War Story 7
By Katie Bigelow
In all my war stories so far, I had air medals hanging in my face. This war story predates my years as an aviator and takes place in the European State of Bosnia instead of the desert of Iraq. While this little tale doesn’t recount death defying stunts, it had a powerful lesson that I would have to learn several times over to really understand.
There I was in the back of a 5-ton. I was a Specialist coming off a 12-hour, overnight perimeter guard shift. As an enlisted soldier in the US Army, I was trained as an Arabic linguist sitting in a country where the only Arabic spoken was when the Koran was read to European Muslims. My main contribution to the conflict in Bosnia was perimeter guard on Tuzla Main augmenting an artillery unit in charge of the guard duty. Roving guard meant the same shift but steadily walking the perimeter all through the night in a bear suit for warmth and armed for conflict. I have never been colder in my life, but those were the good ole days.
We had conflict as Military Intelligence soldiers augmenting combat arms soldiers. For the most part, we held a vastly different worldview. The story I really want to share has nothing to do with me, but the military intelligence NCO sitting next to me in the back of that 5-ton. The NCO was a guardsmen E6. The artillery soldiers were lower enlisted and talking trash. Naturally, they focused their trash talk on the E6 military intelligence soldier. Battle-hardened by their presence in Bosnia after a miserable round of NTC in California, they spewed comments meant to demean the NCO sitting next to me. Direct quotes would not be appropriate, but comments like “you’re soft” and “you don’t know what the real Army is like” were thrown at him with the expectation that he would cower and take his medicine. The opposite happened.
The NCO started off with an unforgettable statement that I do remember word-for-word. “I would never presume to know the extent of your experiences. Do not presume that you know mine.” He went on to explain that he was 26 years old. He was an active-duty tanker on the ground when we invaded Iraq in 1991. He had seen combat that these artillery soldiers had only trained for. He finished his time and joined the national guard and reclassed in intelligence where he could pursue his education and continue to serve his country. Unlike the soldiers taunting him, he was not soft. He was well aware of what the real Army was like. He was a decorated soldier, hardened by combat. Their response was ear-deafening silence.
Despite my rank and training, I had to learn the same lesson as those artillery soldiers several times in my life. But I have never forgotten that moment. When my children ask me about the state of our country, I remind them that we should never presume to know the experiences of those around us. I find it offensive and insulting when people look at me, and maybe even know me a little, and presume to know the extent of my experience as a woman, as a mother, as a soldier, as a white person, as an entrepreneur, and as an American.
We live in a world where we categorize people and presume we know things about them based on their gender, their skin color, their ethnicity, and so on. To judge people based on the demographics they fit into is not accurate and does not serve any purpose. The reality, the absolute truth, is that we are all flawed human beings created in the image of God. God deems each of us worthy of respect and love as individuals.