[WCUSP] Broken by this War

Fri Mar 2 07:37:14 CST 2007

--- Lloyd Marbet <cnsrvncy at cascadeaccess.com> wrote:

> Date: Fri, 02 Mar 2007 04:16:00 -0800
> From: Lloyd Marbet <cnsrvncy at cascadeaccess.com>
> To: undisclosed-recipients:;
> Subject: Broken by this War
> 

---------------------------------
A selfperpetuating cultural heritage, it's never far
away, this war in ourmidst, this war come home:

http://www.commondreams.org/views07/0301-31.htm

                  Published on Thursday, March 1, 2007
by The Progressive 
                           Broken by this War      
                          by Stacy Bannerman
                                         I was folding
fliers for a high schoolworkshop on nonviolence when
my husband, a mortar platoon sergeant withthe Army
National Guard 81st Brigade, walked into my office and
said,“I got the call.”      
We hadn’t talked about the possibility of him being
deployedformonths, not since President Bush had
declared, “Mission accomplished.”But I knew exactly
what he meant; I didn’t know then what it would
meanfor us. 

We weren’t prepared, and neither was the Guard. The
Guard senthiminto harm’s way without providing some of
the basic equipment andmaterials, such as global
positioning systems, night vision gear, andinsect
repellant, that he would rely on during his year-long
tour ofduty at LSA Anaconda, the most-attacked base in
Iraq, as determined bythe sheer number of incoming
rockets and mortars, which averaged atleast five per
day.

Unlike active duty military, the National Guard had
nofunctionalfamily support system or services in
place. While the Guard wasscrambling to get it
together, my husband was already gone, and I wasalone,
just months after we had moved to Seattle.
      It is the soldiers, their families, and
thepeople of Iraq that pay the human costs. The tab so
far: more than3,000 dead U.S. troops, tens of
thousands of wounded, over half amillion Iraqi
casualties, roughly 250,000 American servicemen and
womenstruggling with PTSD, and almost 60,000 military
marriages that havebeen broken by this war.

Twenty-four hours after Lorin boarded the plane for
Iraq, Ihung ablue star service flag—denoting an
immediate family member in combat—inthe front window.
Then I closed the blinds, hoping to keep theharbingers
of death at bay. They still got in, through the phone,
theInternet, the newspaper, and the TV.

Each week, I heard of a friend’s husband or son:
wounded,maimed,shot, hit, hurt, burned, amputated,
decapitated, detonated, dead. Aglossary of pain. I
checked icasualties.org all the time, cursing
andcrying as the numbers rose relentlessly, praying
that Lorin wouldn’t benext.

I got involved with Military Families Speak Out, which
isexactlywhat the name suggests: an organization of
people with loved ones inuniform who are adamantly
opposed to the war in Iraq. We were breakingthe
military’s traditional code of silence by publicly
protesting thiswar, and the pushback was intense,
particularly for military wives. Iwas ostracized by
the women married to men in my husband’s company,
andmy husband was reprimanded by his superior
officers. I was an “unrulyspouse,” and Lorin could
“expect adverse career consequences.”

I thought being forced to serve in a war based on lies
wasitself an“adverse consequence.” I said as much
during an interview on Hardballwith Chris Matthews,
which just happened to be broadcast on thebig-screen
TV during lunchtime in the mess tent at Anaconda.
Lorindidn’t see it, but approximately 5,000 of the
troops he was servingwith did. He heard about it for
weeks, but never asked me to stop. Hehad his own
questions and concerns about Operation Iraqi Freedom.

During the run-up to the war, when 76 percent of
Americanssupportedthe invasion of Iraq, we protested
in the streets of Spokane. But hewas contractually
bound and committed to his men. He clung to what
he’dbeen briefed on regarding the Guard’s mission in
Iraq, which includedbuilding schools for kids.

Two months into his deployment, I got a call from him,
and hesaid,choking up, that there was an “accident.”
Two Iraqi children were deadbecause he gave the order
to fire a couple of mortar rounds. Severalweeks later,
he phoned again, his voice flat and emotionless, to
tellme that the men he had dinner with the previous
night had been killedby the same Iraqi soldiers that
they were training six hours earlier.

Days went by without any communication—anxious hours,
restlessnights. I swerved between anger and fear.

His e-mails were sometimes delayed, or returned to him
asundeliverable, with portions blacked out by military
censors. The onesthat got through asked for more
homemade treats, baby wipes, batteries,movies, and
magazines. One missive informed me about rockets
landingnext to the trailer where he slept . . . while
he was in bed. Anotherended abruptly because he was
under attack.

 Lorin spent hours loading coffins onto cargo jets; I
spentdays on red alert.

Finally, the phone rang with the news that my husband
wascominghome, after nearly a year in Iraq. They
didn’t tell me he’d bring thewar with him. 

He’d been back for almost two months, but he was
stillchecking tosee where his weapon was every time he
got in a vehicle. He droveaggressively, talked
aggressively, and sometimes I could swear that hewas
breathing aggressively. This was not the man I
married, thishard-eyed, hyper-vigilant stranger who
spent his nights watching thedozens of DVDs that he
got from soldiers he served with in Iraq. Hecouldn’t
sleep, and missed the adrenaline surge of constant,
imminentdanger. The amateur videos of combat eased the
ache of withdrawal fromwar, but did nothing to heal my
soldier’s heart.

At a conference on post-deployment care and services
forsoldiersand their families, a Marine Corps chaplain
asked, “How do you know ifyou’re an SOB? Your wife
will tell you!”

Har-de-har-har-har. The remark got the predictable
round ofapplausefrom the capacity crowd, which, with
one exception, wasn’t living withanyone who had
recently returned from Iraq. I was that exception,
andit infuriated me that this was a joke. The
Pentagon’s solution for theconstant stress endured by
those of us who felt bewildered and betrayedwas:
“Learn how to laugh.” With help from the Pentagon’s
chief laughterinstructor, families of National Guard
members were learning to walklike a penguin, laugh
like a lion, and blurt “ha, ha, hee, hee, and ho,ho.”

Emotional isolation is one of the hallmarks of
post-combatmentalhealth problems. The National Guard
didn’t conduct follow-up mentalhealth screening or
evaluations of the men in my husband’s companyuntil
they had been home for almost eight months. Nearly a
year later,in August of 2006, my husband was informed
of his results:Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
It was obvious that he wassuffering, but when I
brought it up, he parroted what the military toldhim:
“Give it time.”

Time wasn’t a panacea for Jeffrey Lucey, Doug Barber,
or thedozensof other Guard members and Reservists who
have committed suicide afterserving in Iraq. Time
hasn’t helped the hundreds of homeless Iraq
Warveterans wandering lost in the streets of what
military families areassured is a deeply grateful
nation. Time is most definitely not on ourside. 

My husband has served his time with the Guard. He’s
got morethantwenty-three years of actual service, and
almost twenty years of “goodtime” that qualifies him
for retirement benefits.

But then he learned about a few loopholes. Now, if he
servesas amember in good standing for 364 days in a
year, instead of 365, thatyear isn’t credited as time
served toward his retirement. If he’sdeemed
irreplaceable—he’s one of a handful of mortar platoon
sergeantswho’ve seen combat—the Guard can retain him
for several more yearsafter his contract expires.

He is surprised by this, but I’m not. I no longer
expect thattheDepartment of Defense will keep its
promises to the soldiers or theirfamilies. I don’t
pretend that the Pentagon will adhere to itspolicies.
And I know from experience that “support the troops”
is aslogan, and not a practice.

On January 11, 2007, the Pentagon discarded the time
limitthatprevented Guard members and Reservists from
serving more thantwenty-four total months on active
duty for either the Iraq or Afghanwars. The Pentagon’s
announcement came in the wake of President
Bush’sdecision to deploy an additional 21,500 troops
to Iraq.

The escalation contradicts the advice of top U.S.
militaryofficials. Although the majority of Americans
are opposed to the“surge,” most members of Congress
are reluctant to block thesupplemental appropriations
request that will fund it, claiming thatthey don’t
want to abandon the troops. Congress has abandoned
thetroops for nearly four years.

It is the soldiers, their families, and the people of
Iraqthat paythe human costs. The tab so far: more than
3,000 dead U.S. troops, tensof thousands of wounded,
over half a million Iraqi casualties, roughly250,000
American servicemen and women struggling with PTSD,
and almost60,000 military marriages that have been
broken by this war.

Including mine. 

It was hard to reconnect after more than a year apart,
and theopenwound of untreated PTSD made it virtually
impossible. Lorin is stillthe best evidence I have of
God’s grace in this world, but we justcouldn’t find
our way back together after the war came home.

Stacy Bannerman is the author of “When the War Came
Home:TheInside Story of Reservists and the Families
They Leave Behind.” She isa member of MilitaryFamilies
Speak Out, and can be contacted at her website,
www.stacybannerman.com.

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