Soldier, Can You Hear?
by Andreas Toupadakis
This commentary was first published on Swans.com.
It is reposted with permission.
October 1, 2001
You were dreaming last night of your wife and your little daughter and you felt a
great desire to hold them in your arms and tell them how much they meant for your
life and happiness. You finally called them and told them "I will be back soon,
in just a few weeks, until we finish the job, then I will see you and we will have
a good time." You hung up the phone and you could not forget the weeping of
your wife. Your daughter was giggling; she would weep too if she knew, but she is
just a little baby. You know your wife is weeping because she does not know if she
will see you again.
You say to yourself; "My country has given me such a miracle plane, and anyway,
I have orders to fly thousands of feet high. I will drop my load and no doubt I will
come back. At that altitude, there is nothing that can touch me. I will be back."
And with that conviction, the next day you climb your beloved hawk, which has never
been used in combat yet. Your are anxious to try the real job and finish it, to restore
peace in the world. You enter your plane with confidence and you feel proud of your
country. It never crossed your mind that you are high above someone else's country,
ready to kill citizens that never did anything to any one of your country's citizens
or to your family. Again you feel the urgency to hold your family in your arms. You
wonder what they are doing or thinking at this moment as you are ready to push the
button. Well, what else would they be thinking? They will be thinking what you have
always told them. "We serve the world. We are the world's watchers. We restore
peace in every troubled spot on earth. That is our job and we are proud of it."
In a second, you have pushed the button. The load is descending and now you are ready
to come back. The job is done. You tell yourself, "I have done my duty; I have
served my country and peace. I have not died either, and I can do this again and
again if I am asked to. I offer justice and peace and in this way, people like me
can now enjoy what I will enjoy in a few days, my wife and my daughter, their smiles
and their warmth.
You return to the base and you are saluted as a hero. "Job well done" you
hear from your lieutenant, and you feel proud and happy.
Oh, Soldier! Your work is anathema to the powers of the universe, to anything that
has to do with beauty and life and joy, to everything that you yourself love and
desire to enjoy. What you have done is distasteful to your family. If they could
see what you have done, they would be horrified. They would not have the strength
to touch you, to hold you in their arms. Soldier, what have you done?
If they had seen the hell you created in that village, the different parts of human
and animal bodies scattered under the trees on the grass of the earth, the blood
everywhere, the agony of that little boy weeping for the family that is gone forever.
Yes, over there is the head of his little sister and over there is the hand of his
beloved mother, the same hand that touched his hair a moment before. He remembers
the words of his mother, "Do not be afraid, everything will be okay. There are
some good people in their government and they will stop it." But now it happened.
The mother is no more, only her pieces can he see scattered around, and such a force
comes out of him. The little boy is devastated. The first thought comes, "When
I grow up, I will go and find those who took my mother's kind smile away. I will
kill them all the same way they killed my mother and my family. I will turn them
into pieces." Then after the prolonged weeping, silence comes and out of these
strong feelings and terrible vision, the kind smile of the mother comes back and
her words sound kind and clear, "There are some good people." The boy finds
peace in his soul; his mother hasn't really died.
And if your family, soldier, had seen the beautiful eyes of the 15-year-old girl
in the hospital, unable to speak because of weeping, her body, her legs full of metal
pieces, metal pieces from your load, soldier. And a few of them hit her spine. She
will be in a bed forever. And if your family, soldier, could see the man without
any legs in the hospital, what would your wife think of you? And the man is a brave
man. Listen to what he said, soldier, "Life is beautiful; I feel that I can
still live on." And does your daughter know? Will you tell her when she grows
up that a little girl with soft hair and as innocent a smile as your daughter's was
lying on a pile of rocks and wood, a lifeless body, because you served peace, as
you said?
You never really wondered why you dropped your load from so high, 'bombing from fifteen
thousand feet above the victims.' You thought it was to save your life and that was
a good reason not to question it further. You think that you are not a coward; you
are a brave soldier, as you were told. But it never occurred to you, and you were
never interested enough to find out, that the political agenda of your government
was, "Never again will we bring body bags back to the country. We need the public
to be quiet. Therefore, do the job with whatever it takes but with no casualties
on our side." And this agenda serves you, soldier, because now you are not dead,
you can go and see your family again.
You come back and yellow ribbons are all over the airport and the city, and your
family and friends are now calling you a hero. You accept all this and after you
have touched your wife and daughter and you have enjoyed their smiles, now you again
feel that you are not the same as the enemy. You think that they murdered, but you
brought peace. What makes you think that you are not doing the same thing as the
enemy? Because you pushed the button and you saw no hell? Your government has the
power to justify what you have done around the world and present it as just and noble,
and so the years go by. And one day it happens. Your daughter, now a college student,
has become an activist and has invited you and your wife to a lecture by a pacifist,
and after the speech you cannot walk away from the room. You come forth and you say
to the pacifist, "I understand what you are saying," and you break into
tears before the crowd of the people. Your wife now pulls you away. "Let's go
home, let's go." But now you feel like speaking; you must speak; otherwise,
it remains a real hell for you."
Soldier, now that you have heard, now that you have understood, will you tell the
others?
Andreas Toupadakis, Ph.D. 1990, University of Michigan, has done research
as a chemist in industry, academia and two US Government laboratories. In January
2000, Dr. Toupadakis resigned from Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory in protest
against the further development of nuclear weapons. Since then he has been lecturing
on peace and environmental issues at many universities and colleges, including Tufts
University, MIT, the University of Notre Dame, San Francisco State University, Humboldt
State University and Waseda University in Tokyo.
© 2001 Andreas Toupadakis, Ph.D.
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