that scenario, you will find that every time you try to get a boarding pass issued to you, it is declined. To fly, you will need to contact federal authorities ahead of time and prove to them, through birth date, passport number, etc, that you are not the John Smith who prompted your name, John Smith, to get added to the list. You will need to do that separately for every flight you take, even if you have connecting flights.

But What About the Real "Bad Guys"?

Let me make my argument even more immediate. Let's suppose, for reasons authorities don't ever have to justify, that they put a man born and raised in Detroit, MI on the "No-Fly List." Some person with the authority to do so, decided this person was sufficiently suspicious that their name needed to go on that list.

This person has not ever been charged with a crime, let alone convicted of one. You don't think this person's placement on that list could be at least partially connected to the fact that he was born with "Al-" at the beginning of his last name?

You're against racial profiling but you think it's fine to deny Constitutional rights to people who have never been charged with a crime? Innocent until proven guilty, except for Arabs on the "No-Fly List"?

My whole point is that the names on the "No-Fly List" include vast numbers of innocent citizens whose only "crime" is having a name close enough to someone that somebody was suspicious of. 

But even the people who are the immediate target of suspicion on that list are innocent until proven guilty, aren't they? 

You want to strip that whole class of people of their Second Amendment Rights? If so, I won't be surprised if you follow that up by stripping them of their First Amendment Rights when they might want to complain.

Once you've decided that "certain people" shouldn't have the same rights as others, I am justifiably worried that I'm next on your list.

If we allow ourselves to infringe upon the Constitutional Rights of citizens simply because some "authority" has a vague but unprovable suspicion about them, then the terrorists have won.   

And if we allow people, concerning whom some "authority" has a vague but unprovable suspicion, to buy guns, is there the chance that such people will commit acts of terrorism?

Yes. 

But Liberty is worth dying for.

When Did World War III Begin And When Will It End?

The Pope asserted today that we are, in fact, currently in World War III. Speaking in a homily at a monument to Italy's World War I dead, the Pope asserted that we are effectively in a "piecemeal" World War III even now, when you consider the range of armed conflicts that have raged for over a decade.

On reflection of this, it strikes me as obviously true. The reason we haven't previously referred to ourselves as being in World War III is that, during the Cold War, we had already reserved that name for the future and, we thought, inevitable fight between NATO and the Soviet Union.

But, based on the criteria whereby World Wars I and II were so named, it's clear the current global situation qualifies for the name World War III.

World War I was called the Great War and only retroactively termed World War I. The Time Magazine issue of June 12, 1939 first named it such, while already referring to their contemporary hostilities as World War II.

The current range of hostilities is well beyond that seen in World War I. That was essentially a war in Europe with somewhat related actions in Turkey. In the last decade, combatant nations and groups from across the globe have launched attacks in North America, Europe, Africa, and Asia.

One might counter the claim that we are in World War III by asserting that the disparate hostilities the world has seen are not strictly related to one another. To be honest, however, World War II was really two generally separate wars. The Nazis and the Japanese had a pact, but they were never true allies. The Japanese had to be aware that the Nazis considered them an inferior race who were just conveniently dividing the American forces. And the Nazis had a non-aggression pact with the Soviets as well, which they broke the moment they felt it was no longer in their best interest.

Further, it's not clear that the bloodshed of the last decade is completely unrelated. An argument could be made, for instance, that Russian intervention in the Ukraine was emboldened by the perception that Europe and the United States are preoccupied with concerns in the Middle East.

And so, I agree with the Pope. We are currently in what will likely someday retroactively be termed World War III. Historians will consider September 11, 2001 to be the convenient beginning of the war, though, like all wars, the flashpoint was preceded by a building of tensions. 

Less clear is how World War III will ever be declared to have come to an end someday (God willing). Perhaps it will yet evolve into a transnational conflict that could see someone eventually surrender and the world collectively decide it's done with war for a while. More likely, after what could be at least another decade, the current conflicts will have cooled and, following an interval of relative peace, the world will declare that period of conflict finally over. 

And, in that moment, people will begin to ask what World War IV will resemble.