Once-forgotten War on Terror hits home

Blazing bursts of black and white have blinded me to the shades of journalistic gray through which I long have viewed the world’s armed conflicts. I can see clearly now, the haze is gone, all neutrality has disappeared.

They tell me that’s what happens when one of your own lands in the hot zone.

My older brother — and I’m 51 so that should tell you something — will soon be boots-on-the-ground in a part of the world that’s interesting, like a Chinese curse.

Joining the surge

The Bro is part of President Obama’s troop surge in the Afghanistan Overseas Contingency Operation designed to realign wayward villagers with the Afghani government and win them from the Taliban.

I don’t know about all that. I know that I once considered Afghanistan the forgotten War on Terror, the war we were authorized to fight by the world community, complete with support from NATO allies like Germany, England and others.

I don’t know how The Bro feels about it. I didn’t ask. I was not going to argue with him about politics and semantics before he took off for a very dangerous job dealing with people who think not a whit like us.

The Taliban ain’t no Longwood College sorority. They’re motivated by religious fanaticism and have regrouped, adapted the improvised explosive device/ambush tactic, taken over portions of Pakistan and are on the comeback.  That worries me to point that I stare at the news networks to glean information on the province in which The Bro will be deployed.

They tell me that’s what happens when one of your own is involved.

My sympathetic understanding of military supply shortages also has disappeared. It turns out that all of the tools soldiers need when they go out on the edge of their life line — upgraded body armor, binoculars with range finders, simple compasses that work when satellite reception is poor, combat knives — all are expected to come into a soldiers possession somewhere else down the line.

Do-it-yourself expectation

They do, too. Many buy the goods themselves or friends and family purchase them and send it to them.

Being outfit for war by your mom and dad instead of the country that just bought General Motors causes me great anger. They tell me that’s what happens when one of your own is mobilized.

Most disturbing, perhaps, is a sudden loss of empathy. I care nothing any more of the struggles of the people, or the concept of Good Religion and Bad Religion. There is no gray area of operation for me. Wanting The Bro to come home to his family has shoved my line between Good and Bad far further into what I once considered Bad’s territory.

I find myself willing to accept actions I otherwise denounced. All that matters is that everything works out in The Bro’s favor and that he and those with him return unscathed. I really don’t care who or how many “others” are killed to make it so.

It may not be right, but that’s the way I feel.

They tell me that often happens when one of your own is involved.