Thou Shalt Not Kill
Thou Shalt Not Kill
By Austin W. Buff
Veterans for Peace, Santa Fe Chapter
Note: The author is a veteran of the first Gulf War and the son-in-law of regular poetry contributor Al Staggs. The article reveals the anguish some in the military face when the reality of war becomes very personal.
What follows is an account of the moment that I became a conscientious objector. About eighteen months after this, I was honorably discharged as an objector. To this day, the logic of war baffles me, especially among those who claim they follow a man of peace. For me, it came down to what seems to me to be one of the easier commandments to follow: Thou shalt not kill (Exodus 20:13).
Thou shalt not kill. Strange how formal we`ve made something so fundamental. Perhaps it`s the formality that allows us to so easily disregard it. It`s the same with war, I guess. For me the formality was eliminated on a very hot afternoon in February of 1993. The war ended two years ago.
Where I was it was hot even in February. Sitting in front of a large computer monitor. Dark. It was so dark. How can it be so hot and so dark? The trailer was hastily darkened by duct tape and cardboard. Our eyes must be sharp. "The better to see you with, my dear."
Here are the photographs from before. Split screen. Here are the photographs from after. Click. Zoom. A building that was once whole now is a hole. Click. Zoom. The SAM site was partially destroyed. We`ll have to go back for more mayhem. Note longitude. Note Latitude. Click. Zoom. That crater is surrounded by black flecks. Sweat drips from my nose on to the keyboard. Is the AC unit working at all? It`s making enough noise. Click. Zoom. That crater is larger on my screen now. What are those things scattered. It`s next to a refinery tower, I wonder if it`s oil or something. Click. Zoom. The flecks seem to be faintly recognizable now, more shades of grey, not just black. Click. Zoom. Oh, dear God, what have I done? Click. Zoom.
Count Bodies. Need for reports. 1, 2, 3, 4, Click. Zoom. Dear God, when will the sun go down? I`m going to be here all night. 121, 122, 123, Click. STOP. These men aren`t soldiers. These men are refinery workers. They`d say that these men were supporting critical infrastructure. But, I know different. Fathers were supporting families. Families who won`t eat tonight. Families who will now be burying their providers as I count them. 153,154,155. Mothers, wives, children starving for a little cold rice. They sit in their living rooms, drink their beer and tell me I am killing enemies. They go out to their restaurants, order another bottle of wine that costs enough to feed one of these families for a month and tell me they are proud of me for protecting their freedom. Why now does the sweat on my cheeks pour harder. The sweat on my face drip, dripping on to the keyboard. Why now do these enemies look human. Why Now? Click. Zoom.
Thou shalt not. Oh . . . Sorry God. We must have misunderstood that one. Given its ambiguity and all. You know, You really should make those commandments a little easier to understand. AARGGH. The heat . . . I thought it was supposed to be February.
The evening is coming and the breeze is bringing the ocean with it. I am glad I`m not at sea. I need a little earth right now. The artificial bright lights glimmer like hope against the tragic beauty of a smoke infused sunset. Blackness drifts south from Kuwait like plague. Those fires have been burning for two years. I guess they stick around like the heat. Smoke. Heat. Sand. Unclean. That`s what I`m afraid of becoming.
Man, I`m good at my job. I get promotions. Now is not the time to start having a moral crisis. Thou shalt NOT . . . I mean, God couldn`t have meant under ANY circumstance. How would that work? Anyway, it`s not like I pulled the release button for those bombs. I just analyzed the intelligence and helped develop the target package. Target package . . . what a cop out.
Target package. Guys trying to make a living. Critical infrastructure. Yeah . . . Critical for a decent life and a little self respect. Where is CNN now? Oh . . . Right.
I am 20 years old. I am too young for this. What do I tell my family? What do I tell my friends? What do I tell myself? What if my helicopter goes down? STOP!
"What If" is not a game you play here.
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