The ED's 1992 visit to Iraq: Rob Carr

Rob in Dohuk, Iraq in 1992

It was late 1992 a few months after I first joined UNICEF in Northern Iraq.  We learned the Executive Director, Mr. Grant, was coming for a visit.  My province was chosen for logistical reasons, and I was tasked with planning every hour of his one-day visit.

We had no phones, no internet—just 12 people sharing one laptop and a HF radio. That laptop was connected to the radio, which could send short messages (called SITOR—simplex teletype over radio)  to another laptop hooked to another radio. I spent endless hours driving different routes and typing out proposed plans via SITOR. Feedback came only after my texts to our comms officer were reviewed and were faxed to New York and a reply came back. It was painstaking.  

SITOR setup

 I don’t recall how many times we manually retyped the itinerary and sent it off into the radio airwaves where it would arrive and be printed on a dot matrix printer.  The printer would WHIR as the message arrived. We would chat over the crackling HF radio with the comms officer and she would tell us what to change – 30 more minutes there, make sure to meet children, have a back up plan for each stop - and leave plenty of time to get back to Baghdad. 

Finally, Mr. Grant arrived—flanked by our Representative and the Regional Director and Ops officer. I took the group to a remote community via a treacherous mountain road. I asked Mr Grant to ride in our office car—a battered HiLux pickup with bald tires—so we could talk on the way.  A visit from Mr. Grant felt like having your most amazing uncle come to see you. He asked questions, listened intently, his sharp blue eyes following every word.  I have never felt so important as the time when he sat next to me and really cared about what I said.  

We skidded on icy patches; he grabbed my shoulder as the car swerved, his grip fierce. When we reached the tiny village, he rubbed his palms together, he was READY TO SEE SOME KIDS. But there were no kids. His face fell. The other UNICEF leaders scowled at me—WHY NO KIDS? Mr. Grant LOVES kids.

He asked the village leader: “Where are the children?” 

The elderly man explained passionately: after the Gulf War, this entire village had fled Saddam Hussein’s forces. Their homes had been razed repeatedly to force Kurds into cities where their movements could be controlled. Families had just returned again, but with no water and no school, children stayed in a nearby city while parents rebuilt from the rubble. Kurds were used to starting over and were undaunted.  That village had been re-built 4 times according to the elders.

Mr. Grant’s heart sank. He promised the elders UNICEF would help bring their children home. (my heart sank too – how would we do this?)

On the drive back, he asked what I needed to make that happen. I rattled off a verbal plan—WASH, schools, supplies. He took notes in a tiny notebook kept in his breast pocket, his arm was around me as we stepped out of the pickup. He squeezed my shoulder firmly as we made our way to join the others and whispered “We will get what you need – you just be ready!” 

At our office he sat with my team and listened intently – they each shared what was needed. Even our driver apologized for the icy skid—explaining we had bald tires and no SUVs like the Rep’s car. We’d asked for snow tires many times, with no response. I handed Mr. Grant and the others copies of unanswered faxes requesting basic supplies.

The Rep and RD tried to rush him—there was a reception with Ambassadors in Baghdad. But Mr. Grant smelled food in the kitchen: spiced rice pilau, lamb, stuffed grape leaves. When I told him my team had cooked lunch for him, he told the Rep to radio Baghdad: start the reception later. He sat down and ate with us. He listened to every challenge we had, darting stern looks at the Rep, the RD and operations officer as we spoke.  When he was full of rice, dessert, and tea, he stood for a group photo and left.

We worried we’d be fired for showing him no kids and complaining about lack of support. All we could talk about was that visit – we rehashed every step and every promise that was made.  Surely we were doomed.   

But three days later, a convoy of trucks arrived—with new tires, a 4WD vehicle, more radios, and WASH supplies. In addition to these much needed supplies and equipment we learned Mr. Grant had gone back to New York and raised almost $30 million in pledgers for winterization to help Kurdish children return home. Our work for the next months was to implement that response. We asked for help—and he delivered.

Funds poured in. Our first major convoy of winter supplies came into Iraq via Turkey—a huge operation to support families in makeshift shelters before the bitter winter hit. The Norwegian (NRC secondee) escort radioed us -  thrilled they’d made it to Erbil in one piece. Then, over the radio, we heard deep explosions in the background. One by one, each truck blew up—bombs had planted under the trucks along the route, timed to detonate on arrival. Somehow no one was hurt, but hundreds of tons of supplies were lost. Contracting transport after that was nearly impossible. Our euphoria had turned to fear: what would blow up next? Who wanted to stop us from helping these people? How did they know so much about us?  We would face more bombs in the coming months – but we were not deterred.  No one from UNDSS was hovering over us – we had to use our instincts to navigate safely. 

It was a wonderful and chaotic time to join UNICEF.  

They don’t make them like Mr Grant anymore – yes he was flawed at times and he always asked a lot of us – but he never waivered in his support.   His promises to those elders and to my staff were genuine. He valued his time with me and my team over the Ambassadors waiting in Baghdad.  We were not fired for asking for basic support to do our work.

Rob and Sundus: this year and 1992 in Iraq