Jay Peterson
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Because I'm getting tired of this

3/6/2015

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The great game of politics demands that whenever someone on our "side" is found doing something stupid, illegal, or what have you, we've got a few natural responses: Deny, equivocate, or find an offender of equal depth on our opponent's side. It's similar to the lawyer's tactics of "if the law is on your side, argue the law. If the facts are on your side, argue the facts. If neither is on your side, destroy the opposition's credibility."
Thus it is with Brian Williams and Bill O'Reilly.
(I cannot fucking believe I'm defending Bill Fucking O'Reilly of all people. Fuck.)
Williams fucked up in crossing the war stories line of lies. I've been in enough helos to know they're not the most comfortable ride in the world, but a crash in one of those fucking things is pretty distinguishable as to whether one was or was not in one. Williams was not in a helo that was shot down, and said he was. Blatant lie by a reporter. Back in the day, Cronkite would've beaten the shit out of Williams in the alley behind the CBS building before lighting a cigar and using the smoke break to lecture him on journalistic ethics.
O'Reilly, on the other hand, has some nebulous language surrounding his time covering the Falkland war back in the 80's. Was he on the islands proper? No. No reporter was. He was however in Argentina, in Buenos Aires along with every other reporter, and as such balls-deep in the riots following the British victory. Semantics, yeah, and politifact has rated him as half-true as a result.
That said, if being in Buenos Aires during the fighting and postwar riots doesn't count as being in the war zone, then neither does covering the Iraq war from the comforts of Camp Cupcake, Anaconda, or the Green Zone. In which case, I think a lot of reporters out there may have to make some adjustments to their cred.
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Ink and blood

3/5/2015

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The Sgt. Major of the Army is taking a closer look at the Army's tattoo policy after being surprised by objections to stricter regs. The Marines' new Commandant hasn't mentioned any revisions to his own branch one way or another.

In the Times, the Sgt. Major seems taken aback at the scope of resistance to the new regs. I think I might have the reason he's looking for.

It's a trope-near-cliche to think soldier=mindless drone, though the truth is the exact opposite. Heinlein said it better than me, in that it's true Caesar (and likely Napoleon) could use mindless drones by the score, but a modern force has nearly no use for such. The USMC mantra of "improvise, overcome, and adapt" has been nothing less than crucial in the War on Terror. ROE's have changed on the hour. Packs of turbaned Macguyvers made and placed IEDs in a race against our TTP's countering them. Our PA and CA people spent the entire war against the ropes thanks to their propaganda machines. And in every case, on every front, we improvised, overcame, and adapted.

The U.S. doesn't have a military that shuts up and blindly does what they're told. They've had one that takes initiative, solves problems, and keeps on going for the duration of GWOT.

In short, the good Sgt. Major has a lot of creative soldiers nowadays.

But the thing about creative people is, they need an outlet. And fixing problems on the fly doesn't always cut the mustard.

Uniformity is a good and noble thing. Now that I no longer run the risk of appearing in one, I can appreciate the beauty of a pass in review, and the sight of a thousand moving as one. But individuality is there as well, whether we like it or not. Our modern warriors are kept uniform in most aspects of their individual lives: clothing, hair, speech, what have you. One of their few outlets is their very skin, their tattoos.

And what a canvas for a warrior's creativity it is. Our stories are forged in blood and finished in ink. What media on earth is more fitting, then, than the one media that encompasses both? It is in our very bodies that we mark our stories. Stories of those who stood at our left and right and those who we left safe home. Stories of those who fell at our side and those who fell at our hands. Our thoughts, dreams, visions, memories, nightmares, all that we are displayed in our flesh.

Just the other day I heard of a fellow veteran who had what I believe will soon be an iconic symbol: A crossed-out number 22. A pledge to himself not to become one of the 22 veterans who take their lives daily.

A professional appearance will be kept, I believe, if tattoos are not visible while wearing full dress uniforms. Otherwise, our creative warriors should be permitted their stories.   
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    Jay Peterson

    Musings on violence, storytelling, and humanity in general.

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