The Long Road Home

Throughout this process, I have considered the many vantage points from which you could analyze the topic of war and its effects on our society.  Some people think strictly in terms of rationale for being there, others reflect on the sheer numbers of casualties, and still others consider the amount of time lost by those who are serving in the effort.  I chose to examine this issue from a place of hope -- the hope that resides in the family and friends of deployed individuals, the hope that those during deployment have that they will return home, and the hope that the life at home will meet the expectations of all involved. 

Excerpts:

Once the deployed parent has returned home, adjustments in the routines of daily life occur again.  "You kind of sit back and just observe and watch, and start feeling your way back into your family.  You don't jump in and start playing Daddy and putting down rules and everything else." (Caroff, 2007, p. 86)  During this transition, children might require extra support to manage expectations.  While this adjustment can be difficult for all involved, it is an expected issue after any long absence.

However, there are other emotional obstacles that these veterans will encounter daily, many of which are attributed to their sustained exposure to highly unstable and stressful situations.  "To the soldier, American culture may seem foreign." (Colloff, 2004, p.93) Many describe reaching for weapons that for months became a part of their body but are no longer there, while others describe studying the mannerisms of those around them scrutinizing them for suspicious activity.  While their dependence on these routines - vital to their safety during combat - seem justifiable, the petty concerns and complaints of those they encounter in their daily life do not.  When asked what bothered him most now that he was home, Staff Sgt. Matthew E. Jordan said, "Less tolerant of stupid people, doing stupid things." (Myers, 2003, p. 1) I can understand that the daily complaints of civilians seem relatively insignificant compared to what veterans have been through.  The perspective I have gained with this assignment has caused a shift in my personal value system.

I will show you fear in a handful of dust--

Poems by Esme Sammons
Positive Spin

“His sense of humor and positive outlook make him a favorite on the amputee ward.”—VFW Magazine, “Wounded Vets Rebound”

The clock is broken and marks eternal 3 o’clock.
Her hand rests on his arm, pale against the tan;
Her face an oval cut from paper.
He sleeps for now.

If she speaks, her lips will surely shatter—
Like cheap pottery—
And anyway,
What will she say?

His chest moves with tidal breath,
Rising and falling like coastal waves.
Under the blanket,
Ridges of his legs stretch uneven—
Diminished.

Later she will weep as she folds the laundry
And finds his single sock.



Above is only Blue

Strangely quiet after impact
Above is only blue.
Percussive roar now muffled
comes from an unimportant distance
--disconnected--
More felt than heard,
Swaddled as if in cotton, it thumps
counter rhythm to the internal beat,
but fades in numbing fingertips.
Crimson seepage spreads a shroud,
consumed by thirsty sand.
Above is only blue.




For in that Sleep--

If I shut my eyes theirs will open in the dark,
silver
Against the blood red screen of my lids I watch them open—
They can see—
They can smell me here.
I don’t know I don’t know
idon’tknowidon’tknow
Their voices; clogged with roots and clotted earth they—
whisper
Telling of their (that unknown world from which no traveler returns) dreams—
Beckoning, questioning:
Why why why why why
Peace will come at such a price if only I—
I am full of the hum of voices,
Here in the dark—
Mustn’t mustn’t musn’t
If I open my eyes I—




Human elemental

When broken into its most essential parts, the human body is made of

65% Oxygen
18% Carbon
10% Hydrogen
3% Nitrogen
1.5% Calcium
1% Phosphorous
0.35% Potassium
0.25% Sulfur
0.15% Sodium
0.15% Chlorine
0.05% Magnesium
0.0004% Iron
0.00004% Iodine

And trace amounts of flourine, silicon, manganese—
zinc, copper, aluminum, and arsenic.
Monetarily speaking, the sum of these parts is worth less than a dollar.
But we are so much more! (so much more)

Each element could be isolated, then stored in glass jars—
Such tiny jars!—
And displayed on the mantel.
Meaningless.
As meaningless as that small lump of bronze
(elemental tin and copper)
Called the Medal of Honor
Given in reward (supplication apology payment) for valor in action.
But Sn+Cu loses all value—
When the recipient is a small woman dressed in black,
Cradling a carefully folded flag.

Stream— September 11, 2001

Towers fall in on you on themselves
On the world
Crash
Burn and churn and break and
Kill and smoke and clouds and
Death and bits and—

Nuclear wrongness
Molecular weirdness
Broken broken smoke and soot and
Bits and pieces—
Hell begets hell begets

A baked land that, with parched mouth,
Calls— overflowing with maybes and where tos and how will I?
Mama please I’m hungry DaddyohDaddy
I’m so thirsty Mama—
Watching children die face down in the dust in pain
Bloated bellies, flies—
Ohdon’tleaveyourbabies
Nodon’teverleaveyourbabies

See the beatings the horror the war the rape
Get on a train for tomorrow
A hope a prayer for no more tears
And no more blood no more hungry
Mouths and pleading eyes
Overflowing with words and prayers and oh god have mercy on me
Cramped crowded squeezing hoping
Ohgodohgodohgodoh
Fragments of brain and bits of dreams and technology and the
Bright bright bright bright future—

“this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends
this is the way the world ends”

Not with a whimper but with screams and screams
And screams.

--Esme J. Sammons 2008

THIS IS NOT A GAME

There aren’t three strikes in this game.
No instant replays or do over’s.
There’s no “we’ll get them next time” or “at least you tried your best”.
No room for error or death is what you get.
I sit in my room
Listen to music while lying on my soft bed.
My biggest worry- what to make for dinner.
Clear blue skies, cars driving by. Peace.
Thousands of miles away a solider sits on his hard bunk,
Listening to the gun shots and explosions in the distance.
His biggest worry: will he make it back alive this time?
Will his daughter grow up with her daddy by her side?
Worlds away, but still so real,
TVs on, but easily shut off when images of war are shown.
No off button there.
Horror everyday; pink clouds when bombs blow
Body parts are scattered.
The smell of death lingers.
“The experience didn’t rattle him. Worse, it changed him.
He realized that this is not a game.”

Women Veterans with PTSD

Woman warrior, with hands so small,
Don’t let them see you cry.
Stand up firm, and proud, and tall,
While you watch your brothers die.
And if bombs explode, and blood is gushed,
Keep your head up high.
You’ll never be one of the guys,
If you let them see you cry.
And if they push you down, and tear your clothes,
Remember it’s all right.
Gotta be a tough girl now,
So don’t let them see you cry.
-Woman Warrior by Deb Eskie

Excerpts:


As a woman, a feminist, and an advocate against the war in Iraq, I am particularly interested in the stories of female soldiers fighting alongside men as a minority group within the military. Women warriors have existed since pre-biblical times, but have struggled for equal opportunity within our modern U.S military. Though, they have served as supporting roles in every American war, it wasn’t until the Gulf War of 1991 that as many as 40,000 women went to war, four times the number of female soldiers in Vietnam. After the Gulf War, President Clinton signed the military bill ending combat exclusion for women on warships (Holmstedt, 2008). According to Kristen Holmstedt (2008) “about 90 percent of the career fields in the armed forces are now available to the best qualified and available person, regardless of gender” (para. 7). In 2007 more than 160,000 female soldiers were deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan (Corbett, 2007).

In her book Love My Rifle More Than You: Young and Female in the U.S Army, Kayla Williams describes her experience as an American soldier, and how she was used to sexually insult and humiliate an Iraqi detainee, while her male counterparts flicked cigarette butts at him (Burke, 2006). Twenty-one year old Tina Priest, a soldier serving in Iraq, shot herself in 2006 after filing a rape charge against a fellow soldier. The army failed to verify her claims. Other vets diagnosed with PTSD reveal that after coming home from Iraq to their children, they could not function as capable mothers (Corbett,

Why do you think more women experience PTSD from war than men do?
Eleanor: It’s the inherent nature of women. They’re sensitive and nurturing, and are affected on a deeper level. If women see injured children and women crying for their husbands in Iraq, it’s that much more traumatic. The military should open up and expose their problems and not act above reality. That way, people would benefit from their pain.
Daniel: I think it's a combination of a lot of things. First of all, women have a more difficult time just existing within the military. There's a lot of potential for trauma day to day, whereas men don't really have to deal with that. That is probably the main reason, but there may be others. Society basically conditions men from a young age to be jaded toward violence, for example, and at the same time our society tries to shelter women from everything.

War is ugly. It is violent, messy, and sickening. I don’t expect any aspect of it to be pleasant or humane. My theory is that the men who perpetrate disgraceful acts against their female counterparts most likely have Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder as well, as I refuse to believe that anyone is immune to the dire affects of war. Perhaps women truly are better at identifying their emotions, while men suffer in silence.

Cultural Sensitivity

When entering a foreign country such as Iraq in a time of war, American soldiers naturally expect to face a heightened level of resistance from not only insurgents but from local civilians as well. Clearly the military focuses much of its attention on preparing soldiers physically for any confrontation they may encounter, arming them with plenty of weapons and gear. Though I feel more should be done, especially at this phase of the war, to educate soldiers about the Arabic culture and history. I’m not saying that they have to agree with their customs or way of life, but I do believe this information is absolutely essential in order to build peaceful relationships.

(Marine Cpl.) Jeff: "Almost every Iraqi soldier was pro American and most were Suni. They were elated that we were there not just for diplomacy but also for muscle. We took our chances with the water and had dinner with them Chai tea, falafel, goat… We’d even swim in the Euphrates River together. Acmed, knowing that I was catholic, as a parting gift gave me a bible, which shows tolerance and respect for another point of view."

In trying to infuse democracy into a civilization that already has a rich culture and deep history filled with mythology, literature, religion and the arts, it’s important not to lose sight of our intent. Geographically civilization was born in the Middle East and to see it looted and crushed undermines our cause. Yes we may be determined and have the motivation to liberate an oppressed people but should never confuse integrity with authority. “America must approach the world with a sense of purpose that is anchored by its ideals, a principled realism that seeks not to remake each region in our own image, but to help make a better world.” (Hagal, Chuck, 2006)

Three Kids

“Peace is not merely a distant goal that we seek, but a means by which we arrive at that goal”
(Dr.Martin Luther King, Jr.)

Prologue
September 12, 2001

I was driving home
I had the radio off because I needed a break from the news
Like everyone else at that time, I needed some quiet time
To reflect

I knew this would get complicated very quickly
The new president, recently appointed by the Supreme Court,
Needed to silence his critics and claim legitimacy
And 19 terrorists had just handed him a blank check

Was he hiding South Dakota?
Or did Cheney send in there
So he would not be in the way?

Either way, I knew that once he came out of his hole
He was just enough of a cowboy to get suckered into this bar fight
And why not? He knew his kids were safe
Yep! This would get complicated very quickly

I noticed a boy, about 12 years old
Standing on the sidewalk in front of his house
Holding an American flag
Wearing an army helmet and camouflage khakis
He was saluting to cars as they passed
The people in their cars would blow their horns, salute, and wave
This brought a look of joy to the boy's face
A look normally associated with ice cream and new bicycles

As I drove past him I did not blow my horn, wave, or salute
I just frowned
I watched in my rearview mirror as he threw down the flag
And stomped back to the house
I imagined him saying,
"Mommy, Mommy…that man doesn't want to play"

As I write this, I realize that that little boy
Is now old enough to serve

Thank You President Bush
(A poem inspired by a picture of a young Iraqi boy in a car holding a sign which reads, "Thank You President Bush")

Dear President Bush,

I am a young Iraqi boy
Who prides myself not only on my vast knowledge
Of politics and world leaders
But also on my command of the English language
And excellent penmanship as illustrated by this sign I made
All by myself

Thank you for liberating my country from that evil dictator Saddam Hussein
A million Iraqis were killed during his 20 year reign
You are a much stronger leader because you were able to get a million Iraqis killed
In twenty five percent of the time

I know in my heart that those people would have gladly given their lives
To further your cause, whether it be to find weapons of mass destruction
Which did not exist
Or to capture terrorists who were not born here, did not train here, and did not live here
Until after you invaded

But my heart is filled with joy because I, and the 80% of my family who is still alive,
Look forward to a free Iraqi government
Which should be formed any day now

And do not worry about the 4.9 million refugees you created
Our homes were not nice like your ranch in Crawford that you had built
During a political campaign to help Southern voters forget
That you're actually a rich Yankee from Connecticut

Like your mom said about the refugees from hurricane Katrina
Who had to live in a football stadium in Texas,
This will probably work out better for us
Especially for the 190 refugees you let live in your country

Remember what I always say
Americans lives are more important than Iraqi lives
And US security is more important than world stability
Keep fighting the good fight!

Sincerely,
The little boy with the sign who does too know what it says!

Epilogue
Amy

Coincidentally, the first show she acted in
Was the first show I directed
And don't even remember why I chose her
Out of the dozen or so who auditioned
Maybe her voice quality, hair color, or even her height
But I soon found out she was the hardest working 15 year old in community theater

In spite of no budget, a lazy stage crew, an inept production company,
In other words, a typical community theater production,
The show and Amy were great
At the cast party I was playing the typical pissed off director
Angry at the company for giving so much support to the cast party
And so little to the production

At the end of the night, Amy gave me a big hug and thanked me
She told me how hard she worked but how it was all worth it
I saw how proud her family was of her
And how much it meant to both her mom and her dad who were recently divorced
The anger I was harboring melted away
From a hug from a little girl
She taught me that art doesn't have to be polished or elaborate to be meaningful
Sometimes it just has to be done

Coincidentally, we met again years later at Boston's South Station
Amy told me that as a flight attendant she had the opportunity to visit Amsterdam
And the house where Anne Frank, the girls she portrayed in our play, hid
During the war
She asked if I would direct her in a two-person show she wanted to perform
Theatre people always say stuff like that but it usually doesn’t happen
But I really hoped that this one would

Coincidentally, she was working on the second plane
That crashed into the World Trade Center
Six years, two invasions, millions of lives, and billions of dollars later
We still haven't caught the alleged perpetrator

But I guess I'm missing the big picture

A poem written by Alexis Alleman

Here is a poem inspired by my conversation about our class with my friend, who is a wife of a marine in Iraq currently. I thank her graciously for adding to our blog:

A Poem on How Theory Does Not Translate to the Mind

The brain thinks the trick is to keep the body busy

That the body follows the mind

And cathartic experiences are expressed through paintbrushes and paper cut out hearts

It thinks (through logical summation)

That the whole is the sum of its parts

Arm, foot, ear, mind à body

All in one

And when things go wrong, the brain doesn't wish to be somebody else

It simply thinks that sometimes

sometimes

...it'd be better if things were different.

The brain thinks. Its good at that.

And so (fully satisfied with itself)

It passes alerts from neuron to neuron, from synapse to synapse

Because it has an announcement to make:

We will now commence with making a heart.

The body responds. Its good at that.

Scissors in hands, drawings on papers, tongue hanging delicately out the side of the mouth.

Endless hours of painstaking research on to just which heart to make

And carefully, gently

Like a baby, it all comes out

"Today is February 17th. There are 82 more days" the brain says

And the body responds: there are 82 hearts (research and popular opinion has shown that taking them out one by one each day signals to brain that things are getting smaller).

Its getting smaller.

Risk is getting smaller.

Synapse to synapse, neuron to neuron, we begin typing a poem, counting calendars, making beds, watching TV.

The brain knows the body can be numbed.

Arm, foot, ear, mind

But the mind is not so easily fooled.

Some think it's the heart that knows, but its really the mind.

The mind understands that 82 doesn't go away with paper hearts but actually with the passing of time

And time does not always feel particularly friendly.

Sometimes, the mind thinks the trick is to plan and imagine

And then it also knows that there is no trick

The mind knows this is a poem and it is not cathartic.

American Apathy Towards the War in Iraq

As most people know, there is a wide range of viewpoints on the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Some people wholeheartedly support all of it: the war, the President, the troops and their mission. Others are staunchly opposed to every aspect of the war (a number which seems to be growing everyday based on public opinion polls); and of course there are many who fall somewhere in between these two extremes.
After reading many first-hand accounts in the book, Operation Homecoming, I have an overwhelming feeling of being unaffected and totally disconnected from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. I am aware of the fact that so many people are willingly giving up their lives to this war, yet my daily life is not affected by it at all. Nothing has changed in my day-to-day routine since the war began. I do not know anyone who is fighting in Iraq, nor do I feel any connection to what is happening there.
This excerpt taken from Operation Homecoming is from a woman writing a letter to her brother, a U.S. Army Captain fighting in the war. It provides a brief, but accurate summary of the American apathy towards the war:
“I don’t know how many others are touched personally, and this is what bothers me. We are at war. We are spending inordinate amounts of our resources, yet we are not asked to conserve, to cut back, here at home. The forty-five-million-dollar inaugural ball went on as scheduled. The Oscars, the Super Bowl; we are a country out of touch…Our national dialogue should be loud and inflamed, we should be working day and night to figure out a way to handle this mess, not tuning in to American Idol.” (Carroll, 200).

So it would seem that there are many Americans who share my view and feel disconnected to the war, and keep living their day-to-day life the same as they would if there was no war going on.

In contrast, the whole country changed during World War Two. Everyone across the country made sacrifices, and the entire way of life shifted for most people. Women took over in the workforce as men went to fight in foreign lands. Factories, which now employed women, changed their production to making items necessary for war. Food and gasoline were rationed; nothing was thrown away. Today, “…only a handful of Americans are directly affected by the war or asked to sacrifice for it. For many it feels removed…It’s easy to forget because there hasn’t been a draft…It’s not wartime in the way we are living…People aren’t collecting scrap metal or growing victory gardens” (Knickerbocker, 2007). In Vietnam the whole country was absorbed in the war. People watched their television set each night to find out what had happened in the day’s fighting. (E. Sheaffer, personal interview, February 10, 2008).
“The depth of the protests [during the Vietnam War], the unrest; it spoke volumes about people’s engagement with the war, with their country. This war hasn’t gripped us, hasn’t absorbed us like the other conflicts did” (Carroll, 199).

Smell

Soft beeps murmed from the corner of the makeshift bedroom. A nurse attached a blood pressure cuff around the Sergeant's arm as a physical therapist slowly raised her paitient's right leg with a pulley.

"I see it's time for the Lilliputians to move Gulliver today," said the Sergeant's mother cheerfully as she came in from the kitchen[1].

The Sergeant's large hand fell from the bed to dangle. I brushed my head under his unresponsive hand and licked it, his skin tasted a little bitter due to the fact that his mother had applied his favorite collagne to his wrist.

The nurse smiled down at me as she turned towards the mother. "Your son sure is my best smelling patient yet,"[2] the nurse smiled and took off the blood pressure cuff.

The Sergeant's mother walked over to her son's bed. She brushed his hair away from his unresponsive eyes. The physical therapist began to raise the Sergeant's other leg with a pulley.

A bead of saliva glistened in the morning sunlight as it slipped from the Sergeant's lips. His mother made a tsk sound and pulled a clear tube from the wall.

"Don't worry. Mommy's here, do you need some suction?"[3] His mother asked, water welled up to the rim of her eyelashes. She let out a breath as she suctioned the saliva. I leaned against her legs for support.

---

[1] Actual quote from page 3 of resource: Winerip, Michael. "Holding On to Hope.(Long Island Weekly Desk)(PARENTING)." The New York Times 157.54216 (Feb 10, 2008): 1(L). The New York Times. Gale. Lesley University. 15 Feb. 2008

[2] Actual quote from page 4 of resource: Winerip, Michael. "Holding On to Hope.(Long Island Weekly Desk)(PARENTING)." The New York Times 157.54216 (Feb 10, 2008): 1(L). The New York Times. Gale. Lesley University. 15 Feb. 2008

[3] Actual quote from page 5 of resource: Winerip, Michael. "Holding On to Hope.(Long Island Weekly Desk)(PARENTING)." The New York Times 157.54216 (Feb 10, 2008): 1(L). The New York Times. Gale. Lesley University. 15 Feb. 2008

* * * *

"She's coming home," he said and smirked at me. I watched him fluff up the pillows and put on new sheets. It smelled like fresh laundry.

He asked, "you know what that means?" I looked at him, my tongue lolling happily as I panted in the warm summer air in the house.

He moved over to the CD player and pressed the button. Sleeping sounds of her came from the stereo, including her snoring. "She kills me with that snoring, but god help me, I recorded her last time she was home, just so I could hear her sleep next to me sometimes."

He came over to me and placed his hands on my face and scratched behind my ears. "I'm just happy she'll be home, snoring and all."[1]

---

[1] Vinette based on a letter read in resource: Carroll, Andrew. (2006). Operation homecoming: Iraq, Afghanistan, and the home front, in the words of U.S. troops and their families. New York: Random House: Chapter: Home

From Then to Now; A Reflection on the War

The following monolgues are excerpts from a longer one-woman show. The piece is a multi-media performance and consists of videos and monologues based on the history of the war, interviews and personal reflections.

"A Soldier's Guilt"
Carlos: My name is Carlos Vasquez. I'm 29 years old and before I enlisted I was working as a mechanic in my older brother's shop. The recruiter saw me and said all the right things. You know, we're gonna get you out of this town, we'll give you money for school. There's gonna be all these neat things you can do. It'll be an adventure. Like in a movie or some shit. I got told it was the American Way. A right of passage for a real man. To serve and protect my country. It was my destiny and my duty. And I believed all that stuff. It sounded pretty damn good. I fell for all of it. But once you've got that contract signed man, once they've got that piece of paper you've got an obligation. And the only way to fulfill that obligation is to do whatever they say whenever they say to do it. The only response is "yes sir," and when they say "fire," that's what you do. For me to actually be there, I mean to see the things that I saw -- I saw some really terrible things -- and then I almost died. I almost died man. It was pandemonium, and the Iraqi women and children they were running all around me and the looks on their faces -- the screaming -- I still have nightmares about that. The way they looked at me. And then I felt this terrible pain in my leg and I went down and I stayed down. I thought "this is it. This is where I die." I lay there up against that wall and I just prayed for it to be over. I could hear the shooting and the screaming and I just closed my eyes and I pressed myself up against that wall -- like I was trying to become part of it or something you know? And then the shooting died down and my Sergeant found me I don’t know how long later. We hadn’t lost anyone. No casualties. Just my leg. But then I looked into the street -- into the middle of it all -- and I saw all the dead civilians. People that had no say in the matter. People that had no weapons. People that happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. And I'm tellin' you man, you can have all the college money that you want, all the honorable discharges you want, but the fact that you were in a war, so criminal and so immoral, and you did nothing to prevent your participation -- not all the money in the world, not all the education in the world is going to erase that guilt.

"A Soldier Speaks"
Millford: I've been over there twice already and I'll be going back in a month. I'm proud to be there. I'm proud to go back. I'm proud of what we've accomplished there and what we'll continue to accomplish. You don’t hear about that though. That's what kills me. Yes, a lot of people have died. But to come home and to only hear about the casualties...to have to listen to the politicians talk about "support the troops" and speak in our name as though they know what it's like to be there day in and day out. To make it sound like it's been some kind of waste. Like we're not doing anything. I'm not saying there haven’t been terrible things done over there. Lives have been lost -- on both sides. But that's not what it's all about. That's not all there is. I've seen children that never would have been able to go before we got there, going into schools carrying books with smiles on their faces. I've dug trenches with my own hands so that pipes can be run into towns that didn’t have running water before I dug that trench. My unit built a hospital. An entire hospital -- I built it with my own hands. Where else could I do something like that? Find me another place where I could do so much good for so many people. I'm not saying this cuz I think I'm some kind of big hot shot hero. I just wish this country heard both sides. I wish the media showed that once in a while. I've lost good men and women -- good friends -- to this war. And I fear death just as much as the next guy. But when this is all over, when I finally come home for good -- I'm going to know that I did something real with my life. And I'm going to feel good about that. How many people can say that?

By: Shira Cahn-Lipman

America’s Unconscious War

During my reading of Operation Homecoming, I was interested to read that I was not the only one feeling disconnected from the war. Kathleen Furin, who had a brother serving wrote, “What frightened me is that I’m not the only one who is not paying attention…This war hasn’t gripped us, hasn’t absorbed us like the other conflicts did.” (Carroll, 2006 chap. 6) I was interested to learn what others in my life felt about the war and if they felt disengaged as well. Surprisingly, I found was that all three loved ones that I interviewed were very aware of the war. For instance, Toni a dear family friend stated:

I see that it is in every political speech and rally. The economy is important--essential, in fact, and I hope that we address it as our poor slip further and further into despair and auto jobs disappear in Detroit--but I don't think anyone will forget that we have a pressing need and desire to end this war.

My father, another baby-boomer, similarly stated, “All offensive wars are on, or should be on, the conscience of the nation. Involvement in this war will play the foremost role in the election of the next president.” I think that because my father and Toni’s generation was affected previous conflicts, they have a heightened awareness of the war.

Yet, when I asked a friend about what he thought the war’s impact on our generation was, he replied that “As an upper-middle class, white male, this war has had minimal impact on me...” I found it interesting that he had that sentiment as well, even though the majority of the troops are of similar age and race. It was Topher’s comment on race that made me think about the demographics of the military. According to the New York Times:
As a group, about 60 percent of enlisted men and women are white; they tend to be married and upwardly mobile, but to come from families without the resources to send them to college. While blacks make up about 12.7 per cent of the same-age civilian population, they constitute about 22 per cent of enlisted personnel. Perhaps most striking is the number of enlisted women who are black: more than 35 percent, according to Pentagon figures, indicating not only that black women enlist at higher rates, but that they stay in the military longer. In the Army, in fact, half of all enlisted women are black, outnumbering whites, who account for 38 percent.

I had no idea that many women were enlisted, let alone that the vast majority of women enlisted were black women. All of the images I have seen from the war have predominantly been of young white men dressed in either their military regalia or their desert camouflage. I wonder why the media has chosen to represent the soldiers that way or if it was even a conscience decision at all.


Since reading Operation Homecoming and taking an in-depth look on the war’s impact on the family members and soldiers, I have come to a few realizations. The first recognize being that I can no longer ignore, or be disengaged from, this war. Now is not a time where one can be oblivious to the political and social currents of our nation. In order for me to initiate change, I need to be aware of what I am taking a stand against. Ignoring the war enables it. Now that I am aware, I still feel overwhelmed, but in a different way. I am only one young adult. I have been constantly asking myself throughout this project, “What can I do to help stop this awful war and all of the heartache and death it is causing?”
I have come to the conclusion that I must continue following events in the Middle East, and discussing the war with others. I can, and will, vote in the next presidential election for a candidate that pledges to phase our soldiers out of Iraq. I will make an effort to reconnect with my friends from high school that are overseas. I need to know that I can brighten one soldier’s day, by email or package. I know myself well enough to realize that I need a connection to this war; I cannot, however, keep reading all of the personal narratives from the families of soldiers. I need to find a balance between becoming emotional when the war is brought up and ignoring it. As difficult as this assignment was for me to complete, I am glad that I became as invested in it as I did. I have not only learned about the complex and ever-changing social/political climate of America, I have learned more about myself as well.

War on The Mind

Out of the individuals returning from war, one in five members suffer from PTSD, major depression, or other serious mental afflictions, a thorough the examination of more detailed statistics it becomes evident why. Surveys indicated that one of every four Marines has killed an Iraqi civilian, one out of every five Army members has engaged in hand- to – hand combat, and over eighty five percent of individuals know someone who has been killed. However, out of all of the given numbers, perhaps the most frightening is that, over fifty percent of soldiers have handled human remains (Raja Mishra Globe, 2004). Considering these significant figures, I cannot debate with the assumption that combat exposure relates directly to PTSD. The images and situations that soldiers are exposed to are unlike anything that could be seen elsewhere, and are emotionally and mentally devastating.

Measuring Progress with a Kite

This is an exerpt from a paper I wrote in response to reading Operation Homecoming and other research on Iraq and Afghanistan...

A few years ago I was compelled to change my alarm from 6 a.m. to 6:04 just so I wouldn’t be imprinted every morning with the number of troops that had been killed in Iraq over night - news of which invariably topped the hour. Later in the day I could confront that sad reality but I needed to start on a different note. While I have only a few peripheral friends/acquaintances with loved ones in the military, at times I am consumed by thoughts of what it would feel like to not know exactly where these people were, or more urgently, if they were in mortal peril - my heart would ache for these families. The customary news outlets did little to alleviate or inform me about these human concerns (…consider foremost that individuals are referred to as troops)...

I did find some comfort in the story of Major Richard Sater:

Major Richard Sater (2006) provides us with a simple and sincere narrative that clearly illustrates the capacity of words to stir emotions and provoke dialogue. Stationed at Bagram Air Base in Afghanistan, Sater finds himself with some free time and an International Security Assistance Force kite. Significant is the fact that the kite is from the ISAF, which is a peacekeeping force made up of individuals from about thirty different countries. The day spent trying to fly the kite, with successes and failures, is a simple metaphor for the U.S. mission:

The Taliban outlawed kites. Too frivolous. Imagine. In town today, riding through Kabul, you can see children flying kites now because they can. We forget sometimes that genuine progress is measured in small increments (Sater, 2006).

Sater’s day of kite flying ends with him passing the kite (through concertina wire) to two young Afghan boys.

I hope the boys have as much luck as I did in making it fly. Maybe they will know someone who can read the Dari passage on the kite and derive some encouragement from it. But if the dove depicted on the kite stands for nothing more than two Afghan boys having some fun for a day or two perhaps no other significance is necessary (Sater, 2006).

All along I was struck by how divergent yet connected all these stories were. These complex, interwoven narratives and views inspired this sculptural piece. The kite is a copy of the one's distributed by the ISAF and mentioned by Major Sater.

















P.S. - The song that I played in class is called Fort Hood by Mike Doughty from the just released album Golden Delicious. It's available on itunes now or you can check out the song and interview on NPR - http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=19087831

The Reality of Disconnect

On September 14, 2001 I wrote in my journal. I remember what I felt like three days before. I was in my alone when my roommate came in and embraced me. I remember being frightened. We sat down on her bed and we turned on the television. My heart was pounding. I was scared. It was a mixture of wanting to be with my family and being completely confused as to how America could be at the mercy of this terrible tragedy. Wasn’t America supposed to be the most powerful nation in the world? Our government was too smart; too strong to let something like this happen. We watched the towers fall as we gripped our hands together. Our room soon became full of other students. We became closer that day. All of us did.

Dear Diary, September 14, 2001

It is three days from the tragedy in New York City. Terrorists flew two planes into the World Trade Center buildings. It has been a tough week with reports on all the deaths of so many deaths of innocent people. I’ve been so emotional lately. My mom called the other day (Tuesday) in tears. She never cries. It was so nice to hear her voice. All of this is making adjusting to school so much harder. It’s so sad that people do such evil things to each other. The thought of a war is so scary. I miss my mother.

As I read further into my diary, there was little mention of the aftermath of September 11. Even though, I was a member for the social justice club, I thought about the war when I was at that meeting and not again until the next. Eventually, I stopped going to the meetings. It was time consuming and I had other things to do. I became wrapped up in my freshman year of college and I was consumed by everything around me. I barely had time to call home to catch up with my family and friends. I was making new friends, falling in love, and exploring a new city. I was having the time of my life. The year was flying by and before I knew it, May had come and I was packing to go home for the summer.

Shudder

Bearing the sorrow
(I cannot bear it)
leads me to shudder
in the cold of an empty room


--Kerrie Bellisario