Ben Simon & the Military Mind

Even though I already have a website (ctrsvp.org), a blog seems to be a whole other area in which to share some of my more radical thoughts and ideas although people who are on the receiving end of my website would no doubt tell you that they can't imagine how much worse I can be.

I guess it isn't really a case of being worse, maybe just more truthful. Well, hell, I don't actually know what it is. I'm just hoping I'll be able to figure it out and share it here.

Let me tell you what is bothering me today.

Ben Simon is a 24 year old soldier from Waterford, CT serving in Afghanistan. He has been contributing some of his thoughts in a blog posted on The Day, a local newspaper and, for reasons yet unknown, at least to me, his writings have made the war more personal and terrible to me.

For reasons known only to the military, they have decided that notes from the war zone concerning such things as the numbness of the soldiers serving there, trying to quit smoking and the reasons for not doing so along with "Ah, Romance" are things that MUST not be shared with the public. Probably in the beady little brains of some military personnel, those in a position to make those decisions, what Ben has written about might pose a danger to the US although how that could be is beyond me.

And, even though, I'm ashamed to say that I don't normally follow the news of any wars we are involved in (and God knows there has been plenty of 'em), this piece of writing devastated me.
You can read the rest of his entries on ctrsvp.org

WE ARE NUMB

"Our emotions – other than anger – have been whisked away to a place we are unable to reach. Our ability to feel, and to be touched is gone. Our ability to sympathize and empathize with others is gone.
We have been in Afghanistan for eight months. In these eight months we have become numb. The Afghanistan sunsets that stretch like great big red and golden hands over the gray and bleak mountains do not reach us. The pain and suffering of many of the Afghani people do not affect us.
We, the five of us, in late October, drove into a village on a hilltop that overlooks a valley where there is a river surrounded by trees. These trees showed the first yellow and orange signs of fall, and their colors reflected on the river. This scene of water, and yellow, and orange, and green posed such a startling contrast to the surrounding dismal countryside that any regular person, I believe, would have been awestruck. We gave it only a passing glimpse.
In September, a child who had been hit by a speeding car driven by an Afghani was left dying on the side of a road. We, the five of us, did not feel any emotion as our medic did what he could for the dying child. We did not feel any emotion as the men and women from the nearby village, at the child’s side, moaned and wailed in agony and sorrow. We did not feel any emotion as they picked up the child and carried him away.
In August, the five of us watched an Afghanistan army soldier be whisked away by a medical evacuation helicopter. Just a short while earlier, we were only meters away when a rocket-propelled grenade hit him. He screamed, his fellow soldiers yelled, and smoke rose from his body. He lost both legs and an arm. We were not moved.
The five of us agree that the night skies of Afghanistan are the clearest we’ve ever seen. The Milky Way stretches across it, and on any given night countless shooting stars smudge it with their trails. The moon here, when it’s out, illuminates the tops of the mountains on the horizon, and we’ve all stood looking at it, along with the shooting stars and the Milky Way. We’ve stood and watched. But we have not been transfixed. We are numb.
Why are we numb? We are five soldiers from Connecticut who, after comfortable upbringings, have been whisked away from the warmth and ease of home. We have been placed in a strange country where danger and heartbreak are everywhere. We have been spat at, had rocks thrown at us, been shot at. We have seen bombs go off that were meant for us. Rockets have been launched our way.
We have seen our friends hurt. And we have seen them killed.
Yet we do not take issue with what goes on around us. We signed up for the infantry – to be spat at, have rocks thrown at us, be shot at, be mortared. But our emotions, our feelings have been whisked away. Our feelings were whisked away, perhaps down the gorgeous river that reflected the early Afghanistan autumn."