As my Blue Bird bus slowly turned in front of one of the faceless, nameless dormitory buildings, my heart pounded.  The façade of the structure exuded no personality.  It was the symbol of the men and women tucked inside whom in the recent past were stripped of their color and voice.  As I took my final step from freedom into the rank and file ordered world of the military I wondered if I had made the correct decision.  My life was no longer mine.  My life belonged to the Airman next to me.  It belonged to the drill instructor that screamed ceaselessly about our pussy selves.  It belonged to the Air Force and the government.

The main objective of my six-week stay at Lackland AFB, San Antonio, Texas ended up being the immediate stripping of who I was.  No longer was I an individual.  I was a part of a flight.  I was to look like the men who were my dorm mates.  My clothes were to look like everyone else’s.  My thoughts were to be as one with them, as well.  The ceremonial shaving of the heads, the calculated movements, even while eating in the chow hall, were all designed to show us that we were just numbers now.  Fear of being individual in the face of a group dynamic was coddled and fostered.  Such is life in basic training.

Under this fear of individuality many things change.  In a search to feel less apprehensive and more at ease, if only for one hour a week, I retreated with some of my dorm mates to church.  Having been raised in the solemn, sorrowful Catholic Church, this new form of Christianity to me was interesting.  During my first church service every single, bald, bold, young man wept.  Perhaps we shed tears because we missed home.  Perhaps it was because we felt as though we made the biggest mistake we could possibly make in choosing to be screamed at every day.  Perhaps it was simply because church was the closest semblance to the outside world of civilians.  Nonetheless, we enjoyed our time at church.  Yes, I raised my hands in praise of God.  I felt “saved,” if you will.  I attended church every weekend of the six I spent there because it gave me fulfillment as well as free time away from the horrors of military dorm life.  It was not until much later, years later, perhaps, that I realized that my church experiences during basic training grew as a result of my fear.  I ran to God when I was afraid.

By the end of my six weeks (summer camp, as the other three branches of service enjoyed calling it), I was a fully automated robot, as most people are after going through such rigid reconditioning.  I believed in what the United States stood for in even its most conservative aspects.  I was an Airman and I was a number for our government.  I was proud.

The next segment of my Air Force education was based at Keesler AFB, Biloxi, Mississippi.  With a much more relaxed atmosphere, I was able to think more.  I was able to be more of an individual.  Even so, there came a strange time when, as a part of the flag marching team, I was afforded an opportunity to march in a Labor Day parade somewhere in Louisiana.  After our march we all retired to a large fair ground where Lee Greenwood was going to put on a live show.  As he closed his set later in the evening he sung his signature track, “Proud to be an American.” All fifty or so of us stood up on our chairs in the field, arm in arm, and sang along with him.  When I think of this occasion today it makes me a little queasy.  As with my church experience, it took some length of time for me to realize that my undying patriotism lent itself to fear and I took solace in my country.

By the time I had exited the military in 1995, I had come full circle in realizing that I, indeed, was not military material.  I never bucked the system, mind you, nor did I push it either.  What I did was be quiet so that my time passed uneventful and untried.  My time spent in the military taught me many things.  I learned much more about myself as a person.  Without the military I never would have fleshed out my feelings and thoughts concerning governmental affairs.  I would have never been able to understand what trials our soldiers, airmen, seamen, and marines go through and how it is their job to listen and do.  Finally, I came to realize that fear is what defines us as people.

Until late 2001, my concerns about the government had only fluctuated in a few simple ways.  When the time came for us to feel vulnerable and alone I also felt the same.  I wanted to see bombs being dropped in Afghanistan to rid myself of my fear that had once again roared into my spotlight.  I felt afraid seeing the millions affected by what happened in New York City.  I raised my American flag high in respect for those that had fallen.  I had, once again, succumbed to the demons of fear.

It is this fear that this current administration feeds from.  It is with this very same fear that conservative right-wing Christians draw innumerable amounts of people into their folds of trepidation.  It is with this fear that our congress has let us all down by allowing this administration bent towards its own selfish desires for business, war, and the rapture run amuck.  It is with this fear that we lose our freedoms because we have been told that we cannot nurture it ourselves and that freedom is the enabler for the terror in our hearts.  It is with this very fear alone that President George Bush puts his executive responsibilities in the hands of God.

Do not be afraid.  Stand and take to the streets as the American people once did.  Stand and retrieve God from the hands of fear.  Walk as one with your brothers and sisters and retrieve your freedoms.  Look at the differing colors, creeds, and cultures around you and grasp their hands in solidarity.  We are not a people of one God, but we are the children of the many faces of God.  We are a nation not of Christianity, but a nation of people free from the restraint of any one religion.  We are not a people restrained by fear, but a people freed by our strength.

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