Why I do what I do (Or am the way I am)...

I know many of you may wonder, why I do what I do. Why I am so political. Why I am so passionate about my views. Some of you probably don’t give a shit. That’s fine, but if you wanna know why, and who I am you may want to read on. I know some of you have heard some of this before, but I will try to go deeper then I have before…

At one point in my life I was a hardcore republican. I thought that people just needed to pull themselves up by their bootstraps, and if they didn’t they were just lazy people who deserved to be poor. I believed that if you tried hard enough you could achieve anything. I helped with G.W. Bush’s first presidential campaign. To borrow from David Sirota, I was a practitioner of the “me first, screw everybody else” philosophy. I believed many racist, classist, and sexist things. Yet, saw myself as a true red-blooded American, so two of my best friends and I joined the army.  Partly for to get out of Grand Junction, to see the world, and for college money. We signed up 3 months before 9/11, and while it scared me a little to think I would probably go to war, I felt it was my duty.

Living in Germany was great, and I could tell a ton of stories, but that would stray me from my point. It was sometime towards the beginning of my first deployment, in 2002-2003, in Kosovo, that I started making my shift to who I am today. I remember being out on patrol in this little town, when all these little kids came out. We gave them some food, because they needed much more then we did. There was a foot of snow on the ground, and none of their houses had windows, or insulation. They lived in brick homes, and had to make large fires to keep warm. While I had slept in the cold on many occasions, camping and what not, I couldn’t imagine living in the conditions these children had lo live in, day in, day out. Furthermore, there was the constant fear of violence. We were basically the police there. Many times we had to respond to gunshots, or even the occasional grenade thrown into someone’s house. This is when I started questioning the privileges that I was born into. I could have just as easily been born into the violence they were, and this would pale in comparison to violence I saw in Iraq.

It was in the beginning of the Kosovo deployment that Bush Inc. started beating the war drums for Iraq. I paid very close attention because rumor had it, that’s where we were headed after we got back from Kosovo. Sure as shit, we did. But while paying attention as to why we would be headed to Iraq, I looked at all the “evidence” they were telling us and all the reasons why they said we had to go to Iraq. Once we got to Iraq, I realized it was all bullshit. I felt hurt and betrayed. The country I loved, the country I was fighting for, had lied to me. They had sent me to a war, to possibly die, for a heaping load of crap, and the people on capital hill: the lobbyists, the war profiteers, oil companies, banks on wall street, were all profiting, while we fought. It wasn’t for freedom, and anyone who says it is, is brainwashed. I truly wish we were fighting for freedom, but we weren’t. Not for the freedom of the people here in the US, and not for the freedom of Iraqi’s. I was on the streets of Iraq. I talked with the people. Yes they were glad Saddam was gone, but they lived in more fear of us and had no idea what to expect from us, because every unit was different. Some were more trigger happy, some had more brutal tactics. We oppressed, we did not free. If you look at the situation here in America, do you really feel more free? I don’t. I feel more oppressed, but more on this later…

When Fallujah kicked off, half of our battalion left to help with the fight there, but when they did, “insurgents” took Baqubah. It was one of the most hectic days of my life. Bullets flying by, explosions all over town. On many occasions before, we had gotten in firefights and caused casualties, but this was the first time, that I knew with absolute certainty, that I had taken a life. I was the only person with a shot, I saw a limp and lifeless fall to the ground in the alley we were taking fire from. The whole day seemed to move by in slow motion, and was easily the longest day of my life. When we finally returned to our base, all I could do is lie on my bunk exhausted and haunted with the actions of the day. By this time, I had already realized that the war was bullshit, which only made matters worse. I had killed a man, who was probably a father, a brother, a friend of someone else. He wasn’t trying to destroy America, he was either trying to put food on his table, and took money because he desperate so he fought us, or perhaps he was enraged because we had killed someone he loved, or maybe he just wanted us out of HIS fucking country. I will never know, but what I do know, is that the more we fight, the more they will hate us. It is not our place to try and solve their problems. I’m not saying we shouldn’t’ help them, but problems cannot be solved with a gun or a bomb.

Anyways, there were a number of other deadly interactions that occurred, and I felt like a hypocrite, every time. I wished I could just throw down my weapon and walk away, but I stayed, mostly for my brothers in arms. I still struggle with the pain, memories, regret, nightmares, of Iraq, but my story doesn’t end there…

I came home, and got involved in the peace movement and went to school to learn about the inequities I saw overseas and to understand my experience with war. This helped me heal in many ways, but there are many scars which may never heal. In March of 2007 I went on an alternative spring break trip to Washington D.C. to work with the homeless population there, it was here that I realized that many of the inequities I saw overseas were happening right here in the US. I knew there was homeless people in the US, but they were out of sight out of mind. Talking with them was very humbling, I met many vets, laborers, even a couple of lawyers… Many of them just had bad luck, and because of lack of a good healthcare system, workers rights, a basic safety net, these people were now living on the streets. They weren’t lazy, they weren’t stupid, they didn’t want a hand out. They got punched in the face, and while they were down, they were kicked repeatedly. After a while, they couldn’t get up… It was one of the most eye opening experiences I had ever had…

In March of 2009, I went on another alternative break, this time to New Orleans, to help build houses. The site was still devastating. The ways in which we have turned our backs on the people of New Orleans is disgusting, not only due to Katrina, but also the oil spill, which is still a problem that BP now refuses to clean up any further. How many lives were ruined by those two tragedies? Countless… If you think that big businesses have the right to be unregulated, here is the perfect example of why they need regulation.

It was just prior to all this that I got very involved in understanding identity politics. I spent time understanding that all the racist and sexist things I believed when I was younger was all bullshit. People of color weren’t lazy, or dangerous, or whatever other stupid shit I believed. They were people just like me, however, not just like me. They weren’t afforded the same privileges as me. They were constantly the target of racism and bigotry. I never had to wake up and wonder if someone was going to call me some kind of hurtful word. I never had to wake up and worry that a man would sexually assault me, or cat call me and make me feel uncomfortable. I realized that even the smallest of actions could be greatly hurtful to someone. That even a joke could offend or hurt someone. “Lighten up it’s just a joke,” my friends would say, but I wouldn’t and eventually I lost some friends, or some were very guarded around me. The funny thing is, is that I was usually very polite when I confronted someone, by letting them know I was offended, and would try to have a productive conversation. But many of the times I just wanted to scream “FUCK YOU YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE, WHY DON’T YOU GET IT, IT IS NOT FUCKING FUNNY!!!” But I never did. Perhaps it’s better I didn’t because many times I was able to have constructive discussions, but sometimes not and the subject was quickly changed.

I don’t find it funny because it is not only hurtful language perpetuating stereotypes, but it continues to oppress those who are the target of it, and many who are not the target of it, come to believe these stereotypes as truth, when in fact, it’s all bullshit. While working on my MA in Ethnic Studies, all this became more clear. I learned the ways in which people have been oppressed and exploited by the government, by corporations, by neoliberalism. I know what some of you may be thinking, “oh, well Ethnic Studies is the far left and is bias.” BULLSHIT, and FUCK OFF if you believe that. Ethnic Studies provides history from the people who got the most harmed throughout time. It is the stories of those who were on the receiving end of the violence that has made our country what it is today. The millions who have died, building the infrastructure of this nation, the millions killed for land that was theirs, etc. I also learned to question and critically think, in ways that can see the connections from the war in Iraq, to the corporations, to the homeless on the street, to those truly fighting for freedom across the globe.

It’s funny, kind of, I started writing tonight because I was very depressed, and pissed, and felt absolutely hopeless. I was in a very dark place. At times I feel very much alone, especially since I am 3,000 miles away from my close friends and family. I sometimes wonder what the point of life is, when I don’t have those around me who help me to see the beautiful things in life, which lies in those connections. I get sad and angry, especially with what is going on here in America. When I read the things that people from the right say, I don’t understand how they cannot have compassion for people. Or how they cannot understand the plight of some of these people. Or why they won’t listen. I don’t understand why they cannot open their ears, minds, and hearts. I don’t understand why they have so much hate in their hearts. I think the biggest reason I get angry is because I know that change is possible, I am living proof of it.

I get so angry sometimes, that people will not listen, and this feeds my depression. I know I have to be strong, and keep fighting, and yelling so that people hear me, and perhaps I can change their minds, or make them understand differently. I am trying, very hard to do this as peacefully as possible, but when your dealing with a system that only knows violence, and dealing with people who only know how to perpetuate hate, and people who love money more then their fellow humans, it's hard. I am constantly in flux, trying to decide whether to stay the course or to go out shooting, because I feel more and more helpless and desperate everyday. I am in more pain and torment the older I get, longing for change, and dreaming of real hope, but as the world becomes more bleak, I am finding less and less to live for. But I will to continue to fight, for my friends, for my family, for those who are still being kicked while their down, for the poor, the hungry, children, women, men, people of all colors and different beliefs. I will fight for them, because we all deserve a chance, to live, to love, to be happy. 

I could really go on and on, and I would love to try and further help you understand where I'm coming from if you want to know. Just let me know. For now, I'm going to bed, much later than anticipated. I will try to be better about blogging... Much peace, love, and happiness to you all! And if you made it all the way through this post... Thank You for listening/reading!