BRIAN ALBRECHT, Plain Dealer Reporter
CLEVELAND, Ohio -- Where did all the yellow ribbons go?
Once, those symbols of support were everywhere as America sent its first troops to Iraq in 2003. Stuck on car bumpers, refrigerators and, yes, even tied around that old oak tree. And flags, too, waving wherever they could be hoisted in a patriotic tsunami of red, white and blue.
This month, Operation Iraqi Freedom became Operation New Dawn as the last U.S. combatants left that war-torn nation in August. Nearly 50,000 troops will stay there for another year to train Iraqis how to fight terrorism and maintain a shaky peace.
So after seven years, more than 4,400 U.S. deaths that include nearly 200 with Ohio ties, some 34,000 wounded, and an estimated $700 billion spent on the war, a conflict that started with ribbons and flags winds down, not with a "mission accomplished" flourish but with a few lingering questions.
What was gained? Learned? Has the experience changed us?
There's little question that the war affected Americans here, as well as on the hot, dusty roads of Iraq. Just talk to veterans, the biggest stakeholders in this odyssey -- veterans like Edward Horvath of Bay Village, Duane Evans of Cleveland and Jenna Justen, formerly of Garfield Heights.
The war became part of our collective culture in movies, TV shows and books. Stretches of highways were memorialized for the fallen, and some families who lost a loved one created their own tributes.
Related stories
- Iraq war written into songs and movies, imprinted on hearts and public spaces
- Cleveland is helping create medical advances coming out of war
- Iraq-Afghanistan War Memorial, an online database of Ohioans killed in Iraq and Afghanistan
Service groups of past wars, such as the USO and Blue Star Mothers, returned to prominence, offering collective support to military personnel and their families. People mobilized in their own ways to back the troops, from baking cookies to staging rallies or revived war protests reminiscent of the 1960s Vietnam era.
A grim shorthand of war surfaced in a new lexicon that included IED (improvised explosive device), PTSD (post traumatic stress disorder) and TBI (traumatic brain injury) -- signatures of this conflict, affecting medical treatment on the battlefield and at home.
So we felt the war, to varying degrees. But come the "New Dawn," what did it all mean?
Recent polls show that although most Americans surveyed believe Iraq is better off than before we invaded, over half did not think the result was worth the cost.
Experts find no
clear conclusions
Experts in history and international affairs similarly say results of the war in Iraq are mixed.
We got rid of dictator Saddam Hussein but failed to assure a stable future for Iraq, according to Andrew Bacevich, a professor of international relations and history at Boston University and author of the recent book "Washington Rules: America's Path to Permanent War."
The retired Army officer who served in Vietnam, whose son was killed in Iraq in 2007, doesn't believe the United States learned anything from either war. "I think Americans generally and American political leaders in Washington are both so eager to put Iraq in our rear-view mirror that we're really missing a great opportunity to learn from this catastrophic experience," he said.
Peter Feaver, professor of political science and director of the Triangle Institute for Security Studies at Duke University, also said the most important mission still remains to be accomplished -- that of "leaving behind a stable Iraq that can govern itself, defend itself and be an ally in the war on terror."
But he believed we did learn about the resiliency of those Iraqis who want a democratic future, despite flaws in the political process. And we found out that "the American people and American political system can support a long and costly war, even when many predicates for that war are challenged or shown to be wanting," Feaver said.
Michael O'Hanlon, a national-security and defense-policy specialist at the Brookings Institution, said that although a durable democracy in Iraq is uncertain, on the plus side, "we learned how to do counterinsurgency right. That was a huge accomplishment and hopefully puts us in good stead in Afghanistan."
Local veterans, too, have varied views of the "big picture" outcomes in Iraq.
-- Bill Meyer, The Plain Dealer
"We did everything asked of us. Now it's time for the Iraqis to stand up," said Patrick McGreal, 46, of University Heights, an Army Reserve major who served as an adviser to Iraqi security forces in 2006-07. McGreal's message to Iraq: "Saddam's gone. You got your sovereignty. Now own it."
To Horvath, 64, a physician twice deployed to Iraq and a colonel in the Army Reserve's 256th Combat Support Hospital in Twinsburg, the war yielded benefits for Iraq.
"The Iraqi people have been freed from oppression and horrible atrocities, and there's still a good chance they can solve their sectarian issues and develop a stable democracy," Horvath said, noting that he was speaking only for himself, not the military.
Vets believe they
did their job
Viewing the war from a boots-on-the-ground perspective, veterans -- without exception -- believe they did their job and learned a lot from a life-changing experience.
"You see war movies and things like that, that kind of glorify combat, but there's nothing glorious about it. It's dirty, it's hot and at times mundane," said Robert Hendershot, 46, of Painesville, who deployed twice to Iraq with the Ohio Army National Guard.
"When people are shooting at you, and you actually see them shooting at you, trying to blow you up, it gives you a whole new appreciation of life."
Something happens to you out there. According to Horvath, the past and future fade into an ever-present now. "Today's the longest day of your life, except for tomorrow, which will be longer," he said.
Some veterans noted that even when they get back home, the war can linger in that kind of conditioned "situational awareness" that could spell the difference between life and death in Iraq. Some still reflexively scan roadsides for IEDs and underpasses for snipers, automatically noting the nearest exits in any enclosed area.
Horvath has seen the result of that war experience in himself and fellow veterans when they return home. There's a greater sense of what really matters and less attention given to minor annoyances and trivialities, he said. You also tend to be more confident, "with a real sense of purpose and mission," and more sensitive, compassionate and forgiving, he added.
Iraq was a life-changing experience, according to Justen, 36, in more ways than marrying a fellow member of her Ohio Army National Guard unit after they had deployed together to Iraq in 2003.
"I really learned that life is precious and to enjoy every minute of it," said Justen, now living in Virginia with her husband, Kelly Green, and two children.
She said the hardest part of adjustment to civilian life was civilians -- the ones who got so upset about things that seemed of little consequence to her.
She was also dismayed at how quickly the flags and yellow ribbons faded away, noting, "I wish we could have kept that enthusiasm and sense of belonging and nationalism. I think we're really going to need it in coming years."
Then, too, she misses the mission. "I miss being part of something much bigger than myself," she said.
She left the service to raise a family, as did other veterans whose priorities shifted as a result of the war.
Evans, 30, ended a seven-year Army career after his son was born during the soldier's second deployment to Iraq. "That really made me re-evaluate a lot of things," he said.
But despite difficulties finding a job since he got home three years ago, he never lost faith in the mission overseas. "Seeing the work being done there, people saying thank you, that really makes you think, 'I am making a difference,' " he said.
Paul Rothschiller, 33, of Cleveland, had planned on an Army career. He served two tours in Iraq -- escorting convoys, doing mobile reconnaissance, stalking insurgents as a sniper. Then he and his wife, Kathleen, had two children.
In Iraq, he had been on "draw fire" missions -- essentially going out and seeing if someone shoots at you. He survived an IED blast to his Humvee. He knew the risks. "I didn't want to get out [of the Army], but I didn't want my kids to grow up without a dad," he said. "So I made the smarter choice, but it took a career away from me, and I'm dealing with that now."
Frustrated in attempts to find work in law enforcement, he drives an armored car and does private investigating on the side to make ends meet. Stuff for the moment, he said. He's still looking for that new career.
And he remembers, sometimes even misses Iraq -- mostly the good stuff, like helping Iraqi schoolchildren. The bad stuff, losing a buddy, is also locked and loaded in his memory, always ready to be triggered. He said he will never forget it. Nor does he want to.
Moving from hate
to empathy
For Horvath, Iraq will always be one particular insurgent attack. A bad one. Casualties from both sides filled Horvath's hospital unit. Among them was an enemy prisoner, his head covered in a hood so he couldn't identify Iraqis helping the Americans. The prisoner was talking to an Arab-American interpreter who told Horvath, "He said he wishes me no ill, but he wants to kill you."
Weary of the carnage, Horvath said that for a moment he just wanted to rip the enemy's hood off and say "I hate you" straight into his face.
The insurgent was treated and taken away but returned three days later, escorted by two American MPs, who said they had rescued him from being beaten and tortured by Iraqi police.
The enemy refused to be treated until Horvath could assure him that he would stay in American custody. Horvath did, then pulled off the insurgent's hood, thinking, "I'm going to see Osama bin Laden Jr. I'm going to see an Arab Hitler. I get to hate now."
Instead, he found himself staring at the battered face of a teenager, "a little boy. He looked at me through his bruises with his little-boy face and smiled, and I couldn't hate anymore. He was someone's child," Horvath recalled.
As he touched his patient's face -- a deliberate gesture, to reverse the usual association that to touch is death, in war -- the boy started crying and rubbed Horvath's hand against his tears.
Later, Horvath was confronted by an Iraqi interpreter, his face contorted with rage, who asked why the insurgent hadn't been killed. When Horvath explained that the insurgent was a prisoner and anyone harming him could face prosecution, the interpreter angrily replied, "That's what's wrong with you Americans."
To Horvath, "if anything said Iraq -- in all its complexities and absurdities -- that would be it."