Transitions: Six years, but Semper Fi

I grew up with my mother.  A young but impressive single mom with a determination to make it – both for herself & my sister and me.  She taught me a strong work ethic as I watched her put herself through college while working 2^nd shift as a police officer in Georgia.  She and my father had met while serving in the Army.  She got out, but stayed in the reserves.  I grew up pretty independently.  At 17 I had moved out and was working on my second year of college.  That was until I hit a wall.  Like most kids that age I didn’t have a clue about what I wanted to do with my life.  My university was pushing for me to declare a major, but I wasn’t ready to commit.  That summer I turned 18, was directing an adventure camping program near the Appalachian trail, and decided it was time to make a decision. That summer, August 25th, 2003 I walked into a recruiters office-The Marines would be the only choice for a guy whose mother was in the Army - and 3 days later I left for Paris Island.

My contract was different though.  I had enlisted to serve in the Reserves.  After about a year of initial training, I would go back to my civilian life and only be obligated to my “1 weekend a month; 2 weeks a year”.   Upon returning I had decided to move to Denver, finish my bachelors degree while getting an opportunity to play soccer for CCU.  That first year was almost impossible.  I went from living with some of the... ...well, Eleanor Roosevelt said it best when she described Marines as having the,

“…Cleanest bodies, filthiest minds, highest morale, and lowest morals of any group of animals I have ever seen.”

No one could understand why my hair was so short, I was so abrasive, or how I could drink that much.  It was a transition.  I worked hard to undo what they had done.  Marine Corps training is very intentional & very effective.  In essence everything you know & have identity in is taken away.  When they are satisfied that  you feel as low and powerless as possible you are rebuilt to be one of the most capable and confident (if not cocky) members of our military today.  Eventually, I came to accept that more than an inch of hair didn’t make you a hippie, democrats were not all evil, and not everyone enjoys talking about killing. I still remember finding my first refuge. I walked into one of my professors office & found pictures of Marine Corps Commandant Charles C. Krulak, A Navy Carrier, & other familiar military sights. He had served both in the Marine Corps & in the Navy as a chaplain for Marines.  We talked about the my transition into this new culture.  I adapted & overcame.

In the summer of 2005 I was backpacking through Europe.  I had been teaching English for the summer & was taking advantage of my last few weeks before I had to be back at Colorado Christian University for pre-season soccer training & my senior year. Except for the occasional but abrasive reminder, the summer was an escape from the reality that we were at war. There had been a few tense moments.  In France & Spain I was drug into a lot of political debates about the war in Iraq.  A French filmmaker had just been murdered by terrorists, and tensions were high. London Police had just killed a man after he jumped a turnstile to get to the Metro.  I had my opinions on it all, and I wasn’t afraid to voice my support of our countries actions.  However, I didn’t offer up to many that I was a Marine.  I returned to school, soccer, & the dorm that I was in charge of.  Nine weeks later my artillery unit received order to Iraq.  We would not activate for another two months.

I proposed to my girlfriend at the time, Married her 7 weeks later and left for Camp Pendleton, California 2 weeks after that.  It's probably not a surprise that I was one of many who made rash life decisions that winter.  We spent nearly three months in California being retrained from Artillerymen to Prison Guards.  Our orders were to take over the management of the detention centers in the Al Anbar province.  Many remember the horrible things that happened at Abu Graib.  You would be surprised how often Marines get sent to do what the Army can’t handle.  Those three months (referred to as ILOC or Intermediary Location) were all about transition again.  I had to find my identity as a Marine again. I mean, you never loose it, but if you want to function in civilian society you have to sand down the rough edges.  Now I needed to find those edges again.

We arrived in Fallujah in March of 2006.  Our over-sized company was split into 4 platoons to run the DetFacs (detention facilities) in Fallujah, Ar Ramadi, Al Qaim, & Al Asad.  My first night in Fallujah I remember everyone scrambling to figure out what tent we would stay in.  The day before we arrived our assigned tent was destroyed in a mortar attack. That would be as close a call as I would see.  Two weeks into detainee operations I was separated from my Marines and tasked to work at the HQ for Task Force Military Police.  This reinforced Battalion reported directly to Multi National Forces-West.  There I would serve as the Ammo Chief for the remaining 7 months.  I oversaw all logistics with ammunition support for over 1,200 Marines.  We had all of the DetFacs, Police Training Teams, Dog Handlers, & 4 convoy security companies in the Al Anbar Province.  I was also responsible for all captured enemy weapons/munitions, explosive storage, safety & risk management.  If any of you are interested in the effects of extreme heat on munitions let me know. I love to talk in great detail about it.  I learned an immense amount about logistics and operations. I was promoted and awarded a medal for my work.

The best part about my job was travel.  I was responsible for overseeing explosive safety for units in 7 different cities.  Every week I was on a convoy or helicopter somewhere.  This is where things began to change for me. I took my first convoy & was almost confused.  The sights I saw were not of an oil rich nation. This was not the Mesopotamia I had imagined. I watched as cinder-block hut after cinder-block hut went by.  I saw vehicles laying twisted and stripped on the side of the road. Bombs? No, Poverty. Children stood in front of their homes, along side their goats… I recognized the landscape, the cars, tin roofs, goats… …this was like nearly any other developing country. This was sustenance farming, uncontrolled unemployment, lack of infrastructure, lack of health care.  This was Iraq, a people in desperation. My politics, position, and heart began to change.

In 2006, fighting in Al Anbar was at its worst.  It wasn’t motivated by anti-democracy, anti-US, or anti-occupation Iraqis.  It was being led by a few extremists, supported by outside states, & fueled by poverty. At the time, the IED was the weapon of choice. Our intelligence reports indicated that most bombs were being placed by local unemployed Iraqi’s. The going rate was $100 US a bomb. Often times they were given the option of getting $100 or sacrificing the safety of their family. In 2007 Sinan Youssef, Iraqi Ministy of Labor & Social Affairs described the situation,

"Nearly 5.6 millions Iraqis are living below the poverty line, according to our most recent studies. At least 40 percent of this number is living in absolute and desperate deteriorated conditions.”

This level of poverty is a 35 percent increase over the level before 2003.

"When people find that they cannot support their family with food and other supplies, they search desperately for any kind of job. Insurgents use this weakness. They use these guys for terrorist activities in exchange for the promise of good money,"

Today, GDP is at $3,700 per capita, 161^st in the world (that puts them a little worse than Nicaragua & slightly better than the Republic of Congo), and unemployment is estimated between 18-30%. Fatah Ahmed, vice-president for local NGO Iraq Aid Association went as far as to say,

"If poverty in Iraq is not controlled soon, we are going to have a country that will be compared to Africa in poverty levels."

I would carry that burden with me as I brought up the rear, a part of the last group leave Iraq for TFMP.  I carried our Battalion colors home proudly. Returning to a hanger at Buckley Air Force Base, I was met by my closest friends, family, and Wife.  The transition hit me immediately.  Swarmed by people, handshakes, and hugs I was instantly overwhelmed.  I hadn’t felt an embrace in nearly a year.  Everyone wanted to talk; I had lived alone for the last few months.  I remember the anxious moments, feeling for my pistol that I no longer carried.  I was tempted to write down my answers to what seemed like the only three questions people knew to ask:

• What was it like?


• What are your opinions on Bush & the War?


• Did you see any of those really big spiders, you know, camel spiders?

I felt so distant & disconnected from everything.  I hardly knew my wife. My friends had so many new memories  and stories that I knew nothing about.  As an extrovert, it was the first time in my life I was quiet.  I felt very alone.

Most military members return from their tours to continue their life as a service member, living on a base, & in a community of people with similar experiences.  I can only assume their transition is a little less abrupt.  The 120 Marines who came back to Colorado with me went directly back to their families, friends, jobs, or schools.  Transition doesn’t even begin to describe what most of us had to do.  Alone is probably the best description.  I remember New Years Day 2007.  I received a phone call early in the morning from one of my Marines who had returned from Iraq to find his wife gone.  It was his mother.  He was intoxicated, screaming, crying, and demanding to talk to a Marine.  I began to talk to him & began to cry myself.  He was alone too.

I spent the next year living it was is the nightmare of military medical treatment for reservists. Before I deployed I started having neck/shoulder pain.  The Navy doctor said that I was fine, and I was deployed with a “clean bill of health.” A few months in the pain got much worse & my right hand started getting numb and tingly.  It got progressively worse until I could only get through the day on muscle relaxers and pain killers. Returning to Colorado, I continued to receive pay while I went to doctor after doctor. I had no real responsibilities.  I was assigned to the Funeral Details, participating in the funeral ceremonies for Marines from Colorado.  Eventually I was told that I would have to learn to live with what they wrote off as a pain condition. This was one of the most difficult times of my life.

I found an outlet, I started Volunteering.  I spent all of my time either responding to disasters for the American Red Cross or working with The 1010 Project (Poverty Alleviation/Development NGO).  For 9 months I spent nearly everyday at one place or the other.  I took a group of friends to Burkina Faso for 3 weeks to build schools. I began to rediscover myself; I had found my purpose.  It wasn’t until then that I recalled a conversation I had with a former Navy Seal that had heard about my camping program for juvenile delinquents. “It is better to save a life than to take one.” He went on to say how he wished he had dedicated his life to a humanitarian effort instead of the Navy.  It meant nothing to me at the time, but it means everything to me now.

I worked a couple of side jobs so that I could continue to volunteer.  I loaded bags out at Denver International Airport, was a barista for Dazbog, and did a little of remodeling work.  In September of 2008 the Red Cross hired me as a Disaster Coordinator (no I don’t get to design the disaster, only our response to it). My wife & I divorced.  She is a great woman, but we grew apart while I as gone & even more so when I returned.  This past August I completed my six years as a drilling Reservist.  I have done well.  I continue to volunteer with The 1010 Project, in fact I just left my job at the Red Cross. I am moving to Kenya to join 1010 in the fight against poverty.  I believe that poverty continues to be the number one threat to peace, security, and basic human rights on our earth.  I am now finding other veterans who share my passion. Others like Jake Harriman, Marine Infantry & special ops platoon commander, bronze star recipient, and founder of the NGO Nuru International.  In  a letter to President Obama he said this,

”In order to win the war on terror, we must attack the enemy at the source. I had several very personal, deeply emotional experiences in combat that I feel revealed that source to me…extreme poverty.”

Others, my brothers, have not found their purpose, or their redemption.  They have not made their transition.  We took 120 Marines from Colorado to Iraq, and we brought them all back. On September, 2^nd 2009 we suffered our first casualty from that deployment when Cpl Greg Blazier took his own life.  As his mother gracefully lamented at his funeral, "We all see the wounds on the outside, but the ones on the inside last much longer & often go unseen."