Former POW Revisits 32 Days He’d Rather Forget

Andrew Ramirez was enjoying a quiet get-away in Monterey, Calif., in late March when he got a call on his cell phone from a CNN producer. Five Americans had been captured by Iraqi forces, and the network wanted to know if he could offer insight into what the soldiers were going through.

For four years, Ramirez has tried to leave behind the 32 days he was held captive in a Serbian prison. Now the ambush of American soldiers in a supply convoy outside Nasiriyah on March 23 has brought all the memories rushing back -- his capture, the beatings, the fear.

But this time Ramirez has the same vantage point his mother had during that long month. This time, he can sense the uncertainty and worry that gripped his family when his fate was unknown.

Ramirez, now 28 and a Citrus College student, has turned down most requests for interviews, but feels compelled to do some, even though it means revisiting a time he’d rather forget.

“It’s a lot of reminiscing about times that weren’t so happy,” said Ramirez, sitting on a couch in his Covina apartment Monday, the fourth anniversary of his capture. “But I want to help and hopefully show that good things happen, even though people are in bad situations. There are good outcomes, and there is always hope.”

He can say that now, with the perspective that time and hindsight provide. But a happy resolution was far from certain when the trouble began March 31, 1999, as Ramirez and two other Army soldiers were patrolling the Macedonian border with Yugoslavia. They heard the ping of metal on metal and realized Yugoslav troops were firing on their Humvee. They were captured and beaten, kept hooded and handcuffed for more than a week.

The Serbians interrogated them repeatedly. They were fed sporadically and kicked if they tried to sleep. Ramirez’s shin was broken, as were two of his ribs.

Eventually, the three soldiers ended up in separate cells in a Belgrade prison, where they sat until the Rev. Jesse Jackson and an interfaith delegation successfully lobbied Yugoslav leader Slobodan Milosevic for their release.

When Ramirez returned home, he was feted from the White House to Dodger Stadium. Reporters crowded outside his mother’s Baldwin Park home, shouting questions at the dazed 24-year-old sergeant. More than 5,000 people lined the streets of his East Los Angeles neighborhood to celebrate his freedom.

Eventually, Ramirez finished his tour of duty in Germany and at Fort Irwin in Barstow, leaving the Army in November 2000 with an honorable discharge. At the urging of local legislators, he ran for mayor of Baldwin Park the following spring, garnering 25% of the vote.

Now he works nights at United Parcel Service as a revenue auditor and studies psychology at community college, hoping to transfer to a UC campus in the fall. People have finally stopped recognizing him.

‘A Relief’

“It was a relief, really, because I’m not used to any of that: all the attention, people wanting to speak to me and take pictures and autographs,” he said. “I’ve always told everyone I’m just Andrew Ramirez. I’m happy with that.”

These days, Ramirez wears the same military buzz haircut and carries himself with a laconic air. He keeps just a handful of mementos from his ordeal. He has a few photos of himself and his fellow prisoners, one taken at a German base after their release and another with Jackson at the White House.

He’s held onto several propaganda books given to him by his captors when he asked for something to read (“Through Genocide to a Greater Croatia”) and a tube of Colgate toothpaste he kept because he was fascinated by the Cyrillic alphabet label.

He says memories of his capture will always stay with him: the bullet that flew through the Humvee, the rifles cocked at the back of his head, the small prison cell with its chipped vinyl floor, the sound of bombs falling on Belgrade.

“You never forget it,” he said. “You live with it.”

And as he watches TV and sees other young soldiers looking sad and stoic before the cameras, he recalls the terror he felt in the first days of his imprisonment, when he was sure the Serbian soldiers were going to execute him and his companions.

“It was a little bit spooky,” he said. “I can imagine their fright.”

Watching the news has also brought with it a revelation.

“I know my mom had a lot of trouble watching me on television,” he said. “So when I see them on television, I can see how -- they just look really bad. I can imagine how my mom felt, and I can almost imagine what the families are feeling watching them on TV.”

His family’s desperation, he’s concluded, was more trying than what he had to go through.

“The unknown is worse than knowing,” he said. “Even if you’re not happy or in pain or suffering, it’s better there.... Your imagination is always worse than the reality.”

Recently, Ramirez shared this revelation with his mother, Vivian Ramirez.

‘Now I Know’

“Now I know what you went through,” he said.

“No one will ever, ever know what I went through,” she replied.

Now, Ramirez’s family has another worry. He is in the National Guard, and could be called back to service anytime.

“They’re kind of scared about it,” Ramirez said. “I tell them, there’s a chance, but they haven’t called me yet.”

But in the end, he added, “I’ll do what I have to do.” And his family, like thousands of others, will watch from afar, worrying again about the unknown.