Re: [PAA-MilRecruit] A vet writes .... (well worth reading)

Submitted by PAAMember on December 31, 2006 - 9:00pm. ::











Linda C. wrote:

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Soldiers do not realize, until too late, the contempt in which
they are held by

their betters. Here is the psychological foundation of the hobbyist
wars of

bus-station presidents. If you are, say, a Lance Corporal in some
miserable

region of Iraq, I have a question for you: Would your commanding
general let you

date his daughter? I spent my high-school years on a naval base,
Dahlgren Naval

Proving Ground as it was then called. Dahlgren was heavy with officers,

scientists, and engineers. Their daughters, my classmates, were not
allowed to

associate with sailors. Oh yes, we honor our fighting men. We hold them
in

endless respect. Yes we do.

(Full article below.)

http://www.fredoneverything.net/FOE_Frame_Column.htm

December 17, 2006

It’s all but official: The war in Iraq is lost. Report after
leaked report says so. Everybody in Washington knows it except that
draft-dodging ferret in the White House. Politicians scurry to avoid
the blame. One day soon people will ask aloud: How did we let 3000 GIs
die for the weak ego of a pampered liar and his desperate need to prove
he's half the man his father was?

The troops from now on will die for a war that they already know
is over. They are dying for politicians. They are dying for nothing. By
now they must know it. It happened to us, too, long ago.

The talk among pols now is about finding an “exit strategy.”
This means a way of pulling out without risking too many seats in
Congress. Screw the troops. We must look to the elections. Do we really
want an exit strategy? A friend of mine, with two tours in heavy combat
in another war, has devised a splendid exit strategy. It consists of
five words: “OK. On the plane. Now.” Bring your toothbrush. Everything
else stays. We’re outa here.

It is a workable exit strategy, one with teeth, and
comprehensible to all. But we won’t use it. We will continue killing
our men, calculatedly, cynically, for the benefit of politicians. The
important thing, you see, is the place in history of Bush Puppy. Screw
the troops.

Face it. The soldiers are being used. They are being suckered.
This isn’t new. It happened to my generation. Long after we knew that
the war in Vietnam was lost, Lyndon Johnson kept it going to fertilize
his vanity, and then Nixon spoke of the need to “save face”—at two
hundred dead GIs a week. But of course Johnson and Nixon weren’t among
the dead, or among the GIs.

I saw an interview on television long ago in which the reporter
asked an infantryman near Danang, I think, what he thought of Nixon’s
plan to save face. “His face, our ass,” was the reply. Just so, then,
and just so now. Screw the troops. What the hell, they breed fast in
Kansas anyway.

Soldiers are succinct and do not mince words. This makes them
dangerous. We must keep them off-camera to the extent possible. A GI
telling the truth could set recruiting back by years.

The truth is that the government doesn’t care about its
soldiers, and never has. If you think I am being unduly harsh, read the
Washington Post. You will find story after story saying
that the Democrats don’t want to do anything drastic about the war.
They fear seeming “soft on national security.” In other words, they
care more about their electoral prospects in 2008 than they do about
the lives of GIs. It’s no secret. For them it is a matter of tuning the
spin, of covering tracks, of calculating the vector sum of the
ardent-patriot vote which may be cooling, deciding which way the
liberal wind blows, and staying poised to seem to have supported
whoever wins. Screw the troops. Their fathers probably work in
factories anyway.

Soldiers do not realize, until too late, the contempt in which
they are held by their betters. Here is the psychological foundation of
the hobbyist wars of bus-station presidents. If you are, say, a Lance
Corporal in some miserable region of Iraq, I have a question for you:
Would your commanding general let you date his daughter? I spent my
high-school years on a naval base, Dahlgren Naval Proving Ground as it
was then called. Dahlgren was heavy with officers, scientists, and
engineers. Their daughters, my classmates, were not allowed to
associate with sailors. Oh yes, we honor our fighting men. We hold them
in endless respect. Yes we do.

For that matter, Lance Corporal, ask how many members of
Congress have even served, much less been in combat. Ask how many have
children in the armed services. Look around you. Do you see many (any)
guys from Harvard? Yale? MIT? Cornell? Exactly. The smart, the
well-off, the powerful are not about to risk their irreplaceable
sit-parts in combat. Nor are they going to mix with mere high-school
graduates, with kids from small towns in Tennessee, with blue-collar
riffraff who bowl and drink Bud at places with names like Lenny’s Rib
Room. One simply doesn’t. One has standards.

You are being suckered, gang, just as we were.

It is a science. The government hires slick PR firms and ad
agencies in New York. These study what things make a young stud want to
be A Soldier: a desire to prove himself, to get laid in foreign places,
a craving for adventure, a desire to feel part of something big and
powerful and respected, what have you. They know exactly what they are
doing. They craft phrases, “Be a Man Among Men,” or “A Few Good Men,”
or, since girls don’t like those two, “The Few, The Proud.” Join up and
be Superman.

Then comes the calculated psychological conditioning. There is
for example the sense of power and unity that comes of running to
cadence with a platoon of other guys, thump, thump, thump, all shouting
to the heady rhythm of boots, “If I die on the Russian front, bury me
with a Russian cunt, Lef-rye-lef-rye-lef-rye-lef….” That was Parris
Island, August of ’66, and doubtless they say something else now, but
the principle is the same.

And so you come out in splendid physical shape and feeling no
end manly and they tell you how noble it is to Fight for Your Country.
This might be true if anyone were invading the country. But since
Washington always invades somebody else, you are actually fighting for
Big Oil, or Israel, or the defense industry, or the sexual ambiguities
who staff National Review, or the vanity of that moral dwarf
on Pennsylvania Avenue. You will figure this out years later.

Once you are in the war, you can’t get out. We couldn’t either.
While your commander in chief eats steak in the White House and talks
tough, just like a real president, you kill people you have no reason
to kill, about whom you know next to nothing—which one day may weigh on
your conscience. It does with a lot of guys, but that comes later.

You are being suckered, and so are the social classes that
supply the military. Note that the Pentagon cracks down hard on troops
who say the wrong things online, that the White House won’t allow
coffins to be photographed, that the networks never give soldiers a
chance to talk unedited about what is happening. Oh no. It is crucial
to keep morale up among the rubes. You are the rubes. So, once, were we.