"Why Should I Care?"

"Why Should I Care?"

This weekend was drill weekend, the weekend I used to dread for three weeks out of the month. I'm not exactly in love with the idea of wearing the uniform now, but a part of me does look forward to this weekend. When else will I be able to see all of my comrades from Iraq? So, it was with that tempered anticipation that I couldn't wait to see my friend. Josh lives on the other side of the state and I convinced him to come stay at my house Friday so that we could go out, drink a few beers, and get caught up.

In between beers and meaningless conversations with bar flies, we talked again about Iraq. Knowing that he was against the war from the start and is generally described as being pretty liberal in his political and religious leanings, I asked him if he wanted to join Iraq Veterans Against the War. It seemed like a natural progression for him, but his answer surprised me:

"Why should I care? I mean it kind of worked out for me: I've got more school money; a new truck; veterans' benefits."

I was floored, but, undeterred, I continued with the recruitment.

"You think I can't cite positives? I'm a homeowner now. I have more college money, veterans' benefits, and self-confidence. I like who I am; that year changed me for the better, but all that means is that I made a positive out of a negative situation. Why should you care?! You can't be anti-war while you're in it and then become indifferent when your ass is no longer on the line. You should care for all the other guys like us that are over there."

Did it work? Who knows? I can't say for sure one way or the other if I made an impression; the blonde inches away from me was just too hot to ignore to continue harassing Josh. I'd like to think that, if nothing else, I made him see the hypocrisy in his statement. I have no problem saying that I benefitted from the deployment; I think that I grew as a person in ways that I never would have had I not had that type of eye-opening experience. However, when your primary reason for supporting a war (or even projecting a laissez faire attitude towards it) is a financial one, you become no better than all the war profiteers that you railed against the whole year you were there.

I care, and I'm not the only one. There are several comrades of mine who have either joined IVAW or have pledged to do so soon. One of them is taking the next step and attending the IVAW National Convention with me at the 22nd Annual Veterans for Peace Convention in St. Louis in a couple weeks.

Aaron and I will make the road trip August 15th to St. Louis to meet other members of the organization, find out what we can do to help, learn more about the organization, and to have a good time. I was contacted last week by IVAW's executive director and notified that I had been nominated to IVAW's Board of Directors by a last minute submission. I couldn't believe it, but she told me that she had read my writings on the website and felt that I really told my story well and felt that I should go for it. I later found out over a Jack and Coke that it was Aaron who nominated me, but, hey, his opinion matters too. His exact words, "I thought 'man, I'm too lazy for that shit, but I think Cliburn'd do a good job.'" So, in two weeks, the members of IVAW will choose seven members out of nineteen nominees to sit on the Board of Directors. Whether I am elected or not, I feel like I'm finally finding my niche in life, at least temporarily. I've read the other nominees' profiles and I genuinely believe all of them have a better shot of being elected than me, mostly because they had longer than two hours to put their nomination packet together. But that's not the point: I would be happy with anyone on that list; I'm sincerely "just happy to be here." If I am elected, I see my life changing significantly, and I get excited.

Whether I find myself on that Board of Directors or not, I will become a contributor for the IVAW newsletter that will be starting soon. My first assignment: write a review of the DVD's "The Ground Truth" and "Sir, No Sir!"
I have "The Ground Truth" and I ordered "Sir, No Sir!" a couple of weeks ago. I will post my reviews here when I get them done. This is obviously an exciting part of my life that is opening itself up finally; I may finally get the platform that I've been wanting for so long, but will I want the responsibility that comes with it? I think so.

Whether I'm in school, on this (relatively) meaningless blog, at the bar, or even Wal Mart, I aim to present myself as an Iraq veteran that you can respect: I'm not going to Goose Step with the administration, but I did my job and tried to help people along the way. I don't carry a sign to that effect, but those that discuss the war with me are going to come away thinking that about me . . . and hopefully they'll start viewing the rest of the veterans in a different light as well. I have to realize that for every one of me, there are ten like a certain soldier I served with. "DB" allegedly has been telling anyone with a beer and a listening ear that he used to sneak off the base in Iraq and kill Iraqis. Someone decided he was either telling the truth (in which case he needs to be prosecuted), or he was lying (in which case he needs a thorough kick in the ass); either way it doesn't make us look good. The man contacted our unit and reported it and the problem has been resolved, but it's still unsettling. How many other dumbasses are telling lies to sound "cool"? How does it make us look?

I finally emptied out one of my foot lockers from Iraq in order to fill up a bookshelf with the books I read while I was in country. I found in it the Iraq Tourists Book. There was no date inside, but it was obvious that it was at least ten years old. I remember buying it as a souvenir from a little Iraqi kid, but I never actually opened it. Nostalgia filling me, I opened it up and took a whirlwind tour of pre-occupation Iraq. I was astounded to see the same places I used to frequent in Baghdad in pristine condition. al-Tahreer Square looked beautiful; it was lively and clean and looked like what a major square in a world capital should look like. The al-Tahreer Square I knew was nothing of the sort. It was disconcerting to see all the museums that I know are now looted and essentially non-functional. A part of me feels so badly for Baghdad and the architects that designed a city that is truly gorgeous in many ways, only to see it turn to shantytown over years of economic sanctions and war. I don't know what came first, the war or the decay, but Baghdad used to be beautiful, and I hope it is once again in the future.

Perhaps one day I won't think of Baghdad and that year so much. Maybe I'll eventually just let it go and think of something else in my idle time. Until then, however, I'm going to continue to care, continue to think critically, continue to tell my story.