Gunshots
The first time you hear a gunshot that is not your own is memorable. The second time is less so, and every additional one is less and less memorable. And when you live in a base where you hear an average of 30 gunshots per day coming from your Area of Operation(AO), you get used to it. When you see tracer rounds just outside your base, it almost feels pretty. Watching the red dots dazzle across the horizon, you just stare at them, waiting for more. It takes you a moment to realize the meaning behind this. If you’re observing tracer rounds, there is someone shooting another person. At some point you cannot ignore these questions. Who is shooting? Who is being shot at? We are the only military base in our area, so they cannot be other soldiers. Are unarmed people being attacked by an armed group? Are innocent people in danger?
Nobody in our base seemed to know the exact answer and that drove me crazy. Days, weeks, months, and more gunshots passed by.
I was determined to find out answers and one day I got the opportunity. There was a sighting of tracer rounds in proximity of our base while I was on call. I skipped requesting permission and ordered a Quick Reaction Force(QRF) team to deploy to the area. When the Commanding Officer(CO) found out about this, he was furious, questioning who requested the QRF. He ordered them to return to base immediately, emphasizing that our base should not be taking action unless given permission by the Korean Ministry of National Defense. I was given criticism after criticism for this decision. I was not the person in charge to make these choices. But what if there are innocent people that we could help in danger? I believe that’s not a problem of authority anymore. We have the firepower and responsibility to help. If it happens to be combat between two armed local groups, maybe that is a different story. I wasn’t saying we should go conquer some piece of land. Helping people in need is one of our missions and that was all I was pushing for.
I was constantly angry at everyone in my unit for not taking actions that I believed we should. But slowly and steadily, my anger sizzled down, I became numb, and I got used to playing football while hearing gunshots right outside our base.
Numb
We had a rotation of people who took night shifts in the Tactical Operational Center(TOC). These shifts were from 1600 in the afternoon to 0830 the following morning. Also keep in mind that this is after a full day from 0830 - 1600 and physical training during lunch break. We are given two 30 minute breaks, one for lunch and one for breakfast. We are not allowed to sleep the whole night working in a small room full of screens, alarms, radios, without any access to personal electronics. I was in this rotation and I absolutely hated these shifts. After this shift, I almost took the whole week to recover, just to be welcomed by another one.
If there was an incident right around the time that you handover to the next person, you had to stay until the situation was resolved. One day around 8 a.m, I started receiving calls from the guard point(GP) in our base hearing multiple assault rifle gunshots with tracer rounds. There were more than 40 gunshots heard over the next 30 minutes and I had to stay an extra hour to do the handover takeover of this incident. I was so tired from the 24 consecutive hours of work. I was already stressed before the shift from job hunting for post-military life, and fighting with my girlfriend back then. The last thing I wanted was an extra hour of work. I somehow managed to power through what ended up being two extra hours, ate half a breakfast, took a shower and came to my room to get some sleep.
Then it hit me. With my rifle in plain sight at the foot of my bed, I rediscovered what these pieces of metal are made to do. People could have died while I was writing down reports of the gunshots. Innocent, good people could have died. While I was just mindlessly writing my report and was annoyed that I couldn't go to sleep soon enough, there were people out there at that exact moment, who could have lost their husbands, wives, kids, and loved ones.
I cried after this realization. And I cried for a while more.
Inertia
As gunshots mean less and less, we care less and less. As we care less, we stop questioning and stop taking actions. After a few months, there were people who would not report gunshots at all to avoid extra work.
Getting used to something gradually makes you numb. Our brains are wired to be less stimulated from repeated stimuli. There was a master sergeant who I served with in Lebanon. This was his fourth or fifth deployment and he was previously deployed to Afghanistan, Iraq, etc. He told me about how the first time you see a dead body carried back to base you are in shock. His first was a man who was almost blown into two pieces from a mortar. But as you see more and more dead men carried back to base, you start getting used to that as well. So in many ways, less stimuli is beneficial. As bad as it sounds, men who are in war need to get used to seeing dead men. It happens to be a sad and ugly part of the job. The cruel side effect of getting used to something is that we become less and less motivated to take action. We are gradually trapped in inertia.
One way to fight inertia that I found is to unlearn the wrong lessons. At some point as you get used to hearing gunshots, you learn that this is the norm. You start believing gunshots are okay. But they are not. 10 gunshots today is as bad as 10 gunshots 3 months ago, if not worse. So we have to constantly teach ourselves what is right, what is wrong, and to unlearn the numbness to see things from a clear perspective.
I am not saying I am or was good at unlearning such lessons nor better at fighting inertia. I really was one of the many. I can’t turn back time and save anyone. Noone can. But the least I could do after failing to take proper action when I should have, is to learn. To learn, so the next time I am reaching inertia, to unlearn, and do the right thing.
Black Hawk Down, 2001
Eversmann: I was talking to Blackburn the other day, and he asked me "What changed? Why are we going home?" and I said "Nothing." That's not true either; I think everything's changed. I know I've changed.
You know a friend of mine asked me before I got here; it's when we were all shipping out. He asked me "Why are you going to fight somebody else's war? What, do you think you're all heroes?" I didn't know what to say at the time, but if he'd ask me again I'd say no. I'd say there's no way in hell. Nobody asks to be a hero.