What I Learned in Iraq
What I want to know is why you wanted to hate them, you where against the war, it was all based on lies you are a journalist, so why did you want to hate them, We invaded their country, and killed hundred of thousand of innocent Iraqis and you have to hold yourself back from hating them, INSANITY it is total INSANITY where is the liberation. You should have loved your enemy? shit when did they become your enemy, they wern't your friking enemy before Georgies lies they where to be liberated, wern't they?
I'm nervous today. This morning I started my 500-mile peace walk across Utah, the reddest state in the nation. I hope my legs hold up. I hope I don't sprain an ankle or injure a knee. But most of all, I hope I don't lose my temper.
About three months ago, I was in Iraq preparing to return home after a one-year tour as a military journalist.
A wizened medical corps colonel interviewed me in a private room to evaluate how much post traumatic stress syndrome I would have.
"Do you feel you are a danger to yourself or others?"
"Yes," I answered - we all answered yes.
The colonel wasn't surprised. He just marked a box and then continued with the questionnaire. After a year in Iraq, your nerves get frazzled and you find yourself wondering where all your patience and restraint went. I think mine melted in the heat.
I was against the war from the beginning. During peace rallies in Utah, I'd already been called unpatriotic and cowardly by those who wanted to go to war. (I mean they wanted the military to go to war, not them personally). As I thought of returning home from Iraq, I imagined what would happen if another stiff-necked conservative, who has never heard a bullet fired in anger, told me once again that I was a coward and a traitor. Yes, I might be a danger to him.
I told myself that the first person who tried to justify the killing in Iraq to me was going to get it. The first person to do so, however, was a sweet grandmother I sat next to on the plane back to the U.S. I could tell she was a good person - we just had different views and information. The anger fell away and I remembered a lesson I had learned in Iraq: Love your enemy.
When I was new to Iraq, I was out on a mission where we'd discovered a roadside bomb. Our signal blocking equipment showed that someone nearby was trying to detonate the bomb and we thought we had identified him. I was scared and my fear turned to rage. Somebody I had never met was trying to kill me. I'm ashamed to say this, but right then, I wanted to kill him first. I fought that terrible feeling until a bomb squad disabled the explosive and we moved on.
That night, I knew I was in the wrong. I shouldn't have been afraid. I shouldn't have let that fear turn to anger. Instead, I should have loved my enemy. I'd learned this lesson in my youth at Sunday school, but the concept is ecumenical. Buddha taught it. Jesus taught it. Mohammed taught it. Gandhi taught it. Teachers and philosophers throughout the centuries have seen the need for love between enemies. Unfortunately, it's a little harder in practice.
I worked on it for the next few months. I studied my enemies' language, history, politics and religion. By the end of my tour, I achieved a level of success.
One night, I found myself guarding the rear of a convoy with only an M-16. A vehicle pulled up behind us after the curfew. I locked and loaded my weapon knowing that if this were, in fact, an insurgent with a bomb, my rifle wouldn't be able to stop the vehicle in time. For the next three hours, I stared at the uncomfortably close headlights and prayed no one would be hurt.
Normally, I would have been petrified and full of hate. However, this time, I was overcome with the thought of how frightening this must have been for the persons in the car. Even if they were insurgents and they wanted to kill me, they must have been petrified themselves. This time, I felt compassion and empathy. I did not feel fear.
Love your enemy. That's the lesson I learned in Iraq. That's the lesson I almost forgot coming home. I have to love the people who wanted to kill me in Iraq and I have to love the people who want to hate me at home.
As I start my trek through the last bastion of support for the war, I'm most worried about losing my temper. I hope I will be able to love people, even if they call me a coward, spit on me, insult my family, physically impede my walk, or commit any other violent act. On average, 40 Iraqi civilians die every day. On average, two U.S. servicemembers die every day. The situation's too urgent. I simply don't have time for hate.
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I'm nervous today. This morning I started my 500-mile peace walk across Utah, the reddest state in the nation. I hope my legs hold up. I hope I don't sprain an ankle or injure a knee. But most of all, I hope I don't lose my temper.
About three months ago, I was in Iraq preparing to return home after a one-year tour as a military journalist.
A wizened medical corps colonel interviewed me in a private room to evaluate how much post traumatic stress syndrome I would have.
"Do you feel you are a danger to yourself or others?"
"Yes," I answered - we all answered yes.
The colonel wasn't surprised. He just marked a box and then continued with the questionnaire. After a year in Iraq, your nerves get frazzled and you find yourself wondering where all your patience and restraint went. I think mine melted in the heat.
I was against the war from the beginning. During peace rallies in Utah, I'd already been called unpatriotic and cowardly by those who wanted to go to war. (I mean they wanted the military to go to war, not them personally). As I thought of returning home from Iraq, I imagined what would happen if another stiff-necked conservative, who has never heard a bullet fired in anger, told me once again that I was a coward and a traitor. Yes, I might be a danger to him.
I told myself that the first person who tried to justify the killing in Iraq to me was going to get it. The first person to do so, however, was a sweet grandmother I sat next to on the plane back to the U.S. I could tell she was a good person - we just had different views and information. The anger fell away and I remembered a lesson I had learned in Iraq: Love your enemy.
When I was new to Iraq, I was out on a mission where we'd discovered a roadside bomb. Our signal blocking equipment showed that someone nearby was trying to detonate the bomb and we thought we had identified him. I was scared and my fear turned to rage. Somebody I had never met was trying to kill me. I'm ashamed to say this, but right then, I wanted to kill him first. I fought that terrible feeling until a bomb squad disabled the explosive and we moved on.
That night, I knew I was in the wrong. I shouldn't have been afraid. I shouldn't have let that fear turn to anger. Instead, I should have loved my enemy. I'd learned this lesson in my youth at Sunday school, but the concept is ecumenical. Buddha taught it. Jesus taught it. Mohammed taught it. Gandhi taught it. Teachers and philosophers throughout the centuries have seen the need for love between enemies. Unfortunately, it's a little harder in practice.
I worked on it for the next few months. I studied my enemies' language, history, politics and religion. By the end of my tour, I achieved a level of success.
One night, I found myself guarding the rear of a convoy with only an M-16. A vehicle pulled up behind us after the curfew. I locked and loaded my weapon knowing that if this were, in fact, an insurgent with a bomb, my rifle wouldn't be able to stop the vehicle in time. For the next three hours, I stared at the uncomfortably close headlights and prayed no one would be hurt.
Normally, I would have been petrified and full of hate. However, this time, I was overcome with the thought of how frightening this must have been for the persons in the car. Even if they were insurgents and they wanted to kill me, they must have been petrified themselves. This time, I felt compassion and empathy. I did not feel fear.
Love your enemy. That's the lesson I learned in Iraq. That's the lesson I almost forgot coming home. I have to love the people who wanted to kill me in Iraq and I have to love the people who want to hate me at home.
As I start my trek through the last bastion of support for the war, I'm most worried about losing my temper. I hope I will be able to love people, even if they call me a coward, spit on me, insult my family, physically impede my walk, or commit any other violent act. On average, 40 Iraqi civilians die every day. On average, two U.S. servicemembers die every day. The situation's too urgent. I simply don't have time for hate.
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posted by Kangaroo Brisbane Australia at 1:56 AM
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