Unlike previous wars in which ordinary dogfaces had virtually no access to news from the home front, soldiers in Iraq were as well informed of political and social events in Modesto, California, or Tahlequah, Oklahoma, as their parents, wives, and friends who lived there, thanks to the modern technology of the Internet and satellite phones. More so, in most instances, since they realized they were political pawns in an ongoing cultural war. The hypocrisy of politicians in the nation’s capital clamoring from one side of their mouths about how they supported the troops, then referring to them from the other side of their mouths as “ill-educated” or “ignorant” was not lost in the clamor of battle. It produced anger and bitterness in every FOB, patrol base, and battle position in Iraq.
It damaged morale immeasurably when senators and congressmen asserted that American soldiers were “stuck in Iraq” because they were too stupid to get a better job, who, like Senator John Kerry, accused U.S. troops of “going into the homes of Iraqis in the dead of night, terrorizing kids and children and, you know, women . . . ,” who lauded young people who went on to college instead of the armed forces as “students who think for themselves in contrast to C students with their stupid fingers on the trigger,” who declared how soldiers were mostly from the under classes and enlisted in the army because they couldn’t get a “real job” in the private sector.
“If you aren’t smart enough to get into college,” they said, “you’ll end up in Iraq.”
Since the end of the draft and the Vietnam War, fewer and fewer Americans served in the military. That was especially true of politicians; there was only a negligible number of veterans in either house. Knowing very little about the military, they failed to understand that the modern all-volunteer soldier was in every way the equal of his peers anywhere in the United States. Disparaging and belittling remarks by public servants who should know better profoundly insulted the patriotism and sense of duty of men like Chiva Lares, Robert Pool, James Cook, Sammy Rhodes, Mayhem Menahem, Brandon Gray, Victor Chavez, Jared Isbell, Joshua Parrish, Jenson Mariur, Will Hendrickson, and the other 90 percent of Delta Company who had all enlisted following the terrorist attacks of 11 September 2001, not because they couldn’t get a “real job” or weren’t smart enough to get into college but instead because they thought defending the nation was the right thing to do.
“Fuck ’em!” Men exclaimed in the vernacular of the battlefield. “We go off to die and lose our arms and legs for these cocksuckers while they stay at home like fat pigs and worship money and Sean Penn. While we’re getting shot and blown up, they’re looting America like a bunch of thieves and calling us stupid. Not a one of them has the balls it takes to drive Malibu even one time.”
GIs in The Triangle of Death endured hit and run ambushes, heat, uncertainty, privation, fear and separation from home for about one thousand bucks a month, each day venturing from their forts expecting to kill or be killed, pondering when they would be allowed to go home, wondering if, when they finally made it home, folks would understand and appreciate the true meaning of sacrifice. Or would they have to sneak into the airport latrines to change out of uniform as returning Vietnam vets had had to do to avoid assault and insult?
Having little access to media, resentful GIs fought back in subtle ways. Whenever someone received a supportive letter or chain mail “support our troops” missive from back home, it ended up on the fort walls for everyone to read. There was hardly a dry eye when the following “Author Unknown” appeared posted in the common area at Inchon:
You cell phone is in your pocket;
He clutches the cross hanging on his chain next to his dog tags.
You talk trash about your “buddies” that aren’t with you;
He knows he may not see some of his buddies again.
You walk down the beach, staring at all the pretty girls;
He patrols the streets, searching for insurgents and terrorists.
You complain about how hot it is;
He wears his heavy gear, not daring to take off his helmet to wipe his brow.
You go out to lunch, and complain because the restaurant got your order wrong;
He doesn’t get to eat today.
Your maid makes your bed and washes your clothes;
He wears the same things for weeks, but makes sure his weapons are clean.
You go to the mall and get your hair redone;
He doesn’t have time to brush his teeth today.
You’re angry because your class ran five minutes over;
He’s told he will be held over an extra two months.
You call your girlfriend and set a date for tonight;
He waits for the mail to see if there is a letter from home.
You hug and kiss your girlfriend, like you do every day;
He holds his letter close and smells his love’s perfume.
You roll your eyes as a baby cries;
He gets a letter with pictures of his new child, and wonders if they’ll ever meet.
You criticize your government, and say that war never solves anything;
He sees the innocent tortured and killed by their own people and remembers why he is fighting.
You hear the jokes about the war, and make fun of men like him;
He hears the gunfire, bombs and screams of the wounded.
You see only what the media wants you to see;
He sees the broken bodies lying around him.
You are asked to go to the store by your parents. You don’t;
He does exactly what he is told even if it puts his life in danger.
You stay at home and watch TV;
He takes whatever time he is given to call, write home, sleep, and eat.
You crawl into your soft bed, with down pillows, and get comfortable;
He tries to sleep but gets woken by mortars and helicopters all night long.