The Battle to Rebuild

On the anniversary of the fight in Fallujah, one Marine launches a different offensive.

FALLUJAH,

Right down to the roadside bomb threat.

I am with the 6th Civil Affairs Group from the 2nd Marine Division, and we have stopped at a gas station at the city's entrance.  The station is one of the group's rebuilding projects, and Capt. Scott Walton, a reservist originally from Dallas, Texas, wants to see its progress. He's got $25,000 "invested" in getting the station back in working order, mostly to reconstruct the ancient pumps.

But while he's talking with the station owner, we hear Iraqi police sirens. The area is cordoned off as he discusses the situation with the Iraqi police commander.

Apparently, someone has dumped what looks like a body wrapped in a tarp about 100 meters north of the station. The commander thinks it could be booby trapped with some kind of explosive.

"You need to call the JCC [Joint Command Center]," he tells the Iraqi police commander, "and request that they sent out an EOD [Explosive Ordinance Disposal] unit to check it out."

Walton doesn't want to wait around to see the outcome. He's got things to do today, and blowing things up is not one of them. He's a Marine, but one tasked with helping to rebuild the city after its destruction last year. We load back into the Humvees and head into Fallujah.

The threat of a roadside bomb seems to reinforce the memories I have of the city, and so do the many shattered facades of buildings neither demolished nor rebuilt an entire year later.

Yet while many signs of the battle's ferocity remain, I also notice something else: the streets are filled with people.

Shops are open, some operating out of buildings with just three walls or partial roofs. Cars and trucks travel the road alongside children coming from school. There is here a sense of normalcy as well.

The Marines cannot provide precise figures on how many people returned to their homes in Fallujah after last year's battle, but some estimates have it as high as two-thirds of the population.

 The city also has a very obvious presence of both Iraqi army personnel -- manning numerous checkpoints throughout the city -- and Marines patrolling on foot. In one neighborhood we see a member of a Marine squad in front of a house, patting down a young man in his early 20s.

  After the city was retaken from insurgents last year, the Iraqi government and the U.S. military established an identity card system that requires anyone who lives or works in Fallujah to carry the new ID card at all times.

 "I think most Fallujans saw what happened last year [the battle to retake the city] as a necessary evil," Walton tells me. "The people weren't living their lives the way they wanted to. They're not necessarily living the way they want to now either, but the insurgents have been pushed out and we're identifying and rebuilding key infrastructure. But it's a process that takes time."

The 33-year-old Walton enlisted in the Marines when he was just 17. After two years he wanted to go to officer's school, but the Marines were downsizing at the time, so instead he joined the Army. As an Army civil affairs officer, he helped in the reconstruction of Sarajevo after the Bosnian war and also deployed to Iraq the first time in 2003.

"I was on the treadmill at the gym at home when the fighting in Fallujah began last year, and even though I had already done a year there, I felt like I needed to do more," Walton says.

 So, much to the dismay of his wife and his employer, the software company Oracle, Walton re-enlisted in the reserves last year -- this time with the Marines.

He returned to Iraq two months ago -- and has wasted no time in doing the work he believes must be done. He says he has sponsored six projects in Fallujah so far, totaling about $100,000.

Much of the rebuilding is being paid for with funds provided by the Commander's Emergency Relief Program (CERP). This is primarily money captured during the war and is allocated by regional U.S. military commanders, primarily for reconstruction.

 We stop at another of Walton's projects -- the rebuilding of the Fallujah mayor's office, which was heavily damaged during the fighting. Three Egyptian workers are completing some work on the windows but say the building will be ready by the end of the month.

Like a proud father, he snaps some photos with a small digital camera of the refurbished rooms and the freshly painted exterior.

He says the Marine Corps understands how important the civil affairs component is to eventually ending the conflict in Iraq, and when he submits a project for funding, they rarely say no.

"I get just about everything I ask for," Walton says. "But, yes, I'd like to have a whole battalion of civil affairs Marines out there backing me up. I wish there were more of us so we could be the main face of the Marine Corps that people see here."

Walton says he wants to check out a college of business administration and a school of law, which he thinks have been abandoned. But when we arrive we find both staff and students still using the building.

 The dean of the college, Dr. Sami Hamid, says it had 400 students before last November's battle, but now only about 200 attend. He says one of the biggest problems is an Iraqi army checkpoint on the road leading into the school.

"Many of the students are afraid to pass," he says. "Also sometimes the soldiers will make remarks to the female students, which makes them uncomfortable."

Walton tells Hamid he'll look into it, but also asks him what else he needs to run the school more efficiently.

Hamid says the school's electricity is very sporadic and its generator was stolen after the battle. He also says the school relies on well water, which is so high in mineral content that it is undrinkable.

Walton talks about treating the water, but Hamid and the other staff insist they need fresh water. Filling a glass from a water hose outside, they tell Walton to taste it. He tips the glass back, tastes the water and spits it out.

"Yeah, I see what you're saying," Walton agrees.

 They also show the administration building for the law school -- which is little more than a pile of rubble and a collapsed roof. They said it happened during a coalition air strike. 

Walton nods his head. "When we can show direct battle damage, it's much easier for me to get funding." 

As Capt. Walton tours the school, other Marines from the 6th Civil Affairs Group joke around with Iraqi kids -- some not much younger than the Marines themselves -- outside.

One Marine, at the urging of the kids, reads a poem about a cat from an English textbook. Another Marine plays a prank that always seems understood, no matter the language. He points his finger at an Iraqi boy's chest, and when the boy looks down, he taps the boy's nose. The crowd erupts in laughter. It's a simple moment but a stark contrast from the mood in Fallujah a year ago.

Meanwhile back at the school, Hamid is saying he's gotten a lot of promises of support from government leaders, tribal leaders and coalition forces, but so far little has materialized. He says he is more optimistic with Walton, the first Marine representative even to come and see his school.

 "Inshallah [God willing]," he says, about the possibility of Walton coming through with a new generator and compensation for the building damage.

"I could get the funding in two weeks, two months -- or never. It's all about how immediate and necessary the needs are," Walton tells me.

He says it feels good to be able to make this kind of difference, but he has his concerns.

"We want to build Iraq's capacity to take care of its own problems," Walton says. "It's like the mother who holds the bottle for the baby. How long are we going to hold onto the bottle?"

Watching him work his way through town, he seems to be energized by the process, rather than burdened by it. That optimism may be the fresh outlook of a Marine in-country for only two months so far, or from one who truly believes he can help in Fallujah's rebuilding.

Regardless, he says he has had to pay a personal price for his decision to come back to Iraq. He has three children and recently got a letter from his eldest, a 13-year-old daughter, who told him he "needed to concentrate more on being a father than going off to all these wars."

"I told her I understood, but I couldn't promise anything. I have a job I have to do" -- a job where he is reminded daily what is at stake.

"Anyone that's been over here at least once," Walton says, "realizes that the way out is not by shooting a rifle. You have to build your way out. We have to help build institutions. We have to help build communities. It's the only way."

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