In Afghanistan: a US soldier's emotional landscape
Patriotic abstraction, flag-draped coffins, Saturday-night lobster, and creeping doubt
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By destroying the Taliban and removing the state apparatus, we have in many ways created more dangerous enemies and a breeding ground for terrorist and nonstate fighting forces. Lack of stability and security and order breed further discontent and make the network of angry people amorphous and difficult to track.
Will we invest enough human and financial capital to do the job? Do we care enough to get to the core of the problem and transform a culture of hatred?
Most American soldiers, in fact, have little knowledge about and concern for the culture or people of this land. Ask a soldier about March Madness, and he or she can name the Final Four. Ask a soldier the difference between a Pashtun and a Tajik or between a Hazara and a Uzbek, and you're likely to get a blank stare.
There are practical challenges as well. How will we separate the enemies from innocent civilians? When an aviator in an Apache helicopter sees an Afghan man walking away from an explosion site with two sheep in tow, is he observing a sheepherder or an Al Qaeda attacker? We've dropped bombs on Taliban targets whose cellular phones direct our hit and, consequently, we've had to deal with unintended civilian deaths. We have Afghan civilians building our volleyball courts and hauling our trash, knowing that many relay critical operational information to our enemies (some were caught using mirrors to guide in rocket attacks).
How long can our strategy be considered effective? Have the Vietnam war and other guerrilla wars not taught us a better way?
Losing the passion for the cause or lacking a belief in the wisdom of current strategies, a soldier wants at least to know that his or her efforts aren't wasted - that someone is safer, suffering has been alleviated, opportunities for dignity and happiness have been created.
Each day I tell myself that my efforts here are not wasted, that there is a reason I've missed my four children's birthdays again, missed another anniversary with my wife, watched from afar as my parents have suffered major illnesses alone. There is a reason I continue to serve without complaint.
Watching those flag-draped coffins, however, made me uneasy. I can still justify the sacrifices that I have made my family bear in the name of this war on terrorism. I can still see the nobility of this profession - a soldier's calling to serve in time of war in defense of his country. Despite some doubts, I still have faith that our leaders are wise and strong and worthy of our support. I can even still see patriotic families proud of the ultimate sacrifices made by their sons and daughters on the fields of battle.
Increasingly, however, what I cannot see is moral clarity in my position here. Death and sacrifice can be honorable things. But death can often highlight the moral ambiguities and political uncertainties inherent in our military campaigns. Appeals to my sense of patriotism, professionalism, and love of country do not seem sufficient to quell the discomfort of it all.
• Ryung Suh, a US Army flight surgeon, is a term member on the Council on Foreign Relations and a graduate of West Point.
