diplomacy’ was all the rage at the embassy?”
There was a long pause.
“Well,” he said, drawing the word out, “it kind of is.”
“Jesus, Chris.”
“And you can’t cut the women’s business association.”
“Why not? It’s been going a year already and has yet to start a business. The last meeting, we rented a ‘conference and presentation room’ for fifteen thousand dollars which turned out to be an unused room in an abandoned school
we
built back in 2005.” I paused and took a breath. “Actually, ‘abandoned’ is the wrong word. No one ever used it.”
“Women’s empowerment is a huge mission goal for the embassy.”
“That’s why the women’s health clinic—”
“Women’s empowerment,” he said, “means jobs. Trust me when I tell you that was a key takeaway of the past ten meetings I’ve been to. The health clinic is not providing jobs.”
“It’s providing local women what they actually want and—”
“We’re sinking, what, sixty thousand into it?” he said.
“They’re not going to start—”
“There is a direct link,” Roper intoned, “between the oppression of women and extremism.”
There was brief silence.
“And it’s not like I don’t think it’s hard,” he continued. “All of this is hard. Doing anything in Iraq is hard.”
“The clinic—”
“Is not jobs,” he said. “Give me Rosie the Riveter. Not Suzie the Yeast Infected.”
“Suzie the Cured of Yeast Infection,” I said.
“Right now the business association is the only thing your ePRT has going for women’s empowerment,” he said. “That’s not good. Not good at all. And you want to shut that down? No. Fucking no. Keep it going. Use it better. Start some fucking jobs. Do you have anything, anything at all, even in planning, for women?”
I could hear him breathing heavy over the phone.
“Sure . . . ,” I said, racking my brains, “we’ve got things.”
“Like?”
There was an awkward silence. I looked around the office, as if I might find an answer hanging on the wall somewhere. And then my eyes settled on Bob’s desk.
“How much do you know about beekeeping?” I said.
“You’re going to have women beekeepers?” he said.
“Not just women,” I said. “Widows.”
There was another pause. He sighed.
“Yeah,” he said. His voice sounded resigned. “A lot of ePRTs are doing that one.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Do you . . . do you know this is bullshit?”
• • •
The e-mail popped up as soon as I got off the phone. The subject was: IRAQ’S SOON TO BE NATIONAL PASTIME. The sender was: GOODWIN, GENE GABRIEL. I thought, Who gave this asshole my e-mail address? That was answered almost immediately.
Dear Nathan (I hope I can call you Nathan? Major Zima told me you were a very approachable guy),
I’m glad to get a hold of someone who’s finally willing to give this a shot. You won’t believe the amount of BS you’ve got to go through to get anything done with the US Army.
Here’s the idea: The Iraqi people want democracy, but it’s not taking. Why? They don’t have the INSTITUTIONS to support it. You can’t build anything with a rotten foundation, and Iraqi culture is, I’m sure, as rotten as it gets.
I know this sounds crazy, but there are few better institutions than the institution of BASEBALL. Look at the Japanese. They went from Emperor-loving fascists to baseball-playing democracy freaks faster than you can say, Sayonara, Hirohito!
What I’m saying is, you’ve got to change the CULTURE first. And what’s more AMERICAN than baseball, where one man takes a stand against the world, bat in hand, ready to make history, every moment a one-on-one competition. Batter versus pitcher. Runner versus first baseman. Runner versus second baseman. Third baseman. If he’s lucky, against the catcher himself. And yet! And YET!!! It’s a team sport! You’re nothing without the team!!!!
I guess they play soccer over there now.
There was a long pause.
“Well,” he said, drawing the word out, “it kind of is.”
“Jesus, Chris.”
“And you can’t cut the women’s business association.”
“Why not? It’s been going a year already and has yet to start a business. The last meeting, we rented a ‘conference and presentation room’ for fifteen thousand dollars which turned out to be an unused room in an abandoned school
we
built back in 2005.” I paused and took a breath. “Actually, ‘abandoned’ is the wrong word. No one ever used it.”
“Women’s empowerment is a huge mission goal for the embassy.”
“That’s why the women’s health clinic—”
“Women’s empowerment,” he said, “means jobs. Trust me when I tell you that was a key takeaway of the past ten meetings I’ve been to. The health clinic is not providing jobs.”
“It’s providing local women what they actually want and—”
“We’re sinking, what, sixty thousand into it?” he said.
“They’re not going to start—”
“There is a direct link,” Roper intoned, “between the oppression of women and extremism.”
There was brief silence.
“And it’s not like I don’t think it’s hard,” he continued. “All of this is hard. Doing anything in Iraq is hard.”
“The clinic—”
“Is not jobs,” he said. “Give me Rosie the Riveter. Not Suzie the Yeast Infected.”
“Suzie the Cured of Yeast Infection,” I said.
“Right now the business association is the only thing your ePRT has going for women’s empowerment,” he said. “That’s not good. Not good at all. And you want to shut that down? No. Fucking no. Keep it going. Use it better. Start some fucking jobs. Do you have anything, anything at all, even in planning, for women?”
I could hear him breathing heavy over the phone.
“Sure . . . ,” I said, racking my brains, “we’ve got things.”
“Like?”
There was an awkward silence. I looked around the office, as if I might find an answer hanging on the wall somewhere. And then my eyes settled on Bob’s desk.
“How much do you know about beekeeping?” I said.
“You’re going to have women beekeepers?” he said.
“Not just women,” I said. “Widows.”
There was another pause. He sighed.
“Yeah,” he said. His voice sounded resigned. “A lot of ePRTs are doing that one.”
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Do you . . . do you know this is bullshit?”
• • •
The e-mail popped up as soon as I got off the phone. The subject was: IRAQ’S SOON TO BE NATIONAL PASTIME. The sender was: GOODWIN, GENE GABRIEL. I thought, Who gave this asshole my e-mail address? That was answered almost immediately.
Dear Nathan (I hope I can call you Nathan? Major Zima told me you were a very approachable guy),
I’m glad to get a hold of someone who’s finally willing to give this a shot. You won’t believe the amount of BS you’ve got to go through to get anything done with the US Army.
Here’s the idea: The Iraqi people want democracy, but it’s not taking. Why? They don’t have the INSTITUTIONS to support it. You can’t build anything with a rotten foundation, and Iraqi culture is, I’m sure, as rotten as it gets.
I know this sounds crazy, but there are few better institutions than the institution of BASEBALL. Look at the Japanese. They went from Emperor-loving fascists to baseball-playing democracy freaks faster than you can say, Sayonara, Hirohito!
What I’m saying is, you’ve got to change the CULTURE first. And what’s more AMERICAN than baseball, where one man takes a stand against the world, bat in hand, ready to make history, every moment a one-on-one competition. Batter versus pitcher. Runner versus first baseman. Runner versus second baseman. Third baseman. If he’s lucky, against the catcher himself. And yet! And YET!!! It’s a team sport! You’re nothing without the team!!!!
I guess they play soccer over there now.
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