Moving a plan moves life. And if the plan went right – which it rarely does completely – my brother left for Iraq last night.
I’ve made a similar trip myself – not to Iraq, but to Afghanistan. I’m looking over that old journal right now, analyzing it to see if there is the same mixture of fear, excitement and awe that I remember feeling on that first long dark flight to the other side of the planet.
My notes from that trip seem so pragmatic, never raising a note of critique as to why exactly I was going to this Central Asian country, nor a bit of wonder as to if I would make a return flight. I wrote about the immense darkness, the surreal experience of drinking beer and watching movies at 32,000 feet on the way to a war-torn land of dust and rock where I would help kill people – but I left out the killing people part.
I’m not surprised by the absence of critique early on in my journal. I remember feeling it, living it, but I also remember knowing that I would only remain sane if I kept it at a distance by joking about it, shunning its emotional appeals, and, as often as possible, preventing it from leaving the tip of my tongue or the tip of my pen. Erase, delete, and move on.
I can recognize this split, this desire to separate beliefs and ideals from obligation and action, not only in myself, but in our country as a whole. And I think it is easier for a country to live with this conflict than it is for an individual to justify it to her or himself, especially over long periods of time. The most valid question I ever get is why. If I do not agree with the theory of war, why did I join the military and allow myself to be made into a soldier? I have no fully sufficient answer, only a confused sense of duty to the country that raised me, and of course, curiosity.
I mean, who does not want to experience the thrill of a meaningful life? While our nation places rock stars, presidents, inventors, activists and millionaires as historical markers, military members also hold this mystique as a way for the average person to make history, to be involved in actually shaping the world. I resisted this pull for years, putting in my best effort to become a rock star, but in the end, enticed by college money, I bit into the military myth. I would face death, and thereby know life.
When we invaded Afghanistan in October 2001, I accepted the inevitability that I would walk the ground where Alexander the Great led his army, and the Mujahideen defeated the great Soviet Bear. I would be a part of history.
Once the first six months in Afghanistan went by, the critique of my actions crept back in. But it was cynical, limping, crippled – the best of my human compassion beaten daily, lied to, denied food, rest, and exposed to the anxious elements of war. Just do your job. We’re making a great difference. It can’t be changed. The better we target, the fewer lives will be lost. Threats from mortars, rockets, bombs, the unseen, the fellow service members who declare they have snapped, yet still carry live ammunition. The plan of war is words, and it is easy to critique words. The action of war is people, their tools, and their beliefs and orders, and it is much more complex to critique people.
The point I need to make here is that if I had never partaken in the action of war, I would probably believe that I could critique the words of war and remain separate from its actions. My disagreement would somehow separate me from the action, and absolve me of responsibility for the war. I could critique without participating. The fact is that citizens cannot absolve themselves of responsibility for U.S. foreign policy, because basic participation in, and dependence upon the economy, government, and society binds their personal, daily, individual movements to the country’s larger historical movements.
If civilians could truly absolve themselves from responsibility because they have not walked foreign soil with loaded weapons, veterans could logically do the same because they did not make the war plan. We are all just people with ideas that may or may not be at odds with our actions.
But we have to take responsibility for those particular actions. Paying taxes, carrying a passport, voting, not voting, spending money, questioning enemy combatants – none of these are disconnected from our country’s existence. Holding and espousing personal and political beliefs that are contrary to U.S. policy is not enough to disconnect oneself from one’s country, or even its most aggressive and violent foreign policy. It is all connected.
Through economic, political, and even philosophical connections – while I am now living comfortably and safely here in Eugene, paying taxes, not worrying about rockets – my brother is arriving in Iraq. I believe in his safe return.
But so what? Even the three front-running Democratic candidates for president now say they do not think they could get the U.S. out of Iraq by the end of their first term. Don’t let their words absolve you of your responsibility for how you affect our country’s actions.
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