(C) Daily Kos This story was originally published by Daily Kos and is unaltered. . . . . . . . . . . I HAVE NO MORE CHILDREN FOR YOU TO SLAUGHTER [1] ['This Content Is Not Subject To Review Daily Kos Staff Prior To Publication.', 'Backgroundurl Avatar_Large', 'Nickname', 'Joined', 'Created_At', 'Story Count', 'N_Stories', 'Comment Count', 'N_Comments', 'Popular Tags'] Date: 2023-01-27 Oise-Aisne US Military Cemetery in France. This was opened in 1922. It contains the graves of more than 6,012 Americans, who were killed in the War to End All Wars. Among those who rest in Honored Glory is New Jersey's legendary poet Joyce Kilmer, as in "Trees." There are four plots open to the public. There is a fifth behind the Superintendent's House, whose flat black stones are numbered and have their "backs" to the flag. They are the American soldiers who were hanged during World War II for committing crimes like murder and rape. Eddie Slovik, the sole American shot do death by musketry for desertion in the face of the enemy since the Civil War, used to be there, but his family got his remains home to Michigan. This is also the cemetery that Donald Trump couldn't visit for the 100th anniversary of the end of the war, because it was raining and muddy. The fact that US Marines fought in that area amid mud and rain in 1918 did not seem to interest him....after all, they were "losers and suckers." The phone rang in my home one evening years ago when my daughter was 17 years old. At the other end of the line was Gunnery Sergeant Snorkel of the US Marine Corps, who wanted to talk to my son Dennis (name changed). “I don’t have a son,” I said. “I have a daughter, and her name is Denise (name also changed). What’s this about?” Gunny Snorkel identified himself, apologized for the mix-up, and said he wanted to talk to my daughter about her joining the Marine Corps. The absolute last thing I wanted was to see my daughter pack her bags and go to the 4th (all-female) Battalion on Parris Island in South Carolina for three exciting months of Marine Corps training. I was very familiar with how they do it, from Leatherneck pals and having read Thomas E. Ricks’ brilliant “Making the Corps,” an in-depth look at a 1995 boot camp company from forming to graduation and after. I’m former Navy, but I knew from the start that I could never have survived Marine boot camp. The book is written in powerful prose and spares nothing. It has sections on the lives of the drill instructors, a Sunday morning in chapel, and comparisons with Army training. It also compares the Corps with Japan’s highly-organized society, attitudes of long-retired Marines to their days in the Corps, precise details on each step in the training process, from learning to march in step to firing rifles on the range to room and kit inspections, and recruit graduation. It even discusses their diet, with Marine drill sergeants snarling at recruits in the galley, telling them certain deserts aren’t “warrior food.” And, yes, it mentions suicide attempts by recruits. One of them went into the sergeant’s office on the first night and asked to talk to a doctor…he was feeling suicidal. Another one was a third of the way through training, and he was sent back to an earlier company for failing something. This chap (I’ll call him Smith) irritated his buddies. They called him out. They found Smith in the head, trying to break his safety razor open, so he could kill himself. When such threats or requests are made in Marine boot camp, they take it seriously – much more seriously than in the Navy – and the young man is soon sent home. On the bus. Those who fail boot camp are regarded as not being worth further expense to the taxpayer and the Corps. The book’s tone was highly supportive of the Marines, based on its commitment to excellence, and how it took unmotivated 19-year-old wastrels from the South and the slums of inner cities, invariably gave them waivers for their marijuana use before joining up, and turned them into highly efficient and disciplined warriors. It did not mention male Leathernecks who harassed and even raped their female counterparts. It did not mention the two Marines, Rodrico Harp and Kendrick Lenet by name, on Okinawa, who got drunk with a sailor named Marcus Gill, on September 4, 1995. They were unable to persuade female Marines, Sailors, or Okinawan women to join them in a motel room for a night – or at least an hour – of adult recreation. When the trio was repeatedly rebuffed, they rented a van, drove out into the night, and spotted an Okinawan 12-year-old girl walking home. Out of respect for this young girl, I will leave out her name. Completely. They yanked her into the van, beat her, duct-taped her eyes and mouth, and bound her hands. Gill and Harp raped her, while Ledet claimed he only pretended to do so, in fear of Gill. Or so he said. Right. The merry band headed back to base, figuring they were safe from prosecution. They were wrong, of course. The military flung them in the brig while they figured out who had jurisdiction – Japan or the United States. Meanwhile, the Okinawan population hit the proverbial ceiling. Rumors spread that the rapists were roaming their base, Camp Hansen, eating hamburgers at the PX. Not true, but I understand their fury. The Okinawa Prefectural Assembly passed a resolution to protest how the Americans were apparently trying to take over the case, despite a Status of Forces Agreement that gave Japan jurisdiction over the crime. 85,000 Okinawans joined a rally to protest the incident, the US military bases that house an entire US Marine Division, and the whole boiling set-up. They even placed a full-page ad in The New York Times denouncing the bases and the rape. After a great deal of negotiation and a meeting between President Bill Clinton and Japanese Premier Ryutaro Hashimoto, the Americans agreed to transfer the defendants to Japanese custody if the case warranted it. Having been stationed in Japan for three years and knowing Navy pals who committed lesser but serious offenses in that nation, I can say with some authority that if you commit a crime in Japan, you’re going inside. However, if you apologize and make restitution, your term will go easier. In this case, Gill pleaded guilty to rape, the other two to conspiracy, and all three drew seven-year terms. Their families shoved crowbars in their wallets and paid monetary reparation to the victim. All three jerks did their terms, performing electronics assembly prison labor in Japan’s version of America’s UNICOR. After that, all three drew “less-than-honorable” discharges, and headed home. Ledet was found dead in 2006 in a murder-suicide in the third-floor apartment of a Kennesaw State University junior, Lauren Cooper. He apparently resumed his old ways, and raped her. Then he strangled her to death. Then he realized what he had done, and killed himself. You bet, wow. Meanwhile, back in November 1995, hours after the rape was reported, four-star US Navy Admiral Richard C. Macke, who gloried in the title of CINCPAC, held a press conference on the horror show. To those of you unfamiliar with the Navy’s jargon of endless initials, CINCPAC means “Commander-in-Chief, Pacific Fleet.” In practical terms, he commanded all Navy and Marine ships and units in the entire Pacific, from California to Okinawa, from Alaska to Antarctica. The eminent Admiral Macke told reporters at a breakfast press conference, over bagels and scrambled eggs, for the ages, “I think that it was absolutely stupid, I’ve said several times. For the price they paid to rent the car they could have had a girl.” As soon as the Secretary of Defense, William J. Perry, heard the quote, he called the US Ambassador to Japan, Fritz Mondale, to tell him to cool this new disaster down. Then Perry called President Clinton, and agreed that Macke had made a “serious mistake.” “This evening Admiral Macke and I discussed the comment and its impact on our valued relations with Japan and Okinawa,” Perry told the Washington press. No word on if the media enjoyed bagels. “We decided that his lapse of judgment was so serious that he would be unable to perform effectively his duties as Commander in Chief of US Forces in the Pacific. As a result, Admiral Macke offered to retire, and I accepted his early retirement.” Next, Macke issued a statement to the media. Again, no bagels. “I made a serious mistake this morning,” it said. “My recent comment was the result of my frustration over the stupidity of this heinous and incomprehensible crime against the young lady. I regret any misunderstanding my comment may have caused.” We all got that? It’s not his fault for saying that two Marines should have just hired a hooker for the evening instead of raping a 12-year-old girl…it’s the media’s fault for not understanding him. Gotcha. No problem, admiral. Having hit bottom, you started to dig. He did note that he had “repeatedly expressed sympathy for the girl.” No word, however, if he sent her flowers, checked in on her at the hospital, paid for her medical bills and counseling, or sat down with her family in their house, took off his hat, and said, “I cannot begin to tell you how sorry I am for what I have said. Nor can I imagine for a nanosecond for what you are going through.” That would be too hard, of course. I was in the Navy at the time, and in New Zealand, and I asked a shipmate how a four-star admiral knew the going rate for vans and prostitutes on Okinawa. It seemed like something way below the admiral’s pay grade and knowledge level. My friend had the answer: “Learning about the incident in the ‘briefing process,’ and going into a four-star rage, the Admiral probably asked one of his junior ensigns how much vans and prostitutes cost on Okinawa. The ensign then turned to one of his senior chief petty officers, who had served on Okinawa, who then assured the ensign from deep personal experience that the rental fee for a Nissan van was roughly equal to the rental expenses of a local bar girl.” As we said in Japan, “Ah, so des nai.” Macke lost his job on January 31, 1996, and retired from the Navy officially on April 1, 1996. The only good news was that the Navy demoted him from four-star admiral to two-star admiral, which cut heavily into his pension, if not his US Battle Monuments Commission gravestone. However, I don’t think he had to worry about his pension – the Military-Industrial Complex took good care of him. He became vice president of something called Wheat International Communications Corporation, living in Honolulu. The company is a Mariner based wireless communications services provider that offers broadband services to the coastal regions of the United States. Nice work if you can get it. The Okinawa fiasco wasn’t his only botch, though…while he was still in Navy blues and gloried in CINCPAC, he had his official Boeing 707 and crew fly him from Hawaii to California, and left plane and crew at Miramar Naval Air Station while he enjoyed a three-day leave with a female Marine lieutenant colonel. That little romp cost the taxpayers $3,600. He also spent $2,300 of my money on 607 phone calls to the colonel, presumably discussing adult recreation and not Marine logistics. This affair was going on while he was divorcing his ex-wife. Your tax dollars hard at work again, defending our country. Also importantly, it’s a major violation of Navy and Marine regulations for a four-star Navy admiral to have an extra-marital affair, let alone with a Marine lieutenant colonel. The precise term is “having an unduly familiar relationship” with lower-ranking personnel. It’s called, generically, “fraternization.” If a Navy Seaman Recruit tries to have an affair with an Ensign, it leads to a court-martial. If a Chief Petty Officer tries to have an affair with a Lieutenant Commander, it has the same result. Anyway, Macke can’t hurt anyone any more…he’s under that American battle Monuments Commission gravestone, probably in the Punchbowl National Cemetery in Honolulu. He died on December 7, 2022. Interesting choice of dates. Anyway, for the above reason and so many others, there was no way I knew my daughter would want to spend a minute in the Marines. Nor would I want her to. She is a gentle, highly moral, pacifist. She regards “Military Intelligence” as an oxymoron. She wants to know why human beings can’t come up with better ways to resolve disagreements than fight wars. She’s a proud Unitarian, a religion that preaches and exemplifies tolerance and love for all, regardless of faith. She could no more kill a human being than her pet parrot. At that time, she was preparing for college. I told this to Sergeant Snorkel. He was very excited. “Oh, that’s great! We can help her with paying for college and doing it while she’s in the Marines!” “Well, you’re not,” I retorted, “because she’s not joining the Marines! She’s underage!” “Well, I have to hear that from her,” he answered. “YOU WON’T!” I shouted. “You’re hearing it from me! I’m her father, and you have to get past me! And I’ll tell you something else, and grab a pencil and notebook while I tell you!” I don’t know if he did. “My grandfather fought in the War to End All Wars! All he got for it was being blackballed from Fordham University’s clubs because he was of the ‘Hebrew Persuasion!’ He had to pay every cent for his Pharmacy Degree himself, even though he had the Honorable Discharge! “My father’s first cousin was killed in the War that came after the War to End All Wars! He was in F Company of the 424th Infantry Regiment of the 106th Infantry Division, and fell in the first hours of the Battle of the Bulge. It was a major tragedy for my family in general and my father in particular! “My father fought in a ‘Police Action’ in Korea, where half of his outfit, Item Company of the 31st Infantry of the 7th Infantry Division, was wiped out in a failed attack on ‘Jane Russell Hill,’ including most of his pals and his commanding officer. “Incidentally, the Korean War Veterans Memorial has the CO’s rank wrong! They busted him to Lieutenant! The Army Official History and my father said he was a captain! “Before Dad endured Korea, he sat through an atomic bomb test in Nevada. The Army assured him it would be perfectly safe. Thirty-five years later, he got a letter from the Veterans’ Administration, asking if he had suffered any of a series of symptoms from being exposed to those ‘perfectly safe’ A-bomb tests, which were causing the strokes that led to his early death! “And I served in the US Navy, joining up after Saddam Hussein invaded Kuwait! I did a brilliant job! Until I got a new Commanding Officer and Executive Officer, who decided they had as much use for me he did for a cockroach! Before them, I could do no wrong! After they arrived, I could do no right! I did NOT get my Honorable Discharge, and I will never even get the American Battle Monuments tombstone over my grave!” Gunny Snorkel sat as quiet as my grave. “Now, my English family has served Crown and Country since 1680, as Sailors, Soldiers, Airmen, and civil servants, and continues to do so! My daughter was born in New Zealand! In the unlikely event she actually chooses to join an armed force, she will take advantage of her dual nationality and join the New Zealand Defence Force, and serve Crown and Country! This family no longer upholds the greatness of America and the American way of life by sending our men and women into battle for you to mistreat or send to die in idiotic wars of aggression to prop up allies of convenience and American corporations! I have no more children for you to slaughter!” “Well, I understand how you feel, but…” I cut Gunny Snorkel off. “That’s all I’ve got. Do not call me again.” I hung up the phone, and put his number on call-block. I never heard from him again. After I hung up, I realized that I had failed to bring up Smedley Butler, the military-industrial complex, and the American military empire in explaining it all to this guy. Whoops. Then I said to myself, “Ahh, what would it have mattered. He’s just a dumb jarhead. All he can do is charge up the beach and seize a machine-gun position.” I have no desire – and neither does my daughter – to shed any blood for the “Greatness of America and the American Way of Life.” However, that’s only half of my family. My father’s half. Over on the other side of “the pond,” we still serve and are ready to shed blood. We have been doing so from Charles II to Charles III. That’s a long time and longer stories. And New Zealand’s small, but highly capable military is configured primarily as a peacekeeping force, serving to stop wars in little-known places like Bougainville and East Timor, and better-known places like the Sinai. I mentioned this to my daughter, and added that as HM Charles III, by Grace of God, is King of New Zealand and His Other Territories and Dominions, Head of the Commonwealth, and Defender of the Faith, if she were to go into the New Zealand military, she would add to our tradition of serving “King and Country,” with not much chance of fighting a stupid war, but preventing them in the first place. As usual, she looked at me funny. She’s been putting me in my place for decades, and does so because “it’s so easy.” This time, she had an easy answer. “Daddy, you’re wack,” was all she said. 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