The Lost Paradise of Panamá

When I was in military service, we were often called upon to perform a variety of missions. The picture to the left is one of those, taken after a succesful mission to Nicaragua in July, 1979. Sometimes we felt that our political leaders should have put a little more thought into their decision making process before authorizing a mission. With that in mind, the small group of men I was privileged to serve with, came up with a test that every commander should take before making a decision about committing American lives anywhere. We’d think about it every time our lives, not someone else’s, was on the line.

The test is where the president stands in front of a mirror and in his mind pretends to be in front of a soldier and the soldier’s wife, and the soldier’s son and the soldier’s daughter. He stands in front of a soldier’s family and says, “You know, Mrs. Soldier, this mission is very important. It’s so important that we need your husband to fly over to the Dark Continent and fight. It is so important and so critical,” and this is where he looks her right in the eyes, the light to her soul, and says, “It’s so important, that your husband may have to give his life. And it will be worth it. That’s how important this is. If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t be sending the best soldiers from the mightiest army from the greatest country on the face of the earth over there.” And he would hold her hand and kiss her cheek.

 And then, he would kneel down in front of the boy, maybe rub his hand in his hair and say, “This is so important, that your daddy may die. That would mean you would be the man of the house and you’d have to take care of your mom and sister. This is so important that God may take your daddy away forever. You won’t have him around to play ball with. Or to watch you grow up. Or to help mold you into a man. But that’s how important this is. And when you grow up, you might have an important mission to go on, like your daddy.”

And then he would turn to the girl who would have tears running down her cheeks. He would lift up her chin and look into those big bright beautiful innocent eyes and say, “But know this, I will do everything that is humanly possible to make sure that your daddy is safe and returns home. This, I promise to you.”

Then he would stand up, pat the soldier on the shoulder, and they would exchange salutes.

The average American has no idea what awaits our soldiers as they fight and die in the dust of a Third World country thousands of miles from home. Even our so-called political leaders seem to know nothing about our isolated, savage encounters against Third World irregulars as we attempt to alter the political equation in one tumultuous location after another.

It’s the soldier that volunteers. The soldier that bleeds. And the soldier that dies.