:: The Blurst of Times ::

:: 8.31.2004 ::

The President, the Soldier.

From what I’ve read lately, there seems to be a lot of dispute about how Candidate Kerry handled himself during the Vietnam War. I’m not sure exactly what the nature of the dispute is, I think it has something to do about him killing women and children, maybe about getting awards he didn’t ‘deserve’, maybe something about how he treated his men... suffice to say there is dispute. Once upon a time there was dispute about President Bush, too. Remember that? Of course we couldn’t dispute what he did ‘over there’. He didn’t even bother to fucking show up. In my mind, that ends all discussion.

But it brings up an interesting issue. What happens to someone in war and how does that reflect/impact who that person really is? Imagine yourself being eighteen again. When I was eighteen, let’s see, what was my life like. Hmm, I was over-the-top politically, obsessed with discovering what resembled intellectual discussion; I was constantly angry at everything, I ruined relationships with people, I failed to see some of the most obvious friends that I had; hell, I even thought Ben was a pretty decent guy. WTF, right? I was constantly infuriating my parents, and I thought a tattoo of a rose on my hand for prom was about the coolest thing possible.

So you’re eighteen, fresh out of high school, never been much out of your state, let alone the nation. On a philosophical level, maybe you’re torn between national duty and the desire not to die, or some sort of conflict between the wars your father and his father fought and the conflict you are currently facing, against an enemy you don’t understand. But more practically, you suddenly find yourself tossed into a jungle you don’t understand, surrounded by people you cannot relate to, all of which (or none of which) may be trying to kill you. You’re young, scared, away from home, and with people you don’t know. Odds aren’t bad you’re going to die without ever seeing your home again. Maybe you’ve got a commander who is a few years older than you (that’s about 21, maybe 22, still I’m having to think back about how I was then) who’s just as scared, just as alone, but has to be responsible for a lot more than his own ass in the same hell you’re in. So picture that.

I picture that and I know for a fact that I cannot begin to imagine what it would be like. I can picture it, but I’m picturing Platoon and Full Metal Jacket, not war. War, I have no idea. In fact, it seems that even the best, most well-reasoned people, react differently when placed under huge amounts of stress, and war is likely a huge amount of stress. So we’ve got an eighteen year old out there, to stupid to know that you can’t eat cinnamon rolls and soda pop ever day for lunch, and we expect him to never fuck up in war. Now granted, ‘fuck up’ in war equals ‘people dead’ in war, but that’s because of the gun in his hand, not something inherent in him.

I’m not saying soldiers are not responsible for their actions. I’m just saying let’s look at the bigger picture, like who put them in that situation, and what exactly is that situation, before we start casting stones. And if we can’t recreate the exact situation that occurred so many years ago, for the sole purpose of passing judgement, then maybe it’s all a moot point anyway. Yeah, Kerry might have fucked up in Vietnam, but he was eighteen and it was war. He didn’t pay to get out of it, and that ends the patriotism debate in my mind.

And for the record, Fred Flextimer wholly supports every American Troop and everyone who is forced to fight other people’s battles, and to me that means they all get to come (and go) back home as soon as humanely possible.

“The President said ‘Let it ride. Islam be damned. Make your last stand, in Tehran...”

:: Freddy F. at 10:34 PM [+] ::