Lessons Learned

The Government likely spent over $100,000 to train, transport, house and feed me in Afghanistan.  A lot more if you count all the fine young soldiers who kept me safe in Camp and on Movement. For this they got someone to work 76 hours per week, every week, carry a weapon everywhere except to bed and shower, Advise three Afghan Generals and two Deputy Ministers and their staffs, lead a team of financial managers, and tackle over thirty initiatives.  Not a bad trade I say.

I will always be very appreciative of the soldiers (younger than my oldest daughter) who protected me on convoy and at the Ministry.  I often asked about their personal lives and told them what I did so that they would know why they were protecting me.  I dreaded every day the thought of anyone of these fine young folk being hurt or killed protecting me and my vow to meet their parents if anything ever did happen.  While they all believe in the mission, as a parent, the guilt on this middle aged man would be hard.  I would have preferred a beat up Toyota Corolla with a Masood sticker (look it up) on the windshield  for movements.

So what did I learn?

 Mission

1)      The mission is sound, but the execution needs rework.  We are caught between thinking this is still a military affair rather than nation building.  We have to make up our minds.

2)      Nation building is the domain of civilians.  Though the military have the means for some of this, they do not have the patience for letting a nation move at its own pace.

3)      Too many are risk averse.  The military were told to come here, we volunteered.  That alone makes all the difference.  We know what we signed up for, so let us do our jobs.

4)    We birthed this addict, and now its an adult who has a very hard time living without our $$$ fix.  Its drive to extract more from us is incessant and distracting from growing their nation.  The only way to cure the addiction is to significantly throttle back on the $$$.

People

1)      The two most important times in an advisor’s career.  When you first know that you are in their inner circle, and when you know they are lying to your face.  You have to be able to accept that.

2)      You have to be a little strange to deploy like this.  Some see adventure, but most either like this lifestyle, trying to get away from something back home or both. 

3)      Governments, Businesses, Organizations.  Culture matters.  At the end of the day, its all about people. If you can master listening to them and building the work so that it meets both objectives, you can accomplish much.

4)      People bring their true selves to any situation, its only a matter of time before it comes out.

 Myself

1)      I can adapt to almost any situation, don’t panic, and listen to my gut.  Rules are a fallback when you can’t/won’t think.

2)      I take the time to make my collaborators feel comfortable, though good works are what instill confidence to trust me.

3)      The traits my mom and grandmother taught me of humility, keeping your word and “don’t whine and just do something” apply to so many aspects of leadership, management and life.

4)      I still have a distaste for bureaucracy and the trolls who put process before product.

 

Time to go

My helo flight out was planned for mid-morning, but I got the word that it had been moved up. No more time for one last email to the Commander, no more time for purging files, and not much time to say goodbye, yet again to staff.  The week had been emotionally draining for me, but now it was time to go.  I sent out a few txt to staff letting them know I was leaving.  A few rushed to the helo pad, and then more came.  Before long, the cameras were out and the tears rolled.  A few selfie shots, as the helo came in.  A few hugs, and before I knew it, Camp RS was out of sight.  It was time to go, of that there was no doubt, but I will miss these friendships, yet revel in the fact that we accomplished much.  Now is the time to look forward, and after about a week of mindless travel, I’ll be home then back to the Pentagon.

 

The Last Movement - Donors

On my last full day, the Italian charge-d-affairs, Eugenio, called a meeting of Donors to review the letter to the Afghan president I drafted on the progress toward transition of the Payroll function to the Afghans this coming winter.  I bummed a ride with the US Embassy staff to the Italian Embassy as it was easier and since I had already turned in my ammo, my sidearm was pretty useless.  I arrived in style, no kit, no hidden weapon, just my cell phone and a few Embassy guards.  The Italian Embassy is pretty close by in a modern building surrounded by gardens, and oddly enough and old 1930’s Bi-plane.  All the cohorts were there, and we had a typical NATO meeting where everyone said something, but only a few were willing to do something.  I took an action to revise the letter that night, before I departed in the morning.  We had lots of hugs and kisses, except for the Japanese who just bowed. Ooops, I never got to that letter.

 

One last Movement…….maybe.

 

Three days before I redeploy and I got a chance to get to the Ministry one last time for a meeting of the Donor Nation Audit team, but it was a chance to say goodbye to the Afghan staff, the General, the Deputy Minister and the Guards.  I rushed from building to building, in my battle rattle of course, trying to say goodbye to as many as I could, but my real mission was to meet with the Deputy Minister and let him know of our leanings to helping out with his $58M Old Food Bills dilemma.  The DM was happy to meet me, and shooed out his entourage to talk.  He was happy to hear about the cost sharing proposal worked out over these many weeks.  He motioned for his staff to get my gift from his car, and in a few minutes, he presented me with a traditional handmade over-garment, while I gave him a MoDA coin, with my name spelled wrong of course. Back in the MRAP armored vehicle, the ride to camp was pretty long from the Kabul traffic.  I thought much about all that we were able to accomplish this past year.  I made 80 armored convoy movements, only a dozen of which were in the Green Zone to engage in over 32 major initiatives. Not bad.  We had two major bombing events on Coalition facilities, but thankfully none on RS, and over twenty other significant terror activities around town. My team was almost lost by a crashing helicopter which missed our weekly staff meeting site by 15 feet, but tragically took the lives of five onboard.  I cancelled two movements when things just weren’t quite right, only to hear that bad folks were waiting for us.  Overall, it was a good year for me, leading a wonderful team, advising at the Ministry and working some pretty tough challenges in and outside the castle walls.  Frankly, I’m gonna miss much of this.

The Afghan Medal

Its been eight days since I’ve been to the ministry.  The roads remain black outside the Green Zone as they search for a half-dozen or so bad guys with their even nastier vehicles who are hunting for us.  It’s a Catch-22 as if we don’t get out, then security forces cant find them.  The General had his family prepare a celebratory meal for me three times now, only to have me sadly inform him that that I cannot come to the Ministry.  Ramazan is now upon us and thoughts of one last meal with the General and his staff are gone.  With no other options, the General came to see me.  I gladly escorted his vehicle through security and ushered him and staff up to the USO deck.  He clearly was tired from the fasting, but insisted on seeing me.  We sat and talked a bit while my and his staff gathered.  The general presented me with a set of prayer beads, a certificate of appreciation from the Minister, and a small rug as a token of the Ministry’s appreciation.  While we had exchanged small tokens over the year, I had nothing to give him today, other than a year of my life to the betterment of this country.  We had grown close over the year, and he knew, and greatly appreciated what I meant. He asked me to stand and presented me with the Ministry Medal of Merit that up until now had only been given to one other non-Afghan.  I also got the official certificate which allows me to wear it in public.  I was deeply honored, proceeding then to say a few words of thanks all the while not doing a good job holding back tears.  Ugh, so much for the hard-nosed American. 

 

 

Overboard, the war on Spandex

 

With less than a week to go before redeployment (Army term for going home), I find myself getting very impatient with the ever-growing rules sets in camp.  The new senior-enlisted soldier is bound and determined to run what is essentially a white collar operation as an Army camp.  The FRAGOs (Fragmentation Orders) grow now to one or two per day for all sorts of small items.  One for how to turn in reports, one for attending mandatory lectures, one for not eating in front of the locals during Ramazan.  The latest is the banning of Spandex.  Under the guise of not offending the locals while we are in our gym (but no doubt because some colonel was offended by rear flesh seen at spin class), they have now declared war on the skin clinging garments and the sleeveless tops that typically go with the ensemble.  Worse yet, the camp police have been ordered to enforce the ban.  Folks are pissed as they raid the gym every day like a SWAT team staring down the women and admonishing them for garments, seemingly too tight.  The Finnish Ambassador was caught up in one such rousting, to everyone’s horror.  The majority of the camp athletes are now heading to the US Embassy gyms much to their dismay.  We are spending $4.5B per year on this adventure, with less every day going to buy the goods and services to win the insurgency, but we seem to have plenty of manpower for such inane activities.  Its time to go.