Blindsided (rewrite)

I was enlisted during the first Gulf War in the Security Forces division of the U.S. Air Force. Most of my job was counter-terrorism and it was, for the most part, blindingly boring. I guarded foreign dignitaries, aides, tankers, bombers, missiles, weapons of mass destruction (I think that’s about all I can say legally, but use your imagination) primarily at the ‘showcase of SAC,’ Ellsworth Air Force Base outside of Rapid City, South Dakota. SAC stood for Strategic Air Command and controlled two thirds of our nation’s nuclear triad. I also served on Olympic Arena training teams, and our base’s E.S.T. (Emergency Situation Team, S.W.A.T.). It was a dark joke amongst our fellow Airmen and Non-Commissioned Officers who were privy to CIA and FBI intelligence; it was only a matter of time before we were attacked on our own soil. No one wanted this terrorism, but it was a harsh reality that it would occur sooner or later.

The way we trained made us think like the enemy, in a matter of speaking. We were a defensive force that constantly looked for ways to exploit our own defenses in order to protect and patch them. By doing that, you learn many things about your nation and its defense, many are not pleasant. I knew the Taliban were bad people before the ‘event.’ I knew that the Taliban were very heavily contributed to by the United States in the height of the Cold War against the Soviets and were able to keep them from occupying their land. Long out of the Air Force, I remember in the summer of 2001 when people largely ignored their destruction of Buddhist shrines and monumental statuary in Afghanistan that had been there for hundreds if not thousands of years. I was outraged and so was most of the world, but American’s simply weren’t affected and didn’t care. Yet.

September 11, 2001 came as a shock to me as it did everyone else, and yet, it didn’t. I expected something of that nature would happen sooner or later. When it did, I turned to my wife and detailed to her, at great length, how the next few years would play out. How Americans would lash out at citizens. How Americans would suddenly become patriotic overnight. How Americans would find a scapegoat. How needless people would die just to satisfy an insatiable bloodlust because reality had finally reached our shores.

In a matter of days a friend who I had shared many social, political and religious thoughts with via the Internet, sent me apicture from a online “Enquirer-like” rag that featured a devil-like face Photoshopped into the smoke of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. “Satan seen laughing in smoldering WTC!” was the headline or something like it. My friend actually she sent it to a lot of people. I found myself so angry that anyone would perpetuate this kind of ignorance that I lashed out and did something I had never done, nor will again. I responded to the whole mailing list with a refutation of the fact that the devil was indeed not involved. It was just misguided, evil men, who were already dead, who had done this deed. 

My intentions were noble and pure, but this of course did not stop the torrent of hatred that sailed my way. I learned then and there, that people were hurt and willing to lash out at anyone who did not join in the jingoistic fervor. I was appalled, but it wasn’t to be only lesson. No, evidently, I’m not quite that smart.

A few years later, just prior to the U.S. invasion of Iraq, I was on a plant tour of a local business. I had just started a new job a few weeks ago and was being introduced to all of the local vendors whom I would be doing business with. I was very excited about the opportunity and am very professional when working and meeting with clients. The representative of the company introduced me to the President of the company and he dispensed the usual pleasantries. Trying to find a common denominator, he began probing my history for past links to professional organizations in the field. Unfortunately, I had taken a very non-traditional route in life. I entered the military first, worked my way into management in the business and retail world, and then back to college, so, I had little to draw upon that would be of use to him. When I stated that I was a disabled veteran, this piqued the interest of the businessman.

I saw his eyes eyes beaming, sure that he had found someone who was certain to share his point of view - That we should invade Iraq. After all, someone had attacked us, right? Well, the evidence never pointed to Iraq (some of us didn’t have to play Monday morning quarterback… the lack of evidence was there all along if you were paying attention), and I knew that my informed opinion was contrary to his, so I tried to duck the question, but he would not relent.

“No, please, tell me!”

“No. You don’t really want to know,” Knowing of course, that he didn’t, but he thought he did.

“Yes, I do.” He would not let it drop. After about two minutes of bantering back and forth, I told him I would tell him, if he promised to keep my opinion to himself, professional, off the record and understand that it was just my opinion. “Please respect me for it, regardless of what it is.” “Of course!” The woman giving me the guided tour closed the door behind me, so my opinion would not be broadcast out into the hallway. To his astonishment, I gave exacting reasons for my position why we should not invade and kill. Why we should not call the site of the World Trade Center “Ground Zero,” (it was not a nuclear bomb…this was language cooked up to propagate fear) and that not nearly 3,000 Americans died in the attacks. Many were citizens of other nations, and they are mourning also. I further stated that the public was apathetic and largely uninformed about the real issues at stake and how long the war would last and how far it would spill over. How many civilians would die? Could we go to war with Syria or Iran? Talk about a bloodbath in a regional conflict. Not “them,” mind you…it was us I was talking about.

It was about a year later when I had my first performance review with the company I was working for that I learned that President of this company had told my boss the details of our conversation, only a few weeks prior. He had waited almost a year, and then vented a personal conversation that he dragged out of me, my personal opinion, no less, into a professional arena. I was subsequently chastised in my review for making the company look bad for my own personal opinions while on the job. I was absolutely furious. I had indeed done the deed, but I was sabotaged and set up.

It was from that point on that I learned that my opinions could and would be held against me, whether I wanted them to be or not. I thusly am careful to watch what I say and to whom. A shame really, as this is a country based upon freedom. It is sad that you cannot exercise it without fear of reprisal. Freedom of speech is a wonderful thing, as long as everyone is in agreement. As soon as you step out of line…the sheepdog mentality takes over. In the end, I don’t blame them, though…I should have known all along, but was naïve enough to think that people could be smart enough to see for themselves. Instead, I learned was that many will let others do their thinking for them. I learned that I need to pick my battles. I learned that it didn’t matter how educated you were on a subject, raw emotion will trump truth nearly every time.

Blindsided

I suppose the beginnings of my issues with this war began far before it, when I was in the military. See, I was enlisted as a Security Specialist or Security Forces in the U.S. Air Force. Most of my job was counterterrorism. It was blindingly boring for the most part. I guarded foreign dignitaries, aides, tankers, bombers, missiles, weapons of mass destruction (I think that’s about all I can say legally, but use your imagination) primarily at the ‘showcase of SAC,’ Ellsworth Air Force Base outside of Rapid City, South Dakota. SAC stood for Strategic Air Command and controlled two thirds of our nation’s nuclear triad. I also served on Olympic Arena training teams, and our base’s E.S.T. (Emergency Situation Team, S.W.A.T.). It was a dark joke amongst our fellow airmen who were privy to CIA and FBI intelligence that it was only a matter of time before we were attacked on our own soil. No one wanted it, but it was a harsh reality.

The way we trained made us think like the enemy, in a matter of speaking. We were a defensive force that constantly looked for ways to exploit our own defenses in order to protect and patch them. By doing that, you learn many things about your nation and its defense, many are not pleasant. I knew the Taliban were bad people before the ‘event.’ I remember in the summer of 2001 when people largely ignored their destruction of Buddhist shrines and monumental statuary in Afghanistan that had been there for hundreds if not thousands of years. It simply didn’t affect them. I also knew that the Taliban were very heavily contributed to by the United States in the height of the Cold War against the Soviets and were able to keep them from occupying their land.

September 11, 2001 came as a shock to me as it did everyone else. And yet, it didn’t. I expected it. I knew it would come sooner or later. And when it did, I turned to my wife and detailed to her, at great length, how the next few years would play out. How Americans would lash out at citizens. How Americans would suddenly become patriotic overnight. How Americans would find a scapegoat. How needless people would die just to satisfy an insatiable bloodlust because reality had finally reached our shores.

In a matter of days a friend who I had shared many social, political and religious thoughts with via the Internet, sent me this picture from a online Enquirer like rag that featured a devil like face Photoshopped into the smoke of the twin towers of the World Trade Center. Actually she sent it to a lot of people. I found myself so angry that people would perpetuate this kind of ignorance that I lashed out and did something I had never done, nor will again. I responded to the whole mailing list with a refutation of the fact that the devil was indeed not involved. It was just misguided, evil men, who were already dead. 

My intentions were noble and pure, but this of course did not stop the torrent of hatred that sailed my way. I learned then and there, that people were hurt and willing to lash out at anyone who did not join in the jingoistic fervor. I was appalled, but it wasn’t to be only lesson. No, evidently, I’m not quite that smart.

A few years later, just prior to the U.S. invasion of Iraq, I was on a plant tour of a local business. I had just started a new job a few weeks ago and was being introduced to all of the local vendors whom I would be doing business with. I was very excited about the opportunity and am very professional when working and meeting with clients.The representative of the company introduced me to the President of the company and he dispensed the usual pleasantries. Trying to find a common denominator, he began probing my history for past links to professional organizations in the field. Unfortunately, I had taken a very non-traditional route in life. Military first, worked my way into management in the business and retail world, and then back to college. So, I had little to draw upon. When I stated this, and that I was a veteran, he seized his opportunity and asked my opinion of the war. I had stated that I was a disabled veteran, and this piqued the interest of the man, his eyes beaming; sure that he had found someone who was certain to share his point of view. That we should invade and kill innocents. After all, someone had attacked us, right? Well, the evidence never pointed to Iraq (some of us didn’t have to play Monday morning quarterback… the lack of evidence was there all along if you were paying attention), and I knew that my informed opinion was contrary to his, so I tried to duck the question, but he would not relent. “No, please, tell me!” 

“No. You don’t really want to know,” Knowing of course, that he didn’t, but he thought he did.

“Yes, I do.”He would not let it drop. 

After about two minutes of bantering back and forth, I told him I would tell him, if he promised to keep my opinion to himself, professional, off the record and understand that it was just my opinion. “Please respect me for it, regardless of what it is.”

“Of course!”

The woman giving me the guided tour would close the door for me, so that my opinion would not be broadcast out into the hallway. She looked very uncomfortable.To his astonishment, I gave exacting reasons for my position why we should not invade and kill. Why we should not call the site of the World Trade Center “Ground Zero,” (it was not a nuclear bomb…this was language cooked up to propagate fear) and that not nearly 3,000 Americans died in the attacks. Many were citizens of other nations, and they are mourning also. I further stated that the public was apathetic and largely uninformed about the real issues at stake and how long the war would last and how far it would spill over. Could we go to war with Syria or Iran? Talk about a bloodbath. Not them…us.

It was about a year later when I had my first performance review with the company I was working for that I learned that President of this company had told my boss the details of our conversation, only a few weeks prior. He had waited almost a year, and then vented a personal conversation that he dragged out of me, my personal opinion, no less, into a professional arena. I was subsequently chastised in my review for making the company look bad for my own personal opinions while on the job. I was furious. I had indeed done the deed, but I was sabotaged and set up.

It was from that point on that I learned that my opinions could and would be held against me, whether I wanted them to be or not. I thusly am careful to watch what I say and to whom. A shame really, as this is a country based upon freedom. It is sad that you cannot exercise it without fear of reprisal. Freedom of speech is a wonderful thing, as long as everyone is in agreement. As soon as you step out of line…the sheepdog mentality takes over. In the end, I don’t blame them though…I should have known all along but was naïve enough to think that people could be smart enough to see for themselves. Instead I learned was that they are not. I learned that I need to pick my battles. I need to learn when to speak and when not to. 

This should be easy for me…but it’s not.

I found sentence and paragraph structures in Jajs’s blog a refreshing pace to break up the long article. Very nice use of facts and figures! I really understand what she means when I read her writing, as she is an accomplished communicator. I grasp the concepts and the writing flows.

Another example is Barbaraj, whose writing follows intricate paths of questions and answers. Usually in groupings of three (tripartite construction), and done very skillfully. Language is a factor, especially in both of these last two people’s last blogs, as they deal with cultural issues relating to age. Words are used to indicate to the reader that they are from an older generation, and it is clear what gender they are from by what choice of words they pick, and what topics they choose to write about within the story itself.

I know Barbaraj and Jajs well enough to respect them and know that they are great people. They are genuine and honest. I know that from discussions, deliberations, and disagreements. I know they are good communicators. I always thought I was a good communicator and still do. Somehow, though, I feel like I’m holding back.

When I try and write, and find a style, I feel contrived. I feel suspect. I feel dirty.

I think for me, struggling to get it all down, as it were, makes me second guess the emphasis and nature of my writing. I think I put down candor into my writing, but somehow, I haven’t hit the stride yet. It takes practice, I suppose. This is a much different form of writing than I am used to professionally or academically. It’s pretty much how I speak, but not how I express myself in written form.

I must find a style that fits.

Something that evokes my passions yet retains the credibility of my writing skills. Something simple or something complicated? Something not yet decided. Simple is always seen as better, yet, I really don’t articulate myself in that way all of the time. I think more ‘thought out’ in written form. I think part of what has made me struggle for years is that I don’t wear a mask. Who I am is who I am. Masks are phony and I never wanted to be phony. I’m the same with my grandmother to my wife to my boss.

There have been times I wish I did wear one and it could be that easy. It would have saved me a little embarrassment over the years telling people what I really think, when they don’t really want to know…

It could be that easy…but it’s not.

But that’s where we are isn’t it? Do I evolve or remain the same? Is one better than the other? Could there be a benefit to hiding myself from the world and faking it some of the time? I’ve already admitted there is. I’m just not sure the benefits outweigh the idealistic notion of being true to you. Well, that was cathartic.