What to Expect

If you are veteran of OIF or OEF (preferably with combat experience) and are now transitioning back to the civilian world, you should read this.  It doesn't provide much in the way of solutions, but it does offer explanations, which will hopefully enable YOU to find solutions.  It isn't exhaustive, either.  It only addresses some of the most common challenges a transitioning veteran will face.  What you do with it is your decision, but it is my hope that this somehow helps you move beyond an active participation in war and towards the myriad of opportunities and adventures that life has to offer.  This time in your life will be among the most trying.  That is almost irrefutable.


Foremost, you will be angry.  Things which didn't used to bother you now will.  In fact, nearly everything will anger you.


However much you enjoyed your time in the military and whatever you got out of it, it doesn't change the fact that you're now exiting – for a reason.  It's difficult to make generalizations as to the “why,” but it probably centers around you being weary of an extremely demanding deployment schedule, tired of the relational sacrifice the military requires (in this day and age), lack of belief in the missions you've been called to undertake, and very likely a great deal of bitterness with your leaders.  Looking back on it, nearly every aspect of it will either invoke anger or grief.


You'll be angry that you answered a call to patriotic service, but learned somewhere along the way that your peers, subordinates and leaders are all human and prone to mistakes.  Subordinates make mistakes that create more work for you.  Peers make more mistakes that create more work for you.  Leaders make mistakes that get your friends killed, seemingly endangered you needlessly, and at the very least made life miserable.  You'll feel like you've just burned some number of years of your life and have very little to show for it but a number of deceased friends and a body that's falling apart long before its time.


You will be angry at the leadership that sent you out on missions you swore were unnecessary.  You'll be equally angry at the rules of engagement under which you were forced to operate.  They sent you away to war, but handcuffed you when you tried to complete your missions.  Individual mistakes of your leaders may have resulted in some of your friends never returning home – or at least returning broken and mutilated.  You'll be angry at the conduct of the war.


You'll be angry with your service, but when people attempt to tell you how stupid the wars are, you'll fiercely defend your service, not willing to make the admission that the past few years of your life have been invested in something that a number of US citizens vocally condemned.  You'll avoid them as best you can, and may not even mention that you're a veteran in their presence.  It might seem like the best way to avoid a confrontation.


You'll go out to stores and observe with horror how people rudely complain when the express checkout aisle takes more than a minute to navigate.  You'll overhear conversations from your peers that center around what appear to be meaningless subjects.  Which celebrity is dating so-and-so, and what movie star is having an affair.  Most, when asked, won't be able to find Iraq or Afghanistan on a map.  You might observe a few fussing how the barrista gave them a skim milk latte instead of a soy latte, which will drive home your belief that your peer group is completely out of touch with reality.  They will often have no knowledge whatsoever of current events.  In the back of your mind you'll think, “I defended THESE people?” and you'll question the fundamental merits of your service.


People will rarely know how to approach you.  Many, for lack of anything better to say, will thank you for your service.  Despite their sincerity (as much as they're capable of expressing legitimate thanks), you'll frequently see their comments as condescending.  You'll avoid them as best you can.  Others will start a conversation with, “so what are your thoughts on the war,” but before you even begin to answer, they'll continue with, “because I think...” or “because I heard...”  What you mistook for genuine curiosity turned out to be simply a clever means for them to initiate talking AT you about their support, opposition, or indifference towards your war.  Much of what they say will be firmly rooted in misinformation.  In reality, their minds are already made up, so attempting to change them will be an angering – and futile – endeavor.


After repeated encounters like this – people trying to share their opinions without regard for yours – you may reach the conclusion that nobody really cares that you served at all, that they're incapable of understanding what you did, and also unable to grasp any of the dangers the United States faces abroad.  Once again, you'll find yourself wondering why you bothered to swear an oath to defend these people.


Fundamentally, you are now a different person – and the consequence of this is that you've lost a lot of connectivity with the public.  Your civilian friends, though they may not put it to words, will notice changes in you – perhaps sufficient to drive a wedge into your relationship, or even ruin your friendship.  You'll be angry that they're appearing to abandon you, and you'll blame them fully for not making any greater attempts to understand you, to listen to you, or even let you explain what you've endured.


Your family will view you differently, too.  The young son or daughter they sent off to war has come back fundamentally changed.  They'll be keenly aware that you're angry, and will probably try to steer clear of any subject or situation that might set you off.  You'll view it as abandonment.  More than this, they won't know how to engage you very well.  Your experiences, though now similar to nearly 2,000,000 other young men and women who have served in Afghanistan or Iraq, are so vastly dissimilar from their own lives that they'll have no idea how to connect with you, find common ground, and continue the same level of relationship you perhaps once enjoyed.  In truth, they may also be afraid of you.  News articles, reports, and television programming has repeatedly painted veterans as easily-inflamed, prone to violence, and socially awkward.  As they draw away from you from lack of understanding, you will get more frustrated by it, which will serve to reinforce their misinformation.


Because you've spent the last few years in the military and a number of months in a combat zone, you're going to try to make up for lost “party time.”  Though you know it's impossible, you're going to try to drink a year's worth of beer and shots in one sitting, go out entirely too often, and soon realize that it doesn't make you any happier or more fulfilled.  Realizing this will be a great disappointment, but you'll probably keep trying anyway.


The nature of combat is that your body and mind have chemically and psychologically adapted to a different perception of “normal.”  There's an immediacy and urgency to everything, and you've grown accustomed to it.  Your physiology has received frequent injections of adrenalin, endorphins, and whatever other naturally-occurring hormones the body released when in firefights, their aftermaths, and high stress.  In some ways, you will be like an addict coming off a drug.  Just like addicts, you're probably going to look for a substitution.


Alcohol will seem like the most convenient solution because it calms the nerves, dulls whatever hyper-vigilance you might be experiencing, and helps you relax or talk more freely.  Alcohol, however, is also a depressant, so it may very well bring out the darkest things you have on your mind, but would have never discussed sober.  And because alcohol also impairs judgment, it may also cause you to consider violence.  You will frighten people, worry others, and a number will simply avoid you.  


When friends or bouncers try to restrain you or calm you down, the first thing you'll retort is that you're a combat veteran and don't deserve to be treated so rudely.  In reality, they are in the right, and you are in the wrong.  Your status as veteran does not authorize illegal, violent, or socially unacceptable behavior – despite however honorable your service to the country might have been.


Aside from alcohol, you might try other substances as “substitutions,” but they, too will be be disappointments.  For a number of veterans, it will be more subtle.


Because of the high impact lifestyle you've lived in the military, civilian life will strike you as extremely boring, unrewarding, and in some cases, “not worth the bother.”  You might seek out new ways to get an adrenaline rush or at least experience some excitement.  For some this means buying a motorcycle because you crave the danger.  For others, spending huge sums of money will be the drug.  Others will get into fights all the time, and a few will simply withdraw altogether in defeat.


You will occasionally find yourself willing to talk about difficult subjects and presumably in the company of a receptive audience.  Carefully, you'll start to tell a story about losing a friend, or about a car bomb that caused catastrophic injury and deaths.  Just as you think they're starting to understand what you're trying to explain, they'll blurt out, “oh my God that's so scary,” or something similar.  They won't know how to “receive” what you're telling them – and much of it is so horrifying that they can't listen without comment.  You'll be angry with them, and might give up talking to them completely.  Part of you may also be sufficiently afraid of your own anger that you flee any situations that may cause you to feel like you're losing control.


In your heart of hearts you will believe that nobody understands you except for the few men and women who went through the same experiences over there with you.  For lack of an alternative, you'll turn to your fellow veterans as the only people to whom you'll be able to relate in the least.  You will be tempted to spend all your time with veterans, not only sharing stories of your experiences, but also complaining about how stupid everybody else is.  You might conclude that the country you swore to defend is full of people who are too ignorant and blind to reality to deserve defense.


The nature of combat service means its participants will see first-hand the “underbelly of life.”  Whereas the average American might believe that people are generally good and nice to each other, you have seen with your own eyes just how horrible humans are towards each other.  While a US civilian may assume the best about humanity, you will likely presume the worst.


Because you feel naked without it (from so many months of carrying one), you might attempt to carry a firearm everywhere for safety.  Part of you is aware that it's probably completely unnecessary, but another part of you wants to be prepared regardless.  You just want to still feel in control.  Your fascination with firearms, however well-founded, however much you sincerely enjoy shooting, however trained you might be, will scare people unaccustomed to seeing guns.


Even though you probably don't regret getting out of the military, there will be certain aspects that you miss about it – and you'll try to recreate them.  A few might choose to go back in, but others will try alternatives.  You might look into becoming a private military contractor, a mercenary, or even consider joining Israeli Defense Forces or the French Foreign Legion.  These all fall into the category of “substitutions.”


A number of you will attempt to pursue the closest civilian equivalent to combat military service – police officer.  Very quickly, however, you will realize how fiercely competitive the hiring process is, and, even though you have years of exemplary military service, you aren't nearly as qualified as you might think.  You will also experience this when applying for other positions.  You thought your military service represented some degree of maturity, intelligence, and responsibility.  The civilian world, however, does not.  For the most part, they still want to see college degrees, college transcripts, or some other certification.  Just because you know how to maneuver house-to-house under fire, doesn't mean you're qualified to be a police officer.  You will be angry when you realize that military service prepared you for very little in the “real world.”


College will frustrate you, since it is often taught by men and women who have never left academia long enough to see how the world really works, and because it is attended by students who strike you as extremely immature and sheltered.  You will try to voice your opinions in classes, but teachers will often shut you down or shut you up.  If they disagree with your ideas, they may very well give you a poor grade in their course.  It will only increase your contempt for them and discourage you pursuing school any further.  You might give up altogether.


You will have nightmares about certain things you experienced in a combat zone, but you will be reluctant to talk to anybody about them.  Civilians won't understand, and even psychologists won't be much help, you'll think.  It's something you'll have to suffer through alone.


You'll play and replay events in your mind and wonder what you could have done differently – or what somebody ELSE could have done differently.  If they made a mistake, you will focus all your rage on them.  You'll forget that the enemy was the one attacking you and your fellow troops, and instead blame individual leaders for whatever went wrong.  You will be dissatisfied with your own performance, and therefore also angry at yourself.


You will genuinely want to talk about certain experiences you had in the military, but you'll be too angry to know where to begin.  If you're you able to do it, it'll still come out as a shotgun blast of information, emotions, and anger, and unless your audience is extremely patient and empathetic, they might be so uncomfortable that they never ask you anything again.  Some of your friendships will end because of this, and you'll be angry at them for it.


Leaving the house at all will put you in contact with people you will no doubt determine are ignorant, uninformed, impatient, and extremely rude.  It's possible that you'll start seeing your home as one of the few safe places left.  You'll leave the house only when you have to, come home as quickly as possible, and avoid human interaction in environments that you can't control.  The isolation, however, will also make you angry, reaffirm your belief that people will never understand you, and convince you that even trying is a waste of time.  Out of loneliness, you will turn to the only two groups that don't judge you wrongly: fellow veterans and substances.


Isolating yourself may become so second nature to you that leaving the house becomes a nightmare.  You won't like crowds because you can't control them.  You won't like busy restaurants because you can't hear what people are saying at your table – which is both frustrating and socially awkward.  You might even give up talking on the phone – because your hearing isn't so good, people don't want to listen, and you're convinced they're only checking in on you out of guilt, anyway.  You may retreat from reality altogether – not a civilian, not a servicemember, but something in between.  You will consider yourself a misfit, and it will anger you.


You may wrongly conclude that the most interesting, important, and honorable times of your life are already over.  That after being a war hero, or at least a warrior, everything else you do will be ultimately meaningless, unrewarding, and a total waste of energy.  You will feel abandoned by the very country you swore to defend, misunderstood by your family, apathetically ignored by your peers, and scornfully judged by your professors.  You will be so blind with rage that you'll be unable to step back long enough to gain any clarity.  That place of total discontent will feel like a trap, and at a certain point you may determine that your life isn't worth continuing.  At least it will be a merciful escape from what you're experiencing.  With embarrassment, you'll consider it, never talk to anybody about it, and then dismiss it.  But it'll creep back when you least expect it, and you won't know what to do with it.  You will feel helpless, and ending it will seem like the only way to regain control.


If you look at all of this, it paints what may appear to be a hopelessly bleak picture.  But that's not the case.  Speaking from experience, none of this lasts forever.  Time has a mysterious way of mending things, and people have a beautiful way of helping.  And truthfully, you are not alone.  Every one of the 26,000,000 United States veterans alive today has dealt with this on some level, moved through it completely, or at least begun the process.  Their questions are the same as yours and mine, and  the answers we find, in time, will closely parallel theirs.  These men and women, more than any others, are perfectly suited to help us, reach out to us, and provide peace where we currently have little.  They're reaching out to us right now, eager to help, and all we have to do is reach back.


Copyright © 2010, Ben Shaw, All Rights Reserved
www.byshaw.com
www.byshaw.com/blog

On Afghanistan

Several months ago, while on patrol with an Army unit in Samarra, Iraq, I mentioned to one of the platoon sergeants that my next combat embed would probably see me heading to Afghanistan. He went quiet for a moment, then turned to me, mentioning that he’d done some time in Afghanistan himself.

“Never before have I felt so alone, forgotten, and afraid for my life.” And he said nothing more about it.

As anyone who only casually follows the news knows, the United States has had forces operating in Afghanistan since 2001. Several months from now, we will have been on the ground for nine years. As anyone who more closely follows the news is aware, major operations are still very much underway, the Taliban still represents a formidable, and in some places firmly-entrenched enemy, and US/NATO, and Afghan Army casualties are on the rise. When the war began, improvised explosive devices were virtually unknown in that theater. Now, though, they claim more lives than any other form of attack.

The whole effort is not aided by the fact Afghanistan is considered the second most corrupt nation in the world next to Somalia. Additionally, the country has been at war with either a foreign power or itself for three decades. It is impoverished, ethnically diverse, extremely geographically isolated in some places, and now struggling in the infancy of an Islamic Republic – with the significant assistance of more than 40 other foreign powers representing five separate continents. The United States, with more than 45,000 personnel, accounts for over half of their number.

Despite a heavy international presence and mindboggling sums of money dumped into the country, the likelihood of success is a subject of much international, domestic and dinner table debate. Military commanders are optimistic, but one must wonder if they are only saying as they have been directed to say. The US military, after all, does not practice democracy (i.e. free speech); it only defends it.

A friend of mine once remarked that Afghanistan is where empires go to die. Throughout the course of their bloody history, Afghanis have seen numerous wars fought in their land, repulsed attempted foreign invasions, dissuaded imperialists, and then returned to killing each other in droves. By some standards, killing, death, and wholesale conflict are an Afghani way of life. The ultimate outcome of this international effort is as of yet unclear. When spring arrives, the Taliban will remobilize in force, friendly casualties will rise, and the outlook will be grim.

Some have speculated that US presence in Afghanistan has been sufficient to keep the Taliban and Al Qaeda at bay, yet not sufficient to expel them. Inarguably, the terrain has complicated the effort. It’s difficult to secure a village that can only be reached by either helicopters in the best of conditions, or on the back of a donkey. Until relatively recently, there were only two paved roads in the country.

War, coupled with frequent earthquakes, brutal winters, and a barren climate, have reduced many Afghanis from living to simply surviving. Moral ambiguity has authorized a number to switch to whatever side they think will win, not to a side that they believe to be right. International Security Assistance Forces (ISAF) sweep through an area, clear it of Taliban, and move on. The Taliban returns from the hills, caves and rocks, and life continues as usual. Violently. Meanwhile, the country accounts for more than half of the world’s opium production. It’s often seen as the only crop that affords them a reasonable profit.

I will be in Afghanistan in three weeks, and have no idea what to expect. Many have made the mistake of assuming Iraqi Arab culture is nearly synonymous with that of Afghanistan. Most have been surprised with their vast differences. One similarity is irrefutable: it is a country where many would prefer to live in peace, yet many are working hard to ensure this never happens.

While the plight of the Afghani people is an important one and I imagine I will address it in part, my fundamental purpose is that “we” are there. Nearly 2,000,000 US men and women have served in either Iraq or Afghanistan (or both). Nevertheless, they still comprise less than one percent of the population of the United States. Many of them – primarily those under 30 – will struggle when they return; for understanding from the public, for peace of mind, and to move forward with their lives. After all, it is relatively easy to go to war, but relatively difficult to come home from it.

Their dominant emotions will be anger and the sincere belief that nobody understands them. Conversations with many will reinforce both of these. Ideally, they will encounter others who are willing to listen without judgment and demonstrate consistent friendship. It begins with people knowing their stories.

“The troops” aren’t a sea of faceless guys wearing digital uniforms and carrying rifles, but the sons and daughters of this country. They are loved ones to somebody, dearly missed in their absence, and wholly grieved if they do not make it home. They deserve treatment as citizens, patriots, volunteers, and servants. When one of them claims that “nobody cares what I did,” I want scores ready to eagerly prove him wrong. When one of them sinks into an all-too-common place of isolation, I want sincere friends willing to meet him or her there and walk alongside. When one needs to speak, I want people to listen. THAT is my mission, and I believe it begins with the public knowing what’s on their hearts. As before, I will be telling their stories. Let us see if anybody is listening.

-----

Dear Friends;

This pursuit has not been without personal sacrifice. By the end of this upcoming tour, I will have spent nearly $4,000 on flights alone. I’ve already spent almost half of that on body armor. Electronics, gear and other expenses have added to these figures, too. The damage to relationships, worry I have caused, and other aspects of life I’ve had to temporarily shelve has been incalculable. Thus, I ask for two things.

First, prayer and encouragement. Though it is daunting, I am flattered that people believe in me and what I’m doing. Advocacy for my safety is certainly always appreciated. Secondly, I humbly ask for monetary support as well, since not a single word of what I write will earn me a penny. In truth, I’m going broke doing this. While money doesn’t guarantee any results and may be a poor investment, it will still help bring about something which I consider crucial to the reintegration of hundreds of thousands of US servicemembers.

After nearly nine years at war, we in the States have grown dangerously immune to it. We forget why we’re fighting, and more devastatingly we forget who is fighting on our behalf. Thus, we’re unimpressed when they return. And that simply serves to reinforce many servicemembers’ belief that nobody cares. Knowing them, however, and knowing their stories, can quickly prove them wrong. If you claim to support the troops, prove it.

Sincerely;

Ben Shaw

Copyright © 2010, Ben Shaw, All Rights Reserved

www.byshaw.com

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For a story totally unrelated to the military, please click here.

Local News

Despite the cool, spring temperatures, sweat soaked through Army Tech Sergeant Van Barfoot’s uniform as he ran. It was the last thing on his mind as he gasped for oxygen. Getting shot to pieces was more pressing – running ever further from his platoon behind him. They remained trapped in the open fields near Carano, Italy, and pinned under heavy German fire. Unable to move, they faced certain death if they attempted to advance or even retreat. In front of him, several German machine gun bunkers continued to pour concentrated fire into his comrades. He alone, keeping to the left flank of their position, remained unnoticed.

As he neared the Germans, he dove to the ground, prayed he would remain unseen, and dragged himself forward on his stomach. The buckle of his web belt raked in the dirt, clinging to his gear and increasing the resistance as he crawled. His heart raced. In front of him, the German machine gun nests continued to fire on his platoon behind him. Wriggling closer, he pulled out a grenade, ripped off the pin, and heaved the device into the first machine gun nest he saw. He hit it directly – killing two Germans and wounding three. The firing stopped – at least from that position.

He approached it cautiously, observing the battered remains of the guns and the soldiers manning it. None of them posed any further threat. Further down the line the firing continued, and he kept moving towards it. Having essentially infiltrated the enemy defenses, Barfoot crawled close to the next machine gun emplacement and opened fire with his Thompson, killing two Germans instantly.

The three remaining, recognizing their situation, threw up their hands in surrender immediately. Nearby, German soldiers in another position observed the fates of their comrades and also surrendered to Barfoot. He disarmed them, leaving the prisoners for a squad of his brothers approaching behind him. Still operating on a combination of adrenalin and desperation, he continued moving down the line.

In short order, he had captured seventeen Germans, effectively broken the assault’s stalemate, and his men soon moved into the positions he had singlehandedly overrun. It looked for a moment that Barfoot could rest. They were relatively safe now. Yet they would receive no respite. In the distance, the firing intensified. The Germans were launching a fierce counterassault against them. And, they were using tanks.

As three Mark VI tanks rumbled towards them, Barfoot crawled out of his position, exposed himself directly to their fire, and launched a bazooka at the lead tank 75 meters away. His rocket hit it in the tread, causing a mobility kill. The brazen destruction of their lead caused the other two tanks to immediately turn off to the flanks. Sprinting towards the now-disabled tank, Barfoot killed three tankers as they scrambled from the hatch, and continued deeper into the German lines. When he reached a recently-abandoned German field piece, he rammed a demolition charge in its breech and destroyed it. The immediate threats eliminated and now utterly exhausted, he began retreating to his platoon’s position behind him. He was probably contemplating how many times over he should have been killed that day.

As he moved, he came upon two seriously-wounded US Soldiers and, despite his own weariness, helped them both to their feet and assisted them a full 1,700 meters back to a position of safety before rejoining his own platoon. For his valorous efforts on that day, May 23rd 1944, Barfoot was later awarded the nation’s highest military citation; the Medal of Honor. (Another Soldier, 2nd Lt Thomas Fowler, was also awarded the Medal of Honor for his actions that day, but was killed 11 days later and received the citation posthumously.)

Decades later, by this time a field-grade officer, and having fought honorably in World War II, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War, Van Barfoot retired from the United States Army a highly decorated Soldier. Now 90 years old, he lives in Henrico County, Virginia, about 45 miles from my home. Every morning, he solemnly raises the colors on the flagpole in his front yard, and at sunset lowers and folds them perfectly. He has done this for as long as he has lived at that residence.

Yesterday (December 2nd, 2009), the Coates & Davenport lawfirm of Richmond, Virginia (representing the Sussex Square Homeowners Association) issued him a five-paragraph letter stating that he must remove the flagpole by 5PM on Friday or face “legal action being brought to enforce the Covenants and Restrictions against you.” According to the homeowners association, the flagpole was erected despite their denial of his request to their board. The letter also states that he will be held liable for all legal fees the homeowners association incurs to enforce the matter. According to Barfoot’s daughter, however, there is no provision in the association’s rules that expressly forbids flagpoles. Instead, in July they determined it to be forbidden on aesthetic grounds and ordered him remove it. He ignored them.

Evidently, the Colors of the United States of America are an eyesore to the community.

If there is such a thing as a class of citizen who has earned the right to do virtually whatever he pleases, it is a Medal of Honor recipient – one whose actions have changed the course of battles, saved countless lives, and brought a quicker end to bloodshed. More than simply being held in high esteem, bearers of this sacred award must be saluted by all uniformed members of the armed services, regardless of their rank. Even Admiral Mike Mullen, current Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, must salute this man. Additionally, in a room full of officers, all enlisted men will salute him, the wearer of the Medal of Honor, before rendering respects to any other. It is a well-earned privilege and honor, there are less than 200 of them living today. Under federal law, the award cannot be imitated or privately sold. The penalty: prison.

Yet Barfoot apparently is not permitted to post the colors on his own property on account of it being an eyesore. Though this situation only came to a head one day ago, it has already gained national media attention depicting an overbearing homeowners association making a stand in entirely the wrong places. Barfoot’s daughter, appropriately, alerted the media to the situation, who have made the public aware of a hero’s wrongful treatment. No doubt, the media will also cover the outcome tomorrow, when Barfoot refuses to remove his flagpole.

I am aware that we live in an age where it is “trendy” to take a stand for something. I am also aware that, in a time when being pro-military and patriotic is vocally encouraged, daring to behave differently is trendy, too. Furthermore, I am fully aware that nobody likes to be told “no,” especially when they considered themselves in a position of authority. It is also “trendy” to bring legal action against anybody who insults you. What I was unaware of, however, is that it is apparently trendy to be an absolute asshole.

*Related Article
*Historical Information

Copyright © 2009, Ben Shaw, All Rights Reserved
www.byshaw.com
www.byshaw.com/blog

A Few Differences

*Retold with permission.

We’ve talked long about how veterans are different from everybody else. Sometimes it’s voiced as complaints about how we’ll never be understood beyond a certain degree, yet other times it’s announced with pride and pleasure that we aren’t as vulnerable to stupid trivialities. But near as I can tell, little has been done to put these differences to words, besides from a haughty “I’m better than you because I’m a veteran” or a fatalistic “I’m different and you’re never going to get it.” Neither explains much of anything. There are differences, though, and some of them are significant.

For starters, we have developed intolerance to injustice. We see something, recognize it’s wrong, and then we grow indignant. As men and women who are trained to lead, to problem-solve and create order from chaos, we will make every effort to right a wrong. If there is a fight, we will pick a side and end it, or we will break it up and throw the offenders out the door. We will NOT be found huddled in the corner and meekly praying that nobody throws something our direction.

If somebody says or does something inappropriate to our wives, mothers, sisters, girlfriends, or any sort of loved one, we will take immediate action to make sure the person knows what they said was wrong – and that it has consequences. Diplomacy was terminated when they acted as they did, and we graduate to the next measure: apologize and leave, or get hurt and wish you’d apologized – or just not opened your mouth at all. This isn’t unchecked anger, it’s refusal to be a coward.

If we arrive upon the scene of a car accident, we will not keep driving and “just hope that everybody’s okay.” Instead, we will help you, summon emergency services, try to calm you down, tell jokes, mop blood, and be otherwise generally helpful until somebody arrives to take our place. We’ve seen broken bodies before, and we’ve done what we can to help them. Most of them were friends, and some didn’t make it home. Later on, we’ll think about them, one name at a time, and wish we’d been able to help them more. Not one of us will confidently say that we have done enough.

Innately and vehemently, we all love our country. We know how others elsewhere are forced to live, and we’re thankful that we, our families, and friends don’t have to live like that also. Many of you may be blithely unaware of current events and not particularly interested in them, but we follow them closely. We know where our friends are, and we pray fervently for their return. We are quickly angered when somebody announces that they’re embarrassed to be an American. We strongly encourage you to live elsewhere and see how much you like it. Sadly, one is unaware of one’s rights until they’ve been painfully revoked.

If somebody asks us to take down the flags hanging on our porches, we will invest in flag poles and hang them higher. Few more than us have purchased the right to demonstrate our patriotism, and your lack of it encourages us to do it even more. We took an oath to the Constitution, and nowhere in there does it mention anything about sensitivity to lowering our colors because somebody finds it offensive. No, so long as our attempts at self-determination do not interfere or encroach on yours, we can do as we please. If it’s a really big problem for you, move elsewhere.

When the National Anthem plays, we will be standing solemnly, attentively, and place our hands across our chests. Some of us will salute. You may be assured that we will say something if you do not show any respect. That song, that annoying little ditty that delays the start of every sporting event, is a national hymn, and for a pivotal time in our lives we stood at attention and saluted whenever it was played. Failing to do so means you respect neither your country, those who have served it, or yourself. We will help you rediscover that sentiment, or simply embarrass you in public.

I will quickly admit that not all of our differences are good ones. Some are character problems we should all work on, and many of us are. We admit imperfection, as should all people.

We have lost all patience for standing in lines. Years of waiting long hours for gear we didn’t need, shots we didn’t want, or to go places we didn’t want to see have done this to us. We get irritated, and occasionally say rude things. We should work on it. We’ve observed and endured the very epitome of inefficiency and it pains us to see any more of it. Sorry.

We are occasionally too loud in public places, causing discomfort for the rest of our party and potentially displeasure for all those around us. Part of it may be the incorrect supposition that what we have to say bears more weight than others, but it’s mostly an inability to hear very well. Various explosions, machine guns, and roadside bombs have left almost every one of us with some form of hearing impairment. For a few, we just speak more quietly – awkwardly so.

We are not always very comfortable in loud, crowded places. We are trained to seize control of situations and make the best of them, but with so many people and so much noise, there is little we can do. We feel somewhat helpless, preferring to hug the perimeter, or the wall, or a darkened, quieter corner. We can more easily control our little corners. We may not be interested in dancing, either, because people may be watching and we don’t desire the attention. Once again, sorry.

We will yell loudly to get our points across, failing at times to remember that our audience isn’t a lot of idiot subordinates who can’t seem to go one weekend without getting in trouble. We forget that “normal” people always begin by discussing things amicably, not set upon each other with rabid spit-slinging obscenities. The further we move from our service, however, the less we will do this. Just give us some time. Nobody’s perfect, and we know we aren’t.

Sometimes we refuse to talk to you on the assumption that you will never understand what we’re trying to say. We appear silent, or at least painfully reserved, but there’s a reason. Strange as it may sound, we’re truly fearful that what we say will further distance us from you, and we don’t want to do that. We don’t want you to fear us, or hate us, or confuse us with criminals, because we are nothing of the sort. Simply put, we have an understanding of violence.

If, for some terrible reason, somebody runs into a building and starts shooting at people or otherwise attacking them, you will not find us cowering behind furniture frantically punching on our cell phones to dial the police. We will be running towards the enemy. We are trained to assault through the objective, and we will resort to that training as best we can. If we are armed, we will shoot. If we are not, we will FIND a weapon. Somehow, some way, we will kill the aggressor. Later, our hands will shake and we’ll get incredibly thirsty, and we’ll think back to the other times we’ve been attacked and how many of our friends we lost. Without warning, we will be overcome with emotions we long ago tucked into a secluded room and barricaded. Some of us will puke.

There is a high probability that how we act may kill us, but we have identified something far worse than dying. It’s living with regret. For as long as we draw breath, regardless of if we are still in the military or not, we remain keepers, stewards, watchers, and protectors, porters, pall bearers and carriers of a burden. Our actions may be fatal, but they are also right and we’re not going to stop thinking that way. We will gladly use violence to prevent further violence against the innocent. We, on the other hand, are not innocent, and are still combatants. And we’re peacemakers.

Finally, we do not tolerate accusations – particularly when we’re accused of being lazy, ungrateful, ignorant, or members of a generation of losers. When you tell us we don’t know the meaning of work or sacrifice, we will answer you, some quietly and some quite loudly. I, personally, will answer you quietly.

I will reach into my wallet and pull out my lifetime membership card to the Disabled American Veterans, and then I will tell you this: "I can't remember all the friends I lost, or the number of missions I've run, or the years I've spent serving a nation which I am mostly convinced didn’t desire my service. But despite what you may think, and for as long as my body holds out, if they call me again, I will answer."

We ARE different, and these are some of the reasons why. If you look for us, you’ll see us. We may not stand out particularly, but we stand up a little straighter, and perhaps smile a little less, or start limping a little younger than we should. We’re proud of what we did, and proud of most of our differences. This nation needs keepers, and we’re glad to do it. We can’t help it, either; it’s just right.

Copyright © 2009, Ben Shaw, All Rights Reserved
www.byshaw.com
www.byshaw.com/blog

Now What?

*Retold with permission.

Years ago, somebody working for the Veterans Affairs Administration told me that if we had a combat action ribbon, we automatically rated 10% disability for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Apparently the mere act of being in such a life-threatening situation meant we were certifiably crazy – well, 10% crazy. Even though I certainly have that ribbon, earned multiple times over, I never asked for my 10%. It seemed embarrassing, not only because I don’t consider myself nuts, but because other men from other wars had been through far worse and still come out in the other side of it just fine – or at least seem to be so.

Besides that, I expected many of the tragedies of war. I expected to see bodies. I expected to see blood. I expected that some of us would get hurt. Sometimes, I was convinced it would be me. Occasionally, I was fairly certain I wasn’t going to make it at all. I distinctly remember sitting in the humvee with my feet as far apart on the floorboards as I could get them. That way, if the shrapnel came through, maybe I’d only lose one leg and not both. Or one arm. I’d practiced putting on a tourniquet with one hand in the event that I’d lost the other. That part of it was expected, though I hesitate to call it fun.

I know a lot of guys absolutely hate the “did you kill anybody” question, but I’m going to be honest about it. Yes. How did that make me feel? Truthfully, it was remarkably uneventful. It was necessary at the time, and the alternative – potentially losing people because I hesitated – was far less appealing. Am I guilty about it? No. I did the right thing. The only troubling part is hindsight; I, singlehandedly, made the decision and took action to terminate the life of another human being. It’s not guilt, but wonderment.

Recently, I met a girl who shot an aggressor as he attempted to force his way through her window into the bedroom. I told her I thought it was pretty badass, and she confessed that it was most powerful she’d felt in her entire life. I think we feel that way in the military, too, but don’t talk about it. If we were to say it, people would assume we’re warmongers, which we are not. We just volunteered for an ugly business – knowing full well and agreeing that it’s ugly. Nobody hates war more than those fighting it. But it didn’t make us crazy.

All the flurry in the news about veteran suicide is bothersome, since they almost always blame it on PTSD, or us being crazy. I don’t think that’s it at all. If it were, then why didn’t previous generations of veterans kill themselves more frequently? God knows many of them saw more friends die in front of them, saw their own violent demise as a near-certainty, and lost countless friends along the way. There are plenty of veterans from my generation who genuinely have PTSD, but their situations are excusable. I know what many of them went through. I also don’t believe it’s why many of them take their own lives. There are other reasons for that.

It wasn’t killing people. That, perhaps horrifyingly so, was fairly easy. Identify the target, make a decision, and then respond accordingly. More often than not, the aggressor was hidden, or elusive. Fire a shot and leave. Detonate the IED and run. It was infuriating. We WANTED to shoot something, but there was nobody there to shoot. They’d inflicted their damage and flee, leaving us bleeding, dying, and angry.

It wasn’t being gone for months on end, either. Sure, it’s miserably, lonely, and stressful, but those are the dominant emotions of a deployment. Go away, lose a few people (or a lot of people), and then come back demoralized. With the deployment schedules being what they were, we’d come back and start training to leave again in a matter of months. After a time, you get used to it, watch the calendar closely, and eagerly look forward to being done with it all; or out of the military. Being overseas didn’t kill us; it just burned us out, broke our spirits, and made many of us rue the day we joined.

It wasn’t the living conditions, either. Those were total exasperations while we were enduring them, however. All the days sitting in the mud and trying to keep the mosquitoes from eating us – they were over soon enough. All the night mission chainsmoking to stay awake or punching yourself in the head trying to keep from slumping over the steering wheel, they’re great stories for the grandkids someday. Besides that, I take some pride in having gone through all of it and not completely shut down. I’m proud of my intestinal fortitude, self-discipline and endurance. Plenty of other guys didn’t do so well. Even still, I had my days. During one tour, I wasted away to a zombie from stress and lack of sleep. But none of this makes me want to kill myself.

Why do so many want to? I wish I knew specifically, because then I’d make every effort to help them. Though the specifics are still a mystery to me, I have a few ideas. It was purpose; more specifically, the total loss of it.

Throughout boot camp, we’re inundated with stories of heroism, dedication and patriotism. Before we were ordered to jump into our racks [beds] at the position of attention, we were required to scream out, “honor, courage, commitment,” at the top of our lungs. From the very beginning, we were told what we were doing was honorable. Even now, I sincerely believe that it is.

Whenever we went out somewhere in uniform, we always attracted attention – even the ugliest among us. Something about the uniform drew people. Women would naturally forget that we’re morons and gush about how dashing we looked. Men would come up and tell us about how their friends served, or they served, or how a distant cousin was in the Navy and I guess somehow they felt a connection with us. We were quasi-superheroes or something, or at least we garnered a lot of attention. Many civilian guys didn’t like us because we automatically had a leg up when we hit on girls. But when we lost the uniform, we lost everything that went with it. We were suddenly just like everybody else.

Whenever we ran out of things to say in a conversation, we could always tell a war story, or one from training, and people would listen with rapt attention. It was a foreign world to them; far off places, imminent danger, guns and explosions. If we were good talkers, we could dominate every conversation. Even when people said something awful to us, they were usually so much in the minority that people immediately sided with us, defended us, felt sorry for us, and then hung around even closer when we vented about how we’d been wronged. This, too, helped us hit on the girls. We were special. When we left the ranks, it stopped abruptly.

Whenever we were overseas, strangers from all across the United States would send us letters, pray for us, and inundate us with packages full of things that they wouldn’t normally buy even a close friend or relative. We were rock stars. They thanked us for keeping them safe, for volunteering to do miserably difficult things on behalf of strangers, and then thanked us on behalf of a grateful nation. We were heroes in their eyes, though few of us felt like it. Still, though, it was great to be put on a pedestal. Our service wasn’t just a dirty job; it was an identity. We lost it when we were discharged.

At first the discharge was freedom – almost the end of a prison sentence, but that changed. In reality, it was also a discharge from the reality we’d been living in, as well as the unique identity that went with it. What once set us apart from everybody else was now completely, irrevocably gone (unless we got so desperate that we elected to go back in). We didn’t just lose a uniform, but also a job, a calling, an elevated status, and direction. We poured our hearts into earning the mantle of warrior, but promptly extinguished our hearts when we left it all behind. We walked away with nothing. Without purpose and completely adrift.

And that, I think, is why many so quickly give up. That’s why they kill themselves – they see life as over. They’re jobless, they’ve lost their purpose, their motivation, and everything that once categorized them as worthy of respect. They try to keep telling war stories, but people lose interest quickly. They’re just the ramblings of a washed-up veteran. They’re told to move on.

They go off to college, but it seems a waste of time. Listening to kids and professors with no clue about the world pontificating how stupid and evil war is, but none of them has ever seen the face somebody who truly wanted to kill them simply because they were different. Besides this, it’s not purposeful. Instead, it’s an endless stream of boring information, mostly forgotten, and far less interesting than doing patrols and carrying a rifle.

What profession, pastime or hobby can come close to the respectability that they earned in the military? Law enforcement? Hardly. Academia? Not really. Besides, few of them ever end up in positions if great importance. They’ve put aside an adventure and picked up monotony. After the military, “normal life” is boring. Nothing seems meaningful.

And so, with the best behind them and blinded to the hope that the future might offer something equally rewarding, they flounder, turn inside themselves and see life as mostly over. The remainder is survival, not living. With a total lack of hope, why bother to keep trying? What’s the point? At best, it’s all less interesting, adventurous, and meaningful. Life, as they know it, is over.

They never prepared us for this in training, either. They spend months readying us to go fight, live in filth and get by on little to no sleep, but then they do virtually nothing to see us off. And I’m not even sure it’s their fault, anyway. We all made the voluntary decision to go in, so it seems appropriate that we also make the voluntary decision to do something great after we get out, too. What I wish they DID do, however, is help us see beyond the patriotism, beyond the service, and beyond the identity of warrior.

Even for the guys that do 20 years and retire, there’s still more living on the outside, and that’s what none of us were ready to face. Having exhausted our hearts becoming warriors, there’s little energy left for much else. Life isn’t over, but living seems to be. And with our greatest achievements behind us, why keep struggling? A quick end seems almost merciful, saving us years of futility. It’s not the war that kills us, or the PTSD, the sights and horrors; it’s the end of the war and the end of purpose. We gave the military our all, and now there’s nothing left.

Copyright © 2009, Ben Shaw, All Rights Reserved
www.byshaw.com
www.byshaw.com/blog

Meeting In The Rain

For mid-autumn, the weather was typical. The skies were grey and the clouds low – alternating between irritating drizzle, gentle rain, and short pauses before the next insult. It was arthritically cold and everyone’s joints hurt. As they walked, their feet turned sodden in the wet, perfectly-kempt grass. A number regretted not bringing umbrellas. It was fitting for the funeral. It was awful.

Half of those gathered were his “blood” family, and the other half the family with whom he bled, in uniform. Grief read on all their faces, manifested as total devastation on many, yet tempered with anger, guilt and disbelief on most of the veterans. In some way, though unquantifiably so, they felt they owned this. All grieved yet another brother who, after years of honorable service, took his own life.

Well-intentioned public figures are always eager to provide data that proves the military and veterans “aren’t that bad off,” but they must not know anybody who has endured a miserable deployment or struggled to regain their footing after transitioning out of the service. To me, their expositions do little more than demonstrate how little they care. They must not know the people I know, either. If they did, they would be unable to NOT grieve.

Since 2003, my Marine battalion has sustained well over forty combat fatalities in Iraq. At least twelve of those were from a single friendly fire incident. Back in the states, the same battalion has lost half a dozen in training accidents such as vehicle rollovers or “runaway guns.” Nearly that many have been lost to liberty incidents – mostly automobile crashes. They have also lost almost a dozen to suicide, and these are just the numbers I’ve been told about. Already, I struggle to remember their names, which embarrasses me.

Even those who have survived their service still seem to be doing poorly. Among those I knew the vast majority of their marriages have failed. Others have since begun relationships and watched them deteriorate, too. I know of few couples who are doing undeniably well.

Amongst my peers, college has become a default – the free option awaiting them when they left the ranks, but remarkably few seem to approach it with any ambition. It’s not preparation for greater dreams, but a way to prolong the inevitable. Real life is fast approaching, and none of it looks enjoyable. Physically, they’re falling apart. Mentally, they may not be far behind.

Those who elected to stay in the Marines are now regretting doing so. Despite their optimism, it hasn’t improved for them. One recently noted that, “it’s just not fun being a Marine anymore.” Those that moved into other branches of the military are also questioning their decisions. It’s turning out to just be more of the same.

And nor can I overlook the dozens from my battalion who have been discharged for medical reasons. They frequently stood right next to those who were killed, and somehow managed to survive – but barely. They’re missing legs and fingers, eyesight, or hearing. They’ve lost mobility, or are still waiting for shrapnel to migrate out from under their skin. Several grapple with Traumatic Brain Injuries (TBIs), loss of memory, radically adjusted personalities, and a host of other side effects. One of my own Marines, struck several times by IEDs, confessed to me that he can’t remember his own father’s funeral. He knows he was there, but can’t remember where it was, or anything about it. His girlfriend left him because she didn’t like who he’d become.

Nobody, as near as I can tell, is remotely happy. One friend announced with conviction that his greatest achievements in life are behind him and now he looks forward to a miserable life without meaning or purpose. People keep insisting that most veterans get out and thrive, but I’m not seeing it. Not the guys I know.

More than I can count are still reeling from some sort of emotional injury – and these are the ones who I have the most trouble understanding. We were infantry, so we expected to lose some in combat. None of us liked it, but such is the nature of war. Fewer always come home. We did not expect to lose any more, though. We did not anticipate an internal war. It’s one we don’t know how to fight; one with staggering casualty figures. In 2005 alone, for example, more than 6,100 veterans took their own lives in the states. To put that in perspective, approximately 5,000 servicemembers have died in either Iraq or Afghanistan since 2001. But in the states, more than that died by their own hands in one year.

Several of my surviving friends wonder what they could have done differently. They mull over what warning signs they should have seen. They soul-search for how they could have made themselves more available, or approachable, or attentive. They’re angry with themselves for what they see as a failure on their part. They’re angry with the departed for not talking to them, because they would have gladly helped. They’re haunted. We are haunted. “I just talked with him, and now he’s gone.”

They say the wars may be ending soon, but I fear the casualties are just beginning to mount. For the majority of veterans I know, to include myself, there is a pervasive feeling of discontent, desperation, and protracted misery. Statistics keep insisting that we’re mostly okay, but I see differently. I see men and women caught in a slow and lonesome death. I see defeated warriors. And I see little being done about it.

The US Army recently admitted that they have no idea what to do about the epidemic of suicides within their ranks. Nor have their aggressive ad campaigns done anything to reduce the numbers. Similarly, the VA has seen only marginal success – a sad realization considering the thousands of mental health professionals they have recently hired. In some regards, it’s as if the war has chewed up a generation of young men and women and permitted them do great and terrible things, but then spit them back into society alone, unprepared, and unsupported. I have no great solutions. I wish I did.

If I knew what else I should be doing, I would do it. Just as it is for my brothers, I see this as personal failure. More than perhaps ever before, we need this nation’s help. Yet more than perhaps ever before, we don’t know what to ask for. Instead, there is a growing generation of complete screw-ups. Something changed in us, and we have no clue how to reverse it. Something died, and many are simply waiting for the rest of their beings to follow.

We were all trained to be leaders. We were trained to be problem-solvers and to rationally overcome any situation even in midst of total chaos. The enemy was tangible, and easy. The one that consistently slays us, however, is nebulous, evasive, and clever. We’re fighting demons; a battle for which we’re gravely unprepared. But trained leaders and problem-solvers are loath to ask for help. They suffer, wage war, and frequently lose in silence. Even at my worst, I never sought any help. It seemed an exhibition of weakness.

There will be more rain-soaked cemeteries with assemblies of grieving parents and angry, guilty, devastated veterans. There will be more haunting questions about how we’ve failed our brothers. There will be more self-doubting and discontent. There will be more struggling, and there will be more defeat. We’ll stand there quietly and not know what to say, and we’ll walk away not knowing what to do differently next time. Who will the next assembly be for? A close friend? Us? The training never addressed this kind of battle. For as much as we struggle to put our war behind us, we keep being pulled back into it. Men, our brothers, our friends, our subordinates and leaders, still keep disappearing from the ranks. Helplessly, we watch them fall.

Copyright © 2009, Ben Shaw, All Rights Reserved
www.byshaw.com
www.byshaw.com/blog