I became draft age in ’75 as America’s direct military involvement in the Vietnam conflict had essentially ceased. I had considered enlisting but did not feel I could trust my government with regards to those it might determine warranted killing.

I was reminded of this when my friend’s son Adam, part of Marines 1/5 for the fall of Baghdad in the second Gulf War, returned home from Iraq. When I cautiously asked him about his experiences in a combat zone, the first words out of his mouth were, “We killed people for no reason.”

I learned from him that even with very specific rules of engagement, innocent people would die. A vehicle would approach his checkpoint too fast, too erratic, and not heed signals to stop or slow down, and he and his fellow Marines would fire upon the vehicle and its occupants. He told me about the time he did just that, and when he went to inspect the vehicle, it was full of dead and wounded women and children, some of whom were screaming or crying or moaning, in terror or pain or anguish.

He bears no physical scars from his tour of duty, but is on PTSD status. I was traumatized by merely hearing of some of his encounters over there. I can only imagine the toll it takes actually living them.