mTBI, PTSD and Stress (Catch All)

[MikeF]

On Killing

“I can kill all day long, but what is the point?”
-COL. David Sutherland, 3BCT, 1CAV

“Treat everyone with dignity and respect, but be prepared to kill them.”
- COL. Bryan Owens, 3BCT, 82nd ABN

October 31, 2006. “Sir, trade weapons with me,” Bernie whispered from the protection of our hide site. We were hidden deep within the grape vineyards. We had snuck in under the cover of darkness, found the enemy, and now it was time to kill. We had been tracking our prey for weeks. We were finally given the go. As the women and children scattered, the sniper quickly began to recede back into the safety and anonymity of the town. For a moment, he was in range. Staff Sergeant Joshua Bernthall focused. We traded weapons- his sights were conditioned for room clearing, mine for long-range observation. He calmed his body, breathed deep, and squeezed the trigger. With the first round, he zeroed my weapon to his specifications. With the second squeeze, in one fell swoop, the bullet traveled out of the palm groves, across the Diyala River, down the crowded street, and the sniper fell- one round to the head-perfection. Operation Shaku Maku had begun. Thankfully, there would be no civilian casualties today.

In On Killing, Dave Grossman contends that in combat, a soldier must dehumanize his enemy in order to kill him. He argues that the psychological nature of man will not allow one to kill another if you consider them as your equal. That sounds all and good. It’s logical, thoughtful, and academic; however, Dave never killed a man.

My experiences were vastly different. In a counter-insurgency effort, one has to eat dinner with one’s enemy, spend time with them, get to know their families, become intimately engaged with them, and then kill them.

There is always doubt, and you hardly ever know for certain that you had the right man. You just make a decision. In those times, I felt like Gabriel, God’s chosen Angel of Death.

* In some ways, in some stark contrast, I feel tranquil.* In other ways, I’m distraught.

I am neither anti-war nor am I a war-monger. It’s just a part of who we are- part of the cycle of life. My life is quite the paradox- I have little regard for shooting weapons or the pomp and ceremony of the garrison military. I simply don’t care for it. If this war wasn’t going on, I’d have left the Army a long time ago to pursue a business career. That’s the way the Few family rolls. We’re strikingly independent. It’s not a question of a cup half empty or half full- our cup overfloweths. The oxymoron of our surname is never-ending.

However, in combat, I’m notoriously brutal. I turn on a darker side, and I found that I can kill without remorse. Not murder, but killing whether it be man, woman or children. I have never committed a war crime- my actions were totally justified by jus in bellum (conduct in war). Whoever is culpable is subject to die. In some sense, this choice should only be left to GOD….

** Deep inside, as I compartmentalized the tragic horrors of my experiences, a cancer of the mind began to overtake me. Slowly, it ate away at my mind, my heart, and my soul. I became numb.

[MikeF]

Liminality

“Social scientists have a word to describe what you are experiencing--it is called liminality--the state of being betwixt and between.** You have gone*beyond your*old*frame of reference and standard way of viewing the world, and you are just beginning to grasp and understand what the contours of a new frame of reference might look like.* The space is uncomfortable, disconcerting, unnerving, especially to those around you, but*critical to the creative process and breakthrough thinking.* Stay with it.”***

*"The liminal state is characterized by ambiguity, openness, and indeterminacy. One's sense of identity dissolves to some extent, bringing about disorientation. Liminality is a period of transition where normal limits to thought, self-understanding, and behavior are relaxed - a situation which can lead to new perspectives."*

-Dr. Nancy Roberts


May 2008. The Good Book provides stark examples of how the Good Lord tamed wild men over time. After his triumphant defeat over Goliath, David was forced to hide in the desert for many years until he was mentally ready to become King. During this time, he learned wisdom. During this time, he centered himself. He was no longer boy. He became a man. After escaping the wraith of the Egyptians, the Israelites stumbled through the desert for forty years until they submitted to God. After the crucifixion, Peter renounced Jesus three times. Jesus forecasted this betrayal, but Peter was a proud man. He promised the Messiah that he would never betray him. After the crow squawked thrice, Peter finally submitted. It was the only way.

April 2008. This process was definitely unnerving for everyone involved. At any other point in my life, the story of Greg Mortensen would have found its way inside my brain, processed, and pushed out a coherent thought, but I was not ready for it. My life was unbalanced. On the year anniversary of my fallen, in the midst of a loveless marriage crumbling away, in an academic realm of constantly picking apart Iraq, in luncheons with generals trying to explain Iraq, I was not centered.

I’ve spent my entire adult life hunting Al Qaeda. I immersed into another culture, conducted investigations, identified the enemy, and then I killed them. My life has been one of destruction as I chased ghost across the world. Then, I heard the beautiful story of a man that builds schools. That’s it. He builds schools. This man is single-handedly winning the so-called Global War on Terrorism through his own actions- stubbornness, sense of purpose, and love. His efforts are quite innovative, yet impractical for the bureaucracy of any government. The story tipped me over because I was not centered. I hit my break point.

They finally came to get me. They carted me off to the psychological ward.
“Oh no,” they thought, “Mike has finally lost it.”

No one ever said it out loud, but I could see the sadness in their eyes. This proud warrior was broken. How could this happen? After a week of being poked and prodded, after in depth examinations by psychiatrists and psychologist, it was determined that I did not have any normal serious mental problems.

I had not lost it. I was simply a little unwell.

I had Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).

I am not the only one.

[MikeF]

Things Come Together

It is not the critic who counts; not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly; who errs, who comes short again and again, because there is no effort without error and shortcoming; but who does actually strive to do the deeds; who knows great enthusiasms, the great devotions; who spends himself in a worthy cause; who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement, and who at the worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat. Shame on the man of cultivated taste who permits refinement to develop into fastidiousness that unfits him for doing the rough work of a workaday world. .

-Theodore Roosevelt


“Mike, you can’t lean on this Iraq thing for excuses your whole life. Frankly, you are the worst man that I have ever met.” - Ex in- law

[MikeF]

In the end and somewhere in between, I am in the process of centering myself. I know who I am, I know where I’ve been, and I am beginning to get a sense for where I’m going. I am not a classically trained anthropologist nor am I a scholar. I’m a simple paratrooper who’s lived an extraordinary life in the service to his country. Instead, I’m learning how to live, and in doing so, I must tell the story of the men I’ve lost. I must find some semblance of reason, some notion of rationale to their sacrifices.

In Iraq, my presence was far from that of a neutral observer. I was an occupier who’s second and third order effects are still being felt on this society; however, through a series of events, I established long-standing ties. I penetrated the deep seeded ancient politico-social-religious networks of the tribes. From an Iraqi perspective, I am a Tamimi; I am a Zuharie. I am Naqeb Few. If I ever return as a civilian, I have land grants, two wives and a girlfriend awaiting me.

Paradoxically, I’m just a southern Baptist boy and a product of the North Carolina public school educational system. I grew up absorbing the Judeo-Christian western values system that laid the great foundation for our nation. I fear the God of Abraham, David, Jesus and Peter. A great, great, great, great grandfather of mine signed the Declaration of Independence for the state of Georgia, yet I’m two generations removed from the coal mines of West Virginia. For undergraduate studies, I pursued an understanding into the study of money. I chose to attend West Point, and I’m fully indoctrinated under the MacArthur principles of “duty, honor, and country.” In sum, I have significant ingrained blocks into truly understanding the Diyala River Valley.

Nonetheless, I’m inextricably linked to Zaganiyah. The plight of the modern Arab society is deeply woven into the fabric of my life. This understanding transcends the superficial support the troops, transnational terrorism, or you’re with us or against us. This understanding is real.

For far too long, we’ve failed to grasp a true understanding of Iraqi society. We simplify thousands of years of rich dialogue, history and tradition into thirty-second sound bites. It is our great failing as Americans. Despite our amazing capacity to design the best manmade form of government conceivable, despite our tremendous ability to overachieve, despite all of the wonderful things that make our society great, we have an unapologetic short-term memory. In this day and age, we are slaves to our IPODs and Blackberries. We walk along unaffected by anything outside our immediate surroundings. In my downtime, I am no better than you in that regard.
I’ve struggled with where to go with this next part. I can make a compelling argument that we should stay the course in Iraq for the next one hundred years.

Contrastingly, I can suggest that we should leave tomorrow. I do not know. Referring back to my indoctrination under Samuel Huntington and Colin Powell’s lead, I will make no policy statements. Just listen.

I cannot tell you what to think. All that I can ask is that you listen to my story, appreciate the heroic tales and sacrifices of my men, feel the pain of the Iraqi society, and come to your own conclusions. I will only ask one thing- please do not go back to sleep.

Past Iraq, the world is a changing, and they desperately need our leadership. These are amazing times, and we have the opportunity to positively shape the future for our children and generations to come. As a wise old boss used to tell me when I was not focused, “Mike, go back to work. The troops need a leader.” We should take heed to his wisdom.
For me, all roads lead to Zaganiyah. In some ways, I’m still there. It is time to tell the story of Zaganiyah. From this story, we can begin to understand this culture. From this culture, we can separate ourselves from their plight. From this plight, THEY can begin to re-engineer the lines drawn in the sand after World War I. Then, we can begin leading again. The sine que nai is that all politics are local, so we must begin there.

[MikeF]

PART ONE
THINGS FALL APART



“And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is that good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.” - Romans 12:2

[MikeF]

CHAPTER TWO: CENTER OF THE UNIVERSE


“People sleep well at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”
-George Orwell, 1984

[MikeF]

Fort Bragg (August 2005-August 2006)

I am not sure where to even start. My story will seem unbelievable to some even though I do not embellish. Sometimes I wonder if it really happened. Maybe it was all a bad nightmare. How the hell did it come to this? Then, I pick up a newspaper and see that after eight years, Bin Laden is still free, our financial markets are in turmoil, and we are engaged in two protracted wars in southwest Asia. It seems maddening, but it is not a dream. We were wrong.

Sometimes I wonder if Thomas Jefferson and John Adams are tossing in their graves. Some of the founding fathers were skeptical of the social experiment of democracy working in the United States much less being forced upon another society. In truth, democracy is neither a predestined inalienable right endowed by our creator nor is it an ends to a means. Rather, it is a gift to be earned and cherished. Those are not my words; they flow throughout the Articles of Confederation and the Federalist Papers.

These realizations dawned not through the burning bush of divine providence, but through the unforgiving observations collected through my years engaged in the bloody, muddy, hands on work of counter-insurgency. I found it ironic that I devoted the majority of my twenties trying to rebuild a society that never existed, chasing an imaginary enemy that we accidently invented, fighting a non-religious war that was indeed religious, and attempting to control the hearts and minds of another culture when my country could not control her own erratic impulses. I was perplexed.

In some twisted sense of political correctness, we attempted to dumb down the nature of war repackaging it into nightly Orwellian sound bites for Fox News. Unfortunately, the editing process edited out the more important parts- things like honoring the dead by allowing the country to pay homage to their final trip home. Redeploying home in between tours, I observed a United States that I no longer understood- consumerism turned to gluttony, capitalism to greed, religion with no God, freedom overtaken by fear. The racing thoughts clouded my brain and unnerved my inner core. I was angry.

Is everything really different or was it always this way? Clinical psychologist call it compartmentalized psychosis, a temporary insanity. I was misdiagnosed once, but mainly because I was drunk, and I told the doctor that he was the crazy one. New Rule Number 541- No drinking 24 hours prior to a psychological evaluation. You will lose. Just trust me on that one.

In the Army’s Search, Evasion, Resistance, and Escape (SERE) course, one is taught indirect methods to surviving captivity as a prisoner of war. One is never to be the aggressor or act tough. The best course of action is to appear weak and submit. Only then can one remain strong. I should have paid more attention to the advice those instructors tried to impart on me; however, I’m much too stubborn to listen to others at times. Typically, I learn through blunt trauma rather than mindless repetition.

I’m getting off track. It is far too early to start sharing my haunting concerns, feelings, and personal limitations. Anyways, if I tell the story right, my thoughts will resonate through without me dictating what you should or should not think. More importantly, I hope to share the confusion and disheveled feelings this war extracted on our soldiers. Furthermore, I am very much aware that I could be wrong; it wouldn’t be the first time.

Throughout this tale, you will hear from a disgruntled, sarcastic, and indignant young captain. I will curse, judge, and at times appear quick tempered. Don’t be fooled. This tale is not so much a story of who I was, but a hat that I had to wear. To be an effective combat commander, one must master the art of “fight or flight.” During this period, I acted in a way that would scare my Sunday school teacher and my mother. My granny would cry watching the transformation. I acted in this way to stay alive and complete my mission. War changes men. No one is innocent in war.

In the narrow, precise world of academia, this story should be considered an inductive case study on humanity, economics, psychology, politics, religion, diplomacy, and war- all the essential ingredients of a refined counter-insurgency brew. For now, I’ll stick to that line of thought. Bear with me, it is about to get exciting. I’m going to take you to a place that you can hardly fathom, much less comprehend. For the sake of our children, I believe it is time to share. First, you have to step out the door.