James sweated on his forehead and his muscles tense as he shifted from one foot to the other. A smiling intern approaches with a flag pin in his hand to thank him for his military service. He bolts for the door. I don't want him to tear onto the highway with his nervous system flashing red, so I take off after him. I remember seeing a high-speed collision as I ran through the parking lot trying to catch him.
I noticed that James was standing apart from the crowd gathered for a workshop on veterans who have combat-related psychological challenges. James was a stark contrast to the group of social workers and psychologists I had been chatting with.
I struck up a conversation after I went over. He told me that he worked for a program that helped veterans struggling with drugs, homelessness and other issues.
He applied to graduate schools with a plan to become a psychologist. He wanted to be there for his brothers and sisters in Iraq. Every one of us was betrayed. There are more than moral injury and post-traumatic stress disorder.
Betrayed by who? I asked.
Politicians, military brass, the majority of people in this country who don't give a shit, what really happened to me and my buddies, and who don't want to hear about it. He had stared into my eyes as if he expected me to be uncomfortable with his candor.
I nodded and said I had heard that from a lot of vets. Those who fought in Iraq are not the only ones going back.
The dirty little secret about war is what he said. It is always an act of betrayal.
We sat at a table with three others. The trainer began with moral injury, what it is, what it looks like and why it matters. He played excerpts from recorded interviews of veterans talking about how witnessing or committing actions that violated their sense of morality or shattered their trust in those they had relied on to act in their best interest can have a psychological and spiritual impact.
The trainer asked attendees who were veterans to raise their hands after lunch. James hesitated as a half-dozen or so complied. I whispered to him, "You don't have to do this if you don't want to."
He raised his hand and gave a forced smile. An intern was going to be making rounds with a box of flag pins after the trainer asked the veterans to stand.
James quickly realized that the ritual was well-intentioned. The trainer would speak to the veteran directly, asking them what branch they had been in and where they had been stationed. The audience clapped when the intern pinned a flag to their shirt and he thanked them for their service.
James was sweating so much that he looked for the nearest exit and anyone that might get in his way. That was when he bolted.
I call out to James as he unlocks the car. He doesn't respond when he opens the door and fumbled with the seatbelt. I walk between the open door and the frame of the car. I know it is difficult to get in his space when he is feeling threatened, but I am determined to help him settle before he starts the engine.
I hold up five fingers. James, just give me five. You can forget about me after that.
His breathing is rapid. I try to get him to do the same. He motions to the passenger seat with one of his fists as though he was thinking. He says the clock is running.
I left the door open while I sat in the passenger seat. We are avoiding eye contact. I am waiting for him to speak.
He finally says, "service." They have no idea.
He lowers his head.
What happened over there service? Do they think we were serving french fries? What did I do? What my friends did. What happened to us. It was not a kind of service. I'm still living it, even though it was pure hell. They want to jab me with a cheap flag pin.
I reply, "You're right." They have no idea.
He shoots back that they don't want to know. They want us all to go along so they don't have to take responsibility. Didn't I tell you that we were betrayed? It never stops.
What I did, what I saw. What my friends did. What happened to us. It was not a kind of service. I'm still living it, even though it was pure hell. They want to jab me with a cheap flag pin?
He looks sad. I watched my friends lose their minds. You know you and your friends are the ones who did it when you see bodies of women and kids splattered across the ground.
I quietly shake my head.
He grips his steering wheel tightly in his forearms.
He says with sarcasm.
His face is very soft in his eyes. How can they start with the flag pins without asking me what I think about it? They are trying to push a lie down my throat.
What lie? I want to know.
He looks up and searches for something. Whatever we do is a service to humanity. We are always helping the weak and protecting democracy. We were killing and getting killed for money and power.
James, what is it like having people thanking you for your service?
He shook his head as though he didn't understand. I give him time to either respond or change the subject.
He finally asked, "You know what it is?" You might think this is not true, but you asked. It is an act of violence.
I want you to help me understand that one.
Imagine if you could tell your friends and family what happened, hoping they'll understand, and that you're not a monster. They only pretend that you did a great job and that you are a hero. It's like you're dying from the inside and you look to others for help and they just smile and look away.
I say psychological and emotional violence.
He nodded.
I mention that it has been five minutes when I look at the clock.
James, you kept your part of the bargain. If you want to talk more, I have time for you. It is your call.
His breathing is normal and his hands are still. Thanks for following me. I am good now.
He reached out his hand. He squeezed mine tight and said, "Thanks for not thanking me for my service when we met."
I nodded.
I think about the hundreds of combat veterans I have worked with as their hospice social worker as he drives off. Tim O'Brien is a combat veteran and he says most were carrying stuff. Most civilians wouldn't understand stuff many. Many of the veterans locked it up inside and hid it from view.
Things can be dredged up in a hospital bed. It is normal for patients approaching death to take stock of their lives. The life review process can be difficult and even painful if you look back on a life that includes the terrible violence of war.
Many of the combat veterans I know spent decades trying not to think or talk about what they had seen and done. Many friends who had been killed or struggled silently with survival guilt, anger or feeling unsafe in the world were suppressed undigested grief. Some struggled with anger, anxiety or depression related to the scars of war, while others had emotional numbness, alcohol and/or drug addictions.
Some people polished up a few war stories so as not to upset their family and friends. Others kept quiet. Stories and memories that have been suppressed can be found as death approaches.
The smell of burning bodies, the eyes of a dead buddy gazing up at the sky, and the numb experience of killing and death are some of the details of war. Sometimes they are loaded with moral pain and shame, for example the killing of civilians, lifeless bodies of "the enemy" being disrespected in the aftermath of a battle.
The life review process can be difficult and even painful if you look back on a life that includes the terrible loss of life in war.
I think about a B-17 pilot who participated in bombing raids during World War II intended to destroy German cities. The goal was to kill every man, woman and child, and every dog and flea that was unlucky enough to be on the ground. He was assured that he helped save the world from fascists when he returned from war.
Humans are not wired to kill each other, even though war is part of the human condition. He was haunted by the thought that he was a mass murderer. He thought he would go to hell after he died and felt the kind of fiery torture he had inflicted on others.
Like James, he had expressed his gratitude. The message he heard was that he was performing a service, standing up for freedom, protecting the weak, and saving democracy. You are a hero. We don't want to hear your story if it makes us uncomfortable or challenges us in any way.
He didn't want someone else's story to be shoved down his throat, he wanted someone with whom it was safe to tell his own. He wanted to find some compassion for the young man he was thrust into the bloody savagery of war and unpack some of the things he had been carrying. He wanted to heal before he died.
I have learned to never thank dying veterans for their service. Many are justifiably proud of their time in the military, of the friends they made, of the courage they showed, and of the service they gave. I know that most people appreciate expressions of thanks and that they are often genuine and sincere. Those who expect me to join the chorus of thanks and close the door on a single veteran like James who needs someone who won't flinch or look away if they choose to share what they have been carrying are wrong.
The message to veterans like James is that I am not pushing a story that denies their experience. It is safe to talk. I can listen without being judged.
Those veterans who have noticed and asked about my lack of loyalty to the social custom of using the term service have generally understood and appreciated my reasons. They would not have shared things with me if they had. Things they had been carrying.
There is another reason I never use the word service.
It is easy for the rest of us. When it comes to taking responsibility for what we have allowed political and military leaders to do in our name, it lets civilians like me off the hook. We can wash our hands of any responsibility for how our troops have been used.
James said that all wars are acts of betrayal. It is convenient for the rest of us to deny what our warriors have been asked to do. It's easy to turn away from or deny the burning anguish, grief and regret many carry. It allows us to avoid asking awkward questions, such as if we were justified in using violence to kill so many other human beings. Why are we so desperate to make up for the terrible work of war? Who makes money from the division and violence? What are we afraid of?
There is another reason I don't use the word service. It is easy for the rest of us. When it comes to taking responsibility for what we have allowed political and military leaders to do in our name, it lets civilians like me off the hook. We can wash our hands of any responsibility for how our troops have been used.
The use of the term service has become so common that it has become part of a cultural trance state that shuts down honest conversations about these and other questions. It can be a mistake to thank a veteran for his or her service because we don't want to hear what happened. This ensures that we won't have to carry anything ourselves because our hands are clean.
It piles upon euphemism. The children James saw killed in the war were calledcollateral damage because of the slaughter of war behind the innocuous word service. When we use bombs that are called "smart bombs" and "precision bombing", we can hide those children from us and the grief of those left behind. Some of us can vilify Americans who dare dissent or protest the dropping of bombs as "unpatriotic" or "un-American".
When American troops are killed, we are protected as though we are children. We are being reassured once more. Our fallen heroes and their bravery are praised by the media and politicians, who think they are providing a service by killing young American men and women.
If we really want to honor the ultimate sacrifice our soldiers have made, then we need to stop lying about war by hiding behind socially enforced rituals, platitudes and euphemisms. We need to stop hiding from and denying war's cruel brutality if we want to help those who have survived. We need to make sure that veterans who have been in the military during a time of war are safe to speak for themselves and to speak the truth. We need to listen to all of them, not just the ones that make us feel good about ourselves.
The privacy of the individuals discussed in this essay has been protected with slightly altered names and details.
Scott is a writer. He has written extensively about providing trauma-informed care for patients who are dying and has spoken about ways to better support veterans who are nearing the end of their lives. His work has appeared in many publications including Social Work Today, Psychotherapy Networker, American Journal of Nursing, Reader's Digest and The Washington Post. He wrote a novel about the power of kindness and love when the world seems lost in anger, conflict and fear.
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