The Cure for Anything

I have a rather unusual, and often unpopular perspective on this holiday.  Originally, November 11 was known as Armistice Day, a day to honor a world-wide wish for peace.  This country has forgotten the origins of this day, and instead made it about glorification of a culture of war.

While I did not serve in the military, I had the unique experience of being married to an active duty service member who served in the first Gulf War (Operation Desert Storm).  I lived on a Marine Corps base, both before, during, and after the war.  Marines are a special breed of service member, that is for certain.  I got to know quiet a few of the young men quite well, because throughout the years that my then husband was serving I hosted dinners and parties for every major holiday.  As long as I was around, no one was going to spend Christmas or Thanksgiving alone, eating horrible chow hall food.  Honestly, these Marines were never anything but polite and respectful to me.  Partially because they were (rightfully so) afraid that my husband would bash their faces in if they so much as looked sideways at me, but mostly because they truly appreciated what I did for them.  I gave them a home away from home.  A refuge.  I know that more than one of them told me that the Christmas I had for them was nicer than any that they’d had growing up.  Here is an unfortunate fact: most of the enlisted Marines came from poor backgrounds, many were minorities.  Most had no other viable option.  My husband was an exception to that rule. He came from an upper middle class background.  He grew up living on a 9th green of a golf course, swimming and playing tennis at the country club.  But I learned that money did not mean the same as coming from a good, loving family.  My husband signed up for the Corps when he was still 17 years old. To do so, you need parental permission.  When the recruiter came to their home to acquire permission, his parents asked only two questions: 1) will he still be a tax write off for me? and 2) will he get dessert in boot camp?  I kid you not.

Did you ever see Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket?  Many people think that it was toned down.  Not a chance.  This is exactly how they spoke, and worse.

Coming from a family where raising your voice was considered gauche, and swearing was unheard of, this was all quite a shock to me. To this day, I’ve never heard such inventive cursing.  Many times I had to ask what it meant, that’s how naïve I was.

Unfortunately, the Marine Corps takes a lot of the unloved, underprivileged, and unbalanced and programs them into what they want/need: brutal, violent people who have neither conscience nor remorse.  Fighting in an active combat situation only exacerbates this.  So before we all start waving around the flag and saying, “Yay, war!”, let’s think about the real, individual human cost.  There is the visible loss.  Loss of life, of limb.  But there is damage that you can’t see.  The PTSD, the mental illness. I know, I lived with it for years post-Gulf War.  I didn’t understand it, or even know what to call it at the time.  The understanding only came years later.  That understanding helped me with forgiveness, but it didn’t make me forget, nor did it erase the damage that was done.  His PTSD manifested via merciless and savage violence, unpredictability, and extreme emotional cruelty.  He, like so many others like him, did not seek any help.  None was ever offered.  It wasn’t addressed, nor was it to be spoken about.  It’s the dirty little secret of our military and the ripple effect is enormous. I venture to guess that it is beyond the scope of imagination of most people.

It’s been 23 years since Desert Storm.  I still feel the after-effects.  Most likely, I always will.  If a glass is dropped on the floor and broken into pieces, you can glue it back together, but it’s never the same again.  It may hold water, but it will leak.  Like that glass, I am indelibly damaged.  There’s no self-pity in that statement.  It’s just fact.  There are some things that can never be un-done.   I am one of thousands, tens of thousands, that could tell a similar tale.  War is an ugly thing and we need to stop glamorizing it and see it for what it truly is.