I can probably list the journalists who I believe when they speak (or write) on one hand. Maybe two hands. Not hands and toes.
Michael Ware is one of the few, perhaps the first I’d name, who’s not a shill for the corps and the war machine (is there a difference, when there’s profit to be made?).
I’ve never experienced war. It’s hard to imagine a time when my job “was” “kill people”. I can’t relate to being a warrior. I can relate to their pain when they return home.
Some snippets of Mr. Ware’s thoughts.
I should be dead. I wish I was.
Maybe it wasn’t death I wanted so much as it was oblivion.
I know one day my now-young son will read this, hopefully when he himself is a man. I pray not sooner. It’s for him, and only for him, that I resisted. Once I realized even a deadbeat father, should I become one, is still better than the specter of a dead dad, especially at his own hand.
But so it goes. We just have to suck it up. [...] I’m here to tell you none of us has any choice. Because living is there to be done and it’s we who must do it.
Rejoice in the end of the Iraq war. Be joyful when the war in Afghanistan ends. But don’t forget that those who served were, in their own way, serving you.
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