Veteran’s Day can be tough
Couple notes up top: I am publishing this knowing that I receive plenty of well-meaning texts and calls of support on Veteran's Day and this blog entry is nothing against any of the people who call or text. Also, I am clarifying that I don't speak for anyone but myself so please know these are MY individual thoughts and feelings related to my individual service. Lastly, I reference self-harm and war acts so this writing is intended for mature audiences only and even still, reader beware.
As an “Operation Iraqi Freedom” veteran (1) the holiday, Veteran’s Day can be very difficult for me. I remember on November 11th 2006 I touched down in Dallas International Airport from Mosul Iraq, by way of Kuwait (2) on a plane that was entirely filled with fellow service members going home from various units/bases stationed in Iraq. It was a mid tour leave plane. (3) I’m pretty sure I was the only one I knew from my unit but I’m not quite sure. Memory’s a little foggy on non critical details like this. That and at the time I was pretty narrowly focused on getting the fuck out of Iraq and my ACUs, landing at home in San Diego, putting on some human clothes, and hanging with my family and friends. The Sergeant Major of the Army or someone who I might have actually been interested in could have been sitting next to me at the PAX shed in Kuwait and I don’t think I would have even noticed. I was ready to be home where I could be away from my job of listening to the battlefield for 12+ hrs a day.
Listening to the brave folks outside the wire call, and sometimes cry for help, it was my job to help them get that help. I worked as an Radio Telephone Operator (RTO) in a Cavalry Squadron (4). We had attack/recon helicopters that would carry 50 caliber machine guns, rockets (big booms), and every now and again hellfire missiles (really big booms) and I always explain my job to civilians as “a 9-1-1 operator but for attack helicopters.” Our birds as we called them, would fly deliberate missions in coordination with the combat arms dudes on the ground, provide security for various convoys, and were always ready to respond if things were getting a little spicy in the city. As an RTO we were what’s known as in military terms as fobbits.(5) And while it was true that as fobbits we didn’t see any action, other than the UAV feed which only worked some of the times, we listened to EVERYTHING. EVERY DAY. ALL OF THE TIMES. Like 50 Cent be in the club all the time, we be listening to the radios all the times.
As RTOs that was our primary job. Listening. Sometimes we RTOs were the only ones tasked with paying attention other times the entire room was on pins and needles because one of our pilots had just taken fire, or an infantry cat was stuck under a vehicle and he wasn’t sure but he felt like the pin on his grenade might have caught on something and pulled out while he was crawling, or there’s a IED that went off close by and shook the whole base, or there’s an ambush on a convoy, or a car bomb just ran into a checkpoint in the city.
Anytime our helicopters would engage (6) the enemy the headquarters would be deadly silent save for the radio. It’d be like we all were holding our breath not to disturb anything. If the birds were close enough we might be able to hear the delay between the radio call and the clack clack clack of the 50 or the thud thud thud of the rockets outside. And as soon as we got the “target neutralized” or whatever the fuck cold ass wording we’d used on the radio the room would erupt in a collective cheer/exhale.(7) But any time a US service member died in battle there’d be a collective malaise and a comms blackout (8) and we were almost always among the first to know because nine times out of ten we just heard it all go down.
While things did get crazy occasionally, war for me was most often fought fighting boredom and depression. There’d typically be 5-10 of us bullshitting trying to keep each other entertained and then out of nowhere it was time to participate in a collective effort to murder poor brown people whom we knew absolutely NOTHING about, whose language we couldn’t speak, in a foreign land on the other side of the planet. Adrenaline took over because we knew that people’s lives were in our hands and we had to handle our business like professionals so that the people who did the dying were the poor brown ones and not us.
So as I deplaned in Dallas 17 years ago, slightly less than halfway through my killing time, I was overwhelmed with emotion as I started walking through the terminal to see there were two crowds of people on either side of the walkway, like a sea of people that had been parted by Moses himself to form a path for us soldiers to walk through. And as we walked through the parted sea of people they all clapped and cheered for us all the way through the entire terminal. There were news cameras, people waving flags, men women and children. I had to fight back tears because it was so much. It was like the “Proud to be an American” military/grave digger montage they show at the beginning of a monster truck rally times a thousand. I know it was meant with love and at the time that’s how I received it. Because at the time I didn’t think I was participating in murder. I had completely bought into all the propaganda and all the rhetoric. No weapons of mass destruction, no problem. These people still needed “freedom!” I was defending my county. I was just doing my job. Look at all the people cheering for me when I landed in Texas. How could anything about this be bad?
But as I got older and as I got out of the service I became less and less attached to the Army as a part of my identity and I was therefore able to look my service more and more objectively. Like the people cheering for me and my fellow soldiers when we deplaned our mid tour leave plane in Dallas, I wanted to serve my country because I did love this country. I wanted to do something to make my family proud, and my country proud, and myself proud. I wanted to be an agent of good. But I hadn’t learned then that agents of good don’t carry arms. And you’re not defending your country by being on an offensive mission as an occupying force. There’s nothing defensive about that. But I was 18 when I signed up and my whole life I was conditioned to think United States Military were the good guys. Of course I wanted to be a good guy which was why it was so hard and took so long to realize that maybe I hadn’t been. Especially when the society I live in celebrates that part of me that I am now quite ashamed of.
As a fobbit I didn’t think I was allowed to have PTSD, though I definitely did (10). And I’m sure a lot of the combat arms folks might laugh behind my back if I said that I do. But I do still struggle despite my best efforts at healing with therapy, meditation, and detoxing from the pervasive army conditioning. (11) And it's hard for me because I feel like a lot of my struggle is on the level that I participated in more zoomed out, intellectual level. So it’s not Call of Duty horror it’s more of a Red Alert but after you beat the game you realize you were on the wrong side. So probably more like Ender’s Game I guess. And I have constant reminders on death anniversaries, Memorial Day, Veteran’s Day, any time someone thanks me for my service, any time one of my former coworkers takes their own life, and any time there’s shit going on in the news like the occupation of Ukraine or now like the genocide that’s going on in Israel/Palestine and I haven’t thought about taking my own life in a long time but all this shit, it definitely reminds me that I have thought about it. And it’s like, I wish it would go away but it just feels like our country celebrates this shit and it feels impossible to escape sometimes with all the reminders.
And I don’t think any of it is malicious. Those people cheering for the soldiers going on mid tour leave they believe they’re doing a good thing. And the soldiers are told they’re doing a good thing but one thing I’ve learned is war is never a good thing. Anytime governments try to convince us that we need to send munitions or troops to “conflicts” or whatever the fuck it’s very hard for me now. It’s just a constant reminder of how careless those appointed over us tend to be with the lives of those who, like me, want to do good. But they don’t realize yet that the government and the economy is profit driven and they’re literally in bed with arms dealers and the best way to make profit with arms dealers is by funding wars. And they don’t yet understand on a personally level how much war can stick with you like a tar on your heart.
I have my own battles I deal with my trauma is certainly not the worst I’ve heard of but it’s enough to send me into a tailspin on a bad day. And my friends, my lord… I have friends that saw “action” that are very fucked up about it and I have plenty of friends who saw action that just aren't fucked up about it yet. I had one friend tell me while they were hammered drunk “it feels so good to kill someone” and then went on to tell me about some of their exploits. It pained me to hear how far gone they had grown but that’s just it. We had two decades of wars and people, myself (a war veteran) included seem to forget that that comes with a cost. We have hundreds of thousands of war veterans who are fucking sick.
In my opinion PTSD is the most common symptom and war is the fucking sickness. Glamorizing the military, guns, tanks, helicopters, jets, is exactly what got me hooked. I was groomed since I was a baby. I went to air shows starting when I was like three, I had countless dessert storm Micro Machines, larger scale models, GI Joes, real-ass looking cap guns. By the time I was a teenager I would have Counter Strike, Call of Duty, Rainbow 6, and all that shit. My favorite movies in high school were Saving Private Ryan and Black Hawk Down and now I sometimes think about how much life might be easier if I weren't around too because someone I knew just checked out.
So look I don’t know what I’m yammering on about really but I just want to say that sometimes Veteran’s Day is a little tough for me and my guess is it might be difficult for some of my battle buddies too.
What gives me hope though are all the activists that have demanding a ceasefire in Israel and especially for those who have started bringing their protests and actions to the defense contractors who have profiteering from the killing of innocent people for well over two decades now.
If you take anything from this please let it be this: Supporting the troops is not saying “thank you for your service,” or giving free meals to clean/healthy veterans once a year. And supporting the troops is definitely not sending your whackass album that you couldn’t pay someone to listen to, or ten-year-old-magazines no one’s ever heard of, or random bullshit you don’t want in your house to be included in “care packages” to be sent overseas.
Supporting the troops is keeping them out of harm’s way unless absolutely necessary, which really hasn’t been the case since WWII. Supporting the troops is providing housing for folks living on the street. Supporting the troops is universal healthcare that covers medical, dental, and mental health. Supporting the troops is refusing to glamorize guns and instruments of death and warfare. Supporting the troops is working toward peace.
(1) Already a lot to unpack with that operation name. “Iraqi Freedom.” Huh I wonder if that’s what Iraqis thought we were doing there. Just giving them 20 years of freedom by killing their people. “You know how freedom is.” “Look I’m sure your son was a great kid but this is about your freedom to not have to care for him anymore!” “See?! Freedom!” What a crock of shit. Sorry, after buying into the bs and coming out the other side freedom and words like it are very challenging words for me to come across and I feel like a fucking idiot for having ever falling for that rhetoric in the first place.
(2) We do have to say “by way of” now right? That’s like a law or something isn’t it? Did I do it right??? Oh god please tell me I used it right…
(3) When I was overseas in Iraq from the summer of 2006 — summer 2007 mid tour leave was something everyone got starting as early as maybe one or two months into our deployment. Everyone in the unit gets 2-3 weeks of free leave that doesn’t count against your PTO and we even got free plane tickets to wherever we wanted to go. Some of the single officers I knew were smart and buddied up to go to Europe or Australia but most everyone goes home. I chose to go home in November because it’s me and my older bros birth month and also thanksgiving. Anyway, each person signs up for different weeks during the deployment and each section just staggered the leave so that business (3a) could run as usual while one of their soldiers is home vomiting in their mom’s toilet during a family party, whilst crying about not wanting their cousin who just became a corpsman to have to deploy.
(3a) The business of killing.
(4) A Squadron is the same as a Battalion but it’s different because we were a Cavalry unit and if you ain’t cav… well you don’t even want to know.
(5) A FOB is a Forward Operating Base and fobbit is a pun based on FOB and hobbit meaning we didn’t go off base, we’d never fire a weapon in combat, aside from a few close-ish calls with mortar fire or rockets that would hit the FOB every couple weeks (give or take) we would never see any “action.”
(6) Use weapons to try and kill people.
(7) Thank goodness these people who were never a threat to America will no longer be able to be threats to America!
(8) Comms blackouts occurred when a US service member or an ally died in battle. The base headquarters would cut all the internet and phone lines on the base so that the Army could notify the next of kin before anyone else had a chance to spill the beans. They usually lasted a day or two but sometimes longer. And it was always unexpected so it could have been on your day off for your birthday or when your kid was just born and you want to talk to your wife and hear their first breaths on the other end and it didn’t fucking matter.
It’s a very fucked up, selfish, narrow minded thought and I’m not proud of it (9) but I definitely remember at least a couple times where a comms blackout really ruined my day and made me resentful of the newly deceased.
(9) For the record I’m not proud of having participated in a war in Iraq, or a war period. If that wasn’t already abundantly clear. I’m saying it now. There’s nothing to be proud of in war. And if there are any Iraqi people reading this, I know I owe you a better apology but for now, I am sorry from the bottom of my heart for having participated in the murder and terrorizing of your people.
(10) When I first came home I had some of the classic PTSD symptoms like difficulty sleeping, nightmares, and reacting to loud noises. I remember going to Legoland (it’s for like 2-10 year olds) with my ex and the young kids she nannied for who we’re probably 3 and 5 at the time and one of the rides had these water canons that blast straight up. They’re supposed to be like mortar explosions or whatever kid friendly very of those would be and when they went off the first time they nearly sent me flying over a wall. Even after realizing what they were they’d still make me jump to where I just had to get the fuck out of there. Now most of my PTSD is in nightmares, and feelings of unrelenting guilt and depression about having participated in an unjust war that lasted nearly two decades, the occasional suicidal thoughts (neat!), and feelings of absolute rage against those who insisted on that war and have been so callous with the lives of young men and women who want to do good.
(11) In the Army I was conditioned to not take care of myself. Whether it was a physical injury like a sprained ankle, an illness like the flu, and definitely ANYTHING mental health related. Mental health in active duty to me sounds like a paradox. Like I can’t imagine what “proper” mental health care in an active duty unit would even look like during the time that I was in. We were always strongly encouraged to just drink water and soldier on. And if you DID go to the doctor —even if you were legit sick/injured you would be shamed not only by your chain of command but also by all of your peers who were conditioned to see you as a bitch, or a puss, or shammer whose trying to get out of PT or helping unload the connex or whatever the fuck manual labour they had you doing all the fucking time. So because of that when soldiers like me get out we’re not good at all about taking care of ourselves physically and especially mentally.
