Harboring unforgiveness

There are just a couple people in this world I still need to forgive.  Until the other night, I think there was only one, a bag of scum who thought that leading a gang rape of someone (who later became my close friend) was an appropriate course of action in response to the wholly unacceptable situation of women being in a service academy.  I can't believe I've forgotten this man's name, but that doesn't diminish my need to exercise forgiveness toward him.  If we were ever to meet and those synapses fire again, I would need to respond to him in the way that might foster what's best for him, not the way that best gives release to my fury.

The latest one was not nearly so malevolent, merely very wrongheaded.  He was an Army colonel in Afghanistan, and here's what he's done for which I need to forgive him:

A platoon was sent from Combat Outpost (COP) Charkh on a mission to locate and rescue a lost unit of snipers from another NATO country.  The mission took them into the mountains that the Taliban has used as an effective defense and launch platform throughout our operations in Afghanistan. After a far lengthier search mission than they'd been sent out expecting, involving a higher than anticipated amount of aerial support, they finally located these allied soldiers two days after the platoon had exhausted the limited food and water with which they'd been provisioned; after all, this was supposed to have been a much shorter mission. Calling in for transportation back to the COP upon accomplishment of their mission, rather than being heralded for their tenacious execution of their orders, they were informed that since they'd blown through their budget of air support for this mission, they'd have to walk back through the enemy territory they'd traversed.  In fairness, it was an area in which air activity carried its own risks.  A truck was dispatched to pick up the NATO personnel, though.  In gratitude toward and solidarity with the determined men who'd rescued them, these allied soldiers refused to board it.  The truck was then ordered to return to the COP empty rather than provide transportation to the soldiers who had accomplished this dangerous and difficult mission, but had used up too many resources in the process.  Twelve hours later, these brave and determined soldiers arrived back at their outpost, hungry, exhausted, and, I imagine, more than a little angry.

So I find that I must forgive the number-crunching colonel who placed his budget and his need to drive home his point ahead of these men's safety.  I understand the need for budgetary concerns, even in times of war.  But putting my son-in-law, a husband and a father of four young children, and his fellow soldiers at risk as a result of his and his platoon's determination in accomplishing a more dangerous and difficult mission than anyone expected it to be seems narrow-minded and short-sighted, at best.

War is hell

When your enemy arms young children with grenades and instructs them to throw them at you, how do you do what you must without remorse?  Is there any solace in taking care of your fellow soldiers whom you must protect, who are counting on you doing your job to protect them from the enemy?  Or any in knowing that it is not you who have made that child a threat to which you have no choice but to respond?  And when, in your dreams, those children's faces become those of your own children, how do you battle the demons in your own mind?

Aftermath of an attack

I've always had a nebulous understanding that one of the toughest things for a soldier to deal with must be the death or serious injury of a close friend in combat.  I imagine them being racked by questions:  Did I do anything wrong?  Was there anything I could've done differently to prevent it?  Why was it him (or her) instead of me?

It has always been a distant concept, though, until now.  My son-in-law could very well be dealing with these questions, and many more that I've never had to consider.

Here's the thing: we can kill ourselves agonizing over the "what ifs" that surround any particular set of circumstances.  Yes, if you actually screwed up and someone was hurt or has died as a result this is a lot harder.  Decent people have a hard time accepting forgiveness for their fallibility in the face of someone else being hurt by our errors, even if the lapse was understandable rather than a case of actual negligence (or worse).  It seems that we have a harder time accepting mercy ourselves, even when we don't deserve condemnation, than we do in meting it out to others.

Beyond that, we sometimes forget that every set of circumstances is different.  We're trained to do certain things, to obey instructions (orders) or perform our duties in a certain way, because those are the actions that are anticipated to bring the best results the majority of the time.  A good manager avoids managing by exception except in circumstances under which the exceptions must be managed, but the exceptions that creep through rarely have life or death implications, and the manager can usually sleep well at night knowing that she did the best she could.  When a soldier encounters an exception, or thinks he might have, people with whom he's trusted his life could lose theirs, and a devastated family is left to deal with the aftermath.  This might leave him agonizing over what he should have done differently, even when he has done exactly what he was supposed to do.

Everyone around us will suffer if we fail to find a healthy balance between diligently doing the best we can and cutting ourselves some slack for the results once we've done so.