Chris Verrill - Is for Good Men to Do Nothing

This book is a fascinating read. I dont use that word lightly.

Kay Grace

KCHO-FM Saturday Showcase

A balanced reflection upon the events and the aftermath of September 11th and the Iraq conflict.

Mark Sykes

Athena Press

A natural ability to conjure up vivid images with the written word.

Eric Jackson

World Ahead Publishing

Wonderfully entertaining and educational.

Marie Jones

Curled Up With A Good Book

A book I could not put down.

Stuart Katz

Rotary Club of Pacifica

I highly recommend reading Chris Verrills Is For Good Men To Do Nothing. A more intimate view of international travel could not be achieved without actually doing it.

Adrienne Jones

Swamp Review

I enjoyed Is For Good Men to Do Nothing, which is an excellent piece of journalistic writing. It makes the reader think, and in the current climate that can never be a bad thing.

Simon McLeish

Simon McLeish Book Reviews

"A tragicomic variation on The Quiet American and an enjoyable read."

Orrin Judd

Brothers Judd

This book is horrible, poorly written and really kind of boring. Whatever you do, dont read this book.

Osama bin Laden

In A Cave Somewhere

On September 11, 2001, like everyone, the author awoke to a different world. In addition to taking up a collection at his Rotary club meeting that morning, he decided he wanted to do more. What caused this tragedy? What motivated the terrorists? These questions sent him on a journey. Not simply a physical journey to the Middle East and beyond, but a journey of discovery.

The Western world wrung its collective hands in response to a new survivalist fear of traveling following that fateful fall morning. Suicide bombers breathed their last in the West Bank. SARS contaminated the air. War ravaged Iraq. Or war liberated Iraq, depending on your perspective. In as lighthearted a way as was possible under the circumstances, the author sets out to explore these troubled hot spots and figure out why America continues to be sometimes loved and sometimes hated. Sometimes by the very same people. Americans go home, said a university student in India. And take me with you.

Is For Good Men To Do Nothing chronicles the authors trek from the USA to Afghanistan, and 27 countries along the way, on a quest to try and figure out why this tragedy occurred; and maybe even do something about it. Along the way he is interrogated by Israeli security, enjoys the breathtaking views of Liechtenstein, stomachs the poverty of Ethiopia, gets abducted by an angry bus driver in Greece, meets with UN officials in New York and Geneva, gets his pocket picked in Rome, says goodbye to his aging grandfather on Maui, talks politics in Kuwait, visits the last of the white rhinos in Tanzania, crosses from Pakistan into India in a motorcade under full military escort, and finally interviews former Mujahedeen fighters in Afghanistan. All the while trying to make a small difference in the world by creating a vocational education program to aid Afghan refugees. International politics with a human touchand a human mission.

Copyright 2004 Chris Verrill

Library of Congress Number 2004093911

ISBN 9781617505461

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the written prior permission of the author. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and criminal claims for damages.

Running Water Campground Theory, Seeds of Freedom, Is For Good Men To Do Nothing, and the Is For Good Men To Do Nothing symbol, are trademarks of Chris Verrill.

1. Verrill, Chris, 1964

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24909

For Mom,

who gave me the confidence to fly

and the moral compass to set the direction.

A true story

9/11/01

3:21 pm

Pacifica, California, USA

Like a coal miner taking a welcome shower at the end of his shift, my old, mechanically challenged yet spunky 79 Dodge Colt hurled my weary spirit out of the concrete encased hustle of bustle of my home in Oakland, over the San Francisco Bay Bridge, across the calm waters of the bay itself, down Hwy 1, and into the scenic, sleepy little seaside town of Pacifica. Although, if home is where the heart is, calling Oakland home would be inaccurate. Way inaccurate. Oakland was never home. Oakland was where I lived.

The year was 1989 and it was my first home, uh, make that my first residence, after graduating from college at UC Davis. The rust colored Dodge Coltsome of the rust wasnt just colorwas the first car Id bought on my own. The job, as business manager of UC Berkeleys campus newspaper, The Daily Californian, was actually not so bad for a first job out of college.

But Oakland? I guess some people like Oakland. My roomies mostly seemed to. Since it was a six bedroom house, I had a lot of roommates. The window from my attic bedroom, if you looked just right and squinted and crossed yourself, even had a sliver of a view of the Bay Bridge. But Oakland wasnt for me. It was too crowded, too dirty, too much cement, too little greenery. Not very cheery. Not a place that did my soul good. Oh, it had all the amenities of a big city, but my spirit missed the charm of a small town. A town where you know your neighbors and dont have to worry about your house getting broken intowhich happened twice. For the right spots, Oakland is a fine place to visit. But not the place to lay my head on my pillow.