Military Roles and Relationships Part 4

     “No sir. I’m sorry we cannot do that. It would be immoral,” the words hung there in the air, generating a scowl on the General’s face and a rapid beating of my heart. I’d run into one of the great challenges of armed conflict; deciding that a plan, though likely to succeed, was morally unacceptable. In Western thought we bin wars as “Just” or “Un-Just” based on centuries of thought both secular and theological. Using the term “just” raises significant challenges for Christian military leaders and planners as they seek to serve God and the state in desperate circumstances. Commanders agonize over the words that comprise their orders. Subordinates read orders and transform print into actions. Actions they undertake in circumstances often filled with uncertainty, violence and chaos. In moments of intense pressure and rushing pandemonium subordinate leaders must somehow divine the right decision.

     The term “just war,” one chosen to bring clarity and support for armed conflict developed over centuries with key input from such luminaries as Thomas Aquinas and Augustine. The combative nature of monarchs and the chaos released by the darker impulses of soldiers during war shocked theologians. Thinkers sought to limit bellicose monarchs of the Middle Ages and keep the carnage of armed conflict in check; both admirable goals. Part of the designed framework included justifiable reasons for going to war; hence the term “just war.” As a monarch, if your reasons aligned with those in the doctrine then your war was considered just and those who participated incurred no guilt through participation or support. This did not mean that you could not sin while in war, just that if you waged war within the developed boundaries you were considered just. All of this seems reasonable. After all we ought to limit the occurrence of war and its inherent brutality. I grapple with the term just and its effect on the disposition and decision making of participants.

     Contrary to what we may believe, humans seem to have a built-in (by God I believe) resistance to taking the life of other humans. For example, during my first tour in Iraq an entire unit drove through an ambush without returning fire; something senior leadership did not appreciate. In fact, the entire chain of command stood in front of the CJTF-7 commander explaining their soldiers lack of action. Once ignited and stoked the fires of anger required to kill others are not easily quenched. The more inhuman the enemy, the easier it is to slay them. And in this fundamental truth lies my problem with the term “just war.”

     If I am just in my cause, my enemy must be somehow unjust. If they are unjust or iniquitous, then I do the country, the world, and perhaps the Lord a favor by extinguishing them. And if I’m doing the Lord a favor, then killing more at once is acceptable. Additionally, if we employ questionable tactics to prosecute an unjust war then perhaps they are acceptable given the dire circumstances of war. You see the idea of a “just war” leads to many problems in execution. The chaos and confusion of war is fraught with difficulty enough without adding moral murkiness through the label of a “just war.” Perhaps we need to revisit our terminology.

     The generally agreed upon principles of a just war are; having just cause, being a last resort, being declared by a proper authority, possessing right intention, having a reasonable chance of success, and the end being proportional to the means used. It is the first principle that creates problems, a just cause. Humans have spilled copious amounts of ink trying to delineate a just cause, so I’ll add a bit more. I do not find comfort in the term “just cause.” Perhaps we ought to explore a phrase such as an “unavoidable war”. Some wars erupt due to forces neither side is able or willing to contain. There are times when social and political forces in nations or a region drive conflicts. The U.S. Civil War might be considered an “unavoidable war.” Of course this phrase contains various pitfalls, as do all such phrases. Another phrase we might consider, “a war thrust upon us.” This phrase seeks to describe a war of aggression; WW II for example. In WW II Japan and Germany adopted aggressive political systems that resulted in years of conflict. We might use a phrase employed by the United Nations, “peace enforcement.” This describes actions taken to bring hostilities between waring nations to a close, normally against either belligerents will. Peace enforcement is a more aggressive version of peace keeping and frequently includes hostile actions where peace keeping normally does not. It seems to me that these three phrases might help us navigate the turbid and turbulent waters of armed conflict without stumbling into the pitfall of making one side just over another.

     When we as a nation elect to send our armed forces into combat we must seek to not only equip them with the best arms and armaments available, we must also see to equip them mentally and morally. Often moral failure on the field of battle stems from a lack of preparation and practice. It is true that you will execute in war the same way you execute in practice. We need to carefully think through how we talk about and prepare for the moral component of war. When we label ourselves as just and the enemy as unjust, we open the door for decisions which civilized nations would find abhorrent, even in the manifestly uncivilized business of waging war. I think it is time for us to reconsider our phraseology, seeking to improve on the “just war” theory without discarding its better components. 

My Rights?

     Recent events compel me to take a hiatus from my examination of the concept of a “Just War” and turn to the comingled issues of the treatment of the LGBT community and the second amendment. I know that some would rather not make this turn; in fact I hesitate as well. But, the horrifying event in Orlando, Florida remains in the forefront of my heart and mind. As I mentioned in an early FB post, I thought I’d left such atrocities behind when I winged my way out of Baghdad in 2009. I’d seen the wreckage left behind when Shia had gunned down over thirty Sunni men and boys after lining them up against a wall. Perhaps it was Sunni gunning down Shia, I don’t well remember. But the horrifying sight of broken bodies, the coppery smell of coagulating blood, and the keening wail of the gathered women remains vivid. Now, in my own home, loved ones gather shattered remains and mourn the loss of those they hold dear.

     Some, thankfully few, hold that in some way the LGBT community deserves or brings such treatment upon themselves. Sometimes we view this community with special repugnance, forgetting that all sin separates and we all sin. Paul reminds us of this in Romans 3:23. It seems as if we forget this most salient fact. Apart from God’s mercy and grace we all stand guilty. In our lost state God reached out to us. We do nothing to merit. We do nothing that causes God to owe us anything. We must summon the courage to love those who are different than ourselves. In response to a question about who is who in the zoo, Jesus tells the story of the Good Samaritan, teaching that all those we meet along the way are our neighbors. We must also remember that the same grace I expect God to continually apply to my failings applies to others’ failings.

     These are difficult questions. When do we presume on God’s grace? When, and how, do we stop behaviors abhorrent to God? How much patience does God have with us, with others? All of these are good questions; ones I will not attempt to answer here. I will say that Jesus calls us to ere on the side of graciousness. Loving the fallen is difficult, but something that God calls us to do. He calls us to take risk. He calls us to plunge in and reach out to the world around us. Those who were wounded, maimed, or died in Orlando did not deserve their fate any more than we might for our transgressions. We must grieve with those so deeply wounded, knowing that God did not take special delight in this tragedy. We must work to bind up wounds. We must work to staunch the tide of violence.

     We must revisit our understanding of the Second Amendment. Those of us who wear the name of Christ would do well to think of this "right" in the light of I Corinthians 8. Here Paul addresses the issue of rights and brotherhood. In his day eating meat offered to idols was quite an issue; today, not so much. But he does say, “Be careful, however, that the exercise of your rights does not become a stumbling block to the weak.” I Corinthians 8:9. He instructs us to be tender and willing to give up our rights in order to preserve unity. I know that he wrote this to believers about relations with other believers. I fully understand the theological leap that I am making. But I believe it is one worth contemplating.

     As Christians we gave up our rights when we became slaves to righteousness. Perhaps we might apply this to the secular world. Perhaps we might consider a slight curtailment of certain secular rights in order to secure a better future for ourselves and our posterity. I believe that my relationship with Christ should lead me to be extremely flexible regarding my rights; even in, or perhaps especially in, the secular realm. After all, we represent Christ who gave up everything in order that He might save us. Paul continues in this example when he says, “To the weak I became weak, to win the weak. I have become all things to all people so that by all possible means I might save some.” Romans 9:22. We ought to be a most flexible people. We ought to be those willing to give up some portion of our rights when seeking ways to limit the carnage.

     In every aspect of modern life we regulate behaviors that might prove a threat to those around us. You have to prove your abilities to drive a car, show adequate knowledge of the rules of the road, and prove fiscal responsibility in case of accident in order to legally drive. In response to death and injury inflicted by unsafe vehicles, we developed a wide variety of regulations. I remember when cars did not necessarily come with seat-belts. I installed seat-belts in my first pick up; partially to enable the young woman of my choice to sit next to me. Now, cars come with seat-belts, airbags, anti-lock brakes, crumple-zones, and a plethora of other safety features. Consequently, cars are safer, more reliable, and much more dependable. In the late nineteenth century we wearied of the abysmal state of processed food in our nation. We developed the FDA and as a result enjoy some of the safest food on the globe. Again, in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century, aghast at images of children killed and maimed in factories we legislated our way into a safer country; a country which does not condone and limits child labor. We’ve seen a variety of legislative efforts that improve our society. I frequently read postings which disparage the ability of legislation to affect human behavior and societal norms. A careful examination of the facts; especially when you consider the examples of other countries, leads one to understand that well thought out legislation results in positive outcomes.

     The second amendment states, “A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.” The term “well regulated” leaps out at me. Evidently the authors of the amendment expected some form of regulation. They left us free to develop constraints we deem necessary. This flexibility is part of what makes our Constitution a marvelous and useful document. We need to explore every avenue available in order to develop a more just society.

     As a Christian, I support such attempts to make positive changes in my nation. We simply cannot accept the status quo. The tragic events in Orlando lead me to carefully reexamine how I think about LGBT issues and the second amendment. The example of Jesus leads me to the conclusion that I often overemphasize my rights. He gave up His in order to show me a better way. Perhaps, I need to be less protective of mine in order to help create a better country.

Military Roles and Relationships: Part Three

This is part three of what has become a four part essay exploring the roles and responsibilities of the military in our republic, today considering some of the possibilities a Christian might explore when evaluating the military, its role in our society, and whether a person of faith can serve.

     Isaiah 9 challenges me; especially verse five, “Every warrior’s boot used in battle and every garment rolled in blood will be destined for burning, will be fuel for the fire.” When I was in college I majored in history while my roommate worked on a Masters in some aspect of theology. He now teaches at a private Christian University, and I, the retired career officer teach at a parochial high-school. As roommates we often engaged in lengthy debates about whether a Christian could serve in the military. Despite our differences we remain friends and are in many ways much closer than we used to be. Now, as a gray haired warrior looking back I still grapple with this issue. Is there room in the Prince of Peace’s kingdom for one such as me? Now as my life turns more toward mentoring young men and women, what kind of counsel would God have me provide? It is one thing to for a man to weigh a given issue, decide, and then take action. It is yet another thing altogether for a man to advise or encourage another toward a specific action. Additionally, parents entrust their children to me. Sadly, in some cases I spend more time with children than their parents. Consequently, I must give thought to my words, knowing that some will listen and conform their lives to my words. A careless word or thoughtless remark made in haste might lead a young soul to shipwreck. How does God view service in the military? Can one who claims to serve the Lord also serve an earthly kingdom?

     While I answered these questions for myself before I entered upon life in the Army, I continually revisit them as I tread the path before me. I find that some things I once held dear and perhaps even sacrosanct not as important as before. Ironically, today some things I once considered peripheral seem absolutely critical; foundation stones of faith. One thing I can say with surety, I am a failed sinner and without God’s tender mercy and grace I am lost. It is only through the leavening action of His Spirit that I make any right choices. I know that my understanding is limited and fundamentally flawed. Yet, I believe that God would have me ponder these issues, approaching any conclusions with humility and tenderness toward those who feel differently. I may be wrong and God may work in their lives differently than mine. One final thought of introduction, as we consider partisan politics and electoral choices these issues influence our decisions. What kind of leader will the person be and how might he or she handle such grave decision as employing deadly force? So how does God view these convoluted and problematic issues?

     We know that Jesus instructed His followers to turn the other cheek (Luke 6:29). We also know our love for one another identifies us as His followers (John 13:35). Later Paul reminds us to do everything possible to live in harmony (I Timothy 2:2.). Indeed Jesus is the prince of peace and His disciples, as individuals and a community, must also work for peace. When followers of Jesus sought to make him king by force He refused, withdrawing from the crowd (John 6:15). Even the most casual reading of the New Testament reveals a focus on living in peace and harmony. But what of the Old Testament? People often people speak of the God of the Old Testament as being different than the God of the New Testament. In the Old Testament we find passages where God instructs His people to obliterate certain groups. God speaks of David as a “man after his own heart” (I Samuel 13:14). He was a warrior king who fell out of grace with Saul due to his prowess as a soldier and commander, yet despite his warrior nature and personal failings he remained close to God. How do we us understand the seeming dichotomy between the Old and New Testament. Perhaps a more careful examination of scripture and its context will help us see more clearly.

     I believe that God is the same, always (James 1:17). God did not take a chill-pill or mellow out during the four hundred years of silence. I believe that what we perceive as a difference between the Old and New Testament God issues from a rather surface reading of the Bible, a lack of context (cultural and otherwise), and perhaps poor translations. Of course, the poor translation issue is best addressed by learned men and women such as my roommate as they possess the requisite linguistic skill-set. But I believe that even without training in ancient Greek and Hebrew we can draw valid conclusions regarding the nature of God and service in the military.

     In the Genesis creation account we find a God that brings order out of chaos. At some level God appreciates order. Look out into the universe and you find a place where things unfold in a predictable fashion. Of course there seem to be exceptions, things we do not fully understand, but normally upon closer examination we find some sort of orderly process in effect. Look inward, down into the fascinating alien world of microbiology, and again you find order and process. And while it is true that the more we know the more we find that we do not understand, we do see an orderly arrangement inward and outward. Look on into the Old Testament accounts and we see God applying order on human relations designed to restrain our chaotic impulses.

     Much of the Law of Moses seeks to limit the violence born of a desire for revenge and secure justice for the weak and defenseless. While we tend to limit our concept of justice to perpetrators receiving their just deserts; God includes defense of the poor and widow in His view of justice. Much of the prophetic writing in the Old Testament takes leaders to task for allowing the rich and powerful to trample the poor, widows, orphans, and alien sojourner under their feet. God expects society to moderate the behavior of the powerful. He expects leaders to use their authority to achieve these goals. This did not change in the New Testament.

     In Romans 13:5, Paul encourages Christians to be subject to ruling authorities. He reminds his readers that God put them in place to enforce some level of good order and discipline. He writes in the context of the Roman Empire at its peak of power and authority; an empire oppressive by today’s standards. Peter echoes this in I Peter 2. In some way, often difficult to divine, authorities support God’s desire for a well ordered society, congruent with His concept of justice. A person serving in our military helps a nation provide that type of society. Of course our military, like all human institutions, is flawed and needs careful oversight and management. But, in some larger sense militaries and police forces when used in a restrained fashion serve God’s purpose in blunting the power of baser human desires. The New Testament offers other intriguing possibilities.

     John, Jesus’ cousin and prophet, preached a stringent message of repentance and changed lives. So stringent in fact that he lost his head over it. Buried in his story is a quick reference to the military. It seems that soldiers, perhaps Roman soldiers, came out to hear this wild eyed, bizarrely clad, bad haired prophet speak. They, like everyone else asked, “What should I do?”

     He responds, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or by false accusation, and be content with your wages.” (Luke 3:14). As a career soldier, I always found the later part of his instruction hard to follow. Interestingly John does not instruct his questioners to give up soldiering. He calls them to behave with justice, but does not urge them to seek new employment; a very challenging passage considering the context of occupied Judea. But this is not the only interesting passage in the gospels.

     Later on, while Jesus is teaching in Capernaum, a centurion approaches him, asking Jesus to heal a favored servant. When Jesus indicates a willingness to come, the centurion famously replies, “Lord, I am not worthy to have you come under my roof, but only say the word, and my servant will be healed. ⁹ For I too am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. And I say to one, ‘Go,’ and he goes, and to another, ‘Come,’ and he comes, and to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.” Impressed by the man’s faith Jesus exclaims, “Truly, I tell you, with no one in Israel have I found such faith.” You find this account in Matthew 8 and Luke 8. The centurion’s life prepared him for faith. Here we see a Roman soldier whose boots had printed the sands of many places lifted up as an example of faithfulness. And like John, Jesus passes on the opportunity to urge a change in profession.

     Another example, this time from Acts 10. Cornelius, a God fearing man, sends for Peter upon instructions from God. After receiving instructions from on high, Peter takes action. He travels and preaches. And, after hearing Peter, Cornelius and his entire family become Christians and are often counted as the first Gentile converts. Luke, the author of Acts, provides a few items of interest concerning Cornelius. He was a centurion, another Roman Soldier. Luke, the faithful historian, adds this detail; Cornelius was a centurion in the “Italian Cohort.” Once again, we read of no instruction given to leave the service of the Roman military. So what do we make of all this?

     I think we can make three general assumptions from scripture. One, at some level God desires good order and discipline. He does not favor a society out of control where those with money and power run rough shod over the weaker elements of society. Two, He uses human institutions, such as governments and militaries, to bring about justice in the world. And three, service in the military does not necessarily exempt one from membership in the His kingdom.

     This does not mean that I would advise anyone to serve in the military. The military life is fraught with spiritual peril. Many men and women have lost their way while wearing the uniform. The temptations for a wide variety of sins are great. As one rises in rank and leadership the need for great moral courage arrives. More than once I’ve had to face very senior officers and say, “Sir, we cannot do that. It is immoral. If you insist, you must find someone else to do it.” Fortunately for me the American military provides for such moments and in all cases those in authority over me relented. As a leader and soldier I’ve seen and done things that I do not speak of. As with all soldiers who’ve engaged in armed conflict, I bear mental and emotional marks. These experiences shape who I am and how I think and God has used them to make me into a better vessel for His service. This does not mean that I think those who feel led to adopt a more pacific view are wrong.

     I can understand how a person can read scripture and feel that bearing arms would conflict with their understanding of God’s will for their life. Pacifism is long and noble tradition which God has used to help forward His kingdom. In many ways only the bravest need apply for the role of pacifist. Despite our different roles the soldier and the pacifist must work toward the same goals of peace and justice. As one who’s stood in dark cells with the floors still damp with the blood and gore of torture and whose walls had recently echoed with the screams of the tormented, I know the work for justice must needs be done. I also know that all human institutions fail and those who bear the name of Christ must often labor and sacrifice to redirect these institutions. As a failed sinner I approach all these issues with great humility, knowing that save for God’s action, I would be permanently lost and that God may call my brother and sister to a very different role than mine. He is the one who makes all of us stand.

    

Military Roles and Relationships: Part Two

This is part two of a three part essay exploring the roles and responsibilities of the military in our republic, especially considering the weighty decision to bomb Hiroshima and Nagasaki.

     “Sir, what do I do,” asked the young private as he handed me his cold child while his wife wailed, rocking on the couch?”

     “Go to your wife, comfort her,” I replied. The young soldier shuffled over to his wife, sat down, and together they wept. I carefully laid the dead infant in the crib, covering her with the soft blanket. And in the dark German night the three of us mourned while we waited on the krankenwagen (German for ambulance). For the next few weeks the platoon rallied round the young soldier and his wife as they walked through the dark night of mourning and into the gray fog of a changed life. Eventually they managed to sort through the pain of a shattered life, putting together a semblance of normalcy. After three years and a couple of promotions the couple moved on to a new assignment and out of my life. I did hear that they had another child. In ways unlike any other profession, the Army includes off-duty hours.

     Ask any leader, officer or NCO, and they will relate such stories. My superiors held me accountable for those things that my soldiers did while on duty and off. My soldiers’ familial challenges became mine. I was expected to help them overcome such heavy challenges as alcohol or drug abuse or relatively minor ones like an unmown lawn (particular to military housing). I had to explain what I was doing to help soldiers deal with children who acted out in school. More than once I was the grim faced bearer of tragic news. The itinerant nature of the military drives much of this; as well as, the legal effects of the Uniform Code of Military Justice.

     As a commander, I exercised legal authority over my soldiers twenty-four hours a day, three hundred and sixty-five days a year any place on the globe. Once when civilian authorities were unable prosecute an NCO for sex with a minor I stepped in, arrested him, brought him to trial, and watched him shuffle off in an orange jump-suit and manacles. As leaders we take our responsibilities regarding our soldiers seriously. We rejoice at their successes, weep at their failures, and grieve when they fall. One of the hardest tasks we must complete is the duty to inform the next of kin that their loved one has fallen in battle. Not only do we inform, the Army details someone of the appropriate rank to walk the grieving family through the labyrinth of details regarding disposition of remains, personal affects, and final pay and allowances. I had a subordinate who traveled deep into Mexico to help the family of a soldier who had fallen. The young sergeant had immigrated and enlisted. He’d become a U.S. citizen while serving, giving his life for his new country. My captain, a Spanish speaker, did a marvelous job of holding the hands of the bewildered grieving family. Not because he was a particularly great officer, though he was, but because the Army takes care of its own; for good or for ill. We do our best. Sometimes our best is not good enough. Then we sit down and work out what a new best looks like and strive for that.

     Once while serving in CJTF-7 (Combined-Joint Task Force 7), COL Woody (Colonel, USMC), the JOC (Joint Operations Center) commander stopped at my desk.  His looming, six foot three plus, presence quickly drew my attention. “Sir,” I asked?

     “A moment of your time, MAJ (Major) Robinson,” he rumbled?

     “Yessir.” Over the next few minutes he asked me quite detailed questions about one of my subordinates; some of which I could not answer. You see, my original unit of assignment had departed from Iraq and my next unit was due to arrive shortly. I was detailed to CJTF-7 to await their arrival; a practice early on which would soon be discontinued. I had only known my subordinate for a short time, a couple of weeks, and had not had time to get to know him. In fact, technically I was not his commander. Still, COL Woody expected me to develop a full relationship with him, take responsibility for him, and considered my ignorance a failure. I quickly set about fixing that particular shortcoming. Unlike any civilian job I’ve ever had, the military expects leaders to concern themselves with all aspects of a subordinate’s life. I’ve counseled soldiers on a wide variety of mundane tasks; balancing a checkbook, purchasing and maintaining a car, appropriate discipline of their children, and proper diet. When I was a Second Lieutenant in Germany, my junior enlisted had to get my permission to marry. I’ve also walked with soldiers the tortured path from chemical dependency to sobriety. I am by no means unusual in this. The military is a tightly knit family with all the associated benefits and responsibilities. We rejoice together and we weep together. We celebrate promotions, births, graduations, and other important milestones. We grieve together over our maimed and fallen. In my experience we are unique in this respect. How, you might ask, does this pertain to the discussion over the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki?

     The burden of leading men and women in armed conflict presses down on leaders at all levels, including the president. We almost always pass over this aspect of military life when discussing President Truman’s decision to drop the atomic bombs. Yet, this is perhaps one of the most salient portions of the discussion. President Truman, who’d experienced the horrors of trench warfare as an artillery officer in World War I, faced casualty lists in the hundreds daily. As the commander in chief the ultimate responsibility for the dead and wounded rested on his shoulders. By the time President Truman assumed responsibility for the prosecution of the war the casualty roles topped 300,000. Facing the invasion of Japan, which had shown no proclivity for surrender, he was presented the possibility of ending the war quickly, with low risk of U.S. loss of life. We cannot underestimate the appeal of such a prospect. A president must face families deprived of loved ones with some level of surety that they have done their best to secure the objective with a minimal loss of life. Given even optimistic casualty estimates for an invasion of the Japanese homeland, the arithmetic of the nuclear option would seem the best choice, even if horrible to contemplate. In a fallen world where nations pursue war, often for spurious reasons, militaries are a fact of life. When engaged in a conflict thrust upon us, we must consider every option to end it in victory, and quickly. Those of us who enjoy the easy comfort of civilian life, far from the pains, perils, and rigors of armed conflict should never forget the burden we place on those who secure our ease. We should not easily dismiss the heavy weight those in leadership, at all levels, bear. Thankfully, it is a burden foreign to most. 

Military Roles and Relationships: Part One

     President Obama’s recent visit to Japan, and Hiroshima, generated vigorous discussion and debate in the various social media I frequent. Bits and bytes crossed the ether, filling “in-boxes” and blog comment sections. Both sides of the issue staked out territory, vigorously defending their cause. Yet, in all the theorizing, Monday-Morning quarterbacking, and posturing, I noticed a common thread; misunderstanding the role, or function, of the military in such matters as national defense and foreign policy. Additionally, I also detected a lack of understanding about the nature of soldiers; who we are, how we think, what motivates us, and our feelings or thoughts about such matters as warfare and its effect on the human spirit. I found the lack of empathy for those in leadership positions, those shoulders that bear the weight of grim decisions, distressing. When debating such policy matters we must ensure that we examine the issues from a point of understanding, not one of stereotype or prejudice.

     In our republic, civilians assert supremacy over the military. Our president serves as “Commander in Chief,” and as such has no rank. If a general, or officer of lessor rank, is elected they must resign their commission prior to taking the office of president. As an officer, whenever I dealt with civilians I always addressed them as “Sir” or “Ma’am.” Every officer dreads the receipt of a letter from congress. Congress wields great power over the military. More than once in my career I was the subject of congressional inquiry; both very unpleasant experiences (in both cases I was found to have acted appropriately). Until President Reagan, presidents never returned the honor of a salute as they were civilians. Due to the importance of the issue of civilian supremacy, I would recommend returning to the no return salute practice. Besides, every president, no matter their party affiliation salutes badly. A quick search of internet images reveals a plethora of poor presidential salutes. We in the military take our orders from the President, a civilian. Our laws prohibit members of the military acting in a law-enforcement role; except in cases of extreme national emergency. Our experience as a colony, complete with colonial military abuses, left an indelible mark on our national psyche. We keep the military at arm’s length from the reins of power for good reasons. We in the military, especially career soldiers, understand this.

     Generals do not wake up one morning and say, “I think I’ll invade _______________________.” Soldiers, especially those who’ve spent time in combat, know the chaos that unleashing the darker, deadlier tools of diplomacy brings. To find those responsible for the ills of armed conflict, look at either end of Pennsylvania Ave. and Wall-Street. We in the military may not carry out our orders well or to the liking of those who sent us; but, we follow orders nonetheless. Soldiers bear a great responsibility for how we carry out orders. Sometimes we must refuse to follow orders. To serve in the military one must possess two types of courage; physical courage to enable you to strap on your kit and go outside the wire and moral courage to tell a superior officer, “No, we cannot do that. It is immoral.” Without both types of courage one cannot serve their commanders well or fulfill their oath of office. Occasionally soldiers fail at one or both, with devastating results. And in this day of near instant communication these results may exert significant influence, good or ill, on national policy. Whatever the case, soldiers act on the orders given and though we must account for our actions, those who give the orders that send men and women into harm’s way must also account for their actions.  When debating policies, we must keep our gaze fixed upon those nexus of power that consider employment of force a viable option. Rather than seek support for a “just war,” perhaps we should focus on only fighting those wars unavoidably thrust upon us.

     

Remembering

     The men raced against time. Staggering under their load, they rushed toward the aid station. A crimson trail marked their passage, indicating the urgency of their mission. A few minutes earlier a rocket had slammed into their position grievously wounding their comrade. Now the four of them labored; each at the corner of a poncho. Each one hoping to make it before time and blood ran out. Suddenly a rattly gasp slipped out of the depths of the poncho. The men redoubled their efforts, knowing all the while that, for their burden, time had run out. They arrived at the aid station, and trained personnel took over in a vain attempt to stay the hand of death. Looking at his shattered, bloody corpse I wondered what his wife and children would think. But not all soldiers die in the field.

     Everyone thought Raymond, Ray to his friends, looked haggard. But then, we all did. A year of duty in Iraq wears on you. By the end of your tour the eighteen and twenty hour days stack up. The endless stream of grave decisions weighs you down; do we kill this one or do we give them another chance? Does the intel support a raid? Is the gain worth the possible loss of life? Do I employ the 50 Cal. or will the S.A.W. suffice? No matter the level, a year of life and death burdens the soul and body. Ray, just like the rest of us, was running on fumes as the day of his departure approached. Soon, however, he would be ensconced in the warm embrace of his wife and children. But not for long. The first Sunday back, while singing with his church choir, Ray collapsed and died of a brain aneurysm. No Purple-Heart for Ray. But, he died due to the burden he carried in Iraq as surely as if he’d been swept away by an IED. For others the process takes longer.

     Bill personified the professional Army Officer. Erect, clear eyed, and decisive, he commanded his battalion with the ease of a seasoned man of arms. He was every bit as compassionate toward the wounded as he was ferocious in a fight. His men knew that he loved them and would follow him anywhere. He was everywhere on the battlefield always reassuring the fearful and directing the action appropriately. Between contacts he labored to care for his soldiers and bring some sort of normalcy to the Iraqis who lived in his AO (Area of Operations). He saw the best and the worst of life deployed. But no one knew about the rocks he put into his ruck-sack. He carried that load alone, silently. These rocks weighed him down. Eventually he sought relief in a bottle and eventually had to leave the Army he loved. Shortly afterwards, the internal battle caught up with him and he died of hemorrhage brought on by a fatal mixture of alcohol and prescription drugs.

     So on Memorial Day, originally known as Decoration Day, how do I honor these three men and the hundreds of thousands of men and women who have gone before? What is fitting for such a day? Is there salve for the wounds these three families bear? I think not. Time and life go on; but, some wounds remain, forever altering the trajectory of the lives of those left behind. So while fumbling for adequate actions, this came to mind. We all take an oath to protect and defend the Constitution. Unlike many militaries, American soldiers pledge to defend a body of ideas not a political leader or a geographic spot of dirt. Perhaps the preamble offers some direction in this matter.

“We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic tranquility, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.”

     We ought to lift our hands to bring about the things enumerated in the preamble. Soldiers work to forward these things. We live by them and in some cases die by them. I do not pretend to know what the last thoughts of my compatriots were. I do know that they sought to live out their lives in support of these ideals and I, as one who survived, ought to do the same. Another of our great documents gives further guidance and clarity to this question.

“And for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor.”

     In this era of burgeoning “patriotism” we ought to rethink what patriotism means. Patriotism requires more than flying a flag, singing the appropriate song with the appropriate hand of your heart. Saying pledges before the start of the school day does not equate to patriotism. Patriotism calls for more than voting for your preferred candidate. These things are fine and all citizens ought to engage in these and similar acts; however, for those who penned the declaration during that hot summer in Philadelphia in 1776, patriotism meant sacrifice and service. True patriots give of themselves for the good of the nation. For some in the military this may mean the ultimate sacrifice. So when I pause while barbequing with my family on Monday, I need to consider how I might work, might sacrifice to better things around me. Yet one more document speaks eloquently to this issue.

“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation's wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations."

     With great eloquence President Lincoln reminds us that this great experiment in democracy is not finished and that many hurdles remain for us to leap. He also reminds that we need to care for those who bear the wounds of war; those on the exterior as well as those interior. So on Memorial Day let us reflect for a moment on how we may engage in the patriotic duties that lie around us. How may we forward the cause and how may we bind up the wounds of the fallen? So as I tend the BBQ tomorrow, perhaps I might consider how to best remember my fallen comrades, how I might pick up the guidon and actively move it forward.

Grim Hard Faced Men

     Grim, hard-faced men faced each other across the table in the oven heat of a dark room, deep within a nameless warren in the printing district of Baghdad. All but one carried weapons, most, more than one. Sweating in the heat, they toiled, hoping to hammer out some sort of agreement to ease the constant threat of bombings and violence that so frequently rent the scorching afternoons. Outnumbered and far from support the American soldiers worked with an earnestness springing from the knowledge that they were in over their heads. The Iraqis sought support, physical and monetary, in publishing a newspaper. The Americans sought reassurances from the men; reassurances that they were not the enemy and would not foment violence with this publication. Looking out the window into a stuffy, debris filled airshaft, I wondered about the orders and intelligence that brought me into this dark remote place. Across the worn conference table two Iraqis argued.

     The older, larger heavily bearded man gesticulated wildly at younger man with sullen, hooded eyes. The younger man waited until the speaker wound down and then responded in a low, passionate voice. Seeking to contain himself, he fiddled with his weapon, a well-used, ancient, AK with much of the bluing worn off. Whatever he said displeased the older man who responded by increasing his volume and gesticulating even more wildly. So the side conversation went, in ever increasing volume. As their anger increased so did my concern for our safety. I was not entirely sure that I could recall the route out of the building. Coming in we’d taken numerous twists and turns going up and down several flights of stairs. While I was sure we currently sat on the ground floor the exact route out remained vague in my mind. I looked over at the NCO who’d come with me, and the nervous gunner standing behind him. If things went very badly I knew that we’d give a good account of ourselves. Upon hearing weapons fire the security force waiting outside would rush headlong into the building with guns blazing. The thought of such a disintegration of the situation made me physically ill. The responsibility for the NCO, young soldier, and those outside pressed in with a physical presence as strong as the heat radiating from the sunbaked walls. Plucking at the sleeve of my sweat soaked DCU top, Ali (not his real name), my translator sought my attention.

     “They don’t agree,” he intoned quietly.

     “Thanks,” I replied, though that bit of information was quite obvious. Ali would fill me in on the details later. He was an excellent translator and gatherer of intelligence. He knew how to do his job without intruding, often providing valuable insight on what was going on behind the scenes as it were. Our lengthy conversations over MRE’s at the end of the day illuminated the byzantine workings of Iraqi society. Ali did more than translate meetings and writings. He helped me understand Iraqis and their culture. Frequently centuries old tribal slights planted the seeds of disagreement, this time bearing fruit in the heated argument between two men as I waited. Without warning the bare light bulb hanging from the ceiling flared brightly, dimmed, flared again, and then died as the power failed.

     As the grimy fan slowly wound down, the older, larger Iraqi spewed a torrent of angry words at one of the heavily armed men standing in the shadows. He replied over his shoulder, leaving the room at a near sprint. Soon in a distant room we heard the cough and rumble of a large generator and the lights came back on as the fan resumed its slow sweep across the table. Pleased, the large Iraqi gestured across the table, making a short rumbling speech. “He says this is why he needs your help. American bombs destroyed the power system,” intoned Ali.

     “Remind him that Saddam and the Iraqi government failed to maintain the system and that they only gave power to their friends. So if they previously enjoyed power, perhaps they were close friends of Saddam,” I said, looking at the lead Iraqi, making sure I did not look at Ali. “And Ali, make sure you tell him exactly what I said. Ali rattled off a string of Modern Arabic and judging from the narrowing of the big man’s eyes and the open glare of his subordinates Ali had indeed translated accurately. And so the hot afternoon wore on. Eventually we came to an agreement that both of us could live with and the three of us returned to our Humvee’s for the trek back to BIAP (Baghdad International Airport).

     As the evening sun wound down across the city I sat on top of our hooch, looking out over the hazy city munching on an MRE listening to the oddly peaceful evening call to prayer. After a few minutes Ali joined me to discuss the day. The two of us sat there, Ali smoking his particularly pungent brand of cigarettes and me an indiscriminant cigar from Sumatra of all places. We made an incongruous pair; Ali a short slim Iraqi from Baghdad who’d fled during the Iraq-Iran war, and me, a career officer who’d always expected to fight the Soviets in Eastern Europe. We watched as the dark slowly settled across the sprawling city. A few lights gleamed out in the darkness. Off on the edge of the city tracers arced into the sky as belligerents engaged in a small gun-battle. Judging from the color of the tracers one group was American. Almost as frequently the colors indicated Iraqis engaged in fighting each other. Eventually the last few rays of sunlight stole away and Ali and I had to leave our rooftop perch. Previous experience had taught us that angry neighbors would shoot at the gleam of a cigarette or cigar draw. We clambered down, Ali to chat with the other interpreters and me to work a few more hours in the TOC (Tactical Operations Center), another day in Baghdad with 1AD (1^st Armored Division).

     Ali worked with me as interpreter for several months, eventually the G2 (Intelligence Section) dragooned him due to his excellent work and a man named Malik (not his actual name) replaced him. Like Ali, Malik had fled Iraq after serving in the Iraqi Army during the Iraq-Iran war; a war that devastated his country and decimated his generation. Now, he was back in Iraq toiling to help his country recover. Unlike Ali, Malik was large and quite boisterous. Eventually I would work with a crew of over forty different Iraqis, coming to know some of them very well.

     My personal translators shared my hooch, chow, and endured the same hardships and dangers. In every aspect their life was as mine, with one exception. They faced the dangers unarmed. A variety of regulations regarding civilians working with the Army prohibited them from bearing arms during their service. This was during my first tour when we invaded and secured the country. Eventually these rules would change, but during the early months they wore the uniform but went unarmed. They went into all the same dangerous places, ducked behind the same Humvees to avoid fire, and on one particularly grim day dove into the same puddle of feted sewer water while debris from an IED rained down. As Iraqis, working for the American Army, they truly were marked men. And in many ways they were men apart, neither free to roam in Iraqi society nor fully accepted in Army society. They were very brave. I have no way of knowing if they survived the cauldron of hate and violence that spilled across Iraq in the following years. But I often think of them and how they helped me survive those early days when we went into dark, dark places; places I would never go in later tours.

     It grieves me when I hear politicians and civilians giving way to fear and baser impulses, clamoring for some sort of blanket ban against Muslims, or endorsing an escalation of violence which would surely kill countless innocents. Some would lump all people from certain regions into one faceless mass, refusing to help those fleeing violence and oppression. Our nation was founded on the idea that those who were oppressed might find refuge on our shores, might find an opportunity for a new beginning, and might find a place to breath freely. As a soldier, I cannot forget those men, and women, who faced danger by my side, unarmed. We owe them more. I cannot in good conscience turn my back on comrades and support those who would freely close the door on, or build a wall against, them. We are better than this.

     ISIS and their ilk do not present an existential threat to the United States; our fear threatens our way of life. The bearded, glaring men who seek to destroy us cannot invade our shores, they cannot storm our gates. Our paranoia and anxieties can pull down our ideals, making us scurry about furtively glancing over our shoulder all the time wringing our hands about some unseen foe. Of course they may mount some isolated attack. And if you or a loved one perishes in such an incident it is not minor. But on a national scale such events do not threaten us. When we succumb to fear and suspicion we let them win. We hand them victory when we let mistrust guide us into supporting leaders and polices of isolation, bigotry, and prejudice. We give up an integral part of our national and cultural fabric when allow trepidation to urge us to turn our backs on those desperately needing an extended hand of help. In this time, when fear again threatens to overwhelm our better nature, we must, as it were, gird up our loins and do the right thing.

     More than once in our history fear has gibbered into our ears, urging us to suspect each other to round up those who are different, to put the other under the hot lights of public inquisition, and reign in freedom. Now is the time to shake off the shackles of fear, stand up, and breath deeply the clean bracing air of freedom. We must not let inarticulate unease dictate policies. Those who exploit fear as a source of power do not deserve our support. We must seek out leaders who will call us to our better, nobler, impulses. Ali, Malik, and others like them took great risk to help our nation and well as their own. We owe them. We owe them similar treatment.

     As a follower of Jesus, my master reminds me that I should welcome all those who labor and are heavy laden. Those of us who claim the name of Christ must remember that God did not give us a spirit of fear and that growing in love drives out fear. If we desire to somehow wrap ourselves in the mantle of being a “Christian” we must, at some level, attempt to embrace sacrificial love toward those who seek to do us ill. I know that such attitudes and beliefs drive choices which incur risk. I also know that God calls me to trust Him. If I ever hope to reach over to the Islamic community, I must do so with the love of Jesus. Ali, Malik, and all the others who shared hardship and dangers with me in Baghdad deserve such love.