Coalition of the Sort-of Willing Canada Iraq Police

Two of the cadets who walk into Marsh’s class are holding hands—an Arab cultural habit that puts them at risk, says Ottawa police sergeant Atallah Sadaka, who teaches general policing. “Iraqi officers always seem to die in groups, because they congregate in groups,” says Sadaka. “Back home we have what is called the safety space. You are at a distance from people so you can react. One thing we know about this country is that they are a close people.”

There are currently two jobs widely available in Iraq: police officer and insurgent. Like the rebels, the cadets reflect a broad range of Iraqi society: taxi drivers, carpenters, electricians, grade-school teachers, businessmen, and ex-military. Regardless of their backgrounds, they all seem to have a schoolboy’s regard for the lessons, whispering among themselves as Marsh delivers a lecture on target awareness. And when one of the instructors springs a pop quiz about the four cardinal rules of firearm safety, most consult cheat notes hidden under their desks. They are punished for this and other indiscretions by being ordered to do push-ups in front of the class. “Push-ups get the blood going and the brain working,” explains one of the instructors as a student sprawls on the floor. “This is not done to humiliate or embarrass you.”

While cadets are taught how to break down a door, disarm a suspect, and kick the living hell out of an attacker, they also learn the finer points of note-taking, how to properly referee traffic accidents, and how to deal with job-related stress. It is this part of the training, emphasizing brain over brawn, that officer Brian Readman from Edmonton refers to as “planting seeds” that will help Iraq build a professional police force. “Do we train them strictly as a paramilitary force or do we give them some of the philosophy and background as to what they should be looking for in future?” Readman asks. “Even if the 32,000 who end up being trained here can’t make a huge change in the next couple of years, their influence will come in the next generation of police officers.”

But Readman, along with every other instructor I interviewed, agrees on one point: eight weeks is not enough time to train a cadet. An rcmp officer typically receives six months of training, after which he or she is paired with a more senior officer for another six months. By comparison, an Iraqi cadet spends two months at the centre in Jordan and is then sent straight back into a war zone. And it doesn’t matter how badly these officers-in-training perform; short of chronic behaviour problems, they will be tested and retested until they all finally pass.

There is a constant pressure to get as many of these cadets onto Iraqi streets as quickly as possible, says rcmp superintendent Jean St-Cyr, an affable officer from Sherbrooke, Quebec, who is second- in-command on the base. “Iraq is still very much at war, and these police officers are put in a situation I feel is probably a military operation that’s ongoing, rather than a police matter.” He explains that the course is based on the “Kosovo model” used to train the nascent police force in the breakaway Serbian province. But Kosovo is relatively peaceful, and new police officers there are given on-site guidance after graduating, an impossibility in war-torn Iraq. “Are the cadets fully ready to face the situation in Iraq? I don’t think so,” says St-Cyr. “I don’t know if I would apply for a job as a police officer in Iraq.”

On day two of firearms training, morale in Marsh’s class suddenly perks up. The recruits had not been paid for October, but now a van arrives, carrying a large sack full of American dollars. The students abandon their studies as a thick-fingered Texan instructor doles out $140 each. One cadet, an eighteen-year-old economics student from Baghdad, looks pained at having to fold his hundred-dollar bill and two crisp twenties. After class, a few cadets, giddy and proud, ask to be photographed with their greenbacks.

The Iraqis’ love for U.S. cash, though, doesn’t translate into love of Americans. One of the English phrases cadets know well is “usa okay, Bush bad.” American range supervisor Grixbie Stephens says, “some students have actually threatened me.” All instructors are now required to carry loaded pistols on the firing range, after one of the students pulled a gun on his American instructor.

Thaér, a young Iraqi whose only outward sign of rebellion is the cadet cap he wears backwards, is openly hostile. “I hate American people. They invade my country,” he says. “If Canada was invaded by the U.S. with troops, what would you feel? ” I say I’d probably be resentful, but add that he is being trained on an American-funded base, largely by Americans, and is paid in American money. Thaér pauses, as though he hadn’t considered this before. “I hate every man that points a gun at me,” he finally responds in a torrent of guttural Arabic. “All Iraqi people refuse the invasion. I’m obliged to see American people, to deal with them. But the invasion is a big mistake.”

Serhan, another cadet, is a Sunni Muslim with greying hair and a sandpaper voice. Whenever he speaks of his family, which is often, his wallet comes out and pictures of his seven children tumble forth. “Right now, we are an occupied country,” Serhan says when asked about the Americans. “We needed them to topple Saddam’s regime. Now, we need them to leave as soon as we have stability and security.”

Serhan says insurgents have put a $5,000 price on his head. “I’ve had threats against me. I received letters from them telling me to leave the police. They say they will give me three chances to quit, and then they kill me,” he says. “But as Muslims, we believe our fate is written in the stars. I am not afraid of the dangers.” Try wishing him good luck, and you’ll be answered with a muttered “Inshallah,” which means, “God willing.”