Some Americans watching tonight's Presidential debate may not have the opportunity to cast a vote for their candidate: troops and veterans from Ohio.
Right now, a legal fight in Ohio threatens the right of servicemembers and veterans to cast their votes with absentee ballots. IAVA has filed a brief asking the Ohio Supreme Court to protect the voting rights of all citizens, and we need your support.
Add your name to IAVA's petition, demanding that the state of Ohio count all the votes of servicemembers and vets.
As the law stands now, citizens must be registered to vote for 30 days before the election, which allows voters to register and submit an absentee ballot at the same time, as long as it happens 30 days before the election. A lawsuit brought against the Ohio Secretary of State is trying to prevent the two actions from happening at the same time. If the law is changed, thousands of veterans and active duty troops could be disenfranchised.
Our troops serving overseas could be denied the very freedoms they are fighting so hard to defend. We hope the court in Ohio rejects this last minute, politically-motivated ploy that could complicate the voting process for our veterans and deployed soldiers.
Sign IAVA's petition demanding that the state of Ohio deny this challenge to the law.
This is not a partisan matter. Regardless of who they cast their ballots for, thousands of servicemen and women could find their votes thrown out. We owe these and all servicemembers an absentee voting process that is fair, predictable, and clear.
Help fight this threat to our democracy.
Thank you for standing with us.
Sincerely,
Paul Rieckhoff
Iraq Veteran
Executive DirectorIraq and Afghanistan Veterans of America
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Prescient
This letter is from the anthology War Letters by Andrew Carroll. The author, Bill Hunt, was writing to the former career soldier David Hackworth who became a widely published author and columnist and a military affairs analyst and was known for saying the hard things, the tough love things...the things people might not want to hear about their own military and foreign policy.
It was written from one Vietnam vet to another during the height of the buildup to Operation Desert Storm.
I think a lot of what it says resonates loud as hell today.
==========================================
And in the end all wars are about dying. When the dying is about honor it is somehow OK, even to, and maybe especially to, the dead. Only the folks back home have the luxury of viewing war as about living.
As a war vet, I can’t ask a young soldier to go into combat unless the mission is something I personally feel equals the value of my own life.
So, where’s the honor? Well, if the President asked me to walk point all the way to Baghdad in order to secure the release of a single hostage, I’d say yes……If the President convinced me that Iraq was about to attack Israel and I needed to be the sacrificial lamb, I’d say maybe. But I would want a lot more. Israel has been a real problem lately. My personal blood would require one heck of an explanation……Oil?
No, Mr. President. This ultimate value of crude on the world market will never go higher than about $60 a barrel. That’s because alternative fuels can be produced more cheaply than that, and we the people, if not the President, are starting to understand that. We really need a national energy policy that requires energy independence. We’ve needed it for years. I’m not going to die for oil.
To liberate Kuwait? Well, frankly, Mr. President, is Kuwait some flowering democracy? Can you get the Emir to go on TV and talk about the new constitution that provides rights for all citizens? Perhaps the Emir will call for an election after I liberate the place? If I die in Kuwait, will they stop calling me an infidel? An do you really expect meto go in with Syria on my flank?
Then, shall we just protect Saudi Arabia? Well, yes, Mr. President, with serious reservations. I think I could be friends with the people of Saudi Arabia, in time. But our presence may very well bring on a smoldering unrest, and even civil war. If that happens, Mr. President, you’ve got to promise me one thing. Promise me we’ll get the hell out. The one thing I leanred in Vietnam is that you don’t mess around in someone else’s civilwar. Not unless you’re nuts.
As an American citizen I feel pretty helpless in the face of foreign policy that I know is short sighted or patently wrong. Nothing I’ve said here will change what happens in the Middle East one iota. It’s all happening too fast.
Bill Hunt, November 28, 1990,
from War Letters, p. 445-446.
It was written from one Vietnam vet to another during the height of the buildup to Operation Desert Storm.
I think a lot of what it says resonates loud as hell today.
==========================================
And in the end all wars are about dying. When the dying is about honor it is somehow OK, even to, and maybe especially to, the dead. Only the folks back home have the luxury of viewing war as about living.
As a war vet, I can’t ask a young soldier to go into combat unless the mission is something I personally feel equals the value of my own life.
So, where’s the honor? Well, if the President asked me to walk point all the way to Baghdad in order to secure the release of a single hostage, I’d say yes……If the President convinced me that Iraq was about to attack Israel and I needed to be the sacrificial lamb, I’d say maybe. But I would want a lot more. Israel has been a real problem lately. My personal blood would require one heck of an explanation……Oil?
No, Mr. President. This ultimate value of crude on the world market will never go higher than about $60 a barrel. That’s because alternative fuels can be produced more cheaply than that, and we the people, if not the President, are starting to understand that. We really need a national energy policy that requires energy independence. We’ve needed it for years. I’m not going to die for oil.
To liberate Kuwait? Well, frankly, Mr. President, is Kuwait some flowering democracy? Can you get the Emir to go on TV and talk about the new constitution that provides rights for all citizens? Perhaps the Emir will call for an election after I liberate the place? If I die in Kuwait, will they stop calling me an infidel? An do you really expect meto go in with Syria on my flank?
Then, shall we just protect Saudi Arabia? Well, yes, Mr. President, with serious reservations. I think I could be friends with the people of Saudi Arabia, in time. But our presence may very well bring on a smoldering unrest, and even civil war. If that happens, Mr. President, you’ve got to promise me one thing. Promise me we’ll get the hell out. The one thing I leanred in Vietnam is that you don’t mess around in someone else’s civilwar. Not unless you’re nuts.
As an American citizen I feel pretty helpless in the face of foreign policy that I know is short sighted or patently wrong. Nothing I’ve said here will change what happens in the Middle East one iota. It’s all happening too fast.
Bill Hunt, November 28, 1990,
from War Letters, p. 445-446.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Swell
Some dude on here linked this blog to his blog. His blog is a collection of stories of and sources related to jacking off.
I was wondering why the number of visitors skyrocketed this month. In a moment of hubris I thought it might have something to do with my writing.
Nope. This dude linked to my story of how we kept from going nuts in Saudi Arabia by masturbating as much as possible. Combat Jacks help keep a young man sane in an insane place.
Now I have a bunch of people popping in here not to read about the effects of war on young men's bodies and minds...but because they want a good meat-beating tale.
Fucking wankers.
I was wondering why the number of visitors skyrocketed this month. In a moment of hubris I thought it might have something to do with my writing.
Nope. This dude linked to my story of how we kept from going nuts in Saudi Arabia by masturbating as much as possible. Combat Jacks help keep a young man sane in an insane place.
Now I have a bunch of people popping in here not to read about the effects of war on young men's bodies and minds...but because they want a good meat-beating tale.
Fucking wankers.
Monday, March 31, 2008
The Ghost of Matt Maupin
You are finally coming home...the corporeal caught up with the spirit.
I wonder how many people even knew your name. People aren't paying attention anymore, Matt. I'm sorry for that. They didn't know you were missing...
(CNN) -- After nearly four years of hoping, waiting and praying, an Ohio family learned Sunday their missing son died in Iraq.
"It hurts -- it really hurts. You go through four years of hope," said Carolyn Maupin, whose son, Staff Sgt. Keith Matthew Maupin, was captured by insurgents in April 2004.
"It's like a letdown to me. I'm trying to get through that right now."
His father, Keith Maupin, said military officials informed the family Sunday afternoon that the remains of the 24-year-old Army reservist had been identified.
"Every parent knows the possibility exists that they may have to face the death of their child when they volunteer to go to war," he said. "However, those who are fortunate make peace with that and support their soldier, because they enlisted at their own free will."
A Defense Department official also confirmed the identification, saying Maupin's remains were found last week but DNA results just came in.
Still missing:
Pvt. Byron W. Fouty and Spc. Alex R. Jimenez have been missing since their military convoy was raided west of Mahmoudiya May 12.
Spc. Ahmed K. Altaie disappeared October 23, 2006, and his status was changed to "missing-captured" nearly two months later.
I wonder how many people even knew your name. People aren't paying attention anymore, Matt. I'm sorry for that. They didn't know you were missing...
(CNN) -- After nearly four years of hoping, waiting and praying, an Ohio family learned Sunday their missing son died in Iraq.
"It hurts -- it really hurts. You go through four years of hope," said Carolyn Maupin, whose son, Staff Sgt. Keith Matthew Maupin, was captured by insurgents in April 2004.
"It's like a letdown to me. I'm trying to get through that right now."
His father, Keith Maupin, said military officials informed the family Sunday afternoon that the remains of the 24-year-old Army reservist had been identified.
"Every parent knows the possibility exists that they may have to face the death of their child when they volunteer to go to war," he said. "However, those who are fortunate make peace with that and support their soldier, because they enlisted at their own free will."
A Defense Department official also confirmed the identification, saying Maupin's remains were found last week but DNA results just came in.
Still missing:
Pvt. Byron W. Fouty and Spc. Alex R. Jimenez have been missing since their military convoy was raided west of Mahmoudiya May 12.
Spc. Ahmed K. Altaie disappeared October 23, 2006, and his status was changed to "missing-captured" nearly two months later.
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Things Keep Getting Better and Better
As if I didn't have enough to worry about....
Chemicals Linked to Gulf War Illness
Associated Press March 11, 2008
WASHINGTON - Increasing evidence ties pesticides and other chemicals to some, not all, of the Gulf War illnesses that afflict thousands of veterans of the 1991 war, says an analysis published Monday.
Nearly 30 percent of troops who took part in the brief war have reported symptoms that include fatigue, memory loss, pain and difficulty sleeping. Citing the variety of symptoms, the Institute of Medicine in 2006 declared there is no single Gulf War syndrome, although troops who served in the Persian Gulf were sicker than those who didn't.
Multiple chemical exposures have long been chief suspects. So Dr. Beatrice Golomb of the University of California, San Diego, reviewed 115 studies of neurological symptoms and veterans' exposure to three related chemicals: the anti-nerve gas pyridostigmine bromide, or PB, given to troops at the time; pesticides used aggressively to control sand flies; and the nerve gas sarin.
Those chemicals belong to a family known as acetylcholinesterase inhibitors that work the same way in the body, she wrote Monday in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
Among the evidence Golomb cites: Veterans who are genetically less able to clear this type of chemical from their bodies had a higher chance of suffering symptoms, which mirror problems reported by pesticide-exposed agriculture workers.
Chemicals Linked to Gulf War Illness
Associated Press March 11, 2008
WASHINGTON - Increasing evidence ties pesticides and other chemicals to some, not all, of the Gulf War illnesses that afflict thousands of veterans of the 1991 war, says an analysis published Monday.
Nearly 30 percent of troops who took part in the brief war have reported symptoms that include fatigue, memory loss, pain and difficulty sleeping. Citing the variety of symptoms, the Institute of Medicine in 2006 declared there is no single Gulf War syndrome, although troops who served in the Persian Gulf were sicker than those who didn't.
Multiple chemical exposures have long been chief suspects. So Dr. Beatrice Golomb of the University of California, San Diego, reviewed 115 studies of neurological symptoms and veterans' exposure to three related chemicals: the anti-nerve gas pyridostigmine bromide, or PB, given to troops at the time; pesticides used aggressively to control sand flies; and the nerve gas sarin.
Those chemicals belong to a family known as acetylcholinesterase inhibitors that work the same way in the body, she wrote Monday in Proceedings of the National Academy of Sciences.
Among the evidence Golomb cites: Veterans who are genetically less able to clear this type of chemical from their bodies had a higher chance of suffering symptoms, which mirror problems reported by pesticide-exposed agriculture workers.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
The Odd Amusing Anecdote
Every once in a while I do have amusing stories to share. They have no point....no complex message...no metaphorical meaning. They are just funny things that happened. When times are boring and bleak and dangerous...you have to find your humor where you can...
One of the least examined aspects of Desert Shield/Desert Storm, in this humble author's opinion, is the sexual health and well being of the more than 500,000 troops sitting in the sand.
Oh sure...there was the infamous "Love Boat"....the Navy ship on which an unusually high number of the female crew became pregnant during their deployment to the Gulf. But what about the lusts and desires of the very young, very virile kids away from wife, girlfriend or lover?
Friends, I'm talking about masturbation here.
Everyone does it. And with the median age of the young men in the Gulf at the time being 21 years old....they did a LOT of it.
But...where does one go to do it in private when living in extremely close quarters? Upon arrival in Saudi Arabia my unit lived in a warehouse. A wide open, metal hotbox filled with 800 guys. We lived on bunks spread 18 inches apart. Privacy was a quaint notion.
You can't start a Rub Out under those conditions. everyone would know as soon as you did...and you'd never get to finish for all the catcalls. It really fucks with the concentration.
So...where do you go? We were kept busy all day with lectures, exercise, training, more lectures, paperwork, heavy lifting work and all manner of busy work. Idle hands are the Devil's Work, you know? And no one could sneak off lest they miss an assignment. But there was one place where a guy has to go every day to be alone and no one questions it: the latrine.
Behind our warehouse accommodations there was a row of those plastic Port-0-Potties. This soon became the go-to place for the release of pent up tensions.
It was the secret-that-was-not-a-secret. Troopers heading off towards the latrine were automatically handed bits of secret porno stashes. The trading of pictures of girlfriends in sexual poses became a minor industry...like trading baseball cards. The then soon-to-be-satisfied would stalk off with a determined gait...slipping the imagination aids into pockets.
Some enterprising smart-asses began to bestow names on individual stalls in magic marker: The Whack Shack, The Meat Shoppe...and my own contribution...The One Stop Baloney Bop. Juvenile? Sure. Funny? At the time...yeah.
At times...when there was a full house...things tended to get out of hand (no pun intended, I think). The level of audible groans would rise...echoing from inside the plastic chambers. I once noted to a friend that it sounded like a casualty ward some days with all the moaning.
One day while waiting in line for our turn in the shitters...my friend Ty and I noticed a young officer from the battalion staff heading our way as he made his way to the officer's latrine (a swanky affair compared to our port-o-sans). As he passed his face took on a look of consternation over the level of moaning and groaning seeping through the vents above the doors. And the poor, clueless young man stopped...quite perplexed.
He sauntered towards us...we saluted...and as Ty was the senior rank...the officer addressed him.
"What's happening here?
Which was punctuated by a very loud moan from the nearest stall and a stage whispered "Oh fuuuuuuck."
Ty, in his most serious voice replied "We believe it's food poisoning, Sir." And shaking his head somberly "Very, bad, Sir, very bad. Lots of diarrhea." And explained that we were unit medics and were looking after them.
"Will they be OK?
"Yes, Sir. They'll be just fine. They just need to get the poison out."
As Ty is talking my face proceeded to get redder and redder. I'm not very good at holding in laughter. But, thank Christ, I managed to this time.
The officer, a fine young man concerned for the enlisted troops, nodded soberly.
"Very good then." And stalked off on his own mission.
As he passed the stalls...a red-faced, sweaty kid came out wearing a sloppy grin. The officer stopped and said he hopes he feels better. The kid, saluting, replied cheerily "Oh, I feel just great, Sir!"
I stepped quietly behind Ty and buried my face in his back to smother my laughter.
Well...there you have it. I guess it's a You Had to Be There moment. I'm glad I was.
One of the least examined aspects of Desert Shield/Desert Storm, in this humble author's opinion, is the sexual health and well being of the more than 500,000 troops sitting in the sand.
Oh sure...there was the infamous "Love Boat"....the Navy ship on which an unusually high number of the female crew became pregnant during their deployment to the Gulf. But what about the lusts and desires of the very young, very virile kids away from wife, girlfriend or lover?
Friends, I'm talking about masturbation here.
Everyone does it. And with the median age of the young men in the Gulf at the time being 21 years old....they did a LOT of it.
But...where does one go to do it in private when living in extremely close quarters? Upon arrival in Saudi Arabia my unit lived in a warehouse. A wide open, metal hotbox filled with 800 guys. We lived on bunks spread 18 inches apart. Privacy was a quaint notion.
You can't start a Rub Out under those conditions. everyone would know as soon as you did...and you'd never get to finish for all the catcalls. It really fucks with the concentration.
So...where do you go? We were kept busy all day with lectures, exercise, training, more lectures, paperwork, heavy lifting work and all manner of busy work. Idle hands are the Devil's Work, you know? And no one could sneak off lest they miss an assignment. But there was one place where a guy has to go every day to be alone and no one questions it: the latrine.
Behind our warehouse accommodations there was a row of those plastic Port-0-Potties. This soon became the go-to place for the release of pent up tensions.
It was the secret-that-was-not-a-secret. Troopers heading off towards the latrine were automatically handed bits of secret porno stashes. The trading of pictures of girlfriends in sexual poses became a minor industry...like trading baseball cards. The then soon-to-be-satisfied would stalk off with a determined gait...slipping the imagination aids into pockets.
Some enterprising smart-asses began to bestow names on individual stalls in magic marker: The Whack Shack, The Meat Shoppe...and my own contribution...The One Stop Baloney Bop. Juvenile? Sure. Funny? At the time...yeah.
At times...when there was a full house...things tended to get out of hand (no pun intended, I think). The level of audible groans would rise...echoing from inside the plastic chambers. I once noted to a friend that it sounded like a casualty ward some days with all the moaning.
One day while waiting in line for our turn in the shitters...my friend Ty and I noticed a young officer from the battalion staff heading our way as he made his way to the officer's latrine (a swanky affair compared to our port-o-sans). As he passed his face took on a look of consternation over the level of moaning and groaning seeping through the vents above the doors. And the poor, clueless young man stopped...quite perplexed.
He sauntered towards us...we saluted...and as Ty was the senior rank...the officer addressed him.
"What's happening here?
Which was punctuated by a very loud moan from the nearest stall and a stage whispered "Oh fuuuuuuck."
Ty, in his most serious voice replied "We believe it's food poisoning, Sir." And shaking his head somberly "Very, bad, Sir, very bad. Lots of diarrhea." And explained that we were unit medics and were looking after them.
"Will they be OK?
"Yes, Sir. They'll be just fine. They just need to get the poison out."
As Ty is talking my face proceeded to get redder and redder. I'm not very good at holding in laughter. But, thank Christ, I managed to this time.
The officer, a fine young man concerned for the enlisted troops, nodded soberly.
"Very good then." And stalked off on his own mission.
As he passed the stalls...a red-faced, sweaty kid came out wearing a sloppy grin. The officer stopped and said he hopes he feels better. The kid, saluting, replied cheerily "Oh, I feel just great, Sir!"
I stepped quietly behind Ty and buried my face in his back to smother my laughter.
Well...there you have it. I guess it's a You Had to Be There moment. I'm glad I was.
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