I walked across the southern wall of our compound. Giant "Hesco" barriers between myself and the impoverished countryside of Howz-E-Madad. Ten feet high, and atleast five feet thick, these giant sand bags gave me some semblance of security and safety from the dangers that imminently lay outside the dirt walls. My platoon had drawn guard duty this Mid-July day and I was walking the perimeter checking on my Soldiers morale. The routine was quite normal and one I had gotten used to. I would walk from one tower to the next, climb the 5-10 steps up into the wooden elevated tower and speak with my Soldiers. Conversations usually centered around food, girlfriends, current sports events, and occasionally when standards were not being met we would have a brief word about eye protection or glove protection within the towers. I attempted to ask few questions and listen to what my Soldiers. had to say. Often their responses were sarcastic and pessimistic, hey if you had to sit in a tower for twelve straight hours and see literally nothing what would you want to talk about?
As I walked to the ECP (entrance control point), an access area where all vehicles entered and exited, as well as the bases most vulnerable/dangerous point, I wondered what my friends back home had done for the World Cup final the previous days. Surely they had gathered around a tv, with adult beverages, not caring about the game but just enjoying the company. As I approached the gate I heard the radio blare out in my right ear piece, "1-6, this is ECP." I shot back, "ECP, 1-6 go ahead." "Hey yeah, um, Sir, we have an issue here at the gate, you should come up here." I was puzzled by this, I put my best soldiers on the ECP since it was a vulnerable point, and very little rattled them. Weeks earlier I was checking on them and we came under mortar and direct arms attack in the tower. These Soldiers were the real deal, with very little encouragement they returned fire and engaged with every weapon system we had. I had it easy, I sat with my binoculars and spotted their rounds as I walked our heavy machine gun in and eliminated the under armed and less talented enemy. But, something at the gate had rattled them, I was now worried.
The vision that occurs next is forever seared in my brain. 15 meters from the gate: Ok, 3 local nationals and some type of wheel barrel looking thing. 10 meters from the gate: Holy shit thats a lot of blood. 5 meters from the gate: Oh my god there is a child in that wheel barrel. At the scene: there is an ten year old boy in the wheel barrel. My medic jumped into action and began tourniqueting every limb we could get a tourniquet on. The older locals with him were screaming and yelling at our Soldiers. It didn't matter what language they were speaking, the message was clear, "Do something, save him," they screamed in Pashto. The wheel barrel was atleast two inches full of bright red blood and the implications of this event were beginning to come clear. I looked at the child as we worked to keep his heart beating until the helicopter could come to take him to a hospital. Not once, not for a single instance did he show any sign of pain, of discomfort, no tears were shed. He just stared at my medic, at me, at the sky. Seemingly unfazed by the position he was in. It struck me so hard. Growing up in a society where when a child skins his or her knee instant whaling occurs. This child was just blown up by an IED, probably because his father had commanded him to go implace it and it went off in his hands. Or while playing a game with friends he had managed to stumble onto a deadly pressure plate laid 2 inches under the dirt path.
I sat in the auditorium in the basement of Spangler hall. I sat in the back of the room, the very back to be precise. My fear of open spaces and exits still sticks somewhat with me today. I showed up 15 minutes early and managed to find some former Army and Marine classmates amongst the 10 of us that were early. I watched as my classmates entered the auditorium of one of the top Business Schools in the world ( I would say the top one, but I have an obvious bias there). The briefing began as many due in the Army: Where we started, where we are now, and where are we going. Half way through the speaker brought up a personal vignette that really made service to this institution hit home for her. She spoke of a business/vacation trip to India. She recalled seeing people begging along the route from the domestic airport and witnessed mothers holding children who were purposefully deformed in order to gain better profits from begging. She then said, and I am paraphrasing so take the quotes with a grain of salt, "I can think of no greater love then a Mom for her children and to see that this is how desperate she was was eye opening." She then concluded that she drives herself every day to mentor business students in order to positively effect the nature of the world at large.
I spoke with several classmates that night about the speech. Most found it to be incredibly inspirational and uplifting. I say most and I must add the actual nature that, everyone found it to be inspirational and uplifting. Being authentic I have to be honest it did not effect me. Then I spent time throughout the weekend reflecting on why a story like hers would not effect me. I was ashamed. Of course a story like that should effect me, thats horrible, a child deformed for profit? Thats awful. But, it honestly didn't effect me, it was another story amongst many I had heard about children being abused for the profit of their family.
I started this blog in an attempt to bridge the gap between military and civilian. To share stories, very personal stories, in order to allow people to see into the eyes of me, and thus a perspective of military leaders. I certainly try not to speak for all military individuals but I do try to give a candid response of how I have felt. Had I really been so desensitized to the abuse of children that a story like this didn't effect me? I guess the answer is yes. Thats a scary thought to comprehend as a human being and I have been reflecting on it all weekend. Before I finish I do want to clarify, just because a story like that does not elicit an emotional response from me, does not mean that I don't feel intense distaste towards anyone that acts that way towards a child.
I asked the elder, "How did this happen? How did a child get hurt this bad?" He looked at me and said, "bombs from the sky." He then pointed at me and said, "You did this, you dropped the bombs form the sky on him." We had not dropped any bombs that day, we had not had any missions near the area the boy was blown up at, and we had no interaction with the village in which this happened in. My blood boiled, I clinched my fist, I wanted to punch the elder in the face, throw him to the ground and scold him for treating children so poorly. For accusing my boys, for accusing my country, for accusing my name...Snook of being part of this atrocity. But, as an officer in the Army I swore an oath, and I signed on to always complete the mission, and such a hasty angered act would support none. I shook the elders hand and said, "Sir, im very sorry for your loss, we will look into it and please let us know if you need anything else." As I transition to the civilian world I can only hope that my emotions come back, and that my desensitization towards issues of such hyaenas nature subsides.
I thank you for reading and hope this helped to see inside the world of our US Military. Again these are my points of view and do not reflect the policy, tactics, structure or nature of the US Military as a whole. Thank you.
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