So, while lately, I have only posted segments of my life told during a more dull time in my life, the news of late demands my return to the work of writing to no one (or at least to the two people who have honored me by reading the content of these pages.)
In watching this past election, I realized this year more than ever, the two party system failed again to adequately represent the populous. This year the core business issues - the economy, health care, the little heard of war which consumes the lives of hundreds of thousands, gay marriage, immigration - were overshadowed by the politics of race, age, gender, and other issues which we as a people say we are past - until our arrival in the confines of the voting booth.
The masses voted in record numbers, many voting on the latter criteria, and relatively few voting because they believed that the winner policies would work. However the question remains - who do I vote for?
Let's look at the policies and beliefs of the candidate and examine their ideologies against my own - and ask yourself where do you vote?
Economy - Take away the benefits to the large corporations and let the banks suffer who wrote the bad debt. Let the nation have 5 years of suffering in exchange for not charging me for the mistakes made by both the borrower and lender. I know there will be a ripple effect and it will impact me. However, it will impact my son and I if we bail out the failures, and it will teach millions a bad lesson - if you fail, the government will bail you out. This is a fiction and I certainly didn't read this in the constitution.
Healthcare - Nationally available health insurance issued by non-profit organizations who incentivize healthy living, but still support those in need. I know this is a pipe dream, but similar to GEICO auto insurance, if enough people are members, everyone's rates decline. Further, if you don't have $35MM salaries for those at the top and an investor base to be reporting to, you can keep rates lower and pay for those who need the care.
The War - Let's face it, no one is withdrawing this year. We will be there for 3-4 more if we want to leave Iraq better than we found it. (Oh by the way, no one was mentioning Afghanistan - That war must be ok on its own.) We need a serious and reasonable plan which may have a 10 year duration, but McCain (100 years) and Obama (next week) have crappy plans. Get some big brain guys in a room and come up with a plan and milestones.
Gay Marriage - It is a state's rights issue for sure, as both candidates spoke about. The federal government has a need to stay out of this. Licensing is handled at the local level, so I understand that the candidates could push this down. However, let's be realistic. Marriage is a bond between two people. Frankly, I don't understand this bond between two men, but I know a few gay people and honestly, their relationships are often better than many heterosexual couples. Let's call it a day and endorse it from the federal level. If they want to be miserably bound for eternity, then give them the "Marriage License" as it says on my license issued by the city of Philadelphia (Ha! It is not a religious institution as the candidate framed it making it reasonable to push it to civil unions in lieu of marriage.)
Immigration - Make this country back to what it was - If you come here, work hard, care for your family, and learn English, then I welcome you. But bring value. And when you do, you get the green card and citizenship. And when you do, I will find one person who has been on welfare for a decade and ship them back to where their geneology says they are from.
So, with that being said, I am for small government, some social assistance, reasonably open borders and I even align with Pelosi on the gay rights thing, so long as she stays away from my firearms. So where do I vote?
Instead, I listen to the many Americans who voted. Many voted republican, despite being in the lower or disadvantaged class, not because of the candidate, but rather because they believe in the pundits. Limbaugh, Hannity, you have destroyed critical thought. Instead, white males who bitch about welfare and social programs and "the gays" think you are right. Ironic given that they make less than $150,000 and will see less financial benefits under a republican administration. On the other hand 94% of the black populace voted for Obama. Why? Well, I am certain than many took the vote as a matter of advancement. I watched Oprah cry for Obama and then comment later about the pride of her ancestry at this moment. However, on the issues, she was fairly quiet.
Now truthfully, there was no scientific poll in the development. I should also say that I voted for Obama as well, because I did more closely align with his policies, and I was deathly afraid of McCain's less than liberal running mate. However, for those of us who think critically, where was our true choice?
The concept of a real third party needs advancement. For too long, people who believe in:
- small government,
- pro-choice,
- pro-death penalty,
- pro-gay rights,
- pro-national healthcare reform,
- pro-alternative energy
- pro-defense
- pro-fair tax
- term limits for all
have been overlooked. People who want straight talk - not the McCain version, but real straight talk which doesn't involve calling the opposition names or spouting half truths. We need a catchy name, an understanding of the needs of the people, and a realization that our nation has lost some of its lustre in the eyes of the world and in the eyes of many of its people. And that at the end of the day, if we won't repair it, someone else will. And then we will have failed.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Monday, November 3, 2008
My war story -
So this isn't the scariest war story ever written, but I still think back and laugh about the time I almost shot a guy who was so old and beaten he was already dead. . .
Well, some time has passed since my last de-briefing and I thought this might be the time to write. Emotions are running high around the nation and around the camp today. We are having a flag raising ceremony for soldiers today so that they can raise a personal American flag over the compound here in Bosnia, which they serve and protect. There is also a service today of remembrance for the US personnel here. (It is a canned service distributed to the Chaplains of the Army in Europe, but it will be my first religious service, which I actually wanted to attend since I was 8 years old.) It is at 1430 local time, which is 8:30 NYC time.
It’s pretty remarkable that a year has passed. While my family is inundated with news reports and increased threat levels, and the country moves faster towards war, my knowledge of the world back home is limited to cnn.com and snippets on CNN television. I actually like being limited in my news intake, as I tend to think that the modern media has taken a tragedy and made it still worse by whoring out footage that has been viewed a countless number of times.
While we tend to look back on that day with remorse, as we should, I hope that we remember the progress and unification since then. People in general became more united around our common interests, and for a while at least everyone was a little friendlier. Hopefully we can take that lesson and move on without requiring a repeat of that morning.
The event struck everyone differently.
Changing topics. Thirty years ago, US soldiers walked through villages looking for weapons caches in Southeastern Asia. They tread lightly fearing booby traps, considered everyone a risk, and oftentimes found nothing. Yesterday, I saw the European version of the same.
We received a report of a weapons cache near a farm, from a nearby resident. We drove two and a half hours to a town near the farm, where we met our information provider. (Informant). The most risky thing to date has been the other local drivers. Wrong side of the road, passing on the shoulder, and oncoming collisions are among the greatest dangers, not to mention the mines on the sides of the road, left by farmers, as they find them in there fields.
Once we arrived, we met our Finnish, Polish and Latvian counterparts. They seem like US troops, only a little more insane. I hopped into their roofless-trucks (Think my jeep wrangler, on steroids), and the three truckloads bounced down a goat path to the location of the “weapons cache”. On the route, the Lieutenant in charge, a poster boy for the Finnish Army, stern jaw, ruddy complexion and shoulders capable of carrying more than a pack mule, calls his follow-on trucks on the radio. "If anything happens, be prepared to back up really fast". I hear this, and realize that he is the Explosive Ordinance Disposal guy. The bomb squad guy, who is just a little too high on adrenaline.
We arrive at the farm, and begin working on the owner. The farmer is over 80, and his wife is too. The lead a tough live, with one pig, two chickens and a dog, farming a small plot of land by hand, growing enough food to survive on.
However, the farmer is not shaken. This man has seen enough soldiers in his 80 years, to know that we will not be the last, and some, like the local militia who are hiding the cache, have more lenient rules of engagement. He denies any knowledge of weapons in his area.
So we search. Not like the Vietnam style of searching. We are more cautious, but also more respectful. We walk around his land, and we walk through his buildings. We walk and we walk. The informant has told us that the weapons were there, but had been recently moved to within 800 meters of the farm. An 800-meter circle is a lot of ground to cover, when you can't leave the roads. (Mines).
Once we got about 1000 meters away, the rain started. Hail, the size of bullets, fell, and the rain swept sideways. The temperature dropped 15 degrees in 1.5 minutes, and I have only been this saturated in the combat water skills survival test, when they throw you into the pool. (The Army calls it drownproofing; I called it being wet with your clothes on.)
On our return from our walk around the farm, we found one disposable rocket of Soviet make in one of the many outbuildings,. They call it disposable, because once it is shot, like a Kodak disposable camera, you throw it away. Unlike the camera, the thing you shoot the rocket at becomes a cloud of fire and pink mist. This is the red herring, designed to make us leave and not come back.
So now, I am soaking wet, freezing cold, and we have found only a needle in the haystack, when looking for the sewing kit. I am loving the job, but I could see how the soldiers in Southeast Asia, grew angry, being lied to, powerless to affect change, and knowing that their job was as much a part of helping protect innocent civilians as it was to protect themselves. In short, the elder was lying. There was more there, but we'll never know now.
He invited us in for coffee, which we have to accept (I declined), and we came into the house, if for nothing else, just to warm the frostbitten pieces. (Of course, we have no rain gear with us, and no gloves (It was nice outside when we left. . . (See Blackhawk Down, by Mark Bowdon for lessons learned the hard way))
Then we left, or tried to. The goat path we came in on, had more hills than all of Great Adventure’s roller coasters. And they were now all covered in mud. I hopped into the open topped truck, as the hail pelted my Russian (Latvian) driver and I. We began our trek, but were stopped 10 feet into it, when the Finnish lieutenant slid off of the road, into a cornfield. (Note - The Finnish Lieutenant has the rocket on the roof of his truck, for um, safety.) My driver spins our truck and tried easing into a ditch. He started easing, but easing became sliding too.
Next thing I know, I am in a truck with no roof, and no seat belt and the left side began lifting. We settle to a stop, without rolling, by the forces, of God, gravity or just plain fate. He juices the truck out of the ditch, and I bail out.
I can’t bail out because I don’t want to be perceived as the scared American, no matter how scary it seemed.
He maneuvers this thing like a child’s Tonka toy truck, and tows the other truck out. And now the adventure begins. We lead the escort out of this valley, bouncing down the mud covered goat trail, as the hail pelts us and the driving rain blinds us. I am laughing my ass off, as a fear has been displaced by resignation, and the kid next to me, who only speaks key words in English – mainly profanities and “ouch” - has regained the color in his face which he lost during the near rollover. I drain my sleeves every few minutes as the water collects in my shirt, and we finally get back to the road where my patrol was waiting. Dry. The weather, 1000 meters away had been light misty rain, and some lightening in the distance.
That's what I was doing one day before the one year anniversary of September 11. Jumping out of planes is probably as thrilling, but at least you know what can kill you. Rolling into a suspected arms cache, down a road, which is not cleared of mines, with lunatics, and returning in a mudslide, gives you too many ways to die. This is the ultimate adventure seekers trip. Now, someone please call Amy and let her know it’s not that risky.
And all for one rocket.
Well, some time has passed since my last de-briefing and I thought this might be the time to write. Emotions are running high around the nation and around the camp today. We are having a flag raising ceremony for soldiers today so that they can raise a personal American flag over the compound here in Bosnia, which they serve and protect. There is also a service today of remembrance for the US personnel here. (It is a canned service distributed to the Chaplains of the Army in Europe, but it will be my first religious service, which I actually wanted to attend since I was 8 years old.) It is at 1430 local time, which is 8:30 NYC time.
It’s pretty remarkable that a year has passed. While my family is inundated with news reports and increased threat levels, and the country moves faster towards war, my knowledge of the world back home is limited to cnn.com and snippets on CNN television. I actually like being limited in my news intake, as I tend to think that the modern media has taken a tragedy and made it still worse by whoring out footage that has been viewed a countless number of times.
While we tend to look back on that day with remorse, as we should, I hope that we remember the progress and unification since then. People in general became more united around our common interests, and for a while at least everyone was a little friendlier. Hopefully we can take that lesson and move on without requiring a repeat of that morning.
The event struck everyone differently.
Changing topics. Thirty years ago, US soldiers walked through villages looking for weapons caches in Southeastern Asia. They tread lightly fearing booby traps, considered everyone a risk, and oftentimes found nothing. Yesterday, I saw the European version of the same.
We received a report of a weapons cache near a farm, from a nearby resident. We drove two and a half hours to a town near the farm, where we met our information provider. (Informant). The most risky thing to date has been the other local drivers. Wrong side of the road, passing on the shoulder, and oncoming collisions are among the greatest dangers, not to mention the mines on the sides of the road, left by farmers, as they find them in there fields.
Once we arrived, we met our Finnish, Polish and Latvian counterparts. They seem like US troops, only a little more insane. I hopped into their roofless-trucks (Think my jeep wrangler, on steroids), and the three truckloads bounced down a goat path to the location of the “weapons cache”. On the route, the Lieutenant in charge, a poster boy for the Finnish Army, stern jaw, ruddy complexion and shoulders capable of carrying more than a pack mule, calls his follow-on trucks on the radio. "If anything happens, be prepared to back up really fast". I hear this, and realize that he is the Explosive Ordinance Disposal guy. The bomb squad guy, who is just a little too high on adrenaline.
We arrive at the farm, and begin working on the owner. The farmer is over 80, and his wife is too. The lead a tough live, with one pig, two chickens and a dog, farming a small plot of land by hand, growing enough food to survive on.
However, the farmer is not shaken. This man has seen enough soldiers in his 80 years, to know that we will not be the last, and some, like the local militia who are hiding the cache, have more lenient rules of engagement. He denies any knowledge of weapons in his area.
So we search. Not like the Vietnam style of searching. We are more cautious, but also more respectful. We walk around his land, and we walk through his buildings. We walk and we walk. The informant has told us that the weapons were there, but had been recently moved to within 800 meters of the farm. An 800-meter circle is a lot of ground to cover, when you can't leave the roads. (Mines).
Once we got about 1000 meters away, the rain started. Hail, the size of bullets, fell, and the rain swept sideways. The temperature dropped 15 degrees in 1.5 minutes, and I have only been this saturated in the combat water skills survival test, when they throw you into the pool. (The Army calls it drownproofing; I called it being wet with your clothes on.)
On our return from our walk around the farm, we found one disposable rocket of Soviet make in one of the many outbuildings,. They call it disposable, because once it is shot, like a Kodak disposable camera, you throw it away. Unlike the camera, the thing you shoot the rocket at becomes a cloud of fire and pink mist. This is the red herring, designed to make us leave and not come back.
So now, I am soaking wet, freezing cold, and we have found only a needle in the haystack, when looking for the sewing kit. I am loving the job, but I could see how the soldiers in Southeast Asia, grew angry, being lied to, powerless to affect change, and knowing that their job was as much a part of helping protect innocent civilians as it was to protect themselves. In short, the elder was lying. There was more there, but we'll never know now.
He invited us in for coffee, which we have to accept (I declined), and we came into the house, if for nothing else, just to warm the frostbitten pieces. (Of course, we have no rain gear with us, and no gloves (It was nice outside when we left. . . (See Blackhawk Down, by Mark Bowdon for lessons learned the hard way))
Then we left, or tried to. The goat path we came in on, had more hills than all of Great Adventure’s roller coasters. And they were now all covered in mud. I hopped into the open topped truck, as the hail pelted my Russian (Latvian) driver and I. We began our trek, but were stopped 10 feet into it, when the Finnish lieutenant slid off of the road, into a cornfield. (Note - The Finnish Lieutenant has the rocket on the roof of his truck, for um, safety.) My driver spins our truck and tried easing into a ditch. He started easing, but easing became sliding too.
Next thing I know, I am in a truck with no roof, and no seat belt and the left side began lifting. We settle to a stop, without rolling, by the forces, of God, gravity or just plain fate. He juices the truck out of the ditch, and I bail out.
I can’t bail out because I don’t want to be perceived as the scared American, no matter how scary it seemed.
He maneuvers this thing like a child’s Tonka toy truck, and tows the other truck out. And now the adventure begins. We lead the escort out of this valley, bouncing down the mud covered goat trail, as the hail pelts us and the driving rain blinds us. I am laughing my ass off, as a fear has been displaced by resignation, and the kid next to me, who only speaks key words in English – mainly profanities and “ouch” - has regained the color in his face which he lost during the near rollover. I drain my sleeves every few minutes as the water collects in my shirt, and we finally get back to the road where my patrol was waiting. Dry. The weather, 1000 meters away had been light misty rain, and some lightening in the distance.
That's what I was doing one day before the one year anniversary of September 11. Jumping out of planes is probably as thrilling, but at least you know what can kill you. Rolling into a suspected arms cache, down a road, which is not cleared of mines, with lunatics, and returning in a mudslide, gives you too many ways to die. This is the ultimate adventure seekers trip. Now, someone please call Amy and let her know it’s not that risky.
And all for one rocket.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)