By Marcus Michles

What patriotism is

In the bowels of the Atlanta airport, I settled in near a pole to cling to on the underground train.  As I did, my attention was drawn to three young soldiers moving in beside me.  I instantly assessed the screaming eagle patch of the 101st Airborne Division on their left shoulders.

It was a patch worn proudly by my father who scorned the day I volunteered instead for the 82nd Airborne Division.  I also instinctively noticed the crisp patches of similar design on the right shoulder of two of the three soldiers.  Combat patches, newly issued.

By the way they wore their camel backs and had rigged their equipment, I knew without a doubt that they were infantrymen.  Like everyone else on the train, they seemed wearily detached from their environment.

But while some of us were tired by our day’s travels, these men’s fatigue was different.  Theirs was the kind of fatigue that comes from a combination unique to warriors: from worry, from fear, from a pace and workload that turns your circadian rhythm upside down.  But mostly it comes from uncertainty.  Not knowing.  Not knowing if you are right or wrong, weak or strong, if you are changed or are the same.  Not knowing simply whether tomorrow will truly be another day.

Everyone stared ahead, no one spoke.  Then as the train doors closed, I noticed that both of the men on the flanks of the third, without saying a word and without so much as changing their expressions, placed a hand on the third’s shoulder to steady him, as he had no place to hold onto.

In a moment the train lurched forward, and we all shifted our weight and clung to the poles and handles to keep from falling – all of us except the one soldier in the middle that was supported by the other two.  For the next three stops, these men repeated the silent exercise – instinctively protecting the one exposed- until they got off and went to their gate.

In an instant I knew that these men knew what I had learned a long time ago but was in constant need of reminding – we are all dependent on each other.  It would be easy to think that these men’s bond was forged by gunfire and that they acted out of affinity for each other, but that is too simple and misses the point.  They knew from their experiences that they needed each and every man regardless of race, color, creed, politics or opinions.  Without each man, their chances of success and possibly survival are exponentially diminished.  Instinctively, they are applying this knowledge on the train, as they would for the rest of their days.

On our nation’s birthday, it is time to consider what it means to be an American and to celebrate it.  I was asked to write about “patriotism” which I often fear has been reduced to lapel pens, car magnets and “I Support the Troops” T-shirts.  While that may be patriotic, that is not patriotism.

Patriotism is understanding the core of this country and what makes it stand out from others, freedom.

Freedom comes in many forms: to assemble, to worship as you choose, to speak your mind, to educate your children, to work, to play and to prioritize your own life.

Yet we are more and more missing a fundamental of this freedom.  Freedom of speech, for example, is also the freedom to listen, not only to those Americans that think like you do but also to those that you don’t agree with.   Yes, to those Americans who don’t worship as you do, don’t think like you do, don’t vote like you do, and to those who may not look like you do.

More often we shout down or ignore those with whom we disagree, and we only listen to those who think like we do, whether it be our favorite talking head or radio host, our favorite columnist, clergyman or spokesperson.  We seek only validation and reinforcement of our opinions and our views and we shun all others.

Patriotism is recognizing that this country was founded by debate and by a willingness, indeed the courage, to share ideas, cultures, vastly differing values and ideals, all for a common good.  A common good.  An American good.  Not an individual good.  I see less and less of this type of courage in America today.

Where would this nation be if John Adams did not have the courage to listen to Thomas Jefferson, a man with whom Adams had almost no political agreement?

America would likely have been at war with England, France, or perhaps both.

What if Sam Houston had not listened to Sam Bowie, a man Houston scorned as a reckless drunkard?

The Alamo would have been abandoned without a fight with the Texas territories likely falling to Mexican control.

What about if George Washington had shouted down or ignored James Madison?

History, American history, is filled with the courage, spawned by freedom, to speak-and to listen- and to understand that the well being of a nation is more important than the welfare of the individual.  Americans have always known this and had the courage to practice and protect it.

I saw patriotism the other day, not in the uniform of those three men, not in the flag on their sleeve, not in their sacrifice and courage, but in the simple gesture that affirmed that the welfare of the group was inescapably tied to the welfare of the individual.

{in} This guest viewpoint is from Marcus Michles, a Pensacola trial attorney and former U.S. Army captain with the 82nd Airborne Division, Third Special Forces Group.

By Marcus Michles

Vol. 6, No. 40

Adjusting Our Moral Compass On March 16, 1968, angered by the death of a popular unit sergeant (caused by an unmanned booby trap), a platoon of Charlie Company, 11th Brigade of the Americal Divison entered an undefended Vietnamese village and murdered innocent men, women and children.

On Nov. 19, 2005 angered by the death of a popular unit lance corporal (caused by an unmanned improvised explosive device), Marines from Kilo Company, 3rd Battalion, 1st Marines allegedly entered an unidentified Iraqi town and killed innocent men, women and children.

My Lai and Haditha are continents apart, separated by cultures as different as you can imagine.  Yet the tiny Vietnamese village and the Iraqi town share a startling similarity. In an instant, each provoked American soldiers to lose focus and discipline and perhaps forfeit the entire moral high ground of a nation at war.

Unquestionably, armed conflict provides an environment that magnifies both the valor and shortcomings of mankind.  Within civilizations’ darkest conflicts, some of its greatest acts of courage, honor and humanity have arisen.  It is not surprising, then, to find within modern conflict examples of less-than-dishonorable, if not criminal, behavior.

Our response as a nation to such failings is what may ultimately define us.  When cruise missiles miss their target and destroy school buildings and those who occupied it, or when an American fires mistakenly into an allied position resulting in tragedy, there are the collateral tragedies of armed conflict.  However, when American fighting men and women knowingly commit acts, such as were seen in Abu Ghraib prison, and willfully commit crimes so far off our moral center, as likely occurred in Haditha, we must take note as a nation.  Just as a parent must discipline a child, so must we responsibly address these actions.

Military transgressions, particularly commited by our nation’s bravest young men and women, are justly met with sympathy and often even blanket forgiveness.  The challenge to judge fairly is understandably daunting.

But national accountability for such failures in judgment is essential, if we as a nation are to retain our position in the world as a nation of laws and morality with the moral courage to identify right from wrong.

Congress passed laws recently permitting no-warrant wiretaps, closed military tribunals for suspected terrorists, and admissibility of “coerced statements” as evidence against the accused without the right of the accused to see or even have access to the basis for the charges, if the basis for the charges was “classified.”

Would we accept an American serviceman’s conviction in a secret Al-Qaida tribunal using “coerced statements” without any knowledge of the identity of the accuser or even having a chance to see the evidence? These laws, opposed by Republicans John McCain and Lindsey Graham, who are both veterans, prompted a letter of protest to President George W. Bush by former U.S. Secretary of State Colin, who warned that “the world is beginning to doubt the moral basis of our fight against terrorism.”

Immediately following My Lai and Haditha, the military issued reports of combat victory, shielding the truth from view.  Later investigations would lead to charges of cover-up.

Not surprisingly, senior officers of both the 11th Brigade and 3rd Battalion were quick to close ranks and protect the men accused of the crimes. A young Army major assigned to investigate the My Lai incident issued a report citing “gross exaggerations” in the early reports of “massacres.”  You may be surprised to learn who that Army major was. (Read on.)

Many of us seek to excuse such transgressions entirely: Byproducts of war; an eye for an eye and the ugly cost of freedom.  But now is not a time for patriotic rationalization.  It is a time for critical self-evaluation and the courage to face ourselves.

In light of a series of demonstrable moral failures (Abu Ghraib prisoner abuse, Bagram prisoner abuse, Guantanomo Bay Korean desecration, and the recent revelation of the abduction and torture of an innocent Canadian citizen in a foreign interrogation center), we should begin to ask if the moral fabric of our country is only a bit frayed around the edges or beyond recognition.

The 9/11 terrorist attacks are not a justification for the complete forfeiture of our Judeo-Christian principles, nor is it a justification to abandon the laws upon which our nation earned the envy of the entire free world.

As a young JAG officer struggling to advise a room full of paratroopers from the 82nd Airborne Division, who were about to go to war, on the “Laws of War,” and specifically our units rules of engagement, I was challenged to answer many questions such as “Don’t the ends justify the means?  After all, it is a war, isn’t it?”

I was reminded of a briefing I had heard where a high-ranking general cited the honor and pride of an American Army Division that had fought valiantly for years in Korea and Vietnam.  He spoke of all the men who had served with pride and distinction in this division.  Yet this general told the room that of the many men who were authorized to wear the patch of the American Division on their uniform, most, including the general, chose not to, and the Army had “retired” the division from active service.

That general was the same man who had been the young investigating major at My Lai – Gen. Colin Powell.

{in} Marcus Michles is a Pensacola trial attorney and former U.S. Army captain with the 82nd Airborne Division, Third Special Forces Group.

By Marcus Michles

Vol. 6, No. 47

It’s Not About Yellow Ribbons Recently a colleague stood sheepishly in my office doorway and reluctantly announced he needed to ask me a question but didn’t know quite where to start. “How,” he began slowly, “should someone who really doesn’t understand the military show their support for the military?”

For an instant, I thought he was kidding until I let the question sink in. Having been raised in, and having served in, the military I never considered it something needing demonstration. As my hardcore Southern Baptist preacher uncle used to say to his rural Tennessee congregation: “A proper God-fearin’ Baptist doesn’t have to announce his religion because it shows in everything we do!”
To some, like my Uncle Ferris, patriotism, like religion, is to be worn on the sleeve for all to see. To me, that’s too simple and often insincere.  Supporting the troops isn’t about metallic ribbons on your bumper or lapel pins. It’s far more than that.

The problem is that patriotism means too many different things to altogether too many different people. To the political conservative, “supporting the troops” means “staying the course” and not wavering on our commitment to fight for a Democratic Iraq and a Nationalized Afghanistan. To the politically more moderate, “supporting the troops” means reevaluating a policy and tactic that is clearly in trouble, if not failing entirely, in that region.

Reason suggests that “supporting the troops” is not synonymous with “supporting your favorite political agenda.” Yet the two seem constantly confused. Our armed services consist of Republicans, Democrats, and Independents.  Our troops consist of Christians, Muslims and Jews. No single political platform speaks to all of these citizens in uniform, and no political agenda “supports” them all.

So as I considered the question of how to “support the troops” without making it a political debate, I checked with my most available source—me.  I recall being deployed once and missing an athletic competition that I had attended every year. In my absence, my teammates had all autographed a shirt from the event and sent it to me like a greeting card.

Although it didn’t catch up to me until I was safely back at Fort Bragg, its impact was significant, and I have the shirt neatly folded in my closet to this day. I had wondered in quieter moments whether anyone had missed my presence or noted my absence. (My athletic contributions certainly weren’t missed.)

Surely, my family knew of my commitments as did my closest friends but what of that second and third circle of friends and acquaintances?  I didn’t seek their approval, nor did I feel any sense of loss by not being with them. I was focused and content in what I was doing, but I wanted my absence to be considered, to matter somehow. In essence, I didn’t want my absence to be dismissed without thought, even if only for a minute or two.

In speaking recently to my active duty friends, I discussed my colleague’s with them and was moved by what they had to say.  None wished for large-scale endorsements, such as “stay the course” or “get us out of here.” They didn’t seek care packages, cards or remembrances for themselves or their men.

What they wanted, to a man, was far simpler and cheaper. They wanted “us” (those of us not there beside them) to take a moment and try, just try, to understand what was happening in the world and why. They wanted us to look past the 30 second sound bites, past our favorite radio smart guy, and, yes, past that six column inches in the paper, and look harder for answers.

Not solutions, but answers, to questions such as: “What is our military doing today? Why are they there? Where is there? How long have they been there?” In short, not a single friend of mine now in uniform expects anyone to solve anything for them. They, to a man, are confident they can solve the problems before them (Yep, even referee cultural disputes that are centuries old, such as the conflict between Sunni and Shite, or teach an Afghani why a “nation” matters as much as a Clan or Tribe).

That’s it.  They don’t want us to solve the world’s problems or adopt any particular agenda, they just want us to make a reasoned attempt to appreciate what the military is doing and why.   This would somehow validate their sacrifice, make the effort worthwhile, and not wasted.

I can’t say this was the answer my colleague was seeking. Maybe he would have preferred to hear something like “Donate some money to the USO,” or “Send a check to the VFW.” But surprisingly, as wonderful as such gestures are, they don’t compare to fundamentally paying attention to what we’re asking these men and women to do each and every day.  We owe them this and much, much more.

Marcus Michles is a regular IN columnist.