Opinion
An older man calmly asked her to tell what she knew about what a corporal was? Did she know what it took to become a Corporal of Marines? Could she please tell what she knew about what a Corporal of Marines did? Would she please share with them what she thought a Corporal of Marines had seen, had done?
She said she "didn't pay much attention to things like military ranks." She went on to say that she knew that "War is never the answer. And it does not matter where the man had been, what he had seen or done, when the point is that war is never the answer!"
The older man felt pity for the woman even as he realized that his blood was beginning to boil. He wondered how anyone could judge someone as unworthy at the same time they were admitting that they did not even know about the person they were condemning. He remembered that when the Nazis were attacking Great Briton that during a radio show that George Orwell had said: "People sleep peaceably in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf." But he did not say any of this out loud. Instead, without ever interrupting, he listened to the woman go on and on that she knew exactly how to fix the world.
Then he slowly and with conscious gentleness told her that to become a Corporal of Marines that first a young man or woman must enlist by signing a contract committing to serve for a fixed time. Say four or five years. During which time he or she would give up the right to live in the place of their choice, to work in a job of their own choosing. Giving up the right to awaken when they wanted to wake up, to take a weekend off, to call in sick because they just did not feel like going to work that day. Giving up the right to choose whom they would associate with. Giving up even the ability to choose what clothes to wear or what to eat that day. Giving up the right to be with their families, to be with their loved ones.
The old man said that when a man or a woman signs their enlistment papers they know are signing a blank check to give their country any amount required, up to and including their life.
He said that one of the first things the young man or woman who was to become a Corporal of Marines must do is to enter Marine Boot Camp as a "recruit." In boot camp the "recruit" must pass numerous tests – physical tests, intellectual tests, emotional tests – in order to graduate. Many do not pass those tests. The ones that do may become "privates." Then they must pass more tests, demonstrate competency in a series of increasingly more difficult, more complex, more demanding tasks, perform more duties satisfactorily, avoid disciplinary actions that could prevent promotion to the rank of "Private First Class." This must be accomplished yet again to be promoted to the rank of "Lance Corporal."
The older man then explained that these had all been "enlisted ranks." He said that the next rank was a step up to be a "non-commissioned officer." That a Corporal of Marines was trained to be, and did become, and must be a leader of Marines in all the enlisted ranks. That far from blindly doing only whatever they were told, that a Corporal of Marines must accomplish tasks not of their own choosing, charged with deciding how best to do so quickly, efficiently, without the resources they may desire, constantly adapting to unpredictable conditions that can change in a moment, all while minimizing risk to civilians and other troops. Because if the corporal was found to have unnecessarily endangered either troops or civilians then the corporal may spend a long time in prison
The old man shared with the woman the experience he had on a flight sitting next to a Marine Lance Corporal returning from duty overseas to his family in Oklahoma, how the young Marine had been seriously wounded and how they had talked about the different kinds of nightmares they had. Nightmares about what had happened. Nightmares about what almost happened, could have happened. How they instantly knew the difference between these two types of nightmares.
They talked about how sometimes at first they would have clear recall of an event, then later when they tried to think about it again, they would only be able to find a "memory of the memory," because their minds would find it too painful to go back to the original memory.
Then they talked about nightmares at night that you wake up covered in sweat. Nightmares in the daytime that you stuff away and do your best to realize that you are not there anymore and act as if everything is OK so that you do not upset other people.
They talked about how they did not talk with family members, girlfriends or wives about what they had seen, heard, felt, because one of the reasons they went to war was so that the family members, the wife, the girlfriend, would never have to have those terrible experiences.
The old man talked slowly and gently. He asked a question of the woman who said she did not know and did not care what a Corporal of Marines was. He asked her how many people she had known in her lifetime who were capable of doing everything it took to be a Corporal of Marines?
The woman was silent. She did not answer. The old man apologized if he had upset her. He politely gave his leave and walked out into the night.
When he got outside he quickly stepped to the side so he would be silhouetted by the door light for as short a moment as possible. He scanned the tree line for any shape, any movement that was out of place. His hands felt empty without his rifle. He drove home to another night when he would wake up again and again listening for any noise that did not seem right.
In the morning after a total of a few hours of sleep in a cool room the sheets on his bed were soaked with his sweat. And he wondered if the woman at the party would remember anything at all about what it was to be a Corporal of Marines.
R. Randy Sutton is a proud Marine dad. He lives in Lakeport.
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- Written by: R. Randy Sutton
As a friend said to me, the other day, “As the first state to overturn the ban on interracial marriages, it seems we have taken a few steps backwards, as far as civil rights are concerned. In fact, we are now officially more concerned about the rights of farm animals than we are about the rights of humans.”
With this in the back of my mind, I write this, as I can’t help wonder if we the people realize how far we have left to go to truly see “the promised land” of freedom, liberty, justice and equality for ALL.
As the new President Elect Obama gave his acceptance speech, I was touched. But not touched in the way most people were. Instead of rejoicing of how far we have come, I was reminded of how far we have left to go. I was reminded of my own life and the struggles I had gone through and continue to go through as well as the struggles I continue to see other minorities go through currently on a daily basis.
I write this not thinking of myself (as it may seem, as you read further) but of others who have had it far worse than me and continue to struggle as a result of being a minority. In fact, as you read, keep in mind that I consider myself rather fortunate. Those who know me know that I do not dwell on these things daily but rather have spent my entire life overcoming these things to live a very good life despite them. My struggles and the struggles of "my people" have been minor compared to the struggles of many others whose civil and human rights have yet to be acknowledged.
Therefore, let it be known, I am not writing to gain pity but to share perspective and to shed a little light on the subject so that you may understand that minorities and the struggles for their equality against discrimination come in many forms and still very much exist even as many of us celebrate the latest “victory” in the “civil rights movement.”
I am a physically challenged woman. It isn't a label I am most comfortable with but it is the one that is most relevant at the moment and it is my label as a “minority.”
There are other labels for me, as well. Labels like handicap, cripple, gimp and … my personal favorite (which my own grandmother on my father's side likes to use) … invalid. No, I didn't spell that last one wrong. The same word used for someone who is disabled or chronically ill is the same word used for not being valid because it has been based on a mistake. Put that up against pretty much any label used as a racial slur against African Americans or women and you might just understand where I am coming from as a minority. Even the word “disabled,” when broken down, is quite an offensive term, as it means “rendered unable to function.” And disabled has been rendered the "politically correct" label.
And, while laws for rights of women and African Americans were being put on the books in the 1890s and in the 1950s, it is a little realized fact that the first laws concerning physically challenged people's rights didn't come about until the 1990s.
In fact, historically, even less than a half of a century ago, people equated "physical disability" with "mental disability" and as such even the least physically challenged people were kept in asylums and mental hospitals and as a general rule were segregated not just from society but from their own families through ignorance and shame. It was also not so long ago that physically challenged people were considered everything from idiots to freaks.
And, technically, even today, forms of "genocide" are still being used on physically challenged people through the forms of termination of pregnancies and "mercy killings" because (again) they are considered mistakes or unable to function in life. (I found this out, recently, when I attempted to look up my own specific physical birth "defect" and found that it has become very rare not because they have found a way to cure or prevent it but because technology allows early detection of it and therefore early termination of those who have it.) That is the past and present "history" of "my people".
In my own recent history, as a physically challenged person, I spent my first three years of grade school in a "handicap school" completely segregated from able-bodied children (of all races and religions). Yes, that meant that as I watched African American children being "integrated" I myself was still segregated.
In fact, my parents and I actually had to "prove" through numerous IQ tests and other psychological and mental tests that just because my legs didn't work didn't mean my mind didn't work before I was "allowed" to receive an equal education. (It reminded me of how African Americans had to go through a number of tests to prove their intelligence before they were allowed to vote despite their inalienable rights and ability to do so.)
Much to the surprise of even my parents, my IQ was higher than the average "able bodied" student, and this is what broke me out of segregation (this and my parents threatening to sue the school system) putting me into a "public school," as integration of the physically challenged was not a mandate of the government, at that time. This was in the mid-1970s.
And, despite the many positive changes brought about recently by the ADA, I am still faced (on a daily basis) with many forms of inequality, discrimination and even segregation. Very similarly to the way African Americans and women were not allowed in certain places or in certain areas due to their "color" and "gender," I am still restricted from certain places and segregated, even in this day and age.
In fact, my basic and essential need to access a bathroom is restricted on a daily basis because there are so many places I can't go to the bathroom due to inaccessibility. And, many of the bathrooms I am able to use are labeled strictly for "handicapped" (by the way, there is another one of those derogatory labels … as handicap comes from cap in hand referring to the physically challenged people who had to beg on the streets with cap in hand because they could not get hired for a job) which reminds me of when things (like bathrooms) were labeled "colored."
Even my choice in housing is limited, as I cannot get into many private dwellings due to their lack of accessibility, despite a number of housing discrimination laws. In fact, there was a time in my life where I was stuck living in a home for senior citizens (in my early 20s) because that was the only "accessible" apartment complex I could get into.
There are restaurants I cannot get into, due to the lack of accessibility. I can't tell you how many times I have had to enter through the service entrance to get into a restaurant and how many other times I could not even get into a restaurant much less their restrooms. I even remember having to use the service elevator to get to an accessible bathroom which was located in a dark basement of a club whereas other "able bodied" people could use the bathroom on the first floor. (Reminding me of how African Americans had to use the service entrances of restaurants, clubs and hotels.)
In fact, everywhere I go, steps and curbs dictate where I can go and where I cannot – steps and curbs made not by nature but by the people of this country. I lived on the East Coast for awhile and even one of the most famous civil rights monuments, the Lincoln Memorial, was off limits to me. Imagine that. And, once, attending an awards ceremony where I was to receive an award, I had to come in through the back entrance, I could not get on the stage to receive the award and there was no accessible bathroom for me after sitting through an awards ceremony of several hours.
When I go to theaters, if I can get into them, I am often forced to sit in the back of the theater in a special "handicapped" area. This is a minor thing but when the theater has Dolby sound it is a nightmare as it is set up for the main dialog to come out of the front speakers and the background noises to come from the speakers in the back of the theater so all I get to hear is the background noises making the experience very unpleasant and a complete waste of my money. (Again, this reminds me of how African Americans were forced to the back of the bus.)
Speaking of buses, because of the way the bus systems are set up, with so many inaccessible bus stops, I am forced to actually pay more than the average person who rides the bus in order to get to the same places they are going, As well, I am usually put in the back of the bus as that is where the "handicapped" seating is located most of the time on buses. Many of the bus systems I have to ride (like Dial A Ride) stop their pickups early (Dial A Ride's last pickup being 5:30 p.m. to 6 p.m., which means I have to be ready and waiting for them at 5:30 p.m.) whereas the routes for able-bodied people go well into the night.
And, last but not least, this year, on Nov. 4, when I went to vote I was segregated, ushered to the back of the room, to vote, as there was no place for me to vote in the area where everyone else was voting. As I went to put my ballot in the box, someone else had to put it in the box for me because the box was located out of my reach. Again, simply a reminder of how far we have left to go.
Again, as I have said, I don't dwell on these things and I am not bringing them up now as a request for your pity. I am not asking for your pity but for your awareness. These are issues I rarely bring up personally and even more rarely bring up publicly, partially because I have kind of grown accustomed to this sort of treatment, partially because I feel it is easier to change myself than ask the world to change, but mostly because I have learned to adapt and live focusing on the good things in my life rather than the bad.
But, when I see everyone getting all excited about how far civil rights have come and celebrating as if the struggle for equality is over because we now have a president of obvious mixed race, I am reminded of my own struggles as well as the struggles of less popular minorities. I really do feel deeply in my heart that we need to be reminded that we have a long way to go before we have truly created freedom, liberty, justice and equal rights for all.
Andrea Anderson lives in Lakeport.
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- Written by: Andrea Anderson
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