WAR

There were many of us, over a hundred at least, yet everyone sat in complete silence. All one could hear was the rattling and rumbling sounds of the old C-130 (an army aircraft). We were about 30,000 feet in the air, and we could feel it as the cold winds pierced through the faltering body of the aircraft. Many thoughts were wandering through my mind, one of which was my wondering of what everyone else was thinking. As I looked around the plane I noticed that nearly everyone had the same look of uncertainty written on their faces. There was no carpets, no attendants, not even a no smoking sign, just a bunch of social security numbers on a one stop flight to Iraq.

I was feeling a mix of things, but nervousness wasn’t one of them. I, along with most of the country,  was out for blood after the recent 9/11 attacks. I had no idea why we were headed to Iraq of all places, but as a young soldier all I knew was to support my leaders. It would be untruthful of me to imply that I wasn’t a little afraid, but it was only because of the possibility of me not returning home. But I couldn’t dwell too much on those feelings, I was a soldier, and the idea of actually going to war made me feel like one. I was ready for the first fight, for the first mission. I was ready to be a part of history.

After a short while of being in Iraq, we (the soldiers) had killed many Iraqis. By the way we reacted when we would hear of Iraqi deaths one would think we saw them as game, the more the better. Our hearts would go out to the family of 30 fallen soldiers, but we would celebrate at the fact that we at least killed 500 Iraqis.

By the second time I went to Iraq I began to question our efforts and our occupying of that country. More and more soldiers were dying, some including my very own friends, and for what? I asked. As we patrolled through the streets children threw rocks at us, and made gestures that are equivalent to the meaning of our middle fingers. Adults glared at us with hatred in their eyes, possibly contriving their next efforts to eradicating as many of us as they possibly could.

Can we blame them? I look at Iraq now with a heavy heart. Though I do believe these people are crazy, I understand that I am looking at them through the eyes of an American. Because of my experience with them I can’t see them as the terrorist caricatures that this administration and the media have made them out to be. They are, in fact, passionate people who are fighting for their way of life, which is very contrary to that of ours. They aren’t any worse than we would be if people were trying to inhabit our country and impose their will upon us.

I feel for every Iraqi that dies as a result of this unjust war. Through they are not all good people, they all have families. They are brothers, sisters, mothers and fathers, and so much more. These are people, human beings; my God I hope we end this war.