And the home of the brave

One of my relatives, Peter Green, fought in the Revolutionary War. It's not much, but it gets us into the DAR potlucks. Three of my great great great uncles fought in the Civil War. One for the Confederacy and two for the Union. Two of my great grandfathers joined the army during World War I, but never got to Europe. Both of my grandfathers served in World War II. One of them has two purple hearts and tiny bits of metal, over 60 years old, in his lung to show for it. My grandmother's brother landed on the beach on D-day. My great uncle, Bill, died in Korea at the age of 22. Another great uncle, Elwin, died from cancer which was caused by the absestos he was exposed to in the Navy, working on the pipelines. Two of my grandfather's brothers, Jamie and Ron, were Marines during peacetime as were two of my cousins. My father spent ten months in Vietnam and the rest of his life trying to forget it. My uncle Bill was stationed in Korea during the Vietnam War. My father's brother, Richard, was in the airforce and recently retired after more than 20 years of service. And that is just what I can remember off the top of my head. I come from a small town (Henry, pop. 2600) and where I come from people are pretty patriotic. I guess I am too. I gave out poppies or Memorial Day weekend. I was little miss poppy in 1995. Oh yeah, I got the parade pictures to prove it. I've been to 4th of July parades, fireworks, memorial services, legion breakfasts, dinners, fish frys, etc., I was a member of the American Legion Junior Auxiliary until I was an adult and now am a member of the American Legion Auxiliary. So yeah, I guess I am pretty patriotic. And in keeping with my patriotism, I think it's important to say what I feel about the United States. I don't agree with people who are anti-American for stupid reasons or stereotypes they have heard about the U.S. or its citizens. Plenty of other and more informed reasons to hate the United States exist.

I guess what started me thinking about all this was the fact that one of my friends from University joined the National Guard and is, at this very moment, at boot camping becoming a government utensil. A machine capable of saving lives and taking lives. Two days ago my mother told me that a guy I graduated high school with just left for Afghanistan and will be in Iraq by January. A guy that graduated a year ahead of me just got back from Iraq.

I remember when the U.S. government decided to invade Iraq. I was at Red Lobster. The T.V. was on and everyone, customers, waiters, everyone was completely glued to CNN. Our waiter came up to the table and asked us what we thought about the government's decision to invade, he looked like an expectant child about to watch their first violent movie. My mother just looked at him. After he left, she got very quiet and said "he doesn't understand now, but he will." My mother is a registered Republican. Which has always suprised me considering Nixon was President when she registered to vote, but I digress. She isn't really that political. I don't even know if she had an opinion on the war in Iraq, but she knew something that I didn't know that night. She knew what it was like to see people you know, people you love, go off to war and never come back. She knew was it was like to see images of war on every news channel, everday for over 10 years. She knew what it was like to wake up to your husband's flashbacks. She knew those things. My grandmothers knew those things. Now I am going to know those things and it's not fair.

I have always said I support the troops and not the war. It just always made sense to me.

My dad joined the Army when he was 17, something my he believes is the biggest mistake of his life, my grandmother signed as his guardian, something she regrets to this day. He went to Vietnam. Saw his friends die. Killed people, including a adolescent boy at Christmas, and came home. It was dark when he got off the long flight home, so he didn't see any protesters, was never called a "baby-killer" but he felt it all around him. He wore his field jacket all the time (it still sits in our cedar chest, unwashed), he grew his hair down to his shoulders, he began a relationship with alcohol that lasted too far into my childhood to talk about, and he tried to forget about it. He still goes to the VA. He gets his hearing checked (he began to lose it when he lost his earplugs while operating a howitzer), he gets cream for the rash on his back caused by exposure to Agent Orange (he had a biopsy done last year, no cancer thank God), and he talks to a counselor that offers advice about 35 years too late. He is a member of the American Legion, a prestigous membership, that he never takes seriously. It's not that he doesn't care. It's just that he is not proud. He would never, never again go back to Vietnam. That is my dad's story.

My grandfather joined the Marine Corps when he was 22. In 1942, it just seemed like the right thing to do. He didn't have a formal education past 8th grade, but he was smart and strong and a good shot. He went to Guam, New Georgia, Guadalcanal, Okinawa, and other small islands in the South Pacific. He saw pretty terrible things. He did pretty terrible things (the picture of him holding a human head still creeps me out). He was shot twice and almost died once. He is a member of the American Legion, has been post commander, and still, at 87 years old, helps out in the Memorial Day festivities. And will still tell everyone he ever meets that he was a Marine Raider. The best of the best. And he would always always go back to the South Pacific. That is my grandfather's story.

These two stories impacted my childhood profoundly. I know my grandfather's stories from Japanese tea sets and grass skirts. From letters and pictures and rifles hung up in his gun cabinets. I know his story from his deep voice and big hands. I know my dad's stories from anger and silence. From nightmares and from alcohol. From bits and pieces and unhappy endings. Two very different stories. Two very conflicting ideas.

So that is why I have always supported the troops. Number 1: Because they deserve it. They fight for us, they die for us, and it is because of them that we are free. And number 2: Because it is not their fault. But this is a new war. This is a new time. And I can't help but wonder. How can I support the troops while still opposing the war? Doesn't it make me a hypocrite to oppose something and then lend my support to those directly responsible for it? I can oppose the government, it's policies, it's decisions to invade Iraq, but can I truly give my support to those on the front lines doing the killing? I don't know if I can anymore.

World War II was for a good reason. Hitler sucked. Europe was burning. Vietnam was for a shitty reason, but there was a draft. Iraq is a needless and horribly wrong war and people are signing up for the military like it's going out of style. It's different.

I don't want anyone to die. U.S. soldiers, Iraqi soldiers, Iraqi children. Anyone. Too much death and killing exists in the world today and too many people are desensitized to it. It's enough. But it's too late for that. Aside from my own person political opinion on the war in Iraq and aside from the bullshit reasons the Bush administration gave us for invading Iraq. And aside from the fact that the situation in Iraq will not likely improve anytime soon, we are in Iraq and that is something we all have to live with. And it's hard. Like I said before, people I know are volunteering for the military. They are volunteering to put their life on the line for some ideal, which I guess is commendable. But not when this ideal involves being trained to kill.

If the Iraq war is something I feel so strongly in my soul, that I feel so strongly is against nature, God, whatever you want to call the forces of the Universe, that I feel so strongly is wrong, then I can't possibly "support" the troops. But if I don't support the troops, then I am against them. If I say I do not support the troops, then that means I don't want them to succeed. I do not care if they acheive their given objective. I do not care if they die. Which I find hard to swallow. But what if their objectives are against my own moral and ethical code, which I know many of them are? What if my support overlooks the horrible prisoner abuse that soldiers inflict on Iraqi prisoners? What if my lack of support overlooks the U.S. soldiers' bodies mutilated by Iraqi soldiers and insinuates my apathy?

Right now I see no way out. Either way I'm fucked. I don't know how to express my views on the Iraq war anymore. I know that it is wrong. I know that I don't want the U.S. to be there and that I haven't wanted the U.S. to be there since April of 2003. I know that I don't want anyone else to die. But I have to pick a side. And that is what I hate about the United States today.