Posts
Its
currently 0313 and like most nights the last few months, I’m still
awake. My sleep time is starting to become much like it was while I was
on Active Duty: an hour on and an hour off. I’m counting down the days
till the semester starts again so I can hopefully have something
different to occupy my mind than the dreadful turn this country has
taken. I don’t want to say that all of my sleep issues are because of
politics or thoughts on war, but with war drums beating again, it’s
bringing back a lot of memories previously forgotten; or so I thought.
Tonight I was laying here in bed still steaming from the signing of NDAA, which I will protest endlessly, and then leading up to how angry I am that U.S. troops are being deployed all around the world in what is nothing more than politicians using other peoples lives to be cowboys without having to see what the dirty-work is all about. Then I started thinking about what I was doing when I invaded Iraq; some self reflection if you will. I look at some of the photos from deployment and I see different person than what I now see. Sitting on the border at Abdali Farms, stinking like goat shit and pissed off as ever living hell, and months of playing games during the military buildup made it so there was really only one way to sum up how I felt at that time: IT. WAS. ON.
It was on like donkey kong! I hated being there, I hated everything to do with the middle east, I hated the culture, I hated pita bread, I hated the stupid tassels they lined their stupid trucks with, I missed home, Haji this, Haji that. All the things you could ever imagine a Marine saying about his enemy, I probably said it and without ever having stepped foot in their country yet. War was what every Marine trained for and so very few ever do. It was history. However, everything I just said in these last several sentences I fully regret and am deeply apologetic for having ever had those feelings (besides the history part). I'm quite embarrassed and ashamed when I think about how easily I became wrapped up in dehumanizing a whole culture of people, especially when there were some really nice people there. The Iraqi’s, at least when I was there, had a culture that we didn't really have any business interrupting, especially based upon "intelligence" and "National Security". To me, it was a culture that I will probably never be able to understand due to my own inability to really try or even care. Sometimes I tell myself I was young or some other excuse that my therapist tells me, but I never seem to let myself off the hook that easily. None of us do. The one positive I know to come out of it all is my values are grounded. I lost my beliefs, who I was, and my values during that time in my life; the values that my parents worked hard to instill. Sadly, it’s very easy to do given the circumstance. The war mentality is a group mentality. It's toxic and will infect everyone in contact with it. I know I will never, EVER allow for that to happen again.
When the orders for us to put on our chemical suits came down, I personally felt a bit of a mental shift. Nobody was sleeping anymore. The combat mindset was assumed to be in each of us and we all expected The FOG of War for the foreseeable future; to include large amounts of boredom. To make matters worse, we were going to have to fight in those stupid ass, charcoal lined chemical suits that only gave us the illusion of a chance at survival. Every singe one of us knew those MOPP (Mission Oriented Protective Posture) suits were a joke. I can remember saying to one of the guys in my truck, “Fuck dude, I’m more scared of getting fuckin’ gassed than I am getting shot.” I really meant that too. All the atropine and tupam chloride they made us carry just seemed like another way for us to screw ourselves up and ensure our demise if there was a gas attack. I always thought about just going straight for the redi-ject Valium if things really went south like we were expecting and were told.
So there we were: MOPP suits on, the guns were loaded, we’re on the Iraqi birm, and the war had begun. The Iraqi’s, from what we had heard, had moved their tanks up to the boarder and built tank ditches (which they did do), so we just sat back and watched the Cobra helicopters light up the nightsky. I wish I could describe some of the visuals that I’m not only having right now remembering it, but the entirety of the shock from the first few days was overwhelming to me now looking back. It was every bit of what I expected at the time. Once they established H-hour, the night sky flickered constantly. Its crazy that this long after being back I can still vividly remember driving into the country of Iraq and what it all looked like when we crossed, to include specific signs, our first security halt, the face of the first kid I saw while on our first security halt, how far he was away from me, the look of confusion on his face about why I seemed so angry, and the first 500 lb bomb our EOD techs detonated for being a dud. No more than several miles across the border from where we sat at Abdali was the first time I can remember getting shot at.
Much of the Iraqi people, especially in parts of Southern Iraq, but not so much Basra, had SHOWN white flags; especially the first border town we were in named Safwan. But sitting on post one night with a couple guys, I was manning the Ma Deuce, I heard shots really close by. They were close enough that I really thought I might have shit my MOPP suit; we only got one so we had to treat it well. I leaned over and woke up the driver of the truck and let him know what I had heard. More shots. Now if they were shooting at us, which I could probably make the case that they weren’t just as easily as they were, they were a terrible shot anyway. The point of saying all of this is to make the point of how scared shitless I was from the time I stepped in country until the day I left. I’m pretty sure the guy I woke up that night could sense it in the sound of my voice too.
Before I try to tie up a few last points, I want to try to put a few words to how primitive our war machine was compared to what it became. We didn’t have doors on much of our Humvees and some of the doors we did have were vinyl. Guys were jerry-rigging makeshift turrets in the back of highback Humvees using huge wire spool looking things. It was heinous and chaotic to say the least.
I say that to say this.: my tour was nowhere near as terrible as what other guys experienced and we were a very fortunate group of Marines; but we all brought something home with us. War is evil. What we all have in common is that we all went there and now share a common experience from it. The guys I was lucky enough to serve next to are, without a doubt, some of the strangest but finest men I have ever known. We fought tooth and nail for each other and I don’t think any of us would have it any other way. I could have never got through some of the things I did without those guys going through the very same things beside me. A Band of Brothers if you will. We were the invaders. What I don’t think I fully realized until years later and countless hours thinking about Iraq is how indebted to every single one of those guys that I really am. They put their lives on the line ever day to make sure I lived; I guess we all did that, but you never think of yourself in the same equation. Everything those guys did over there for me was selfless and they never, not once, had a single string attached to any of it. Those guys gave food and water when our supply lines got cut and we were running out and rationing water, sometimes somebody would give you a few extra minutes of sleep before you go man the gun on nightwatch, or jumping out of the turret to fight off the wild dogs trying to attack the guys sleeping by the truck. All that stuff comes back to meaning something I could never possess the vocabulary to describe. So if we served together and you’re reading this right now, thank you!
It’s now 0513 and I’ve mentally exhausted myself writing this. With all this being said, I would never wish my war experience on anyone. It sucked terribly bad, not just for me, my family, but also for the Iraqi’s. Sadly, I fear we’re seeing it again and it’s got me thinking a lot about Iraq and what I can do to help stop the looming war with Iran and the troops going to Libya. Until one of these politicians decides he wants to be Norman Shwarzkopf and come up and spend some time in the shoes of any combat troop, they need to shut the fuck up with the war rhetoric and stop deciding we need to go kill more people on more global military adventures. The way Washington is using our military might makes me sick. It's nothing more than war for profit. Playing cowboys and Indians where politicians are the cowboys and the rest of the world are the Indians is foolish and not just a poor use of resources, but it’s a poor use of human life. They have no idea the impact they have by telling young people to go kill young people. They had no clue or experience fighting in Iraq and they have no clue or experience fighting in Afghanistan. They’re completely clueless to the fact that we cannot win these wars and they have no idea what they’re getting themselves into in Iran. They’ve never had to stare face-to-face with their own mortality and say to themselves, “I have no fucking idea if I’m going to survive this or not” and at certain times, think the latter. Even worse, many guys didn’t survive it. They’ve probably never even had the thought or been in a position to have to carry an extra bullet hidden on your person in case of a last minute “two for them, one for me” kind of emergency. The list could go on and on about things they'll never understand and why we don't need to be militarily engaged globally (and under NDAA in the U.S too), but the politicians making these decisions could never understand those sentiments either, making the growing list pretty pointless.
What I'd like to tell them is they need to stop beating those war drums so hard and figure out how to help people right here at home. Everything people are saying is wrong with the government right now is correct and the only thing politicians can all agree upon is the need to be militarily engaged globally, to have the ability to censoring the internet, and to be able to militarily detain U.S. citizens without trial right here in the United States. That's it. Politicians can't agree on jobs, the economy, income inequality, foreign policy, or even balancing the budget. I don't understand how it's become acceptable to run for any political position based upon a platform of war. We're seeing it right now. I'm sure there's plenty of other guys out there having the same problems sleeping, or night terrors, or drug addiction, seemingly uncontrollable fits of rage from PTSD, an unaffordable healthcare system, no jobs, serious debt from school or a mortgage, the looming thought of losing your home and family.... I know, I know, its wishful thinking to be able to agree on how help these people or problems, right?!. A guy can wish can’t he?
Goodnight
Tonight I was laying here in bed still steaming from the signing of NDAA, which I will protest endlessly, and then leading up to how angry I am that U.S. troops are being deployed all around the world in what is nothing more than politicians using other peoples lives to be cowboys without having to see what the dirty-work is all about. Then I started thinking about what I was doing when I invaded Iraq; some self reflection if you will. I look at some of the photos from deployment and I see different person than what I now see. Sitting on the border at Abdali Farms, stinking like goat shit and pissed off as ever living hell, and months of playing games during the military buildup made it so there was really only one way to sum up how I felt at that time: IT. WAS. ON.
It was on like donkey kong! I hated being there, I hated everything to do with the middle east, I hated the culture, I hated pita bread, I hated the stupid tassels they lined their stupid trucks with, I missed home, Haji this, Haji that. All the things you could ever imagine a Marine saying about his enemy, I probably said it and without ever having stepped foot in their country yet. War was what every Marine trained for and so very few ever do. It was history. However, everything I just said in these last several sentences I fully regret and am deeply apologetic for having ever had those feelings (besides the history part). I'm quite embarrassed and ashamed when I think about how easily I became wrapped up in dehumanizing a whole culture of people, especially when there were some really nice people there. The Iraqi’s, at least when I was there, had a culture that we didn't really have any business interrupting, especially based upon "intelligence" and "National Security". To me, it was a culture that I will probably never be able to understand due to my own inability to really try or even care. Sometimes I tell myself I was young or some other excuse that my therapist tells me, but I never seem to let myself off the hook that easily. None of us do. The one positive I know to come out of it all is my values are grounded. I lost my beliefs, who I was, and my values during that time in my life; the values that my parents worked hard to instill. Sadly, it’s very easy to do given the circumstance. The war mentality is a group mentality. It's toxic and will infect everyone in contact with it. I know I will never, EVER allow for that to happen again.
When the orders for us to put on our chemical suits came down, I personally felt a bit of a mental shift. Nobody was sleeping anymore. The combat mindset was assumed to be in each of us and we all expected The FOG of War for the foreseeable future; to include large amounts of boredom. To make matters worse, we were going to have to fight in those stupid ass, charcoal lined chemical suits that only gave us the illusion of a chance at survival. Every singe one of us knew those MOPP (Mission Oriented Protective Posture) suits were a joke. I can remember saying to one of the guys in my truck, “Fuck dude, I’m more scared of getting fuckin’ gassed than I am getting shot.” I really meant that too. All the atropine and tupam chloride they made us carry just seemed like another way for us to screw ourselves up and ensure our demise if there was a gas attack. I always thought about just going straight for the redi-ject Valium if things really went south like we were expecting and were told.
So there we were: MOPP suits on, the guns were loaded, we’re on the Iraqi birm, and the war had begun. The Iraqi’s, from what we had heard, had moved their tanks up to the boarder and built tank ditches (which they did do), so we just sat back and watched the Cobra helicopters light up the nightsky. I wish I could describe some of the visuals that I’m not only having right now remembering it, but the entirety of the shock from the first few days was overwhelming to me now looking back. It was every bit of what I expected at the time. Once they established H-hour, the night sky flickered constantly. Its crazy that this long after being back I can still vividly remember driving into the country of Iraq and what it all looked like when we crossed, to include specific signs, our first security halt, the face of the first kid I saw while on our first security halt, how far he was away from me, the look of confusion on his face about why I seemed so angry, and the first 500 lb bomb our EOD techs detonated for being a dud. No more than several miles across the border from where we sat at Abdali was the first time I can remember getting shot at.
Much of the Iraqi people, especially in parts of Southern Iraq, but not so much Basra, had SHOWN white flags; especially the first border town we were in named Safwan. But sitting on post one night with a couple guys, I was manning the Ma Deuce, I heard shots really close by. They were close enough that I really thought I might have shit my MOPP suit; we only got one so we had to treat it well. I leaned over and woke up the driver of the truck and let him know what I had heard. More shots. Now if they were shooting at us, which I could probably make the case that they weren’t just as easily as they were, they were a terrible shot anyway. The point of saying all of this is to make the point of how scared shitless I was from the time I stepped in country until the day I left. I’m pretty sure the guy I woke up that night could sense it in the sound of my voice too.
Before I try to tie up a few last points, I want to try to put a few words to how primitive our war machine was compared to what it became. We didn’t have doors on much of our Humvees and some of the doors we did have were vinyl. Guys were jerry-rigging makeshift turrets in the back of highback Humvees using huge wire spool looking things. It was heinous and chaotic to say the least.
I say that to say this.: my tour was nowhere near as terrible as what other guys experienced and we were a very fortunate group of Marines; but we all brought something home with us. War is evil. What we all have in common is that we all went there and now share a common experience from it. The guys I was lucky enough to serve next to are, without a doubt, some of the strangest but finest men I have ever known. We fought tooth and nail for each other and I don’t think any of us would have it any other way. I could have never got through some of the things I did without those guys going through the very same things beside me. A Band of Brothers if you will. We were the invaders. What I don’t think I fully realized until years later and countless hours thinking about Iraq is how indebted to every single one of those guys that I really am. They put their lives on the line ever day to make sure I lived; I guess we all did that, but you never think of yourself in the same equation. Everything those guys did over there for me was selfless and they never, not once, had a single string attached to any of it. Those guys gave food and water when our supply lines got cut and we were running out and rationing water, sometimes somebody would give you a few extra minutes of sleep before you go man the gun on nightwatch, or jumping out of the turret to fight off the wild dogs trying to attack the guys sleeping by the truck. All that stuff comes back to meaning something I could never possess the vocabulary to describe. So if we served together and you’re reading this right now, thank you!
It’s now 0513 and I’ve mentally exhausted myself writing this. With all this being said, I would never wish my war experience on anyone. It sucked terribly bad, not just for me, my family, but also for the Iraqi’s. Sadly, I fear we’re seeing it again and it’s got me thinking a lot about Iraq and what I can do to help stop the looming war with Iran and the troops going to Libya. Until one of these politicians decides he wants to be Norman Shwarzkopf and come up and spend some time in the shoes of any combat troop, they need to shut the fuck up with the war rhetoric and stop deciding we need to go kill more people on more global military adventures. The way Washington is using our military might makes me sick. It's nothing more than war for profit. Playing cowboys and Indians where politicians are the cowboys and the rest of the world are the Indians is foolish and not just a poor use of resources, but it’s a poor use of human life. They have no idea the impact they have by telling young people to go kill young people. They had no clue or experience fighting in Iraq and they have no clue or experience fighting in Afghanistan. They’re completely clueless to the fact that we cannot win these wars and they have no idea what they’re getting themselves into in Iran. They’ve never had to stare face-to-face with their own mortality and say to themselves, “I have no fucking idea if I’m going to survive this or not” and at certain times, think the latter. Even worse, many guys didn’t survive it. They’ve probably never even had the thought or been in a position to have to carry an extra bullet hidden on your person in case of a last minute “two for them, one for me” kind of emergency. The list could go on and on about things they'll never understand and why we don't need to be militarily engaged globally (and under NDAA in the U.S too), but the politicians making these decisions could never understand those sentiments either, making the growing list pretty pointless.
What I'd like to tell them is they need to stop beating those war drums so hard and figure out how to help people right here at home. Everything people are saying is wrong with the government right now is correct and the only thing politicians can all agree upon is the need to be militarily engaged globally, to have the ability to censoring the internet, and to be able to militarily detain U.S. citizens without trial right here in the United States. That's it. Politicians can't agree on jobs, the economy, income inequality, foreign policy, or even balancing the budget. I don't understand how it's become acceptable to run for any political position based upon a platform of war. We're seeing it right now. I'm sure there's plenty of other guys out there having the same problems sleeping, or night terrors, or drug addiction, seemingly uncontrollable fits of rage from PTSD, an unaffordable healthcare system, no jobs, serious debt from school or a mortgage, the looming thought of losing your home and family.... I know, I know, its wishful thinking to be able to agree on how help these people or problems, right?!. A guy can wish can’t he?
Goodnight
