This blog has been inactive for quite some time since I got back from Spain. But since it’s Veteran’s Day, and also the day after the Marine Corps’ 237th birthday, I thought I would re-post a speech made by a Marine general in 2010. The speech is called “Honor and Sacrifice.” Its author lost his only son in Iraq: he knows what he is talking about.
Nine years ago, four commercial aircraft took off from Boston, Newark, and Washington. Took off fully loaded with men, women and children — all innocent, and all soon to die. These aircraft were targeted at the World Trade Towers in New York, the Pentagon, and likely the Capitol in Washington, D.C. Three found their mark. No American alive old enough to remember will ever forget exactly where they were, exactly what they were doing, and exactly who they were with at the moment they watched the aircraft dive into the World Trade Towers on what was, until then, a beautiful morning in New York City. Within the hour 3,000 blameless human beings would be vaporized, incinerated, or crushed in the most agonizing ways imaginable. The most wretched among them — over 200 –driven mad by heat, hopelessness, and utter desperation, leapt to their deaths from 1,000 feet above Lower Manhattan. We soon learned hundreds more were murdered at the Pentagon, and in a Pennsylvania farmer’s field.
Once the buildings had collapsed and the immensity of the attack began to register most of us had no idea of what to do, or where to turn. As a nation, we were scared like we had not been scared for generations. Parents hugged their children to gain as much as to give comfort. Strangers embraced in the streets stunned and crying on one another’s shoulders seeking solace, as much as to give it. Instantaneously, American patriotism soared not “as the last refuge” as our national-cynical class would say, but in the darkest times Americans seek refuge in family, and in country, remembering that strong men and women have always stepped forward to protect the nation when the need was dire — and it was so God awful dire that day — and remains so today.
There was, however, a small segment of America that made very different choices that day…actions the rest of America stood in awe of on 9/11 and every day since. The first were our firefighters and police, their ranks decimated that day as they ran towards-not away from-danger and certain death. They were doing what they’d sworn to do — “protect and serve” — and went to their graves having fulfilled their sacred oath.
Then there was your Armed Forces, and I know I am a little biased in my opinion here, but the best of them are Marines. Most wearing the Eagle, Globe and Anchor today joined the unbroken ranks of American heroes after that fateful day not for money, or promises of bonuses or travel to exotic liberty ports, but for one reason and one reason alone; because of the terrible assault on our way of life by men they knew must be killed and extremist ideology that must be destroyed. A plastic flag in their car window was not their response to the murderous assault on our country. No, their response was a commitment to protect the nation swearing an oath to their God to do so, to their deaths. When future generations ask why America is still free and the heyday of Al Qaeda and their terrorist allies was counted in days rather than in centuries as the extremists themselves predicted, our hometown heroes — soldiers, sailors, airmen, Coast Guardsmen, and Marines — can say, “because of me and people like me who risked all to protect millions who will never know my name.”
As we sit here right now, we should not lose sight of the fact that America is at risk in a way it has never been before. Our enemy fights for an ideology based on an irrational hatred of who we are. Make no mistake about that no matter what certain elements of the “chattering class” relentlessly churn out. We did not start this fight, and it will not end until the extremists understand that we as a people will never lose our faith or our courage. If they persist, these terrorists and extremists and the nations that provide them sanctuary, they must know they will continue to be tracked down and captured or killed. America’s civilian and military protectors both here at home and overseas have for nearly nine years fought this enemy to a standstill and have never for a second “wondered why.” They know, and are not afraid. Their struggle is your struggle. They hold in disdain those who claim to support them but not the cause that takes their innocence, their limbs, and even their lives. As a democracy — “We the People” –and that by definition is every one of us — sent them away from home and hearth to fight our enemies. We are all responsible. I know it doesn’t apply to those of us here tonight but if anyone thinks you can somehow thank them for their service, and not support the cause for which they fight — America’s survival –then they are lying to themselves and rationalizing away something in their lives, but, more importantly, they are slighting our warriors and mocking their commitment to the nation.
Since this generation’s “day of infamy” the American military has handed our ruthless enemy defeat after defeat but it will go on for years, if not decades, before this curse has been eradicated. We have done this by unceasing pursuit day and night into whatever miserable lair Al Qaeda, the Taliban, and their allies, might slither into to lay in wait for future opportunities to strike a blow at freedom. America’s warriors have never lost faith in their mission, or doubted the correctness of their cause. They face dangers everyday that their countrymen safe and comfortable this night cannot imagine. But this has always been the case in all the wars our military have been sent to fight. Not to build empires, or enslave peoples, but to free those held in the grip of tyrants while at the same time protecting our nation, its citizens, and our shared values. And, ladies and gentlemen, think about this, the only territory we as a people have ever asked for from any nation we have fought alongside, or against, since our founding, the entire extent of our overseas empire, as a few hundred acres of land for the 24 American cemeteries scattered around the globe. It is in these cemeteries where 220,000 of our sons and daughters rest in glory for eternity, or are memorialized forever because their earthly remains are lost forever in the deepest depths of the oceans, or never recovered from far flung and nameless battlefields. As a people, we can be proud because billions across the planet today live free, and billions yet unborn will also enjoy the same freedom and a chance at prosperity because America sent its sons and daughters out to fight and die for them, as much as for us.
Yes, we are at war, and are winning, but you wouldn’t know it because successes go unreported, and only when something does go sufficiently or is sufficiently controversial, it is highlighted by the media elite that then sets up the “know it all” chattering class to offer their endless criticism. These self-proclaimed experts always seem to know better, but have never themselves been in the arena. We are at war and like it or not, that is a fact. It is not Bush’s war, and it is not Obama’s war, it is our war and we can’t run away from it. Even if we wanted to surrender, there is no one to surrender to. Our enemy is savage, offers absolutely no quarter, and has a single focus and that is either kill every one of us here at home, or enslave us with a sick form of extremism that serves no God or purpose that decent men and women could ever grasp. St Louis is as much at risk as is New York and Washington, D.C… Given the opportunity to do another 9/11, our merciless enemy would do it today, tomorrow, and every day thereafter. If, and most in the know predict that it is only a matter of time, he acquires nuclear, chemical, or biological weapons, these extremists will use these weapons of mass murder against us without a moment’s hesitation. These butchers we fight killed more than 3,000 innocents on 9/11. As horrible as that death toll was, consider for a moment that the monsters that organized those strikes against New York and Washington, D.C. killed only 3,000 not because that was enough to make their sick and demented point, but because he couldn’t figure out how to kill 30,000, or 300,000, or 30 million of us that terrible day. I don’t know why they hate us, and I don’t care. We have a saying in the Marine Corps and that is “no better friend, no worse enemy, than a U.S. Marine.” We always hope for the first, friendship, but are certainly more than ready for the second. If it’s death they want, it’s death they will get, and the Marines will continue showing them the way to hell if that’s what will make them happy.
Because our America hasn’t been successfully attacked since 9/11 many forget because we want to forget, to move on. As Americans we all dream and hope for peace, but we must be realistic and acknowledge that hope is never an option or course of action when the stakes are so high. Others are less realistic or less committed, or are working their own agendas, and look for ways to blame past presidents or in some other way to rationalize a way out of this war. The problem is our enemy is not willing to let us go. Regardless of how much we wish this nightmare would go away, our enemy will stay forever on the offensive until he hurts us so badly we surrender, or we kill him first. To him, this is not about our friendship with Israel, or about territory, resources, jobs, or economic opportunity in the Middle East. No, it is about us as a people. About our freedom to worship any God we please in any way we want. It is about the worth of every man, and the worth of every woman, and their equality in the eyes of God and the law; of how we live our lives with our families, inside the privacy of our own homes. It’s about the God-given rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness and “that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable right.” As Americans we hold these truths to be self-evident. He doesn’t. We love what we have; he despises who we are. Our positions can never be reconciled. He cannot be deterred, only defeated. Compromise is out of the question.
It is a fact that our country today is in a life and death struggle against an evil enemy, but America as a whole is certainly not at war. Not as a country. Not as a people. Today, only a tiny fraction — less than a percent — shoulder the burden of fear and sacrifice, and they shoulder it for the rest of us. Their sons and daughters who serve are men and women of character who continue to believe in this country enough to put life and limb on the line without qualification, and without thought of personal gain, and they serve so that the sons and daughters of the other 99% don’t have to. No big deal, though, as Marines have always been “the first to fight” paying in full the bill that comes with being free for everyone else.
The comforting news for every American is that our men and women in uniform, and every Marine, is as good today as any in our history. As good as what their heroic, under-appreciated, and largely abandoned fathers and uncles were in Vietnam, and their grandfathers were in Korea and World War II. They have the same steel in their backs and have made their own mark etching forever places like Ramadi, Fallujah, and Baghdad, Iraq, and Helmand and Sagin, Afghanistan that are now part of the legend and stand just as proudly alongside Belleau Wood, Iwo Jima, Inchon, Hue City, Khe Sanh, and Ashau Valley, Vietnam. None of them have every asked what their country could do for them, but always and with their lives asked what they could do for America. While some might think we have produced yet another generation of materialistic, consumerist and self-absorbed young people, those who serve today have broken the mold and stepped out as real men, and real women, who are already making their own way in life while protecting ours. They know the real strength of a platoon, a battalion, or a country that is not worshiping at the altar of diversity, but in a melting point that stitches and strengthens by a sense of shared history, values, customs, hopes and dreams all of which unifies a people making them stronger, as opposed to an unruly gaggle of “hyphenated” or “multi-cultural individuals.”
And what are they like in combat in this war? Like Marines have been throughout our history. In my three tours in combat as an infantry officer and commanding general, I never saw one of them hesitate, or do anything other than lean into the fire and with no apparent fear of death or injury take the fight to our enemies. As anyone who has ever experienced combat knows, when it starts, when the explosions and tracers are everywhere and the calls for the Corpsman are screamed from the throats of men who know they are dying — when seconds seem like hours and it all becomes slow motion and fast forward at the same time — and the only rational act is to stop, get down, save yourself — they don’t. When no one would call them coward for cowering behind a wall or in a hole, slave to the most basic of all human instincts — survival –none of them do. It doesn’t matter if it’s an IED, a suicide bomber, mortar attack, sniper, fighting in the upstairs room of a house, or all of it at once; they talk, swagger, and, most importantly, fight today in the same way America’s Marines have since the Tun Tavern. They also know whose shoulders they stand on, and they will never shame any Marine living or dead.
We can also take comfort in the fact that these young Americans are not born killers, but are good and decent young men and women who for going on ten years have performed remarkable acts of bravery and selflessness to a cause they have decided is bigger and more important than themselves. Only a few months ago they were delivering your paper, stocking shelves in the local grocery store, worshiping in church on Sunday, or playing hockey on local ice. Like my own two sons who are Marines and have fought in Iraq, and today in Sagin, Afghanistan, they are also the same kids that drove their cars too fast for your liking, and played the God-awful music of their generation too loud, but have no doubt they are the finest of their generation. Like those who went before them in uniform, we owe them everything. We owe them our safety. We owe them our prosperity. We owe them our freedom. We owe them our lives. Any one of them could have done something more self-serving with their lives as the vast majority of their age group elected to do after high school and college, but no, they chose to serve knowing full well a brutal war was in their future. They did not avoid the basic and cherished responsibility of a citizen — the defense of country — they welcomed it. They are the very best this country produces, and have put every one of us ahead of themselves. All are heroes for simply stepping forward, and we as a people owe a debt we can never fully pay. Their legacy will be of selfless valor, the country we live in, the way we live our lives, and the freedoms the rest of their countrymen take for granted.
Over 5,000 have died thus far in this war; 8,000 if you include the innocents murdered on 9/11. They are overwhelmingly working class kids, the children of cops and firefighters, city and factory workers, school teachers and small business owners. With some exceptions they are from families short on stock portfolios and futures, but long on love of country and service to the nation. Just yesterday, too many were lost and a knock on the door late last night brought their families to their knees in a grief that will never, ever go away. Thousands more have suffered wounds since it all started, but like anyone who loses life or limb while serving others — including our firefighters and law enforcement personnel who on 9/11 were the first casualties of this war — they are not victims as they knew what they were about, and were doing what they wanted to do. The chattering class and all those who doubt America’s intentions, and resolve, endeavor to make them and their families out to be victims, but they are wrong. We who have served and are serving refuse their sympathy. Those of us who have lived in the dirt, sweat and struggle of the arena are not victims and will have none of that. Those with less of a sense of service to the nation never understand it when men and women of character step forward to look danger and adversity straight in the eye, refusing to blink, or give ground, even to their own deaths. The protected can’t begin to understand the price paid so they and their families can sleep safe and free at night. No, they are not victims, but are warriors, your warriors, and warriors are never victims regardless of how and where they fall. Death, or fear of death, has no power over them. Their paths are paved by sacrifice, sacrifices they gladly make…for you. They prove themselves everyday on the field of battle…for you. They fight in every corner of the globe…for you. They live to fight…for you, and they never rest because there is always another battle to be won in the defense of America.
I will leave you with a story about the kind of people they are…about the quality of the steel in their backs…about the kind of dedication they bring to our country while they serve in uniform and forever after as veterans. Two years ago when I was the Commander of all U.S. and Iraqi forces, in fact, the 22nd of April 2008, two Marine infantry battalions, 1/9 “The Walking Dead,” and 2/8 were switching out in Ramadi. One battalion in the closing days of their deployment going home very soon, the other just starting its seven-month combat tour. Two Marines, Corporal Jonathan Yale and Lance Corporal Jordan Haerter, 22 and 20 years old respectively, one from each battalion, were assuming the watch together at the entrance gate of an outpost that contained a makeshift barracks housing 50 Marines. The same broken down ramshackle building was also home to 100 Iraqi police, also my men and our allies in the fight against the terrorists in Ramadi, a city until recently the most dangerous city on earth and owned by Al Qaeda. Yale was a dirt poor mixed-race kid from Virginia with a wife and daughter, and a mother and sister who lived with him and he supported as well. He did this on a yearly salary of less than $23,000. Haerter, on the other hand, was a middle class white kid from Long Island. They were from two completely different worlds. Had they not joined the Marines they would never have met each other, or understood that multiple America’s exist simultaneously depending on one’s race, education level, economic status, and where you might have been born. But they were Marines, combat Marines, forged in the same crucible of Marine training, and because of this bond they were brothers as close, or closer, than if they were born of the same woman.
The mission orders they received from the sergeant squad leader I am sure went something like: “Okay you two clowns, stand this post and let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.” “You clear?” I am also sure Yale and Haerter then rolled their eyes and said in unison something like: “Yes Sergeant,” with just enough attitude that made the point without saying the words, “No kidding sweetheart, we know what we’re doing.” They then relieved two other Marines on watch and took up their post at the entry control point of Joint Security Station Nasser, in the Sophia section of Ramadi, Al Anbar, Iraq.
A few minutes later a large blue truck turned down the alley way — perhaps 60-70 yards in length — and sped its way through the serpentine of concrete jersey walls. The truck stopped just short of where the two were posted and detonated, killing them both catastrophically. Twenty-four brick masonry houses were damaged or destroyed. A mosque 100 yards away collapsed. The truck’s engine came to rest two hundred yards away knocking most of a house down before it stopped. Our explosive experts reckoned the blast was made of 2,000 pounds of explosives. Two died, and because these two young infantrymen didn’t have it in their DNA to run from danger, they saved 150 of their Iraqi and American brothers-in-arms.
When I read the situation report about the incident a few hours after it happened I called the regimental commander for details as something about this struck me as different. Marines dying or being seriously wounded is commonplace in combat. We expect Marines regardless of rank or MOS to stand their ground and do their duty, and even die in the process, if that is what the mission takes. But this just seemed different. The regimental commander had just returned from the site and he agreed, but reported that there were no American witnesses to the event, just Iraqi police. I figured if there was any chance of finding out what actually happened and then to decorate the two Marines to acknowledge their bravery, I’d have to do it as a combat award that requires two eye-witnesses and we figured the bureaucrats back in Washington would never buy Iraqi statements. If it had any chance at all, it had to come under the signature of a general officer.
I traveled to Ramadi the next day and spoke individually to a half-dozen Iraqi police all of whom told the same story. The blue truck turned down into the alley and immediately sped up as it made its way through the serpentine. They all said, “We knew immediately what was going on as soon as the two Marines began firing.” The Iraqi police then related that some of them also fired, and then to a man, ran for safety just prior to the explosion. All survived. Many were injured, some seriously. One of the Iraqis elaborated and with tears welling up said they’d run like any normal man would to save his life. What he didn’t know until then, he said, and what he learned that very instant, was that Marines are not normal. Choking past the emotion he said, “Sir, in the name of God no sane man would have stood there and done what they did.” “No sane man.” “They saved us all.”
What we didn’t know at the time, and only learned a couple of days later after I wrote a summary and submitted both Yale and Haerter for posthumous Navy Crosses, was that one of our security cameras, damaged initially in the blast, recorded some of the suicide attack. It happened exactly as the Iraqis had described it. It took exactly six seconds from when the truck entered the alley until it detonated.
You can watch the last six seconds of their young lives. Putting myself in their heads I supposed it took about a second for the two Marines to separately come to the same conclusion about what was going on once the truck came into their view at the far end of the alley. Exactly no time to talk it over, or call the sergeant to ask what they should do. Only enough time to take half an instant and think about what the sergeant told them to do only a few minutes before: “…let no unauthorized personnel or vehicles pass.” The two Marines had about five seconds left to live.
It took maybe another two seconds for them to present their weapons, take aim, and open up. By this time the truck was half-way through the barriers and gaining speed the whole time. Here, the recording shows a number of Iraqi police, some of whom had fired their AKs, now scattering like the normal and rational men they were — some running right past the Marines. They had three seconds left to live.
For about two seconds more, the recording shows the Marines’ weapons firing non-stop…the truck’s windshield exploding into shards of glass as their rounds take it apart and tore in to the body of the son-of-a-bitch who is trying to get past them to kill their brothers — American and Iraqi — bedded down in the barracks totally unaware of the fact that their lives at that moment depended entirely on two Marines standing their ground. If they had been aware, they would have known they were safe…because two Marines stood between them and a crazed suicide bomber. The recording shows the truck careening to a stop immediately in front of the two Marines. In all of the instantaneous violence Yale and Haerter never hesitated. By all reports and by the recording, they never stepped back. They never even started to step aside. They never even shifted their weight. With their feet spread shoulder width apart, they leaned into the danger, firing as fast as they could work their weapons. They had only one second left to live.
The truck explodes. The camera goes blank. Two young men go to their God. Six seconds. Not enough time to think about their families, their country, their flag, or about their lives or their deaths, but more than enough time for two very brave young men to do their duty…into eternity. That is the kind of people who are on watch all over the world tonight — for you.
We Marines believe that God gave America the greatest gift he could bestow to man while he lived on this earth: freedom. We also believe he gave us another gift nearly as precious: our soldiers, sailors, airmen, Coast Guardsmen, and Marines — to safeguard that gift and guarantee no force on this earth can ever steal it away. It has been my distinct honor to have been with you here today. Rest assured our America, this experiment in democracy started over two centuries ago, will forever remain the “land of the free and home of the brave” so long as we never run out of tough young Americans who are willing to look beyond their own self-interest and comfortable lives, and go into the darkest and most dangerous places on earth to hunt down, and kill, those who would do us harm.
God bless America, and SEMPER FIDELIS!
With only 15 days remaining until I leave Spain for America, I’ve been traveling a fair amount. I want to make the most of the weeks I have left. But I’m really fortunate to have travelled pretty extensively within Spain. I’ve been to Madrid, Toledo, Alicante, Valencia, Altea, Granada, Murcia and Santiago de Compostela.
But until today, there was once place I had yet to check off my list. “Go to Barcelona!” urged my Spanish friends. “Go to Barcelona!” urged my fellow students. “Go to Barcelona!” urged the program director. So on Monday, I went ahead with two friends and went to Barcelona. It’s a good week to travel, because this week there were two Spanish national holidays: Día de la Constitución (Constitution Day) and Día de la Inmaculada (Day of the Immaculate Conception). I didn’t even have to miss class.
A little about Barcelona: it’s the capital city of Cataluña, one of Spain’s wealthiest autonomous communities. The Catalán people have a long tradition of fierce nationalism; this is not surprising, since their language, culture, and economy have been very different from the rest of the country for centuries. The city is absolutely beautiful, due in large part to the Modernist architectural masterpieces that dot the cityscape.
We stayed at a fantastic hostel — the other guests were very friendly, and the owner showed us how to make paella and sangria! We saw a large part of the city, although we had to hop one of those horribly tacky double-decker tourist buses in order to do so. Some highlights included the city’s cathedral, the Gothic Quarter, and several of Gaudi’s buildings (including, of course, La Sagrada Familia). We cruised past the huge stadium where FC Barcelona (or Barça) plays. We explored Parque Güell, Parque de la Ciutadella, and a bit of the Barcelona nightlife.
Two interesting side notes before I get to the fun stuff (pictures). First, Barcelona is apparently home to legions of very skilled pickpockets. There is very little violent crime, but plenty of people lose their phones and wallets without ever being the wiser. Knowing this, I was very aware of my surroundings while in Barcelona — nonetheless, I actually had a close call. I was walking around in an outdoor market, and as I was passing a small Christmas tree display, one of the trees suddenly fell over. I thought I had somehow kicked it, and I bent over to pick it back up and apologize to the owner, who shrugged. When I stood up, I noticed that my phone was about 90 percent out of my front right pocket. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I had checked that pocket literally seconds before and the phone was seated securely at the bottom of the pocket. And I don’t think I kicked that tree, so I think I got very lucky.
The other thing is that Barcelona has a weird obsession with figurines of people defecating. Literally every tourist store you go into has little wooden, plastic, or ceramic statues of people squatting down with their pants down. The artistic subjects include the new president, Manuel Rajoy, George Bush, Barack Obama, Spiderman, and even Hello Kitty. I ask a lady selling them what the deal is with the crapping figurines is, and she tells me they bring good luck. I didn’t buy any.
Last weekend, four friends and I met up in Paris for a Washington & Lee Thanksgiving. We staged a little bit of an encore this weekend — my buddy Steele and I went and visited the United Kingdom. I’ve just gotten back, and by the time this is posted I’ll be on my way to Barcelona for the final trip of my semester in Spain. So I need to keep this post briefer than I’d like — what follows is really just a skeleton of the details.
Steele and I went and visited our friend Stephanie, who is studying at Worcester College this year. Stephanie went out of her way to show us a great time — we saw the Oxford nightlife, which is hilarious, fun, and completely unlike anything I have ever seen. Apparently drinking out of shoes (literally, the ones they wear on their feet) is something of a tradition for Worcester students.
Oxford is a college town to the hilt. Because the university is separated into colleges of only a few hundred students, there are really tight-knit communities. The students are also really, really smart and the academics are top-notch (if that even need be said). Stephanie’s classes basically consist of meeting one-on-one with a “tutor,” reading a prepared redaction and analysis of a given theme, and having her tutor critique her thought process. One Oxford student described her education as “having to learn everything yourself, and then having someone pick holes in your work.” On top of all that, the school is completely gorgeous and just unbelievably full of history.
I’m already breaking my word about the brevity thing — I knew this would happen. Here are some pictures:
I had a big list of stuff Steele and I did in London, but the truth is that I actually had some bad luck in London. I lost my phone on the Underground (and thus the list), and I managed to miss my return flight back to Alicante. Two very costly screw-ups that I haven’t really stopped kicking myself for.
Still, we saw and did a LOT in London, and I had a great time. A quick list of stuff we did:
The British Museum: This was one of the coolest museums I have ever seen. It was absolutely phenomenal, and completely overwhelming in its scope. There were mummies, Greek and Roman sculptures, Easter Island figurines, and really a little bit of everything from the ancient world.
The Imperial War Museum: This museum was great — it had exhibits on World War I (including one with a simulated trench), World War II, and Britain’s various military exploits in the 20th century.
Chinese food: Yeah, it’s not that much different from American Chinese food, but it was my first taste of something even slightly spicy since being in Europe, so I consider it noteworthy.
Tower Bridge and the Tower of London: Pretty cool, but we didn’t actually go inside because they charge an arm and a leg to get in. The student rate was 17£, which is like $27. Also, the place seemed a little bit touristy. There was an ice rink set up in front of the Tower, so we gathered it’s changed a bit since the princes got murdered.
Whitehall: This area of London has a ton of stuff — Parliament, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, and the like. It was nice, but there wasn’t actually so much to do here, it was mostly stuff to see.
Trafalgar Square: Probably my favorite bit of London. It was so cool! Pictures below.
Dinner with more W&L friends: We met up with Annie, who is also studying at Oxford, and Madison, who is studying in Rome, for dinner. It was a great time, but I have a sneaking suspicion that the restaurant we ate at was the British equivalent of Applebee’s.
Again, sorry for typing up a novel. Pictures:
There is a psychological tendency, I think, to start preparing for major changes before they have even happened.
Sometimes this is good. Other times, it’s bad.
High school seniors, upon acceptance to college, often contract “senioritis,” believing that they will have smooth sailing for the rest of high school. They say that soldiers deployed in combat environments start losing their edge towards the end of their tours — their thoughts are with their families, not engaged in the fight.
At OCS this summer, the sergeant instructors had a name for this phenomenon. They called it “getting on the bus.” Approximately a week before graduation, the platoon started getting slacker on discipline. Our drill movements were shabby, our sound-offs were weak, and candidates moved slower responding to commands. The SIs would snarl: “You ain’t on the bus yet. There’s still time to fail.”
The point of these little anecdotes is to illustrate the great danger of “getting on the bus” before it is ready to leave. More than a few high school students have had their college admissions revoked after failing a class. In combat, checking out mentally gets good men killed. And it’s always possible to fail OCS, even on graduation day. As one Staff Sergeant liked to say: “Complacency kills.”
The same adage applies to my time remaining here in Spain. At this point, I’m three-odd weeks from touching down on American soil. And I’m catching myself getting slack. I’m thinking too much about where I’ll be, instead of about where I am. I’m listening to American songs again, even though I’ve been forcing myself to listen to music only in Spanish. I feel less urgency about studying, and I don’t feel as compelled to get out there and practice my speaking skills. In short, I’ve gotten on the bus — and I need to get off.
What I am doing is exactly the opposite of what I should be doing. The fact that I’m close to the metaphorical finish line doesn’t mean I should slow down. On the contrary, I should be ramping up the intensity and putting every last measure of effort into my Spanish studies here.
One of the disadvantages of studying abroad is that you miss a lot of holidays from back home. And missing out can sometimes be a little rough. You see Facebook statuses, Twitter updates, and pictures from America that remind you of all the memories you’ve missed out on. I’ve found that the best cure for staving off the homesickness is creating memories of your own. So this year for Thanksgiving, I went to Paris.
I wasn’t alone — in fact, I met up with four friends from Washington and Lee. Stephanie is spending a year abroad studying philosophy and politics at Oxford. Natasha is studying in Geneva and working with the United Nations. Steele is toiling with French and international relations in Paris. And Ashley (who described wintry Paris as “balmy”) is in Denmark.
The result was probably the most awesome weekend I’ve had in Europe. We did some touristy things: in only two days, we managed to see the Invalides, Napoleon’s tomb, the Arc du Triomphe, the Champs Elysees, the Chateau de Vincennes, the Seinne booksellers, and the Eiffel Tower. We ate Nutella crêpes, attended a wine tasting (unlimited wine was cheaper than a single cup of coffee, thanks France), and had chocolate croissants.
The best times, however, were undoubtedly those with my fellow Generals. It was so much fun catching up with everyone. Stephanie apparently knows Emma Watson (who is also studying at Oxford) and shared a very interesting music playlist with the group. Natasha rubs shoulders with Liberian diplomats. Steele lives in a palace of an apartment and talks politics with a (seemingly — I don’t speak French) polished French accent. And Ashley regaled us with tales of Danish hospitality and Scandinavian adventures.
Seeing my W&L friends was just what I needed — my program here in Spain is winding down, and in exactly 26 days I will be back in the United States. But I’ll be bringing back a lot of great memories…and I’ll get to see everyone again for more than just a weekend!
Desde España, un abrazo fuerte.
“There can be few cities in the world as beautiful as Santiago [de Compostela] that are founded on the basis of so preposterous a story.” – Lonely Planet guide to Spain.
Santiago de Compostela is the capital city of Galicia, a vibrant autonomous community (sort of like a state) in the northwestern extremity of Spain. Galicia is known for some of the freshest seafood in Europe, owing to the many rías (fjords) along its coasts. It is also the origin of gallego, one of Spain’s four official languages (the others are Castilian Spanish, Catalán, and Basque). Additionally, the city is the ultimate destination for thousands of pilgrims who trek the Camino de Santiago, a rugged route across southern France and northern Spain.
Legend has it that the beheaded body of the Apostle James was transported to Galicia. In 813, a shepherd claimed to find the remains of Santiago. The discovery was “confirmed” by a bishop, and a great cathedral was erected over the saint’s body. Over time, the city of Santiago de Compostela grew around the cathedral, and became one of the great cities of Spain.
I spent three days in this historic city. Unfortunately, it was cold and rainy most of the time. Galicia is part of “green Spain,” the northern zone of the country. Its weather, geography, and culture are completely different from Alicante — at times, I wondered if I was in a different country.
Despite the weather, I had a great time. The gray weather actually enhanced the austere medieval feel of the city. And my travel companions and I got a lot done in three days! We ate some good food, saw the famous cathedral, and walked a TON. I am pretty sure that we saw the entire city on foot — Lord, we walked a lot.
Anyway, enough boring reading. Pictures:
I know I said enough with the boring reading, but I lied. In addition to studying Spanish, I also study politics. In fact, I’m a huge pol nerd. So I can’t restrain myself from recording this little observation.
The Spanish national elections are coming up, and all commentators expect a landslide victory for the right-wing Popular Party. But in Galicia, I noticed something interesting — the campaign signs for the other major party, the Spanish Socialist Worker’s Party (PSOE) are all written in Galician!
The above PSOE slogan in Spanish is “Pelea por lo que quieres,” which means, “Fight for what you love.” On the other hand, the PP slogan is “Súmate al cambio,” or “Become part of the change.”
It doesn’t seem like a big deal that PSOE’s signs are in gallego unless you know a little bit about the history and politics of Spain. Under Franco’s regime, there was one Spain and one language. Regional differences were brutally repressed — if you spoke Galician in public, you were liable to end up in jail. After Franco’s death in 1975, the new Spanish government recognized “autonomous communities” that maintained their own separate languages and cultures.
The thing is, the degree of autonomy enjoyed by communities is contentious in Spanish politics. Supporters of PSOE tend to favor more autonomy for the local cultures, and you can see that stance reflected in the above picture. The PP, on the other hand, prefers more centralized government — which may be the reason why its campaign signs in Santiago are all in Castilian Spanish.
Anyway, enough political nerdiness. Maybe I’ll write a post sometimes about Spanish politics, but I don’t know that a) I have sufficient objective information about it and b) anyone would actually read it.
¡Un abrazo fuerte desde España!
Sorry to interrupt the Spain blogging, but today deserves a special post. Because 236 years ago today, the world’s finest fighting organization was born.
The Marines — leathernecks, devil dogs, “no better friends, no worse enemies”– have served with honor and distinction in every American armed conflict. Belleau Wood, Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Iwo Jima, Chosin Reservoir, Hue City, Fallujah: the Marine Corps sanctified these places with blood and sacrifice. And it has sustained itself through honor, courage, and commitment.
This year is particularly special, because it also marks 10 years of continuous war. For 10 years, the armed services have borne the brunt of heavy fighting and constant deployments. Those sacrifices are unequal. As one anonymous sign in a forward operating base said: “America is not at war. The Marine Corps is at war. America is at the mall.”
In the words of Lieutenant General John Kelly:
“It is a fact that our country today is in a life and death struggle against an evil enemy, but America as a whole is certainly not at war. Not as a country. Not as a people. Today, only a tiny fraction-‐less than a percent-‐shoulder the burden of fear and sacrifice, and they shoulder it for the rest of us. Their sons and daughters who serve are men and women of character who continue to believe in this country enough to put life and limb on the line without qualification, and without thought of personal gain, and they serve so that the sons and daughters of the other 99% don’t have to. No big deal, though, as Marines have always been “the first to fight” paying in full the bill that comes with being free…for everyone else…
We can also take comfort in the fact that these young Americans are not born killers, but are good and decent young men and women who for going on ten years have performed remarkable acts of bravery and selflessness to a cause they have decided is bigger and more important than themselves. Only a few months ago they were delivering your paper, stocking shelves in the local grocery store, worshiping in church on Sunday, or playing hockey on local ice. Like my own two sons who are Marines and have fought in Iraq, and today in Sangin, Afghanistan, they are also the same kids that drove their cars too fast for your liking, and played the God-‐awful music of their generation too loud, but have no doubt they are the finest of their generation. Like those who went before them in uniform, we owe them everything. We owe them our safety. We owe them our prosperity. We owe them our freedom. We owe them our lives. Any one of them could have done something more self-‐ serving with their lives as the vast majority of their age group elected to do after high school and college, but no, they chose to serve knowing full well a brutal war was in their future. They did not avoid the basic and cherished responsibility of a citizen-‐the defense of country-‐they welcomed it. They are the very best this country produces, and have put every one of us ahead of themselves. All are heroes for simply stepping forward, and we as a people owe a debt we can never fully pay. Their legacy will be of selfless valor, the country we live in, the way we live our lives, and the freedoms the rest of their countrymen take for granted.”
Indomitable Spirit: The 236th Marine Corps Birthday Message
Message from the Commandant of the Marine Corps, Gen. James Amos, and the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, Sgt. Maj. Barrett.
Marine 9/11 Rap
This video was made shortly after 9/11 by a Marine staff sergeant.
May God bless the United States Marine Corps, and keep our Marines in harm’s way safe.
Semper Fidelis, and Happy Birthday.