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DEL.ICIO.USBeauty is found in things that seem ugly
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Camp Victory, Iraq — In this country, one expects certain sounds: thundering explosions, whirling Black Hawks, the rat-a-tat of machine gun fire.
• See photos • Audio: Hear guitarist play
But two other sounds drift from a small, out-of-the-way office. First, there’s the curious, constant grinding noise coming from under the desk of a public affairs officer in the headquarters of an Atlanta-based medical command. Then, there’s the mellifluous melody of a Burmese pop song.
One is an attempt to cleanse ugliness —- the aim of every humanitarian act in Iraq. The other, a representation of the beautiful —- an increasing rarity amid the bloodshed.
Maj. Robert Hart, a schoolteacher from Jacksonville, slides an orange and blue Florida Gators box from underneath his desk. From it, he extracts another box surrounded by Styrofoam peanuts. And inside that? A strange-looking contraption that cleans rocks.
Hart collects the rocks from the vast gravel fields of Camp Victory. The military lays down the stony stuff to reduce dust and mud. The rocks look dull and gray and, truth be told, rather ugly, surrounding the living trailers, dining halls and port-a-johns.
But after 30 days in Hart’s rock tumbler, they emerge as glistening jewels.
In Iraq, people learn to find beauty in things that seem ugly.
“Some of them are absolutely breathtaking,” Hart says, showing off a rust-colored rock with streaks of gold.
He thinks the rocks may have come from the river beds of the Tigris and Euphrates. He hopes to take some of his polished gems home and sell them to raise money for military charities.
Hart and the Fort Gillem-based 3rd Medical Command staff —- many of whom are Atlantans —- are in charge of all military combat hospitals in Iraq. Though the soldiers at the unit’s headquarters have grown used to the drone of the rock machine, it’s not exactly music to their ears. That’s where the second sound comes in.
Hart’s assistant, Sgt. Thawng Lian, hangs his guitar on the wall of the same office. He strums it now and then and sings songs from his homeland, Burma.
Lian immigrated to Atlanta a decade ago and earned a business degree from Georgia Perimeter College. He works as an event tech supervisor at the Renaissance Hotel and joined the Army Reserve in 2001 as a way to give back to the United States.
Here, he slices through the stress of war with music.
“If we love each other, then nobody will have to go to war,” he sings in his native Burmese.
In Iraq, everyone has a way of coping.
For these Atlanta soldiers, two opposing sounds provide solace.
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