Dispatches from Iraq 5
I spoke with a Washington, D.C. reporter last week. He was working on a piece about how people are unhappy with mainstream media coverage of the war, and had stumbled on my blog.
We chatted for about a half-hour. In so many words, I told him that based on my feedback from the site, I got the sense that public anger over war coverage isn't just a matter of left vs. right, although that is a factor. I've found that soldiers and their families, regardless of political affiliation, feel like they've been whitewashed from the reporting process, and that the more reporters rely on focus groups and think tanks and academics as their sources and less on pounding the pavement and getting out and talking to real people, the more disconnected people are going to feel about how issues that affect their lives are being covered.
My quotes didn't make the final cut in the story. The reporter did, however, quote a press release; a think tank; and three professors. He basically made my point for me.
Anyway, here's the fifth edition of Dispatches from Iraq. Again, this series has grown entirely through word of mouth. The first edition had a few hundred page views, the third, 5,500; the most recent, 15,300. Thanks for reading, and as always, if you feel this is a worthwhile read, please email the link to a friend or two.
I'll let Matt take it from here:
I cut myself today. It's not life-threatening. The cut is only a couple inches long, and it's not deep, either. It just took off the first couple layers of skin.
But it's a significant cut. I was lifting a case of water to put on top of my vehicle, and I was caught by an edge of the black metal bracelet I wear on my right wrist. The corner of the bracelet dragged down my wrist and left this gash.
This isn't the first time this has happened, and I'm sure it won't be the last. Why, you might ask, would I wear an uncomfortable, potentially dangerous bracelet? Jay, that's why.
Jay was a Ranger battalion armorer. He died in Afghanistan in 2003. He was the first Ranger to die in combat since the Panama invasion in 1989. He remains the only person I consider a friend that I have lost to this war. I wear his POW/MIA bracelet on my right wrist.
Jay was an incredible guy. He was the kind of person about whom you never heard an unkind word. He was laid back, funny, and could out-drink anybody ... anybody. He even recommended my tattoo artist.
When he was in his third phase of Ranger school, just a few days before graduation, one of his lungs collapsed, but rather than go to sick call and possibly get recycled through the entire course, he sucked it up and drove on to earn his tab.
I have great memories of kicking back beers with Jay on our training deployment to Germany, raising our glasses to the then-recently fallen victims of 9/11.
My most vivid memory, however, is of when I heard about his death.
I was driving to work on the day after he passed away. I was flipping through the channels on my radio, and I heard a quick news brief. It started out as the same simple formulaic address, no more than two sentences long, a completely inadequate amount of space to devote to the entire life of a fallen hero: "A (post name here) soldier died (day) in (place) when (cause of death). (Name), (age), of (hometown), was part of the (unit) and (any other notable, but brief, information)."
When I heard Jay's name, I couldn't believe it. I pulled over my car to listen to the rest of the brief broadcast, which didn't give much more information. I had always been disappointed in the horrendous lack of coverage that the media gives each individual casualty in the war, but it really disgusted me to hear my friend's life passed over as a just another meaningless little blurb.
I spent a lot of time thinking about the way my friend's death was trivialized, especially with my then-impending deployment to Iraq.
Which brings me to my bracelet. I bought it just before I left the States. At first, the thin, aluminum bracelet had sharp edges, and was completely and utterly uncomfortable. As I wore it more, the edges seemed to soften a bit, and I got used to the way it fell on my wrist. By the time the anniversary of Jay's death rolled around, I had resolved never to take it off, even though it still scraped me up a bit. That day, we went on a full-out battalion mission across the city. We went door-to-door, all day long, clearing buildings in one of the most dangerous areas of Mosul, and there wasn't a single casualty.
I'm not sure if I believe he's watching over me, or if I believe the thought of his death sort of haunts me. I do know, however, that every time I look down at his shiny silver name imprinted on my black bracelet, I remember that it could be worse. I remember attending his funeral, and thinking that I never want to attend another one. I remember that for every "bad guy" we take in, it's potentially one less POW/MIA bracelet that will get printed, and when I'm getting complacent, especially when I'm real close to redeployment to the states, it reminds me to keep my head in the game.
The POW/MIA logo reads, "You are not forgotten." This cut on my wrist may seem like an annoyance to some. For me, it's this reminder, and for that I keep wearing my bracelet. RIP Jay.
Dispatches from Iraq series links
posted by Dave Doyle @ 12:40 PM
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