Selected Essays & Creative Writing
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It’s just that I once knew a different person— not better or worse, just different.
How do you come to terms with a “liberal” friend being called to fight?
I remember getting the call from my friend Teo at 9:30 p.m. on January 22 to tell me that our mutual friend Matt was leaving on the following Monday for Iraq. Like any friend or family member who has heard these words in the past year, I could feel the air rush out of my lungs and my mouth form one word: “What!?”
I knew this was coming. Matt was in the Army, and I knew that he would eventually go to Iraq or Afghanistan. Even though I could accept this on the surface, I couldn’t transform the images I had of a longhaired Matt into the newly crew-cut, buff one who believed this operation was intrinsically right. Although I had not heard from him in four years, I couldn’t believe that Matt, who had gone into the Army to pay off school loans, would be sent to risk his life for something that, to me, seemed so unduly aggressive.
This 2-minute inspirational film by Scott Stratton honors all soldiers. It is not pro- nor anti-war. It is, instead, an insight into what soldiers and their loved ones are going through. The lyrics are written from a soldier’s perspective.
Don’t get me wrong: Matt is the kind of person who should be in Iraq. He is talented, levelheaded and intelligent, and he does things with gusto and grace. Matt has also had enough cultural and travel experiences to really understand Middle Eastern culture. I also knew that this was Matt’s choice; he had gone into the Army for financial reasons, but he stayed to make a career of it. It is not as if this decision were thrust on him. He understood the risks.
It’s just that I once knew a different person—not better or worse, just different. We’d met each other through friends at a Phish concert and hit it off immediately. We lived in a bastion of liberalism in Madison, Wisconsin, and had a group of friends who shared fun and a desire to figure out the world. We watched odd B-movies, created silly havoc, talked about spirituality, listened to Roger Walters. It was Matt who ran up Bascom Hill on the University of Wisconsin-Madison campus with Teo and me, resting in front of the very building where students had protested the war in the 1960s. It was Matt who told me about his experiences in Papua, New Guinea and how they had inspired him to pursue a career in social work. Was it this same Matt who was now going off to fight a war? How had he changed? How had I?
Two days before Matt’s departure, I talked with him on the phone. There were so many things I wanted to say to him, so many questions I wanted to ask. I wanted to know his fears about going into war; what his wife was going through; if he worried about having to take someone’s life. I wanted to know if life in the Army had changed him.
But when you realize that someone may give his life for something you are opposed to, it is difficult to know what to say. In fact, in an effort to say safe things, I came across as sounding casual—as if it was every day that people I knew were shipped off to war zones. It was a lame excuse for our normally insightful conversations. Thankfully, Matt was kind, asking to add me to the list of people who would get his updates. As the conversation was coming to an end, I lost whatever courage I had to say what I had wanted to say. Instead, all I could squeak out was something along the lines of “good luck.”
Since then, Matt has sent all of us emails. As expected, he is going above and beyond the call, but it has not been without considerable danger. He is different now. He has become a Christian who is strong in his faith. He talks more about conservative topics than I am used to. However, he also remains surprisingly unbiased in dissecting the pros and cons of Iraq and is not afraid to share these insights.
Through him, I am being educated about a complex country, even if I disagree with him about the viability and success of the operation. Occasionally, we’ve debated the reasons for this war. We probably don’t change the other’s mind, but I’ve made an effort to put aside my John Lennon-esque views to see the war through his eyes. Because of Matt, I’ve also tried to explore that politically charged word “freedom.” What does it mean to me? What does it mean to the Iraqis? And, ultimately, like Matt, am I willing to defend it with my life?
Matt will fight a war and I will sit safely with coffee mug in hand trying to figure out how to support him. The best way I think I can do that is not by putting a yellow ribbon on my SUV or waving a flag, but by allowing him to share his thoughts openly. And perhaps, by writing this, I can finally say what I had wanted to say before he left, which is this: Please come back safely. Please remember to watch your back. Help where you can with the skills that you have. Use your humor to protect yourself. Use your social skills to help people. You have friends, so don’t be afraid to use us as a sounding board. We wish you well. I wish you well. And . . . Matt? Most of all, I wish you peace.
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