April 20, 2004
With notions of nobility in mind, people ask me why I joined the military. I usually tell them what they want to hear. In actuality, I was pissed off that foreign terrorists had the audacity to fly three planes into highly populated buildings on American soil and drive a car bomb into the living quarters of American Marines, the same Marines that die to defend our great country’s well-being and pride. Vengeance was the taste in my mouth—the same taste in every American’s mouth following 9-11.
And that’s what President Bush promised. America was united once again under a common goal. The tragedy brought us together, and we stood up to say, “We are America; our will won’t be broken!” Our freedom—our freedom of religion, our freedom to work and play, our freedom to pursue happiness—will not be threatened by those halfway around the world. The constitution of the United States, the basis that this country was founded upon, was being spat on.
A year and a half later, people seem to have forgotten the evil that struck the heart of America, and they questioned the notion of war. You tree-hugging, “make love, not war” college professors and you Hollywood celebrities with your naïve and ignorant propaganda—those who take the media’s word for truth—this is for you.
My baby sister is a student at the University of Hawaii at Hilo, and as I sit here in the desert heat outside Fallujah, Iraq, I can’t help but envy her. But I can hear the discouragement in her voice when I talk to her during longdistance phone calls. It’s not the schoolwork or the fact that her only brother is fighting overseas, but that her professors talk poorly of American influence in Iraq and President Bush’s choice to dispose of the evil there—the same evil that plagues America and the rest of the world. With the safety of America in mind, President Bush brought the fight to them.
I saw the people that protested OIF I, dressed in bellbottoms and moccasins, with flowers in their hair and printed on their shirts, beating on bongo drums and chanting their words of peace—the same hypocrites who demanded justice after 9-11. You were the individuals in the 60s so easily influenced by the anti-America, anti-President ideals, and now you bring that Hippie-loving propaganda to the students of a different generation.
You say you support the troops but disagree when we go to foreign lands to fight. I ask you: would you like the war to be fought on American soil? How can you support the troops when you condemn the difference they try to make? You don’t support the troops, you demoralize them.
Why would I want to fight for a purpose that people at home in America don’t believe in? How dare you try to justify your ignorant views by pledging your so-called support to those who fight and die beside me—those that die for the freedoms you take for granted, the freedom to vote, the vote you made, the vote most of you gave to President Bush, our Commander-in-Chief. President Bush had the courage and will to pursue evil and destroy it. He is a great leader, like the many who came before him. We ought to be praying for the president instead of degrading him.
I challenge your allegiance to America. This nation is young, yet history proves America has bred a strong-willed, proud race of men and women. War is inevitable—we can’t disagree with that. In the history of the world, there were only a few years of peace. War is how we evolve and transcend as a civilization.
The question is this: which side are you on? Since our Revolutionary War, our forefathers fought and died to give us the freedoms we have today. They deserve all the honor and credibility for which we have—they gave it to us. Now they roll in their graves because of the ignorant bullshit our country’s most influential people—the media, celebrities, Dixie Chicks—are promoting. If you have a problem with my America, then get out. We don’t want you. I’m sure France will take you.
So keep sipping your colorful cocktails, driving your fancy cars, and playing your part as a puppet. Wear your pocket protectors, beat your bongo drums, and keep chanting your bong-resined protest. But don’t you ever forget who died and continues to die to give you that freedom.
Cpl. Conner, Seth A. USMC
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