Right before Labor Day I traveled with my good friend Senator Gary Peters of Michigan on a whirlwind 5 day tour of the United Arab Emirates (UAE), Qatar, Iraq, and the Syrian refugee camps of Jordan. This trip was especially timely, as we focused our time on the fight against ISIL, the Syrian crisis, and the Iran nuclear deal.

I’ve developed a habit over the years of writing a journal of my trip, both as a means of connecting those at home to the unvarnished reality of congressional travel and organizing my thoughts upon my return. Below is my account of our trip.

Tuesday/Wednesday — Washington to Bridgeport to Abu Dhabi

I started Wednesday morning with a 7:30am flight from Washington to White Plains, and immediately got in a car to make a few stops in Connecticut before heading out to the Middle East. Since my flight didn’t take off until 3pm from New York, I decided to first visit a domestic violence program in Bridgeport and meet with local officials in Darien about a development project around the Noroton Heights train station.

Like on every single one of these trips, I had forgotten to pack something.

This time, it wasn’t a small item. Black dress shoes. Rats. I ask my staffer if we can carve out time to stop by the Trumbull Mall, and luckily we have 15 extra minutes before the Bridgeport stop, and even luckier for me, there’s a pair of size 12s on the sale rack with my name on them.

At noon, I hop back in the car and we drive down to JFK Airport and with fifteen minutes to spare, I jump onto a 13 hour overnight direct flight to Abu Dhabi.

We touch down in the early afternoon, and rush to the Embassy. Senator Peters isn’t getting in from Detroit until that night, so I’m on my own for the afternoon meetings. I sit with our Ambassador, Barbara Leaf, for a quick half hour before departing for meetings with the Minister of State, Anwar Gargash, and the Minister of Defense, Mohammed Al Bawari.

UAE, arguably our most militarily capable partner in the Gulf region, is fairly myopic in their regional threat assessment. It’s all about Iran and extremism (running the gamut from the Muslim Brotherhood to ISIL) — in that order. In fact, the entire powerpoint presentation at the Ministry of Defense is entitled “The growing threat from Iran.”

The UAE is so worried about Iran’s growing influence in the region that they have sent their own military into Yemen to fight the Iranian-backed Houthis. And they’ve had success — defeating the Houthis in the port city of Aden. But now they have a problem, not unfamiliar to us Americans — they now occupy Aden and have to figure out what to do next with the civil war simmering under the cover of their military protection. I ask questions like “what is your exit plan?” and “are you going to be asking for more weapons from the U.S. if you can’t find a way to get out of there?” Unfortunately, they seem to have given about as much thought to the endgame as we did before going into Iraq. Not encouraging.

After our last meeting, we head to dinner with a political advisor from the Embassy to further discuss U.S. interests in UAE. We roll back into our hotel at 11 and crash after a hyper-long day.

Thursday — Qatar

7am baggage call for our flight to Qatar. I look at our schedule and note that we are immediately going to meetings with the Prime Minister, Foreign Minister, and Finance Minister (separately), with no time to get to the Embassy first. I tell my staffer to call ahead and have our Ambassador, Dana Shell Smith, meet us at the airport so she can give us a quick brief before our meetings.

Ambassador Smith is standing in the terminal upon our arrival, and she quickly ushers us into a airport holding room for a quick chat. She tells us that the Emir has suddenly left town, so our meeting with him has been cancelled, but that the CEO of Qatar Air has asked if we will have lunch with him during that hour instead. We agree, wondering what the heck the CEO of their national airline wants with us.

From the outside, Qatar and UAE likely look like twins — small, oil rich Sunni monarchies that are largely friendly to the U.S. But their philosophies on the region are very different — Qatar does not fear Islamism as does the UAE. In fact, their tolerance for Islamic parties is too permissive for many in the U.S. and neighboring states — Qatar’s multidimensional approach is epitomized by the fact they host both the leader of Hamas and a large U.S. airbase on their soil.

But this strategy of political inclusiveness gives Qatar’s foreign minister an interesting perspective on regional events. He tells us, during a meeting in an opulent room at the Sheraton Hotel, that the Iran nuclear deal must go forward or we will have no chance to bring Iran to the table to solve the crises in Syria and Iraq.

He tells us that right at this moment, he has all the Sunni groups from Iraq meeting in the hotel, and that without Iran at the table, there can be no reconciliation between Sunnis and Shia in Iraq. Go get the deal done, he pleads with us.

I’m impressed that all these groups are together talking about a way forward in Iraq, and as we head to lunch, ask our Ambassador how the Foreign Minister from a tiny country like Qatar could command all the Iraqi Sunni groups to assemble in Doha. “Money,” she says.

Lunch with Akbar al Baker, the charismatic CEO of Qatar Air (at one of the many restaurants in Doha that he owns), is a sight to behold. The reason for the meeting? The American airlines are threatening to file action against the Gulf state airlines for illegal subsidies, and he wants us to know he’s done nothing wrong. “I’m just the same as them!” he protests. “They have investors and I have investors. It’s just that my investor is the State of Qatar.”

A little probing elicits the important distinction between U.S. airline equity and Qatar Air equity. His investor doesn’t really need his money back for a while, and doesn’t really need a return on the investment, and…also lets him run the Doha airport. Huh. “That certainly sounds like unfair competition to me,” I tell him. Nonsense, he protests. He presses and presses us to meet him at the airport the next day before our flight and he will prove it to us. We agree.

Doha at night

Friday — Qatar to Baghdad

Friday morning we head out to Al Udeid Air Base, headquarters for the U.S. air campaign against ISIL. Much of our two-hour stop is classified, but suffice it to say the scope of our air strike campaign is stunning to see. It’s the middle of the day, and as we watch a giant screen tracking all the coalition (read: U.S.) planes above the skies of Iraq and Syria, there almost isn’t a piece of the map that isn’t covered by a symbol representing a U.S. aircraft.

The general in command tells us that we’ve killed around 18,000 ISIL fighters. Then we ask how many have joined during time. “Unfortunately, around the same number,” he replies. That’s hard to hear, and it can’t help but force me to wonder whether, like in the Iraq War, we are killing just as many as are created because our presence in theater is a limitless recruitment tool for the enemy.

But the ISIL campaign isn’t the Iraq War. ISIL is a terrorist army like we have never seen — they cannot be ignored. And even if our bombing campaign does help them develop new recruits, they were growing in strength before we reentered Iraq, and the alternative — simply letting them grow their territory without contest — is unacceptable.

But the really discouraging meeting occurs at the headquarters for our new effort to train and equip the Syrian “moderate, vetted opposition.” I’ve been an opponent of this program from the start, and the briefing we get is almost painful to hear. Fifty-four fighters were trained in the initial program, we are told. But after the training ended, we sent them back home for a short period of leave before sending them back into Syria to fight. The problem? Many of them didn’t come back — they took the cash and equipment and stayed home, sometimes to defend their villages against attacks from ISIL or Assad.

“How many?” asked Senator Peters.

“Most of them,” says our military briefer.

“How many actually came back to fight?” presses Peters. The briefer finally divulges the number (which I’m told is classified). The look on Sen. Peters’ face is hard to describe.

After our briefings at Al Udeid, we speed to the airport where Akbar is waiting to give us a tour. His airport is a sight to behold — the business class lounge has full restaurant service, a lap pool, a sauna, and…wait for it…two squash courts. His prolific knowledge of the airport’s operations and attention to every detail of its design and construction were impressive. However, Peters and I are fairly sure the grandeur of the airport couldn’t be sustained without a hefty subsidy from the government of Qatar. Two squash courts! We thank Akbar for the entertaining tour and board a very comfortable commercial flight to Kuwait.

In Kuwait, we transfer to a U.S. Air Force C-130. It’s a twin-propeller cargo plane, so we strap into jump seats in the bay and get ready for a bumpy ride. This is how I first got into Iraq in 2007 on my first trip, so I’m used to it.

By the time we arrive in Baghdad, we only have time for a few meetings. Our able Ambassador, Stuart Jones, gives us a briefing at his residence. He describes a very fragile environment where political reconciliation between Shia and Sunni has stalled amidst growing street protests — every Friday night — over the lack of reliable electricity in Baghdad. Jones describes a growing level of Iranian influence in Iraq, and though he praises the new Prime Minister, Haider Al Abadi, for beginning the process of political reform, he clearly believes the government isn’t moving fast enough.

We have dinner with representatives of minority groups, including the Bishop of Baghdad for the Chaldean Christians, and hear the harrowing stories of the ISIL massacres of Christians throughout Iraq. They beg us to stay in Iraq to help fight ISIL so that more won’t be murdered. After dinner, the Deputy Chief of Mission takes us out for a drink to the one bar on the embassy compound, Baghdaddy’s.

We sit at one of the picnic tables casually arranged on the concrete patio, and we have a clear view of the glittering neon sign of the Babylon Hotel. The DCM mentions that the hotel, which is frequented by NGO’s and journalists as well as diplomats and government officials, was recently the site of a coordinated car bomb attack. It’s a sobering thought, and we can understand why the mood here — even on a Friday night — is not entirely light-hearted.

Our ride into Baghdad by helicopter

Saturday — Baghdad to Amann

Saturday is a busy day in Baghdad. We start with breakfast at 8:30 with the Ambassador. Peters notes that this is our latest start time so far of the trip.

“I’m going to start warning our colleagues about going on trips with Murphy,” he says. “You’re wearing me out.”

“You can blame McCain,” I tell him. “I learned how to schedule these things from travelling with him.”

We first get a briefing from our military command in Baghdad. It’s clear our air campaign has made progress against ISIL, but the Iraqi army has been hesitant about moving fast against ISIL positions like Ramadi and Mosul. And our military is worried that even if the Iraqis take a Sunni city back from ISIL, there won’t be a non-Shia dominated Iraqi force to hold the city. It’s a conundrum which reinforces my belief that the solution inside Iraq isn’t really military, it’s political.

After a meeting with the oil minister, we are hosted for lunch by the young Sunni Speaker of Parliament. He is just back from Qatar, where he attended the Sunni leadership meeting, and he has now found himself under attack from the Shia Prime Minister of Iraq, Haider Al Abadi. Abadi is angry that there were some non-mainstream Sunni groups present in Qatar that support violence. The Speaker fumes to us that he has told Abadi of his trip and that Abadi is now attacking him in bad faith. We can feel the tension that grips this city.

After a few more meetings we head off to our last meeting of the day, with Prime Minister Abadi himself. I ask him directly how his efforts are going to build a Sunni national guard force that could hold Sunni cities once they are liberated from ISIL. “Not well,” he says, “Now that the Speaker has come back from Qatar.”

I am flabbergasted. He seems to be saying that he is going to hold off integrating the Iraqi military because of a political slight from the leader of the Sunnis in Parliament. The face of the Ambassador, who is with us in the meeting, turns pale.

I press him hard. “Your Excellency, this issue of the Speaker’s visit to Doha seems to be totally unrelated to the Sunni national guard. I have to tell you that your friends in Congress aren’t going to respond well to the continued postponement of the Sunni integration of the military. Patience in Washington won’t last forever.”

He seems to relent, and he starts to outline the type of Sunni national guard legislation he could support. We leave feeling like we helped walk him back a bit.

We hop back on the C-130, which drops us off in Amann, Jordan on its way back to Kuwait at around 9pm. We head to dinner with the head of the Middle East Scientific Institute for Security who arranged to gather some young Jordanian leaders for us to meet.

“Another late night,” jibes Peters. And he’s right, we get back to our hotel aroundmidnight. Qatar to Iraq to Jordan in one day.

Saturday — Zaatari refugee camp

Saturday morning at 7am we speed off in vans to the biggest Syrian refugee camp in Jordan, Zaatari. We arrive around 8:30am and get a quick briefing from the joint UN/Jordanian leadership team at the camp. They tell us that situation is dire. With the civil war persisting in Syria, many families have been at the camp for two or three years. This is nowhere anyone would want to live, especially given Jordan’s prohibition on any of the refugees working and earning a paycheck. Outside the camp, hundreds of thousands of other refugees are living in the streets, and life is about to get much harder for them too since the World Food Program has run out of money and will no longer be able to supply the vast majority of refugees who live outside the camp with food.

This explains why so many refugees are giving up on the camps and fleeing for Europe. They see no end to the civil war, and little real humanitarian assistance on its way to make life in the camp better. We head out to see the camp for ourselves.

It is hard to describe with words what we saw. Make no mistake — the UN team is doing its best. They’ve replaced the tents with small tin box-like structures. There is decent medical coverage. There is little evidence of abnormal violence.

But half of the 80,000 who live in the camp are kids. And this is no place for a child to grow up. They get electricity for maybe 6 hours a day. Sewage and feces run through little trenches dug into the sand — we see 6 year old boys out in the heat digging and re-digging the pathways. Some girls and boys go to school, but most are forced by their parents to work for meager wages selling bread or doing hard labor. Girls have it the worst — many of them are sold into marriage in the mid-teens as a means of income for their family. Desperation and want emanate from every corner of the camp.

Anyone who refused to take in these refugees should come to Zaatari and tell these little boys and girls, living in daily squalor, that we just can’t manage to help. Tell them to their face that it’s too hard. What kind of country are we if we let these families, these little beautiful children, waste away while their country falls into ruin? How do we square our values with our actions if we let the World Food Program run out of money and then refuse to take these families into America for shelter?

We visit one of the schools. Girls, who go to school for a few hours in the morning so the boys can go for a few hours in the afternoon, are packed three kids to a desk. There must be a hundred in the fourth grade classroom they visit. Peters asks them what they want to be when they grow up, and just like any classroom in the U.S., their hands spring up. “A doctor,” one yells. “A teacher,” say most.

Walking out of the classroom, the UNICEF head grimly tell us, “They want to be teachers and lawyers and doctors. That’s just because they haven’t realized what’s really in store for them. In a few years, they’ll be sold into marriage or forced to work on the streets for money. And that’s if they’re lucky enough to still be alive.

Zaatari refugee camp

We get back into the vans to head to the airport, and Peters and I climb into the backseat as a quiet pall falls over our group. I know we are thinking the same thing. We cannot allow this reality to persist, if we have the means to change it.

We get to the airport just in time to catch our 12-hour flight back to New York. I am so restless I can’t sleep on the plane. I read about 200 pages of the latest Robert Caro LBJ tome, and arrive in New York around 6pm. I catch a car service back to Cheshire, and look out the back window of our house. There is a giant white tent shimmering in the moonlight, with chairs and tables underneath.

And I remember, we are hosting a Labor Day picnic for 200 people tomorrow in our backyard after marching in the annual Newtown Labor Day parade.

Welcome home.