What a bomb can’t do

The sheik had some concerns and asked for a meeting.

The Marines were eager to curry the sheik’s favor.

Waging war is a wholesale business: whole cities, whole armies are subdued at once with speed and fearful weaponry.

But winning hearts and minds is retail, done one heart and one mind at a time.

And so the lieutenant, the major, the Marine lawyer, the Marine lawyer’s assistant, two translators and 15 combat troops -- who were needed in case of an ambush -- loaded into a convoy of Humvees.

Convincing someone of your good intentions is labor intensive. During war, the saying is that you should never send a squad of Marines to do what a 500-pound bomb can do; during the struggle for a lasting peace, bombs can be useless, even counterproductive.

The meeting in the farmhouse in this village outside Fallouja was only one of dozens of such meetings, in tiny homes, in government offices, along roadsides, in tumble-down rural villages, anywhere and everywhere, as the Marines try to convince a leery and war-weary Iraqi populace that the United States is their friend.

We sat on couches on opposite sides of the living room. On one side were the Americans; on the other, Sheik Shuker al Shehawi and 10 of his tribesmen, ranging in age from mid-20s to mid-70s.

“We are here only because we want to bring order and stability to this area,” said Maj. Brandon McGowan, executive officer of the 2nd Battalion, 1st Regiment of the 1st Marine Division.

McGowan, a musician at heart and an infantry officer by training, is now at the point of the “security and stability” effort in this region of the Sunni Triangle, where anti-Western feeling runs high. Cigarettes are exchanged; the Iraqis are barefoot, the Americans wear combat boots.

It brings honor to the sheik in the eyes of his countrymen that he is able to summon the Marines for tea and talk. He has a regal bearing, he listens but does not speak much, his tribesmen defer to him and await an unspoken sign to vent their own concerns about the Marine checkpoints that have cut off access to Fallouja.

When Iraqis vent, they vent with gusto, with words tumbling out in profusion, accompanied by hand gestures. (One officer, an Italian American, says of the expressive Iraqis: “They’re Italians on steroids.”) Children peek around corners to watch the late afternoon meeting. Women are not seen.

Once the sheik is satisfied that the Marines are willing to truly listen, hot, sweet tea is served in tiny cups with tiny spoons.

“For the future of Fallouja, we believe we must rid the area of guns so that everyone can live a peaceful life,” McGowan says. “This is my only desire.”

The sheik speaks. He is in his late-50s, of ample girth, and is dressed in traditional garb, with gold brocade.

The sheik says that the American blockade, imposed to keep insurgents from smuggling guns and reinforcements into Fallouja, keeps farmers from taking their goods to market. Fed by irrigation canals from the Euphrates River, the region is rich with vegetable crops, alfalfa and dairy cows.

He says his area is not aligned with the insurgents who are fighting with Marines. “My area is very peaceful,” he says.

McGowan says he will talk to the colonel about loosening the roadblock for several hours a day for a specified list of people. “This should be easy to do,” he says. “My main goal is to see we are helping you, not hurting you.”

In turn, the Americans would like the sheik’s help in catching the insurgents who are streaming into Fallouja to wage jihad against the Americans. The sheik is cagey. He knows there are “bad people” crossing his lands but nothing more.

The Americans do not press.

The roadblock answer seems to satisfy the sheik. More hot tea is served, more cigarettes exchanged.

The sheik’s tribesmen have their own concerns. One has a nephew who has been jailed by the Americans. Can he be released?

One wonders if he can keep a hunting rifle as well as his AK-47 and still comply with the one-weapon rule put down by the United States. The major asks, “Does the rifle have a scope?” That would make it an assault weapon.

There are other individual concerns, and the Marines are taking notes, making a list. Each request has issues: Easing the roadblock will take Marines, and the force is already stretched thin. Releasing a detainee will mean talking with the battalion that arrested him. Manpower, bureaucracy, paperwork, all are complicating factors.

McGowan congratulates one of the young men who has volunteered for the Iraqi police. “Maybe someday he will become a Marine,” McGowan jokes.

A man in his 40s, sitting to the sheik’s left and apparently second to him in terms of prestige, offers his riposte, which brings more laughter: “Maybe when all is settled, we will all become Marines,” he says.

The sheik suggests a lunch in two days time to discuss details. The Marines, in culture classes at Camp Pendleton, have been told that an offer of food in the Arabic world is never to be declined. A date is set.

“I’d love to have some real food,” McGowan says.

The sheik and his tribesmen love the joke. “MREs,” says one knowingly, a reference to the prepackaged Meals Ready to Eat that are the Marines’ staple. The shortcomings of MREs are no secret.

There are handshakes, embraces and more cigarettes. Ninety minutes after arriving, the Marines depart down a dusty road to their heavily guarded command post. The sheik nods and the children run happily behind the vehicles, waving.

Later, McGowan, who served in last year’s offensive to topple Saddam Hussein, is asked which is easier, winning a war or winning the peace?

“Winning a war, every time,” he says.