An email from a reader:

I did a "deployment-lite" in Afghanistan during the summer of 2011. My company was supposed to spend twelve months there, but our deployment was shortened to six months. Nobody seemed disappointed.

I was a gunner for convoy security operations around RC East out of Bagram Airfield. Basically, we escorted Host Nation Trucks- HNT's - which carried "our" equipment from location to location. It was some kind of contract with a local- probably corrupt- contractor when we could have done the job more efficiently and safely. Hearts and minds, hearts and minds...

Regardless, it was the best summer of my life. I hated it at moments but knew for certain that it would be a "peak experience (ugh)" in comparison my provincial American reality which can suffocate me if I let it. I never fired a shot in anger and am truly grateful for that. I simply tell people that I was a "tourist with a machinegun" and that it was a beautiful country. Both true.

I won't go into details beyond an incident which I'd like to recount for my own benefit. It was pretty benign all in all, but your article brought it to mind. We often traveled a well maintained blacktop- paved by the Chinese- from Kabul to Jalalabad. From what I've read, it pretty much followed the failed British retreat from Kabul in the 1841. One survivor on a donkey from what I have read. It was a beautiful route and Jalalabad was my favorite city on our routes. I remember seeing an amusement park which struck me as odd.

While driving through the city center during a convoy, I remember crowds of locals booing us and giving us the "thumbs down". I remember thinking that I'd probably do the same thing if the roles were reversed but still felt compelled to give them my biggest smile and "thumbs up", because hey, "I'm an American." It's not my proudest moment, but I understand it better now when I think about it. I said repeatedly that the Afghans were just waiting for us to leave which of course proved to be the case.

I was staring at a wall, wanting to be anywhere else, at the tail end of an alcoholic stupor in July of 2008 when I thought, "Hey there's a war going on, I bet they'll take me." Of course they did. I was in Ft. Knox, Kentucky within three weeks. Boy, that was almost fourteen years ago.

I had a very limited clue about any of the geopolitical machinations of the United States War Machine at the time, but remember getting a sinister feeling sometimes when walking around Ft. Carson. They have a 9/11 memorial with the twisted beams at the main gate. During a memorial service, I remember one of my Sergeants who had been stationed in Hawaii saying something to the effect of "I don't know about that memorial, the islanders have a name for things like that which means "bad joo joo". Knowing what I know now, I have to chuckle.

Shucks, I've truly been blessed with a peaceful life aside from some life threatening addictions. Literature was my go to before substances and I'm trying to get back there. I'm forty five and sometimes I want to simply abandon any life of the mind which shines a light on the mess here and just "blend to the end".

I managed a semester of community college before being sidelined by tick borne babesiosis two years ago.

I first heard the word COVID in a V.A. psych ward. I had nothing but my bed and this damn phone for a the better part of a year while I was still pretty sick. Wheww, I am unvaccinated and had never felt like a walking target until COVID. Now this Linh, my fear fuses are blown for the most part and I'm actually finding my peace as America throws its own away for good. What's coming is deserved as a society, but when I think of my nine year old nephew or ALL of the truly beautiful children who have no idea, it tears me to shreds.

We've been so spoiled Linh.

I cannot thank you enough for your work. I haven't had a t.v. since I got out of the Army and don't want one. I remember Mr. Rokosz, my junior English teacher who was a bit of an old school Commie, a principled man and good teacher telling us about a man he knew of in Hammond, Indiana who chose to eschew possessions and live under a bridge. I was a poor student, but that one has stayed with me.

When I read your writing Linh, it reminds me of "the man who chose to own nothing."

Thank you for doing what you do. It helps make these gut wrenching times bearable.

-Troy

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Responding to Troy, I said:

I understand perfectly that feeling of being trapped, with no decent job available, especially one suitable for a man. Socially, there's nothing to do but sit in a bar, but it's expensive, and you can't even talk much, with the loud music and several TVs on at the same time.

For a young man with little money, a crappy job and few experiences beyond his small town or city neighborhood, enlistment to go overseas doesn't sound too bad.