Five years ago on Memorial Day I was preparing for my trip to Fort Dix, New Jersey for training before my deployment to Iraq.
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I remember sitting in my Containerized Housing Unit (CHU) on Camp Slayer in Baghdad, Skyping with my family through the pitifully inadequate internet services provided by whatever company had managed to secure the exclusive DoD contract for Victory Base Complex (VBC).
It was commonplace for the connection to cut in and out, temporarily severing that precious ocean-spanning technological link between the Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, & Marines and their loved ones back home.
The look on my parents’ faces whenever the video link finally reconnected was always one of relief and hope.
That fall, as Christmas approached, the rate of rocket and mortar attacks on the VBC increased. I grew accustomed to the sound of explosions. Sometimes they were far off and other times, far too close for comfort, but eventually I began to sleep right through them.
One day I arrived at my post and heard the awful news of a soldier in the housing block not far from mine. He was in his CHU, Skyping with his bride, when an old Soviet mortar round cut off their connection… forever. The relief and hope that had filled my family’s hearts upon each reconnected video call would never visit her heart again. I’m sad to say I never learned that soldier’s name.
I often struggle to understand why.
The mortar attacks like the one that ended his life were random by their nature. Insurgents would use pickup trucks to mount the mortars, indiscriminately firing them in the general direction of the American base. One half degree shift in trajectory, one meter forward or backward in the pickup, one minute sooner or later—that would have been the difference between life and death.
So why him, and not me?
In the grand scheme of things, my deployment to Iraq was one of the ‘easy’ ones. I was there for the so-called draw down, the transition from the poorly named Operation Iraqi Freedom to the even-less-aptly-named Operation New Dawn. I’m thankful I never had to kick in a door, take direct enemy fire, or even fire my weapon downrange. I’m even thankful to have been deployed in the era of Skype, a luxury not afforded to service-members even just a few years before.
I spent most of my time in Baghdad looking at a computer screen and working with Iraqi officials trying to navigate the bureaucratic and logistical nightmare that had become ‘liberated’ Iraq. Those mortar and rocket attacks were infrequent but powerful reminders that, yes, we were still in a war zone and, no, they still didn’t want us there.
But I still couldn’t get that question out of my head—why him, and not me?
An Air Force veteran places 1,892 flags outside the Capitol in March representing the number of veterans and active service members suicides this year. (Photo: AP)
A year ago, I had the pleasure of meeting North Carolina Congressman Walter Jones. Originally the man who proposed the infamous ‘Freedom Fries’ initiative to shame France for failing to support the effort in Iraq, Jones would later do a complete 180. A personal spiritual transformation and careful re-examination had made him into one of the most outspoken critics of the Iraq war.
I admired Jones for his principled stand, but did not expect what he said to me.
After I told Rep. Jones I was an Iraq Veteran and began to thank him, he politely interrupted, placing his hand on my shoulder in the same way a grandfather would.
“Son, I’m sorry.”
My eyes began to well with tears as he continued, “I promise you I’ll do everything I can to make sure old men like me will never send young men like you to die in wars like that ever again.”
You may disagree with Congressman Jones and my conclusions about the war in Iraq. That really doesn’t matter.
What matters is the young soldier who will never see his wife’s face again—in real life or over Skype—and the thousands of soldiers just like him.
They will never get to wave at the families who came to see them in a parade. They will not hear the thank yous at the airport. They will never stand up to be recognized in church as the choir sings “God Bless America.”
As we remember our fallen heroes on this Memorial Day, every American should also do the most patriotic thing they can to honor their memory: Ask questions. Do not blindly trust what our government says about the supposed necessity of entering a conflict abroad, the alleged seriousness of external threats or Washington’s overall rationale for war.
Those willing to lay down their lives for your freedom deserve better.
They deserve an America that demands truth from its leaders. They deserve an electorate that is willing to honestly and critically examine policies that put our military in harm’s way. They deserve voters who hold politicians accountable for the decisions made on their behalf.
The brave men and women of our military deserve our eternal vigilance. They will continue to do their duty.
Our duty to them is to always question our government.