Monday, June 28, 2010

Memorial Day (We Were Dreamers)


Torn from our family and our lives, we volunteered to put the weight of the nation on our shoulders. Many of us didn’t know why we would ever fight, or what romantic notion would compel us to even try.

It was for God, for country, for family, for the love of a heart so many thousands of miles away; we fought.

Anything would have been better: working late at the office six days a week; driving during rush hour to some distant relative’s house; mowing the lawn on Saturday; shopping with a girl; attending a high school reunion; anything at all.

In between battles, over cigarette smoke and strumming guitars, we would talk about our plans for after we returned home: the embrace of our lover; living life as a college boy; sleeping in everyday; betting on black in Vegas. It would all be so sweet.

It was those images that kept us awake behind our machine guns after fighting for days. It was the thought of our lover’s taste that gave us the drive to search houses and vehicles while not knowing what hid inside. It was the hope of something better that helped us exist unbroken in our reality.

Oftentimes we were mindless; we had been conditioned and trained. We would give immediate obedience to lawful order. We would react by instinct and perform like automatons. But we were dreamers – we would have never joined if that weren’t the case.

And that is the tragedy of a military death in combat. The dreams of nations, the dreams of family and friends, the dreams of the individual soldier; they all fall one person.

It is a burden that those who have survived will never forget. We don’t seek pity and charity from anyone. We just ask that you remember; just like us the best you can.

Lest we forget and the American dream becomes a nightmare.

Rest in Peace: Sergeant Bill Cahir; Corporal William Salazar; Lance Corporal Michael Starr; Lance Corporal Norman Anderson; Corporal Joshua Snyder; fallen members Third Battalion Seventh Marine Regiment for OIF II

~ Semper Fi ~

Thursday, June 24, 2010

Unhealthy Rage

All this talk about Afghanistan, and firings, and strategy makes me want to change my stress status from green to crimson red. I’m finding myself needing to breathe really slowly and fully, just to be able to type to you what I’m saying now. I suffered from survivor’s guilt for a long time, and today that pain is tugging my heart into my stomach again.

I’m not a political zealot by any stretch of the imagination (I didn’t even vote in the last election because I’m sick of being forced to have to choose between two losers), and since I decided to pursue studying writing this year instead of studying government, I’ve found my life to be much happier. That being said, the War in Afghanistan is on pace to outlast the Vietnam War, and I’m sick of the empty suits and egghead academics always making everything worse. And it’s so damn personal to me.

I’m clenching my fists in between sentences now... I lost a dear friend in this quagmire; and America lost one of its very best Sergeants – two unborn twins lost their daddy – and I want the killing to end.

How the hell are you going to remove a commanding general on the eve of a major battle just because your pride was hurt, Mr. Obama? Do you understand the implications of counterinsurgency warfare and how much you’re emboldening the enemy by disrupting the leadership at this moment? The strategy only works when you put a leader in place who can win over the tribal leadership and the affection of the government and you leave him there. That leader was McChrystal. Even the President of Afghanistan wanted him to not be fired. You mention insubordination as the reason for McChrystal’s termination. Well, I’ve read that Rolling Stone Article you cited several times now, and I can’t find anything that would be remotely relevant as grounds for dismissal for that reason. Your pathetic ego just can’t stand even a mild criticism – even though you criticized President Bush for surrounding himself with Yes Men generals, and you wanted to be a politician who would welcome dissent and different opinions. Who’s going to speak up against you now? You mentioned that you wanted to maintain the integrity of the chain of command as another reason for his firing. Yet, you seem to not even understand that concept either, as you’ve inexplicably demoted General Petraeus to be his replacement, when there are several other generals who could have assumed that role. But you had to use the hero of the Iraq War, King David of Iraq, because you knew this was a stupid decision, and this was the only way for you to save face.

POLITICIANS WHO MAKE DECISIONS ABOUT THE WAR BECAUSE OF PERSONAL MOTIVATIONS I CANNOT ABIDE. I’m so livid, I’m seeing different colors on my computer screen.

I’m so worried about the implications of this decision that my hands are going numb. I’ve lost so many friends, and our nation is still being drained of some of its very best young men and women at a rate of almost 3 a day. I’m begging you to get serious about this war, Mr. President. Get us the hell out of there, or get serious about winning.

As someone who has lived through combat, it’s an experience I don’t want for anyone else. But these unending wars – this waffling middle area – this swirling gray, is going to bring us all down. I fear many more lives will be destroyed before this is done. More lives than needed will be lost and their swan song will ring in ears for decades; piercing our ears with our inaction and the foolish behaviors of today, until we perish too.


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Friday, June 18, 2010

Coming Home: A Field Guide (Part 7: Assistance for Military Sexual Trauma)

I can’t possibly imagine what it would be like to deal with sexual assault – such a private assault that has to hurt in so many ways – and then seeking care. I don’t say that to sound ignorant or insensitive. I really do think it’s a particularly painful experience that needs special care.

I’ve experienced a different kind of trauma, the trauma of war, and that once blasted my brain into immobility and reduced my psychology to a nonfunctioning status; I really don’t know how I would have been able to cope with a sexual assault. If you are someone who is going through this, you have my utmost sympathy and respect. The first step is often the hardest. Here are some resources you can use on your return to wellness.

www.myduty.mil

This website provides a complete overview of handling, reporting and seeking help for a recent sexual trauma according to the guidelines of the Department of the Defense. As discussed in the last blog, there any many unique considerations for Military Sexual Trauma that are different from the civilian world, and you can use this site as resource for navigating them.

The Department of Veteran’s Affairs

I would like to have listed this organization at the top of this list, but it really seems to me that the VA has turned a blind eye to this issue. I can’t find much on their site that has been updated since 1992. Here is a link to the resources that VA does provide. It seems like a good start at least. It should be mentioned also, that you don’t need to have a service-connected disability and you don’t need to have documentation of the sexual trauma to access their services. Every VA hospital has a specialist who deals with MST specifically, so they could help coordinate your treatment and answer any questions you would have.

www.stopmilitaryrape.org

This website has some helpful resources and links, however it was started by a service member who survived MST (and was subsequently discharged because of her assault) and the website definitely seems to have a clear agenda. It’s more of a special interest group than a nonprofit organization, however they do provide some legal resources should they be necessary. If you ask me, just the title of this website seems really insensitive.

www.militarysexualtrauma.org

A rudimentary website with a few different sections, this site I would visit last out of this group. Its positives include an information section for families and friends of a survivor of MST, and book reviews of literature regarding the subject. There’s also some victim artwork, but it’s just a couple “pages” from a journal, which I doubt will be helpful to someone dealing with MST.

---

It breaks my heart how little there is out there for this issue. It should be known that, while the circumstances of Military Sexual Trauma can be somewhat unique, there are innumerable civilian resources for dealing with sexual assault like the Rape Abuse and Incest National Network, which could provide additional resources to anyone dealing with any type of sexual assault.


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Thursday, June 17, 2010

Coming Home: A Field Guide (Part 6: Understanding Military Sexual Trauma)

While researching this series, I’ve become most disturbed by this little known and mostly uncovered “unseen wound of war,” Military Sexual Trauma (MST).

Maybe it’s mostly unknown because of the name, which is meant to obfuscate the seriousness of the matter. Just like how, as a civil affairs Marine (a nation-building Marine) in Iraq we used to call refugee camps, “displaced civilian” camps because it sounded nicer, the denotation of Military Sexual Trauma is much darker than the term implies: sexual assault, date-rape, harassment, coercion, unwanted touches or approaches, that occurs against men or women while on active duty.

Unfortunately, it happens all the time and no seems to know. The New York Times barely knows the term. For a search using Military Sexual Trauma in quotation marks, only six results for the term appear in any stories since 1851. The Washington Post doesn’t recognize the term as presented in quotation marks at all. Despite this, even the VA admits that the prevalence rates of veterans experiencing MST are “alarming.”

According to the VA, MST is an especially traumatic situation, in difference to civilian sexual assault (the blanket term for sexual trauma that occurs amongst the civilian population), because the “trauma that is associated with military service most often occurs in a setting where the victim lives and works. In most cases, this means that victims must continue to live and work closely with their perpetrators, often leading to an increased sense of feeling helpless, powerless, and at risk for additional victimization.”

Another cold reality of sexual assault in the military: “sexual victimization that occurs in this setting often means that victims are relying on their perpetrators (or associates of the perpetrator) to provide for basic needs, including medical and psychological care. Similarly, because military sexual trauma occurs within the workplace, this form of victimization disrupts the career goals of many of its victims.”

While solid data about the current incidences of MST are hard to come by, I can say that I’ve spoken to female veterans (while MST can occur to men, it is a truth that it happens to women more) who have been given classroom sessions about how to protect themselves while forward deployed to combat zones. Never walk alone at night, they were told; stay away from dark corners of the base. I know one veteran who decided that she needed to carry a knife when getting off her late-night shifts at the surgical hospital in Afghanistan.

Beyond addressing this issue just because of general human decency, unfortunately, it is well known that many survivors of sexual assault, just like survivors of combat, will go on to develop PTSD. Can you imagine in addition to your mind-busting experiences at war, adding the mind-screw of a sexual trauma on top of that. No doubt, this is special issue that needs more attention; and the victims need more care.

Unfortunately, I think I’ve only begun to just superficially uncover how tremendous of a problem this might be.


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Friday, June 11, 2010

The Apathy Is Bleeding

I want to shift back if I may, from my personal narratives to a return to the conversation about the major issues many veterans face upon their return home. As I’ve highlighted in previous posts, PTSD, Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) and Military Sexual Trauma (MST), are the most prevalent “invisible wounds” of the fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq. And, as these wounds go unseen, they’re often extremely difficult to treat or even just diagnose.

I’d like offer up this recent NPR report on Traumatic Brain Injury to the conversation. Their research confirms these realities regarding the lack of diagnoses, noting these key points:

“From the battlefield to the homefront, the military’s doctors and screening systems routinely miss brain trauma in soldiers. One of the military tests fails to catch as many as 40 percent of concussions, a recent unpublished study concluded. A second exam, on which the Pentagon has spent millions, yields results that top medical officials call about as reliable as a coin flip.

Even when military doctors diagnose head injuries, that information often doesn't make it into soldiers' permanent medical files. Handheld medical devices designed to transmit data have failed in the austere terrain of the war zones. Paper records from Iraq and Afghanistan have been lost, burned or abandoned in warehouses, officials say, when no one knew where to ship them.

Without diagnosis and official documentation, soldiers with head wounds have had to battle for appropriate treatment. Some received psychotropic drugs instead of rehabilitative therapy that could help retrain their brains. Others say they have received no treatment at all, or have been branded as malingerers.”

The article mentions a necessary “journey of (military) cultural transformation” to rectify these lingering problems and that got me wondering: how would we really enact that change?

If you pay attention to politics at all, you know that change is a buzzword that’s tossed about incessantly. The ever-present use of the word is designed to prick people’s ears into attention and get them to say “yeah, change – that sounds good.”

But change is not always good. Sometimes it’s bad. Actually, by definition, change can only be either good or bad, so that’s fifty-fifty in my book. I think, ultimately, change can only come about as a result of groundswell, like NPR’s reporting. We need these stories – the stories of the misdiagnosed, the mistreated, the misinformed veterans and their families – to permeate the media and galvanize these transformations.

But sometimes I feel like I’m clapping in the ears of the deaf and disinterested. As a blogger and book author, I agonize over this idea of just how in the hell do I make people care?

Take a look at this article in the Washington Times. A family wanted to escort the body of their killed Marine on an overbooked flight. Only three people volunteered to give up their seats so the family could ride. Six volunteers were needed. For thirty minutes an airline worker asked for more to step up.

Losing their composure “the airline representative pleaded, ‘This young man gave his life for our country, can't any of you give your seats so his family can get home?’ Those words hung in the air. Finally, enough volunteers stepped forward.”

America cares; it’s just that they care about other things. Did you see the “Lost” finale? The new pitcher for the Nationals is pretty sweet. When’s the next season of Jersey Shore?

Does anyone wonder whose life today has been destroyed by war?


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Wednesday, June 9, 2010

The Northern Lights: A Scene From Coming Home

(Hello, all. This is a scene from my memoir, Go Now, You Are Forgiven: A Memoir of Love and War. It was first published on World Hum.)

A bump in the road jars me from sleep; usually traveling on this icy path is a smooth affair. As I climb out of the pile of pillows and blankets, I glance at the digital thermometer above the front window of the Dodge Dakota. Looking at the thermometer is an odd game Andy and I play to maintain focus and alertness—we challenge each other to see who can observe the lowest temperature first.

Minus 38 degrees. Damn, it’s cold—though, it is still six degrees above the lowest temperature yet. Less than three months ago, in Iraq, 138 degree temperatures accosted my body: a 176 degree difference.

Andy, my travel companion and childhood friend, drives the truck in resolute silence. Only the truck’s high-beams, some digital instruments, and the moon and stars emanate light. I don’t know how he stays focused. It is so remote here in this part of Western Canada that, thus far in the trip, we’ve only passed a handful of living things.

Soon it will be my turn to drive—another three hour shift—and Andy will request that the weird screaming and twangy distorted guitar sounds of my music be lowered to a tolerable output.

Andy used to lift me over his head like a barbell and pretend he was a helicopter when we were younger. He traumatized my sister for her weight issues as a child so much that she still hates him now, in her late twenties. I find it ironic how, after 10 years, our relationship has changed so much. Today, I am the rough-edged rebel returning from war, he is the polite Protestant pastor, and we are still best of friends.

Five days ago, Andy flew me out to Anchorage on his dime to accompany him, his truck, and a trailer with everything he owns, back to our mutual home of Baltimore. Andy hasn’t been home in five years; he moved from Baltimore to Kenai because of his love for youth and God. He’s moving home for the same reason. An interview for a different youth ministry position waits for his return.

Three days ago, I woke up at his small two-bedroom house in Kenai at 10 a.m., to a sky that had not yet woken up. The Alaskan sky in winter never rises; it only levitates slightly above the horizon for a few hours, hung-over, and then goes back to sleep. We went to his church, supposedly convening at 10:30 a.m. No one showed up till 10:53 a.m. and the service didn’t start till 11:19 a.m. During the day, we packed up his things, and took trips to say goodbye to his friends and family. I felt like a parting gift. The last things Andy’s friends would remember about him were tearful goodbyes and me—a shiny, short, jack-in-the-box Marine. They would remember him, and then they would remember me. I would punch them in the face and then take Andy away forever.

That night, his congregation encircled him with hugs, and a woman he pursued with no success for a long time encircled him with a painful noose of unsaid words. I felt phantom pains for the emotions he never showed. We left after midnight for our return to Baltimore and new lives.

I think Andy keeps the music off when he drives so he can reflect on the things he never said or showed. As we drive, I feel those things like feeling ice through a closed window.

A woman and many other things are on my mind, too. I turn the music up when it is my turn at the wheel to keep from thinking about that stuff. I had done enough thinking in Iraq. There were many things—death, returning home, friendship, survival, the woman I love—that had occupied my mind during my sojourn in Iraq that I did not want to think about anymore. Like Andy, I too am going home for the first time in a long time. Yes, I had stopped by my home in the weeks before; I was only an hour away, living and working around my base in D.C. Now, however, after this trip, I will be off active duty and re-assigned to the civilian world—as if this is an order that can be easily followed. I turn the music up while I am behind the wheel, oddly enough, because loud music soothes my spirit. Listening helps keep me out of my head and focused on our journey.Modest MouseElliott Smith and others become a soundtrack to the most amazing world I have ever seen.

The mountains stand peaceful and calm, like resting elders keeping watch over their land. The frozen lakes are the smooth skin of these elders. The valleys are like cool hands placed on the Earth as if to revel in this creation in the same manner I do.

Forests stand strong and proud; they have been here forever and in the midst of this landscape they are bolstered in status. It is obvious mankind has not been here much. Buffalo, elk, moose and caribou are the only tenants—we’ve seen a few of each. These animals have the privilege of living the most peaceful and simple of lives.

Just passing through, I feel that same peace; it has already impacted me.

Because it will be my turn to drive again soon, I say a quick hello to check on Andy, look for the elusive northern lights that I still have not seen, and attempt to go back to sleep. Damn, it is cold. I cocoon myself in the blankets and reflect on the day. Tomorrow, Andy and I hope to make it to the U.S. border and—that far south—I doubt I will ever get a chance to see the northern lights again.

I am happy my journey will come to an end soon. It is a new year; I am alive. I think about things that end and are ending. I am sad for Corporal Salazar. Although I did not like him, I think about his painful, last few hours before he succumbed to his mortal wounds; I mourn his passing. I think about the young lady I love and our souring relationship. She carried me home when I was 12,000 miles away. Now that I will reside only 12 miles away from her I fear our relationship will not survive. I think about the last day of my active duty contract with the Marines. I think things will be good.

Eventually, I drift back to sleep.

“Dario, wake up!”

I snap awake with an alertness conditioned in combat. For a second I am confused about where I am and whether I need to find shelter or a bunker. I feel the truck sliding—in a controlled manner—to a stop. “What’s going on?” I ask.

“Look up there.” Andy points to the top left corner of the front windshield. From the back of the truck all I see is the bodies of trees.

“What on Earth on are you looking at man?” I ask, annoyed.

The truck stops and Andy gets out. I climb over blankets, pillows and provisions and follow him. Andy has turned the lights of the truck off, but I can make out his silhouette pointing at the sky.

We stand looking up for the next 15 minutes, oblivious to the low temperature and ignorant to our tiredness.

As if God is water-coloring the sky with a luminous paint, a swirl of red, green, blue and violet cascades above us in the shape of a helix.

I say, “They dance, they really do dance.” We get back in the truck and continue our journey home.


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Wednesday, June 2, 2010

In the Spirit of the Marines: Creating a Community of Support

On the Real Clear Politics webpage there is a recent editorial about the “maverick Marine Corps.” For well over 200 years the organization known as “America’s 911 force” has been engaged in conventional and unconventional warfare in “every clime and place that they can take a gun.” The kicker is, in addition to their tradition of winning battles, the modern day USMC has also maintained its practice of creating wholly fervent and fanatical, egocentric Marines, who will spit in the face of regulation and standard if it means mission accomplishment. Believe it or not, there’s been much historical discussion about disbanding the entire Marine Corps because of their wild ways, and even today certain representatives of American leaders have spoken out against the Marine Corps’ independent spirit.

Take a look at the current Iraq conflict for instance. When General Petraeus assumed the central command of the mission there and launched his surge strategy -- moving soldiers away from large bases to small combat outposts in towns to win the support of the locals; financing more redevelopment; training more regular Iraqi citizens to be able to defend their own country; supporting pro-American and pro-Iraqi neighborhood militias – the Marine Corps had already accomplished these things. I can support this with my own observations. On the Syrian Border, a city called Al Qa’im, my unit had created an outpost at a tire factory in the town of Husaybah. We graduated new ranks of Iraqi security forces monthly and we worked closely with the mayor in launching dozens of civil-military reconstruction projects. It was dangerous work that inflicted a significant human toll, but we won the peace. I know some people out there would still dispute that claim, but it truly is what I believe. Some military and political leaders no doubt, would have advocated less intense war-fighting strategies – and some of them did try to push that agenda. You will recall that, with victory at hand during the First Battle of Fallujah the action was stopped because of political pressure. And then also recall that the Second Battle of Fallujah didn’t begin until after the 2004 presidential election.

That being mentioned, now that the wars have gone on for nearly ten years and a new administration is in charge (and they like their predecessor have also advocated a “surge strategy”), why shouldn’t we unleash the Marines to win the peace in anyway they can?

It’d be great to see if, in addition to their history of improvisation and innovation to the skills of combat, the Marine Corps could get hip to the challenges of dealing with the human toll of the post war. They are trying at least. I don’t think it helped out very much, but the Corps did keep me out in Iraq for two extra weeks for “mandatory decompression time” before allowing me to return stateside. The concept of this time period was that if you disarm those who have just served in combat and remove all responsibility to the larger conflict from them, they will feel encouraged to start making the necessary mental preparation to return home. Maybe they’d talk to their buddies about everything that just happened to achieve a sort of therapy. Maybe they’d plan a healthy return instead of just coming home quickly and going insane with excessive partying and drama. Maybe they’d use their mandatory education from those two weeks (classroom sessions about what to expect when returning home) and actually apply it. Maybe those two weeks would help them process healthy minds.

Like I said, it didn’t work for me, but at least they’re making attempts. Unfortunately, innovation only comes after dozens of failures.

One other thing the Marine Corps does do is maintain a network called "Marine for Life,” which is a job-seeking service for any veteran of the Corps. There are also sections of the network where older Marines can help mentor younger Marines about what to expect from being a civilian and how to accomplish their goals and dreams for life outside of the military. It makes sense to me that creating a community to watch over one another is essential to the health and wellbeing of our returning veterans -- that is the reason for this site after all. What say you, Not Alone community? What else can the Corps and the rest of the military do?

What can we do for each other, here?


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