TAGGED IN

Havok media

    Where Were You When Saddam Hussein’s Statue Came Down?

    Saddam Hussein’s statue was pulled down on April 9, 2003. I doubt many civilians old enough to remember it could say where they were when they first saw those images. But for those in the military at the time, even 20 years later, I bet that you do. Before I tell you where I was, I’m going to tell you how I got there. At the time, I was an Operating Room (OR) nurse in the Air Force (AF) stationed at Elmendorf AFB, Alaska. My previous duty assignment had been a small, outpatient OR at Barksdale AFB, Louisiana (see “‘A Deck of Many Things’: Reflections on Colin Powell and Iraq, 20 Years Later.”) Prior to that, I’d been a civilian OR nurse working at Carolinas Medical Center in Charlotte, North Carolina. And underwriting all of this was the drive to emulate my enigmatic father in a way that was also acceptable to him and my family. Since the 1980s, Dad had been a part of Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC), gone more than he was home, and seemed a part of every contingency and operation from the invasion of Grenada through Desert Storm and into the Global War on Terror. Image Source. In my youngest daughter’s article “What Moving as a Military Dependent Taught Me About Relationships,” she writes: “It’s human nature to cling to what is most familiar, and nothing is more familiar than being in nine different places with the same four people, my mom, dad, sister, and brother.” The same was true for the family I grew up in. By age 10, my mom, dad, sister, and I had moved six times that I actually remember with that final PCS to Fort Bragg, NC in 1982. Up until JSOC came along, moving around was our way of life. But those four innocuous letters eventually transformed our family of four, bound together as each other’s only constants, into a trio of suburban transplants, trapped in Fayetteville, NC like flies in amber. Previously, we’d lived in places like Casteau, Belgium– Munich, Germany–Monterey, California–and Fayetteville was a dumpster fire by comparison. After that first year, I yearned to move again as we had done so many times before. It was what I knew. Moreover, I wanted Dad back in our family. But our once free-roaming, nomadic lives were held hostage by JSOC which had also taken one of the only constants in my 11-year-old life. What made it worse was that Dad wanted it. We could sense his excitement for whatever secret things he was doing. When I asked if he could get another job he told me his truth: “I like being where the action is.” And that wasn’t with us. Mixed with his love and affection was enthusiasm for his job. He loved us but not quite enough to want to be with us. The message 10-year-old me internalized? When push came to shove: You don’t matter. And I wanted so badly for us to matter to him. The Army, particularly JSOC, was the most important thing in our family’s life. Military service was the only way I knew to compete with JSOC. The hard truth was that Dad chose JSOC over his family for 30 years. (See “In the Shadow of JSOC“). The Army was ubiquitous and defined our family’s existence, yet Dad had also steered me away from following in his footsteps. Don’t join the military. Why would you want to learn to kill people? There’s no future in that. Don’t enlist. Ok, if you insist on joining, get a degree–be an officer. You’re going to be a nurse? Great, that’s marketable. The Army’s RIFing their nurses so you’re joining the Air Force? That’s good because the AF is easier than the Army. His example contradicted his words. The Army was both the creator and destroyer of our family. Growing up the mixed messages were: I love you, but not more than I love the Army. But the Army’s also not for you–you can’t be a part of the thing that I love more than you. The psychological definition of ambivalence is: “The coexistence within an individual of positive and negative feelings toward the same person, object, or action, simultaneously drawing him or her in opposite directions.” Ambivalence was baked into my bones as a child–on all three counts. Life didn’t make sense. Like splitting atoms, the paradox ripped me apart–I was an exploding star. By age 13 I experienced debilitating panic attacks and seriously contemplated suicide. By age 18 I learned to force these conflicting energies together into a painful quasi-equilibrium I could live with. The pressure was constant–but all-consuming fusion was preferable to self-destructive, life-threatening fission. Once a supernova subsides, the dust and gas form a nebula where new stars can form. That’s what I did. I became a burning star. At age 28, Mom essentially became the single parent to her 10-year-old son and 8-year-old daughter. She was our only constant and the center of our universe. Without her, there was no family. “Take care of your mom while I’m gone,” dad would say before leaving. Many times we never knew where he was going, and sometimes we didn’t know when he’d be back. We never spoke of his work. OPSEC (Operational Security) was a way of life in my house. I took Dad’s tasking seriously, I did my best. But it was never enough. Mixed with Mom’s genuine love and affection were sewn threads of anger and resentment–more contradictions. I sensed her profound loneliness. It was always there. Mom was in pain and wanted her husband back. Nothing I could do would change that. But I was there and I saw what it did to her. I think it helps explain why, when I had my own family, she was ambivalent too. My wife (Jen), our two-year-old daughter, and I arrived at Elmendorf AFB on November 1, 2001. Jen got pregnant that very next month. It was a shock to the system. We’d left the humid heat and swamps of Louisiana, for the frozen tundra of Alaska. We also arrived in the winter with very little sunlight–something I never acclimated to in the 3+ years stationed there. Unlike the OR I’d just left, this OR was overworked and understaffed. In fact, one of the former RIF’d (Reduction in Force) Army OR nurses I’d worked with at Barksdale AFB, who’d previously complained how slack the AF was, warned me that this OR was as tough as any Army MEDCEN (Medical Center). We took a lot of call and in addition to the emergent appendectomies, cholecystectomies, fractures, and occasional trauma, et al– we did a LOT of C-sections. I soon learned to hate the sound of a pager. 9/11 was fresh and I volunteered to be a member of an MFST (Mobile Forward Surgical Team). I wanted to deploy. At the time you could feel America spinning up into a great war machine. As part of the training pipeline, I spent the month of February 2002 at the R. Adams Cowley Shock Trauma Center in Baltimore, Maryland. I loved it. In addition to soaking up normal sunlit days, we worked 12-hour shifts doing nothing but trauma. And best of all… there was no call. I had set hours and for the first time since 1998, got to do neurosurgical cases–which had been my specialty as a civilian prior to joining the AF. I went with three other guys from the unit and we all shared an apartment during the four-week training. When we were off duty, we drank like fish. It was like college all over again. It was a blast. With a second baby on the way, Jen, a Certified Ophthalmic Technician at the time, was going to have to quit working. Daycare costs were so high in Alaska, anything she earned would have gone to paying for daycare. I worked long hours and wanted Jen, not a daycare, raising our kids. She was due in September, and that spring friends of ours threw a baby shower for us. No one came. Yes, we’d only been in Alaska for six months or so. Yes, the OR was understaffed and people were busy. But it stung. In October 1999, when our daughter, Alyssa, was born in Louisiana, no one from my family came to visit. This felt a lot like that. So when our son, Andrew, was born in September 2002, and again no one from my family visited it was as if an icicle had been pounded into my heart. It drove the point home. You don’t matter. Coupled with this was the fight with superiors to take leave to be with Jen who needed help with our almost 3-year-old daughter and newborn son. As I said, we were short-staffed, the mission came first (they weren’t going to run one less OR), and paternity leave didn’t exist. More than anything I wanted a close-knit family. Yes, it was expensive to fly from NC to AK, but Jen’s parents came and they were by no means affluent. Though we bumped heads at times, it meant a lot. We needed the support and they were there for us. Having children didn’t seem to matter to my family in NC, and I wanted so badly to matter to them. Yet my mother was active in my sister’s children’s lives. More contradictions. What was more important? Military Service. Though it wasn’t the Army, by my twisted mental calculus, when I started doing things that mattered in the AF, we might start to matter to them too. My training pipeline was completed after finishing the Expeditionary Medical Support (EMEDS) Course in October of 2002 at Randolph, AFB, Texas. I was good to go. The U.S. was gearing up for invading Iraq and I was itching to deploy. So when I heard there was going to be a six-month deployment to an undisclosed location in February 2003, I had to go. At that time AF deployments were three months long so this was highly unusual. This was it. Iraq. Jen wasn’t eager for me to go, but she understood how important it was to me. Except I wasn’t tapped to go, someone else was. I asked if I could go in his place. To this day, I clearly remember him saying, “Yeah, I’ll let you have this one.” I was supercharged. I thanked him and we made the arrangements. I’ll also never forget the moment I signed the temporary NDA (Non-Disclosure Agreement). Afterward, the NCO told me: “You’re going to Guam.” “What? Why?” I asked. I was incredulous. The tasking fell under Operation Enduring Freedom, not Operation Iraqi Freedom, and supported a buildup of B-1 and B-52 bombers deploying to Andersen AFB in Guam. It was a show of force in case North Korea acted up while we were invading Iraq. The existing medical footprint couldn’t handle an influx of 2,000 troops, so the 7th Expeditionary Medical Group deployed to provide medical support. Image Source. Public Domain So where was I when Saddam Hussein’s statue was pulled down? Though the six-month deployment was terminated at the three-month point, I watched Saddam’s statue topple while sitting in a DFAC (Dining Facility) at Andersen AFB, Guam. North Korea had behaved itself and I was glad to be going home before June instead of September. The deployment was part of Operation Enduring Freedom yet Guam was 5,000 miles from Afghanistan. Iraq was 6,300 miles away. Any way you sliced it, we were on the sidelines. And in my mind, we hadn’t mattered. ______________ This first appeared in The Havok Journal on March 3, 2023. Mike Warnock is the editor-in-chief of The Havok Journal, an Air Force (USAF) veteran, and a retired Army Nurse Corps officer. After working 10 years as both a civilian Operating Room (OR) nurse and USAF OR nurse, he served in the Army from 2007-2019. The majority of his 23 years of professional civilian and military service were spent in clinical nursing, which included working in several ORs, in various clinical leadership and staff Officer positions with two deployments to Iraq. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    By, With, and Through

    I have a deal with my deceased son, Quint. OK, maybe it is a one-sided bargain since his assent has not been verbally received. Nor have I shaken his hand or signed a contract. But it is the kind of agreement you sense in your heart when wrestling with the loss of a loved one. Our silent agreement goes like this. I will do my best to enjoy and experience living life here on this earth–so he can experience this life through my eyes and my experiences–to borrow a Special Forces precept–­By, With, and Through, me.  In return, I yearn to experience glimpses of his life in heaven– By, With, and Through, him. So far it seems a one-sided deal as I am searching for signs of his presence here with me. But I am patient and persistent as I learn to “see” through a new set of lenses. I am still waiting for a tiny glimpse of heaven. I know that I could not handle the full heaven reveal right now but a little taste would do me just fine. I have had very few dreams about Quint, which I find odd considering how often I think about him on a daily and hourly basis. I would also argue that he has the better end of the deal—experiencing heaven in all its unimaginable glory is certainly more soul satisfying than being encumbered by these earth-bound, sin-stained bodies of ours. But even still, with all the ugliness and evil in the world, living life as we know it can still be a beautiful and rewarding experience if we open our eyes to see, our ears to hear, and our hearts to love. Photo Credit: Author This “deal” of ours has recently helped me step out and do some things that I really didn’t feel like doing. My drive and purpose have eroded over the last 20 months as I struggle to rekindle meaning and energy in my life. Utilizing this perspective has helped me to step out and smell the roses a few times even though my heart was not inclined to do so at the time.  “ What’re gonna do, not go” was one of my son’s favorite maxims and I have been, albeit sluggishly, trying to embrace that mantra in my life.        For example, this morning I got my lazy butt out of bed and walked in the woods. My goal was to hear a turkey gobble at sunrise as I had not heard one yet this year. Sure enough, I heard one. I closed the distance and picked a spot to hunker down. I started softly yelping while the gobbler was still roosting in a tree. Whop, whop, whop– I heard the ungainly wingbeats of turkeys as two hens, not so gracefully, glided down to the ground and alight in the small opening in front of me right next to my turkey decoy—a picture perfect start. Two minutes later, a mature gobbler pitched down following the same flightpath the hens took to the ground, landing 25 yards from me. You couldn’t ask for a more perfect scenario—and roasted wild turkey breast for dinner. It was all over by 0715, before I had even had a sip of coffee out of the small thermos, I always carry with me.  Now, let’s be honest. It rarely works out like that. The other dozen outings, you hear nothing, you get busted closing the distance, the Gobblers go quiet or go another direction—you are outplayed, outwitted, and empty handed—and that’s OK because that is why you keep coming back for more.  Photo Credit: Author And then some days, like today, it all works out perfectly and it seems so easy. These mornings are simply gifts from above. I regret that I never put Quint on a Glen turkey before his passing. I just thought there would be more time, but I do know that he somehow got me out of bed this morning and that we shared this sunrise and hunt together. I was able to share a taste of life on this earth with Quint, By, With, and Through, my experience and perspective. Now, Quint, how about you reciprocate and share with me a little taste of life with you in heaven—or wait a minute, did I just experience it?   “Your kingdom come, your will be done, on earth as it is in heaven…” Matthew 6:10 A joint special forces team move together out of a U.S. Air Force CV-22 Osprey Feb. 26, 2018, at Melrose Training Range, New Mexico. (U.S. Air Force photo/Senior Airman Clayton Cupit) ___________________________________ This first appeared in The Havok Journal on April 16, 2024. Tab Taber is a Gold-Star Dad–father of SSG George L. Taber V, a Green Beret Medical Sergeant from 7th SFG who died during a violent storm on Mt. Yonah while in the Mountain phase of Ranger School in August 2022. Tab journals to process his grief and to recollect memories of his son. Occasionally he shares his written thoughts with The Havok Journal and on Instagram @gltiv. He retired from the Military (8 years Marines;15 years Army) in 2014 and now resides in NE Florida where he runs a 4th generation wholesale plant nursery. He can be reached at tabtaber7@gmail.com. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    More Than Grandpa

    I’ve been a full-time caregiver for one of our grandchildren for over four years now. My wife and I have been responsible for Asher since he got out of the NICU. What’s most striking about my relationship with Asher is that I spend more time with him than I ever did with any of our own children. This is mostly because I’m retired. It’s also because Asher doesn’t have anyone else to care for him. In many families, grandparents help out as part-time babysitters. My wife and I are not just helpers—we act in place of Asher’s actual parents. We are raising our grandson, and while we now have more time than we did with the previous generation, we also have far less energy than we did thirty years ago. My wife and I work in shifts to care for Asher. I’m a morning person, so I’m active with him early in the day. My wife is a night owl, so she takes over after lunchtime. I usually take Asher out—often to a playground or a library. That gives my wife a chance to catch up on her household chores, work on her fiber arts, or just enjoy some quiet time. Asher and I are together almost every day for three to five hours, just the two of us. We play, we talk, we eat, and we argue. We bond—and we do that in a way I never did with a four-year-old before. I am his grandpa, but also more than that, and he is more than just a grandson to me. Yesterday, the two of us went sightseeing. We drove a few miles south to the Eco-Justice Center. It’s a small farm and also a place for environmental studies. Asher always notices when we’re getting close because he sees the blades of the wind turbine turning in the breeze. The farm has chickens, goats, and alpacas. Asher likes to visit the alpacas—he keeps calling them llamas. Well, he’s close. The people running the farm also have a few guinea hens. Those are fiercely territorial creatures. They apparently enjoy defending their turf from small children. Asher is a small child, and they confronted him. He ran from two of them, which only encouraged their aggressive behavior. One of them nipped at his blue jeans. He freaked out. I told Asher, “Don’t run. Walk slowly to our car.” He moved away from the guinea hens at a glacial pace while keeping an eye on them. He asked me, “Grandpa, is this slow enough?” “Yeah. However, we need to get to the car sometime. You can go a little faster.” We left the farm and drove a little way to the lighthouse at Wind Point. It sits near the shoreline of Lake Michigan, north of Racine. Asher was excited about going to the beach. The water was cold, and the wind was kicking up breakers that churned the surf into a grayish-brown color. He had on his rain boots because I knew he’d play in the surf. He found a mound of tiny shells, picked one up, and put it to his ear. “Grandpa, I can hear the ocean!” he told me. Most of the beach was covered in brownish sand, but there was also a low-lying ledge of limestone filled with hollows that served as tidal pools. Asher launched small round stones into the pools. The rocks were different colors: black, white, deep red. As he threw the stones, he kept edging further into the water. I yelled, “Don’t go in too deep! I don’t want you to get water in your boots!” “But Grandpa! I am not going too deep! Can’t you see?” Note: Asher’s favorite word is “but.” Most of his responses start with it. Later, Asher grew tired of throwing stones and insisted on climbing the large rocks inland from the beach. He was clambering up from the shore toward the lighthouse, which worried me. I kept imagining him slipping and doing a lip stand. “Get off the rocks! I don’t want you to get hurt!” I said. He kept climbing over the boulders. As he navigated the rocks, he replied, “I can do this! See! I am on the other side now! I didn’t get hurt! I am on the main island now!” The main island? The mainland? Whatever. He was on a level grassy area inland from the rocks. “Grandpa, what is this place?” he asked. “Asher, this is a golf course.” The answer meant nothing to him. We got back into the car and drove to his favorite playground. The day was getting warmer, and the playground was packed with youngsters. I prefer to visit when it’s not so busy. The more kids there are, the higher the energy level. As the population increases, so does the volume. The children move faster, and confusion reigns. Often, caregivers at the playground have their eyes glued to their smartphones. When the place swarms with children, everyone’s radar is focused on their own, but it’s still easy to lose a kid in the crowd. Asher ran around like all his contemporaries. I kept moving with him. I got tired. Being hyper-vigilant is exhausting. Eventually, I told him it was time to go home. He balked at the idea, but after much haggling, he climbed into his car seat. On the way home, I rolled through a yellow light. Asher noticed. He told me, very seriously, “Grandpa, a yellow light means that you should slow down and stop.” I said, “Thanks, Asher. I’ll do that next time.” He fell asleep after that. ________________________________ Frank (Francis) Pauc is a graduate of West Point, Class of 1980. He completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course at Fort Huachuca and then went to Flight School at Fort Rucker. Frank was stationed with the 3rd Armor Division in West Germany at Fliegerhorst Airfield from December 1981 to January 1985. He flew Hueys and Black Hawks and was next assigned to the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, CA. He got the hell out of the Army in August 1986. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    In Silence, My Mind Wanders… and Wonders

    The peaceful silence broken by the swaying branches and warm breeze. The sun gently warms the skin as I look out upon the world. In such a silence the mind wanders. In such silence the mind wonders.  As I sit, I ponder who it is I am.  How it is I got here. Who it is I want to become. I sit and wonder why such silence brings such calming discomfort. Why such feelings of relaxation bring a twinge of guilt.  Why my brain seeks to make chaos in such silence.  In these moments of silence, I reflect upon the life lived. I reflect upon how so few around could understand my journey. I am thankful they do not; yet frustrated with such a disconnect. I wish they knew why my every action and word is so direct. Why it is I am so passionate. Why I wish to always reflect upon every past word and every past action. I do it because I have lived the consequences. I have lived through abuse and neglect. I have lived through war, and the trials, tribulations, and loss it brings. I have lived when so many did not, when I should not have. I have lived through seemingly endless wandering, where I almost lost myself.  US Army soldiers provide security on a road while manning a checkpoint outside of Sadr City, Iraq, October 25, 2008. (DoD Photo) Every moment of silence is conflicted. These moments were once moments of wondering reflection, but they become tormented wandering. These moments of silence remind me of where it is I thrive, in chaos. It reminds me how long I lived in silence and stagnation, longing for the chaos. The prolonged wandering tainted the once peaceful wondering. The moments of silence seemed endless. Now I must sit and force the wondering reflection. I must force myself to find the peace. Moment after moment, I begin to find the things that were lost. Moment by moment I begin to find myself.  __________________________ This first appeared in The Havok Journal on April 23, 2024. Jake Smith is a law enforcement officer and former Army Ranger with four deployments to Afghanistan. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    Why Injuries at Sea Are Treated Differently Than Injuries on Land

    Source: Unsplash (CC0) Getting hurt can be scary no matter where it happens, but injuries that happen at sea are treated very differently compared to injuries that happen on land. There are special laws that only apply to accidents on the water, and they can make a big difference in how your case is handled. If you work on a ship or even if you’re just a passenger, it’s important to know that your rights might not be the same as they would be after a regular accident. Because life at sea brings different risks, the legal system handles these situations in a unique way. Learning about these differences can help you understand what steps you should take if something ever happens to you while you’re on the water. Special laws protect people at sea When someone gets hurt at sea, the rules that protect them come from maritime law, which is a special type of law that’s been around for hundreds of years. Unlike accidents on land, where state laws usually decide what happens, accidents at sea are often decided by international rules and federal courts. This can make things a lot more complicated if you’re not ready for it. If you’re ever involved in an accident on the water, it’s smart to talk to a maritime lawyer who understands these special rules. For example, if a cruise ship passenger slips and falls, the steps they need to take to get help are not the same as if they had fallen at a shopping mall. A lawyer who knows how maritime cases work can help you move through the process the right way. Different types of compensation Compensation for injuries at sea can be very different from compensation for injuries that happen on land. People who work on ships, for example, might be covered by the Jones Act, which gives them the right to sue their employer for negligence if they get hurt. Passengers also have special rights, but they must usually prove that the ship’s owners or workers were careless. When you suffer a serious injury at sea, you might be able to get money for medical bills, lost wages, pain, and suffering, just like you would after a car accident. However, the way you have to prove your case and the amount you can recover might not be the same, and it depends a lot on the type of accident and who was involved. Special dangers at sea Life on the water brings different dangers than life on land, which is one reason the law treats these injuries differently. Rough seas, slippery decks, heavy equipment, and even sudden storms can all create risks that aren’t usually a problem at home or on the road. Ships also have limited medical care available, which can make injuries much worse than they would have been on land. For instance, if someone falls on a wet deck and breaks a bone, they might have to wait hours before getting proper medical attention. These extra risks mean that people at sea often need more protection under the law, and the courts take these dangers into account when deciding what should happen after an accident.

    Ruck It Up

    Being creative is a funny thing. I always have ideas—usually at all the wrong times. I’m most inspired when I’m least available to act on those impulses, like when I’m working or driving. I’ll wake from dream-riddled sleep with awesome plotlines and forget them by the time I’m done brushing my teeth. The discipline is in returning to the same well day after day, week after week, forever. The problem is when the well is dry. Dig deeper, they say. Keep digging, they scream. All the while, my brain is telling me I’m not good enough and that I’m just an imposter anyway. So, I decided to shut out those negative voices and take the advice of a friend. I loaded down a rucksack and hit the trail. Rucking is good for the body and mind. The problem is that sometimes my mind still thinks I can do things at the level I used to. So, with fifty pounds in my backpack, I set out on a two-mile trail. By the end, I was praying I could just make it back to my truck. The sun was relentlessly assaulting me. I hadn’t had any water before setting out. Did I mention there were NO clouds? I was dying. At one point during my slow slog back to relative fitness, I saw an old lady meandering in my direction. I moved to the grass and kept plodding along. She looked to be at least 400 years old. Methuselah’s grandmother had the audacity to proclaim it was a beautiful day and that she hadn’t even broken a sweat yet. I tried to force a smile and pretend I wasn’t about to pass out. Did I mention sweat was pouring off of me like a broken faucet? I mumbled something like, “It’s hottttttt.” Then I willed myself to keep walking and pick up the pace so my ancient friend wouldn’t witness my death on the paved trail. In the last tenth of a mile, my vision began to narrow, my head started to womp, and my mouth began to water slightly. Joke’s on you, nausea—I’d eaten less than I’d drunk that day. There was nothing in my stomach to throw up. As I dumped my sweat-soaked ruck into the backseat of my truck, I nearly passed out. “Two more steps. Just two more steps and I’ll be inside my truck,” I thought—or maybe even said aloud—as I pulled myself into the driver’s seat. Just as I sat down and rolled down my window, I caught the distinctive skunky smell of some degenerate smoking illegal substances in the parking lot. I cranked the air conditioner and prayed I wouldn’t fall out of my truck’s open door. That’s when the dry heaving took hold. I sat there and mock-vomited for five whole minutes. I must have looked like an idiot. That’s probably because I was. As I mentioned, I didn’t prepare. I impulse-hiked too far with a bag too heavy. But guess what? I survived. And I’m better for it. As I sat there, retching and dizzy, I had to smile. I did it. Did I prepare? No. I just said “to hell with my anxious brain,” grabbed my bag, and beat feet on the trail. I realized it’s hard to entertain spiraling anxiety when you’re more focused on catching your breath. Here’s the thing: it worked. Those happy endorphins replaced my anxiety. The dizziness and dry heaving were reminders that maybe next time I should properly hydrate and consume enough calories to sustain that level of exertion. But I mean, come on—that’s just semantics anyway. The main takeaway? Sometimes the stress your brain invents to distract you can be mitigated by the stress you put on your body. Heat stroke is a real threat. The idle thoughts that wrestle for prominence in your mind? Not so much. Even if they are real concerns, time on the trail can help reprioritize those emotions and help you work the problem. Maybe next time I’ll go further, faster, and properly hydrate. But where’s the adventure in that? An Army Reserve Best Warrior candidate negotiates a steep incline during the 10km ruck march event at the 2013 U.S. Army Reserve Best Warrior Competition at Fort McCoy, Wis., June 26. (DVIDS Photo: Public Domain) _______________________________ Stan is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker from Bethania, North Carolina. His work has been published in The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Understory, Dirtbag Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, Backcountry Journal, Wildlife in North Carolina, SOFLETE, The Tarheel Guardsman, Wildsound Writing Festival, and others. His poetry collection A Toad in a Glass Jar is scheduled for publication by Dead Reckoning Collective, date TBD. He has written three children’s books and one Christian Devotional book. He filmed and directed a documentary about his deployment in Iraq with the NC Army National Guard called “Hammer Down.” He spends most of his free time wrangling toads. You can see his collected works and social media accounts listed at www.stanlakecreates.com. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    No More Nuclear Sponges

    by Lt Col (ret), US Army, Darin Gaub It’s Time to Rethink How America Postures Its Nuclear Capabilities I know not with what weapons World War III will be fought, but World War IV will be fought with sticks and stones.– Albert Einstein ___________________ (National Park Service) Map showing the areas of the six Minuteman Missile wings on the central and northern Great Plains. The areas in black denote deactivated missile wings, and the red ones denote active missile wings. Growing up in Montana during the Cold War, I often found myself under a school desk as we went through frequent nuclear fallout drills. Montana is a state known as being a part of the “nuclear sponge,” where it is universally known that Russia targets our nuclear missile facilities, and we would absorb any large-scale nuclear exchange. They have not moved since they were built and that was eighty years ago. Even today Montanans who still know this threat exists are less inclined to hide under a desk and more likely to sit on the front porch with their favorite drink and watch the end of the world. We recognize that even if we were to live through a nuclear strike the world that followed such a holocaust is probably not worth trying to live in. We have the same attitude towards Yellowstone Park blowing up. Montana in the 1960s was not densely populated, and this was part of the appeal to building the silos here. The same is true for the other locations on the map you see above. In the 1960s Montana’s population was estimated at 680,000 people. Today it is nearly 1.13 million. Given the exodus of people fleeing states like California, Oregon, and Washington, our population is expected to increase. Yet we remain a part of the “nuclear triad” where America maintains land, sea, and air capabilities. The land-based options were viewed as necessary when it was thought the Russians (Soviet Union) were winning the balance of power, even though they were not. It is time to think differently concerning the positioning and deployment of America’s’ nuclear arsenal. I do not think it is wise or necessary to keep missiles in fixed locations that are so easy to target and increasingly surrounded by people moving into the affected states. We need to stop thinking of these areas as nuclear sponges, perpetually 30 minutes away from decimation, and as acceptable losses. We should develop new strategies that allow for rapid response and deterrence equally as effective as land-based systems. In fact, there should be no land-based systems anymore. F. E. WARREN AIR FORCE BASE, WYOMING. An LGM-118A Peacekeeper intercontinental ballistic missile points skyward from its position in a silo (1987) Source. Nuclear silos are typically 3.5-17.5 miles away from a launch facility and 3.5-8.5 miles apart from each other. In Montana, there are one-hundred missiles. They were installed in the 1960s and last updated in the 1970s. The technology inside the facilities has improved, but the missiles themselves need some work. The Air Force has a $400 billion plan to upgrade both the missiles and the facilities. I think we can make better use of that kind of money and acreage. America needs to rely solely on airborne and sea-launched missile systems. There are advantages to making this move. Americans are not at risk of a direct nuclear strike in the core of our homeland as adversaries would seek first to destroy our ability to respond. We could sell the silos and the land around them to citizens and reduce the cost to the taxpayer. Mobile nuclear launch systems in the air and under the sea are much harder to target than fixed facilities. Military risk is distributed by spreading missiles across multiple launch platforms rather than condensing missiles in three geographic areas. There is a reduced risk to the population by eliminating the need to move nuclear systems over land. As always, there are disadvantages at the outset of any plan like this. Some are fiscal and some are time constraints since this plan would require building more submarines and potentially airplanes. I do not see how maintaining the status quo out of fear of change is a good reason not to make those changes. We live in a highly connected world, with better technology and communications systems. Additionally, existing systems with a destructive potential far beyond what is necessary means we should adjust how we do business.[i] Much has changed since the 1960s; it is time to change how we posture our nuclear forces, too. The triad would be better as a duet. Lt Col (ret), US Army, Darin Gaub is a Co-founder of Restore Liberty, an international military strategist, foreign policy analyst, executive leadership coach, ordained teacher, and serves on the boards of multiple volunteer national and state level organizations. The views presented are those of the author and do not represent the views of the U.S. Government, Department of Defense, or its components. [i] I intentionally ignored any treaty obligations as part of this article and did not account for the funding process. Both may impact how this plan would be implemented but do not affect the validity of the argument. This first appeared in The Havok Journal on March 28, 2023. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    Their Weight and Scars

    I feel empty without them. I feel wrong. I feel as if something is missing. The skin where they resided lighter, having blocked the sun for so many years. My computers scratched and wore where they rested. My walls scuffed from my carelessness. My wrist scared from cuts past. I feel such guilt for enjoying the mobility in my wrist. I feel guilty every time they do not scar and scratch. I feel guilty every time I habitually flick my wrist and they do not clink together.  I have tried to see what such a freedom feels like. To see what living without them feels like. The truth is, I never live without them. Every moment of every day they are with me. I still feel their weight and scars, even without their tin reminders. The truth is, living without that reminder brings guilt. It makes me wonder what it is I am hoping to accomplish. The truth is, living without them is heavier than living with them. The weight and scars, physical and mental, will follow me to my grave. The truth is their weight and scars live with others every day. They weigh and scar those around me.  Every scuff and angered inconvenience quickly met with a twinge of guilt. Every angry moment immediately transformed into acceptance and understanding. Every moment they hurt another, their weight bears upon them. No one dare ask they be removed. No one dare question the weight and scars they bare upon me. The truth is every scratch, scar, and clink remind me of how precious this world is. It motivates me to be the best I can. It makes me cherish every moment in a way so few could ever understand. The truth is, I miss them every day. I miss their physical reminders. Whatever it was I hoped to discover I do not know. What I did discover was how intracule they are in my life. That the physical graveyard served something much bigger. I miss my tin graveyard. I miss those names wrapped around my wrist. I miss their physical reminders. The truth is this freedom is tormenting. The truth is I owe my freedom to their sacrifices. I owe my life to their memories so they might live on.  U.S. Army Sgt. James T. Schmidt, an infantry squad leader from Decatur, Ill., assigned to Company C, 2nd Battalion, 327th Infantry Regiment, Task Force No Slack, pulls security while on patrol in eastern Afghanistan’s Kunar Province, Nov. 4. On his right wrist, Schmidt wears a memorial bracelet for his nine fallen comrades from his previous platoon’s deployment to Afghanistan. Photo by U.S. Army Staff Sgt. Mark Burrell, 210th Mobile Public Affairs Detachment. Photo taken November 4, 2010. _________________________ This first appeared in The Havok Journal on March 1, 2024. Jake Smith is a law enforcement officer and former Army Ranger with four deployments to Afghanistan. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    What Will You Do When You Can’t Teach Us History?

    by Nicholas Efstathiou Sometimes, my students ask difficult questions. I teach high school history at a small charter school in New Hampshire. Our school focuses on history and is dedicated to shaping the leaders of tomorrow. As a veteran with a master’s in military history, this is my dream teaching job. I believe my students need to understand both the successes and failures of the United States. Without a clear grasp of our past and the challenges we’ve overcome, I cannot truly prepare them to take on leadership roles in the future. My students know to expect lessons on U.S. history that they haven’t encountered before. Recently, we covered America’s participation in the 1918 invasion of Soviet Russia and the Tulsa Massacre of 1921. We’ve examined the use of troops and planes to crush labor strikes and protests in mines and factories. Soon, we’ll discuss the Bonus Army March of 1932 and the Great Depression. Other than the Great Depression, these topics are rarely covered in standard curricula. The reason is simple: they are dark chapters in our history and confronting them is uncomfortable. No one wants to think about the United States attacking its own citizens for exercising their First Amendment right to free speech. The title of this article comes from a question one of my students asked: “What will you do when you can’t teach us history?” I encourage my students to read the news because history is not just about the past—it shapes the present, and the present lays the foundation for the future. I stress the importance of critical reading and thinking because these young men and women will be the ones running our country. It is my responsibility to ensure they are prepared for that task. Several of my students recently read about the Department of Education’s new “End DEI” portal, which encourages parents to report schools or teachers who violate the administration’s anti-DEI policies. They also came across the Executive Order Ending Radical Indoctrination in K-12 Schooling. While parts of the order and portal remain vague, one thing is clear: it mandates that a “patriotic education” be taught. According to the executive order, patriotic means an “accurate, honest, unifying, inspiring, and ennobling characterization of America’s founding and foundational principles.” The problem is that honest history cannot always be unifying, inspiring, or ennobling. How do I teach the end of slavery without discussing the transatlantic slave trade, the Dred Scott case, or the Fugitive Slave Act—none of which can be framed as inspiring? How do I teach about the Bonus Army of 1932, when World War I veterans marched on Washington, D.C., and set up Hoovervilles (homeless encampments) in desperation, demanding early payment of their promised service bonuses because the Great Depression had left them destitute? How do I explain that the future heroes of World War II—Eisenhower, Patton, and MacArthur—were young officers when they led troops, tanks, and gas attacks against those same veterans? The list of uncomfortable moments in U.S. history is long, but the purpose of this article is not to dwell on them. Instead, it is to examine the implications of this executive order and what it means for education. Many veterans feel called to serve in some way after their military careers end. I was not a hard-charger, and I battle imposter syndrome daily, but I am still proud to have taken the oath to serve my country. An Army flag hangs by my desk as a reminder of what I once was. I am a proud American—not despite our history, but because I believe in the promise of this country. I believe that only by teaching the truth can students recognize America’s potential and work toward its betterment. If the executive order forbids teaching the darker aspects of American history, we will not be preparing students for reality. Instead, we will be setting them up for a shock that could lead us to repeat past mistakes. During the Vietnam War, young Americans who had been raised to believe that the United States could do no wrong were confronted with the brutal realities of war, broadcast on television night after night. The images shattered the veneer of righteousness and glory in battle, making many young citizens question other aspects of their country’s history. What was true? What wasn’t? Our nation has come a long way, but we still have far to go. That’s not negativity; that’s fact. As a teacher, my job is to help students think critically, analyze events, and understand why they happened. Simply memorizing facts does not prepare them to grasp the significance of history or learn from it. When my student asked what I would do if I could no longer teach history, I told the class I would tell them “what if” stories. What if the United States had fought against the right for all its citizens to be free and equal? What if it had taken some of its citizens and locked them in camps? What if the United States had opposed child labor laws and better working conditions? What if teachers weren’t allowed to teach history? ____________________________________ Nicholas Efstathiou is a husband, father, and grandfather, as well as a dedicated history teacher and author of Killers in Their Youth. Beyond teaching, he enjoys reading, writing, and collecting books. A veteran of the United States Army, Nicholas earned a Master’s degree in Military History from Norwich University. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    Why Critics Attack Writers Instead of Writing Themselves

    It’s easy to be a critic. Too easy. In the age of the internet, where a keyboard transforms anyone into an armchair expert, writers—especially those who put their work out for the world to see—become prime targets for scrutiny. But here’s the thing: most of the loudest critics have never written anything substantial themselves. And when challenged to write, they usually slink away to the plate of cookies that Grandma brought down to them in the basement where they live. That’s no coincidence. Fear and Insecurity: The True Reasons Behind the Criticism People criticize writers because they are either afraid or incapable of writing themselves. It’s a defense mechanism, a way to mask their own shortcomings. To truly write means exposing a part of yourself, and that level of vulnerability isn’t something everyone is willing to embrace. More than that, they know that if they put their own work out there, they’d be opening themselves up to the same criticisms they’ve been hurling at others. The Fear Factor: Why Writing is Terrifying Writing is an act of creation, and creation invites judgment. That’s terrifying for many people. If you write, you risk criticism. If you never write, you never risk failure. Simple logic, right? Instead of taking that risk, some choose the safer route—tearing down those who do. It’s a way of convincing themselves that writing isn’t that difficult, that they could do it if they wanted to… but they just don’t feel like it. Or they’ll say, “I would, but I don’t have the time.” They disguise their fear as superiority. They nitpick grammar, mock ideas, and belittle content, all while never attempting to create something of their own. As Ernest Hemingway once said: “There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.” That’s the real reason most people don’t write. Writing is not just an intellectual exercise; it’s an emotional risk. It requires laying bare your thoughts, ideas, and sometimes even your soul. Critics who don’t write don’t understand that. They only see the finished product, never the struggle behind it. The Critic’s Secret Shame: Inability to Write Then there are those who genuinely can’t write well. Maybe they lack the skill, patience, or discipline. Maybe they’ve tried and failed. But instead of putting in the work to improve, they lash out at those who succeed. It’s classic insecurity—if they can’t do it, then no one else should be able to enjoy it either. Cyril Connolly once wrote: “Better to write for yourself and have no public than to write for the public and have no self.” Many critics don’t realize this, but their fear is not just of writing—it’s of being exposed. Because to write is to reveal yourself, even in fiction. It’s easier to sit back and take potshots at those who dare to put words on paper than to try and fail themselves. Some of these critics live in a fantasy where they could be great writers—if only they had the time, the opportunity, or the right idea. But the truth is, writing is a craft. It’s not about talent alone; it’s about doing the work. And if they were really capable of writing something better, they would. Instead, they settle for the self-avoidance of tearing down others. When Criticism Is an Emotional Reaction Another reason people harshly criticize writers is an emotional reaction to a differing opinion. When a writer expresses an idea that challenges someone’s worldview, values, or deeply held beliefs, the response is often not thoughtful discourse but defensive outrage. Instead of engaging with the argument or considering a new perspective, some lash out at the writer, attacking their credibility, intelligence, or style rather than addressing the substance of the work. George Orwell once said: “If liberty means anything at all, it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear.” But many would rather silence a writer than wrestle with uncomfortable truths. Rather than articulating a counterpoint through writing of their own, they choose the easier path—criticizing and dismissing the work entirely, as if doing so will erase the challenge it presents. Remember Galileo… The Galileo affair began around 1610 and ended in 1633 when the Roman Catholic Inquisition tried and condemned Galileo Galilei for supporting heliocentrism—the idea that the Earth and planets orbit the Sun. His 1632 book, Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems, defended this theory and sparked controversy. In 1633, the Inquisition found him “vehemently suspect of heresy” and sentenced him to house arrest, where he remained until his death in 1642. The Difference Between Constructive Criticism and Petty Negativity Of course, not all criticism is bad. Good-faith feedback helps writers improve. But there’s a vast difference between constructive criticism and empty negativity. Constructive criticism offers guidance and points out flaws with the intention of helping. Petty negativity exists only to tear down. You can spot the difference easily. The person who offers helpful advice probably writes themselves. The one who just sneers from the sidelines? They probably don’t. As Isaac Asimov put it: “Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers.” Constructive critics understand that writing is a thought process, a skill to be honed. Petty critics don’t. They mock typos, attack minor imperfections, and ridicule ideas instead of engaging with them. They offer nothing of substance because they have nothing to offer. Writing is Hard—That’s Why It’s Worth Doing There’s a reason why not everyone writes. It’s difficult. It demands vulnerability, persistence, and a willingness to be wrong. But that’s also what makes it rewarding. Jodi Picoult said it best: “You can always edit a bad page. You can’t edit a blank page.” That’s what separates writers from critics. Writers do the hard work. They wrestle with ideas, push through writer’s block, and put their thoughts into words—even when it’s difficult. Critics, on the other hand, sit comfortably behind their keyboards, never risking a single original thought. The truth is, most people who criticize writers without ever attempting to write themselves are not really critiquing the work. They are revealing their own fears. Fear of failure. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of being judged as harshly as they judge others. Writers Keep Writing. Critics Keep Talking. The world is full of people who will tell you why something won’t work, why your writing isn’t good enough, and why you should stop. But here’s the thing: if they really knew how to do it better, they would. Ray Bradbury once said: “You fail only if you stop writing.” So keep writing. Keep creating. Because at the end of the day, the only thing critics produce is noise. Writers produce something real. And that’s what truly scares them. One final note. If you think I consider myself to be a good writer, you’d be 100% dead wrong. I am my harshest critic. ______________________________ Dave served 38 years in the USAF and Air National Guard as an aircraft crew chief, where he retired as a CMSgt. He has held a wide variety of technical, instructor, consultant, and leadership positions in his more than 40 years of civilian and military aviation experience. Dave holds an FAA Airframe and Powerplant license from the FAA, as well as a Master’s degree in Aeronautical Science. He currently runs his own consulting and training company and has written for numerous trade publications. His true passion is exploring and writing about issues facing the military, and in particular, aircraft maintenance personnel. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    How to Build a Legacy with Rugs in Every Area of Your Life

    Photo by Juli Kosolapova on Unsplash Building a legacy isn’t just about leaving behind tangible assets—it’s about making choices that reflect your values, style, and the impact you want to have on future generations. When it comes to your home, one of the most powerful ways to create a lasting impression is through your choice of décor. Rugs, in particular, are often an overlooked but significant part of a home’s legacy. Here’s how you can build a lasting legacy through rugs in every area of your life. 1. Choose Rugs that Reflect Your Values A legacy begins with defining what’s important to you. Just as you carefully consider your values in life, the rugs you select for your home should reflect your tastes and the atmosphere you want to create. Whether you prefer traditional, contemporary, or eclectic designs, the right rug can set the tone for your home and make a statement about your personal style. Consider investing in high-quality rugs that will stand the test of time. Look for materials that are durable, such as wool or silk, which can hold up through years of use while retaining their beauty. A well-chosen rug can symbolize the importance of craftsmanship and the value you place on lasting beauty. When looking to invest in timeless pieces that enhance your home and contribute to your legacy, rugsource.com area rugs offer a wide selection of high-quality options that combine style, durability, and tradition. 2. Create Meaningful Spaces for Family and Friends Rugs play a central role in creating a warm and inviting environment for your loved ones. By carefully selecting rugs for your living room, dining room, and other common areas, you’re building a space that encourages connection and lasting memories. Rugs can help define different areas in an open-plan space, guiding how people move and interact. A carefully chosen rug, whether it’s an heirloom piece passed down through generations or a new design that adds personality to your space, has the potential to become a focal point in your home. It becomes a backdrop for family gatherings, special occasions, and everyday moments that build your legacy. 3. Invest in Quality for Future Generations When building a legacy with rugs, quality matters. Rather than purchasing inexpensive, mass-produced options, focus on long-lasting, high-quality rugs that will endure and remain relevant for generations to come. Consider timeless designs like Persian or Oriental rugs, which have been treasured for centuries for their craftsmanship and intricate patterns. These rugs can become cherished heirlooms, passed down to future generations, carrying with them memories of your home and the values you’ve instilled in your family. As you invest in quality pieces, you’re ensuring that your legacy is one of beauty, longevity, and craftsmanship. 4. Give Back Through Ethical Rug Choices In today’s world, it’s more important than ever to think about how your purchasing decisions impact others. Building a legacy doesn’t just mean leaving behind beautiful objects—it also means supporting ethical and sustainable practices. Look for companies that offer rugs made from sustainably sourced materials, and consider supporting artisans who create handmade pieces. By choosing ethical brands and supporting responsible production, you not only help preserve the craft of rug-making but also contribute to a future where sustainability and fairness are valued. This can be a powerful aspect of your legacy, showing future generations that beauty and ethics can go hand in hand. 5. Enhance the Comfort of Your Home A key part of building a lasting legacy is creating a home that offers comfort, warmth, and a sense of security. Rugs are essential for enhancing comfort in your home, whether it’s softening the impact of hard floors or adding extra warmth during cold months. A cozy, welcoming environment is the foundation for lasting memories and family connections. Consider placing rugs in high-traffic areas like entryways, hallways, and living rooms, where they can protect your floors while also making the space feel inviting. The right rug can transform a room, making it feel like a place of refuge and love—something you’ll want to pass down as part of your family’s legacy. 6. Personalize Your Home with Timeless Designs A key part of leaving behind a meaningful legacy is making your home uniquely yours. Rugs are a simple yet effective way to personalize a space, making it feel distinctly yours. Whether you opt for vibrant colors, intricate patterns, or subtle neutrals, the right rug can complement your décor and tie a room together. Rugs can also act as a canvas for personal expression. Choose designs that reflect your personality or the values you wish to impart to your family. By selecting rugs that tell a story, you’re building a legacy that’s uniquely your own. Conclusion Building a legacy through rugs involves more than just selecting a floor covering—it’s about investing in quality, creating meaningful spaces, and supporting ethical practices. By choosing rugs that reflect your values, comfort your loved ones, and stand the test of time, you’re ensuring that your legacy will last long after you’re gone. With every rug you add to your home, you’re not just decorating a room; you’re contributing to a lasting impact on future generations.

    Returning to Wonder at Tamarack Waldorf School

    A few days ago, Karin and I took our four-year-old grandson, Asher, to an orientation at the Tamarack Waldorf School on Milwaukee’s eastside. We plan on enrolling the boy into one of the kindergarten classes at the school for the fall semester. Karin and I are familiar with the school. Two of our children went there. Our youngest son was at Tamarack for kindergarten twenty-five years ago. My feelings about being there again are conflicted. It seems so strange to be starting this cycle again. It would probably be helpful if I tried to explain what a Waldorf School is. People have written entire books describing Waldorf education, so I will give a very stripped-down version of what it is all about. Waldorf schools have a curriculum that is holistic in that each subject has some connection with every other one. Every grade level has a theme to it. The underlying assumption is that the development of an individual child resembles the course of all humanity history in microcosm. Each boy and girl reenact the journey of all mankind. I find that to be a remarkable idea, and it implies that every child is intrinsically of value. The kindergarten is the start of the journey, and beginnings are important. There is an obsession in our culture to treat students as commodities. Schools, be they public or private, tend to groom children to become industrious worker bees, ambitious cogs in the corporate machine. They are told to be winners, whatever that means. I have had people encourage me to start teaching Asher how to read now. They tell me that he needs to get ahead, or at least not fall behind the kids in his age group. The Waldorf school will not push Asher or his classmates to be competitive this soon in life. They will learn how to socialize, how to draw, how to sing, and how use their imaginations while playing. In short, Asher will get a chance to be who he is, and right now he is just a little boy. Asher got to spend an hour with other children in the kindergarten classroom while the adult caregivers talked in the room next door. The school building is old. It has to be a century old if not more. The windows are tall. The floors are all hardwood. Nearly everything in the classroom is made of natural materials. There are many things fashioned from wood or ceramics or cloth. Each kindergarten room has a loft that the kids can use as the tower of a castle or the bow of a pirate ship. Everything that exists in the classroom is there to stimulate a sense of wonder in the child. There was one plaything in particular that caught my fancy. It looked a bit like a model of a tree. There was a vertical wooden shaft with metal leaves surrounding it in a spiral pattern. The leaves on the top of the tree trunk were small and they increased in size as they got close to the base. Asher dropped a wooden ball from the top of the tree. The marble rolled and followed the spiral of metal leaves, and the ball struck a musical note upon bouncing off of each leaf. Each consecutive leaf rang a lower note as the ball descended. It sounded like somebody was playing a scale on a xylophone. Asher was delighted with the toy. So was I. The room had other objects just as fascinating. While Asher was playing with his potential classmates, Karin and I sat with other adults to listen to a kindergarten teacher describe the class activities. Asher will play outside everyday regardless of the weather. He will go each day to a nearby park. He will listen to his teacher tell him stories. He will draw or paint or sculpt with beeswax. He will play games with the other kids. He will make friends. He will share snacks with them. He will become more human. I felt sad. I wasn’t feeling that way because of Asher. I’m excited for him, perhaps even more excited than he is. I felt sad because our own children went to this school, and they still suffered mightily when they became adults. They have experienced enormous trauma in the years since they were Asher’s age. They were like Asher at one time, just little kids, and now their innocence is long gone. Was their time in a Waldorf kindergarten of use to them? Did it prepare them at all for the challenges they faced? Did it do any good? I don’t know. I can never know. I do know that our grown-up kids are resilient and brave. Maybe being in a kindergarten like Asher’s gave them a chance to grow strong. Too many children never have the opportunity to be young. They are forced to grow up way too early, and that causes trouble later on in life. We want Asher to be little boy while he can. We want him to have a childhood. ____________________________ Frank (Francis) Pauc is a graduate of West Point, Class of 1980. He completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course at Fort Huachuca and then went to Flight School at Fort Rucker. Frank was stationed with the 3rd Armor Division in West Germany at Fliegerhorst Airfield from December 1981 to January 1985. He flew Hueys and Black Hawks and was next assigned to the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, CA. He got the hell out of the Army in August 1986. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    The City Trees That Just Won’t Fall

    In the suburban paradise where I reside, there is a tree in my front yard. I’m no arborist, but I think it’s an oak. It’s what we call a “City Tree.” City trees belong to the municipality and sit on city-owned property—in this case, on the strip of land between the sidewalk and the street in front of my house. Since that land belongs to the city, the tree does too. I’ve lived here for over twenty years, and the tree has been here the entire time. It was already fully grown when I moved in. Throughout the city, thousands of trees just like it grow in that same narrow strip of land. They clearly didn’t sprout up naturally. Someone—probably the city—planted them as part of a beautification effort, attempting to “pretty up” the neighborhood. Back then, they were likely no taller than the average adult. Since then, they’ve done what trees do: they’ve grown. Now, my city tree’s branches are hopelessly entangled in the power, cable, and phone lines that once towered above it. Since the tree isn’t mine, I’m not allowed to trim it. Doing so would be considered vandalism—a violation of the law. One of the offending City Trees, branches hopelessly entangled in power lines. (Photo Credit: Author) If you call the city, they’ll send a crew to trim it back a little, but the branches are so tangled with the wires that the workers can’t do much without risking electrocution or shutting off power to residents. The utility companies won’t do anything either, and realistically, it’s not their problem. A few years back, the city tried to cut down a tree causing similar issues. This led to protests, lengthy diatribes in the media and at City Council meetings, and other forms of public outcry. Faced with the backlash, the city caved and vowed never to do it again. Big trees don’t belong in urban sprawl. Their roots get strangled under asphalt and concrete. During what we call winter in California, we get heavy rain and strong winds, which cause large branches to snap off and, in some cases, entire trees to topple over. They tear through power lines, plunging neighborhoods into darkness. Last year, we lost power for two days; the year before, we were in the dark for three. Each time, a city tree was the culprit. Falling branches, often weighing hundreds of pounds, land on cars parked in driveways and along the curb. Sometimes entire trees crash onto houses, destroying them. Even when the damage isn’t catastrophic, the trees create a cascade of smaller problems. They fall across roadways, blocking traffic. Their roots push up sidewalks, creating tripping hazards. People get injured stumbling over these uneven walkways, leading many to walk in the street instead—making them easy targets for passing cars. And that’s not even touching on what tree roots can do to septic lines. If I wanted to voice my concerns to local officials in person, I couldn’t. Since COVID, most city employees have been working from home. City Hall is set up like a fortress. The outer doors are locked, so you have to be buzzed in. Once inside, you go to the front desk and state your business—only to be told that the person you need to speak with is “working remotely,” probably watching The View while collecting a paycheck. The whole experience is about as welcoming as a visit to the county jail. City trees are a prime example of government ineffectiveness. Whoever planted them decades ago should have realized they’d become a problem once fully grown. Since they’re on city property, we can assume the city either approved their planting or directly funded the project. But politicians operate in the “here and now.” At the time, it seemed like a good idea. The consequences? Someone else’s problem. As the trees and the problems they cause got bigger, no one did anything. Well, that’s not entirely true—they did try to cut down that one tree. But after public outrage, they never tried again. Realistically, most people probably wouldn’t have cared if the city had removed it. But a vocal few, with political clout and media connections, made enough noise to spook the politicians into submission. It’s yet another example of special interest groups—tree huggers, in this case—getting their way while everyone else is ignored. At this point, the only real solution would be to cut most of the city trees down. But before that could happen, there would have to be an expensive, taxpayer-funded environmental impact study, likely conducted by a firm with close ties to government officials. If the study concluded that the trees should go, there’d be a drawn-out selection process to find a contractor. The winning company would, of course, need to check all the right boxes—eco-friendly, diverse, properly pronouned, and so on. In the end, it would probably be a firm that only pretends to meet these standards but happens to have the right political connections. The city trees are just like the trees in wildfire-prone areas. Every fire season, they ignite, causing massive property damage and loss of life. These are trees that should have been cut down, but environmentalists and government agencies banned logging companies from removing them. Their lack of proper forest management has, in some cases, cost lives. The city tree problem is part of a larger pattern. The same government mismanagement applies to homelessness, crime, and other urban decay issues. Politicians cause the problems—often through well-meaning but short-sighted policies—then cave to special interest groups when those problems spiral out of control. They only act when there’s money involved and when it benefits them or their political allies. It’s also a classic case of liberal politicians micromanaging people’s lives. Another tree-related example? “Spare the Air” days. In California, the government tells people when they can and can’t burn wood in their stoves, based on predicted air quality. So if your home’s primary heat source is a woodstove and the state declares a “Spare the Air” day in January, you’re out of luck—either freeze or risk a fine. Ironically, they declare these restrictions even when massive wildfires are burning thousands of acres—fires made worse by the same government policies that prevented responsible forest management. But sure, it’s your potbelly stove that’s the real air-quality issue. So, the city trees stay. I’ve checked my small generator to make sure it’s ready for the inevitable power outage. I’ve stocked up on supplies and mentally prepared for yet another round of throwing out spoiled food when the fridge goes dark. I’ve done the “fridge purge” for the last two years, so I’m getting pretty good at it. I wonder if they make silencers for chainsaws… ______________________________ Nick is a Police Officer with the Redwood City Police Department in Northern California. He has spent much of his career as a gang and narcotics investigator. He is a member of a Multi-Jurisdictional SWAT Team since 2001 and is currently a Team Leader. He previously served as a paratrooper in the U.S. Army and is a veteran of Operation Iraqi Freedom. He has a master’s degree from the University Of San Francisco. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    The Weight of Silence

    Decisions are made with the information at hand, weighing probabilities. To an outsider, and in hindsight, they often seem simple. Yet, even in the face of logic, we make ill-advised choices because emotions overshadow reason. I never called because, for so long, I believed that behind the walls of every home, the same secrets were kept—addiction, abuse, neglect. I had no words for these things when they began. To me, it was just life. There were no special words because it was not special. Even when I learned those words, I still never called. I had somewhere else to go—a place that offered not love or affection, but stability. It took me a decade to realize that my place of stability was, in fact, unstable. The psychological and emotional abuse imposed by bipolarism may have damaged me more than the others. I never called because my tormentor was also their savior—the one who rescued them from another too drunk or too high to provide even the most basic accommodations. I never called because it took me years to see that my tormentor was their illness. The abuse was constant, but the relationships were complicated. My physical abuser was their emotional abuser. I never called because I had to weigh my probabilities. I made my decisions based on what I thought I knew. I tried to protect my siblings the best I could. I tried to make the best choices, and I will forever be haunted by their consequences. ___________________________ Jake is a law enforcement officer and former Army Ranger with four deployments to Afghanistan. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    Common Bonds

    For eight consecutive weeks I led a veterans’ writing group. We met for an hour and a half every Thursday on Zoom. There were members in attendance from both coasts and everywhere in between. We had Vietnam veterans, Afghanistan veterans, Iraq veterans, and peacetime veterans all hanging out virtually. The only barrier for entry was service. Aside from that, all veterans were welcomed. The perspectives varied from anti-imperialist San Franciscans to boomers that still wanted blood for various offenses. Generally, we were all positioned between the extremes. It was beautiful. With most things, I just stumbled into this accidentally—or perhaps providentially. At the end of last year, I took a similar class led by a friend and phenomenal writer himself. Anything he promotes is usually something worth taking note of. So, I found myself as a participant in his creative writing class. The class was designed for veterans and the few non-military personnel in attendance were counselors and other nonprofit leaders hoping to facilitate similar groups. That’s where I come in. One person in attendance led the Veteran Creative Arts Program based in Wilmington, NC—VCAP if you’re nasty. After last year’s class I was asked to consider leading my own group. Truthfully, I had no idea I was signing up to teach classes for a different nonprofit than the one I had recently benefited from. I knew this was one of those opportunities I didn’t have a good excuse not to do, so, I said yes before gathering all the relevant intel. The teacher of the prior class I attended graciously offered me his class notes with a bank of writing prompts I could use if necessary. Although I used some of his, I quickly realized this group was different and required a different approach. It turns out that teaching a class is very different from taking one. I fumbled through awkward introductions and course objectives in the first session. I became more comfortable curating prompts each week. I based them on conversations that arose from my aspiring writers and leaned very little on those provided to me. I was thankful for the failsafe the prompt bank provided. I was more satisfied with the ideas that came as we challenged ourselves to talk through issues surrounding our collective service. This class was different, it’s hard to quantify that statement, but it’s true. This class was special. I decided not to be a task master, and just listened to the virtual room and responded in kind. I realized the little prompts I offered to spur creativity were less important than the conversations afterwards. If we strayed too far down rabbit holes, I’d reel us back on track. Mostly I let the dialogue create a life of its own. The intent wasn’t to make people better writers, although if it happened, awesome. The goal was to foster genuine community—to make veterans feel a part of something again. Storytelling can be words on a page, or a good conversation that takes us deeper than we intended. The idea is to get the junk out of our brains and into the world and then sift through that rubble to make it make sense—if possible. I’m glad I took the chance to lead this group. I pray I lived up to their expectations. I enjoyed it so much that I signed up for two more eight-week sessions. This is what service looks like for me these days. I’m not a teacher necessarily, although I will gladly share any wisdom I’ve gleaned the hard way in my upside down and backwards path. Why not make it easier for someone much less stubborn than me. There’s no moratorium on creativity and I firmly believe all ships rise with the tide. Let’s all get better, get published, shake things up with our words or deeds. That’s how we leave the military behind and grow better together using the tools we gained there. Whether we wrote our stories down or discussed the prompts in engaging conversations, we shared our truths. We shared life. We realized we were less alone than we thought. The feelings we buried were less unique than we thought. Many of us shared the sentiment of not doing enough, not being enough, not having a cool enough job in the military—those things were almost universal. Some of us struggled with going to war, others struggled with not going to war, and yet others struggled with the entire concept of warfare as a construct. We disagreed. We cried. We belly laughed. We related. Most of all, we talked. We were civil, and in the end became closer as humans. As a result, I now have a handful of new friends. Ain’t that what it’s all about anyway? Those interested in joining the group, can email the org at info@veteranscreativearts.org as we are starting a new class April 2025. Capt. Thomas Runningen, commander of Mountain Training Group, 10th Mountain Division (LI), administers the Oath of Enlistment at the summit of Pizzo di Campiano, commonly known as “Riva Ridge” during the 80th Anniversary of the historic battle, near Bologna, Italy, Feb. 19, 2025. Between Feb. 18-19, 1945, 10th Mountain Division Soldiers (LI) executed a bold and lethal assault on Riva Ridge, overcoming impossible odds to seize crucial terrain and change the course of the war. (U.S. Army photo by Sgt. Jaidon Novinska) ___________________________ Stan is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker from Bethania, North Carolina. His work has been published in The Havok Journal, Reptiles Magazine, Understory, Dirtbag Magazine, Lethal Minds Journal, Backcountry Journal, Wildlife in North Carolina, SOFLETE, The Tarheel Guardsman, Wildsound Writing Festival, and others. His poetry collection A Toad in a Glass Jar is scheduled for publication by Dead Reckoning Collective, date TBD. He has written three children’s books and one Christian Devotional book. He filmed and directed a documentary about his deployment in Iraq with the NC Army National Guard called “Hammer Down.” He spends most of his free time wrangling toads. You can see his collected works and social media accounts listed at www.stanlakecreates.com As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    Breaking the Stigma: How Psychedelics Are Revolutionizing Trauma Treatment and Mental Health

    by Melina Bricker When people hear “psychedelics,” the first image evoked is likely one of Austin Powers-like funkadelic colors, free love, and all the associated visuals of the 1960s and 1970s. This is unfortunate–because during that time, an all-out culture war was raging, and psychedelics were the unfortunate darlings and representation of all things counterculture. They were legally, socially, and scientifically removed from medicinal and recreational use, making research impossible and criminal charges all too common. Plant medicine has been the primary partner in human health prehistorically through today. Whether it’s cave paintings of mushrooms or ancient texts describing spiritual and communal ritual with psychedelic-infused wine, people have been accessing and utilizing psychedelics to navigate grief, understand the world, connect with a higher power, or as a rite of passage into a different stage of maturation. Recreational use happens, too–and this speaks to the powerful importance of set and setting. What do you hope to achieve, and where will you achieve it? These factors are critical in experiencing suspended, altered, and therapeutic realities. These concepts are overlooked in traditional therapeutic models of care, however–traditional therapy is usually all about introspection and behavior change, medication support, counseling and talking, creating meaningful support networks…less about self-healing, more about receiving healing. For people with chronic disorders like PTSD, addiction, and depression, traditional therapy requires the patient to consistently show up and implement the tools and strategies from the therapy session into their daily lives. The issue with this, and why many traditional models fall abysmally short for severe and chronic disorders, is that the underlying mechanism for implementing change consistently is broken by stress and maladaptation. It means that the operating system of the brain that was originally impacted by trauma or toxic stress leading to disorder is still there, and still not functioning properly. It means that when stressors or hardships come up, the maladapted, traumatized circuitry of chronic disorders approaches the issue as a hammer to a nail. The struggle is that while traditional therapy can give you a toolbox of other options to address the complexity of life, a stressed brain has only ever been a hammer. When problems arise that require cognitive flexibility, emotional regulation, consistent adherence to change protocols, even simple organization…instead of a Swiss Army Knife of coping strategies, the trauma-brain is playing whack-a-mole because the only known tool is a stress response hammer. Psychedelics, particularly psilocybin, ketamine, MDMA, ayahuasca, and LSD, are medicines that, with trained facilitation, can regrow the neural circuitry needed to re-adapt hijacked systems of response. This is psychedelic-assisted therapy, or PAT. Where cortisol eats away at neuronal health and connectivity, psychedelics act as neurogenerative medicines, promoting brain plasticity, dendritic spine density, and healthy neural connections. The exact areas of harm by stress and trauma are the exact areas of growth observed with psychedelic therapy. This is monumental–even Deep Brain Stimulation, or DBS, has to be maximally invasive to show such dramatic improvements in symptomatology for treatment-resistant disorders., Studies in the last ten years have shown that after as few as only 1-6 sessions of PAT, an average of 85% of patients previously presenting with severe and complex PTSD no longer met diagnostic criteria. It’s important to speak about psychedelics as medicine, not drugs. Almost all psychedelics are Schedule I substances to the US Government–a felony to possess and distribute. Yet ZERO of these medicines actually meet criteria for Schedule I designation. Schedule I substances must have no currently accepted medical use in the United States, a high potential for abuse, and a lack of accepted safety for use under medical supervision. Psychedelics are not addictive, have wildly effective medical application and use for myriad disorders and disease, and are all but impossible to overdose on. Exceptions are those well outside the bell curve of normative risk–ketamine can be overdosed on in very high doses and in association with polydrug abuse, for example. Ironically, ketamine is one that is NOT Schedule I, as it has been used as an analgesic in medicine for many decades. It’s the reason it’s available more widely in the US–it’s been legal to study, utilize, and prescribe. This is what must happen with other psychedelics. As a behavioral health professional, teacher, administrator, Veteran spouse, and civil servant, I have spent decades trying to understand trauma, motivation, executive functioning, mental illness, and addiction. All of these have roots in the nucleus accumbens, among many other areas of the brain, and it is precisely in these homeostasis mechanisms that psychedelics do their magical healing. The reknitting of unraveled neural strands of perception and identity is the medicine needed to support treatment-resistant patients’ internally-derived healing. Psychedelics have the ability to not only help people reveal original hurts and unresolved emotional pain. They also have the ability to support patients picking up other tools to deal with stress and hardship–many tools that are also used in diminishing and eliminating recurrent symptoms that hurt daily life. I wrote a book on this following my doctoral work on the topic, and it quickly became a work of advocacy–let’s get PAT accessible to those who need it most. Veterans, individuals with treatment resistant diagnoses, and people struggling with addiction must have access to this medicine. We must be able to study it, as it should be studied, with the set and setting established and all deception in research removed. Reclassifying is a critical first step: talk to people, talk to your representatives, and talk to policy makers. Write an email. Make a call. Attend a town hall. You don’t have to be a sign-waving screamer on the sidewalk demanding LSD be available at the grocery store. You can do incredible good by sharing your own experiences, sharing the positive outcomes for others, and telling the truth about what a Schedule I actually is, and how it’s NOT psychedelics. Share my book, print and audio. Email me. I’ll talk to anyone, anytime, about this wonderful therapy and its incredible ability to support healing and change in the darkest of circumstances. I want to tell you one story in closing about PAT. During my research, I interviewed a young woman that was completely different from the patient she described–the change in her was so profound. She had a lifelong abusive relationship with her mother. She was born her mother’s extended self–a doll, almost–and was required to be perfect in every way. This was, of course, impossible, and the psychological abuse extended into trauma-induced pathology that led to alcoholism, anorexia/bulimia, binge behaviors, repeated victimization, job loss, school issues, unreasonable and inappropriate sobbing in public, and overall incredibly poor health. She had tried EMDR, CBT, medication, meditation, counseling, all of it. She’d had more than one suicide attempt. She found psychedelic-assisted therapy out of sheer desperation. During one of her most memorable sessions, she opened a door whilst on her journey. Behind the door was a little girl, and she immediately recognized her as her child-self. “What did you say to her?” I asked. Her reply has resonated with me since the moment I heard it. “I told her she was enough. That she was loved.” Something important to point out from my experience in addiction treatment and behavioral health is typical recidivism rates. For alcoholism, it’s around 50% relapse following a decision to abstain, and for bulimia, it’s around 30-40% relapse following treatment (usually inpatient or intensive outpatient). When I was speaking to this patient, it had been 18 months since her first treatment with ketamine, and she was microdosing with fractional psilocybin once or twice per month with her clinician’s support. She had not had a relapse in her addictive, compulsive, and destructive behavior since–and has now finished an advanced degree, is happily remarried, and her health issues completely eradicated. Eighteen months post therapy, without prescription medications, without daily therapy, without inpatient or intensive outpatient care, she sat before me a healed, whole person. During her session, this young woman was able to submerge herself into her mind and root out an unmet need that had been festering inside of her psyche, driving compulsion and destruction. That need was for a grownup, a caregiver, to tell her what her mother never did: you are enough, and you are loved. It was as though she opened a time tunnel into her development, entered, and repaired what was missing and broken in her development. More than twenty years after the vulnerable, broken, unloved child fractured psychologically, psychedelics allowed her to pop the hood, reattach the hoses, and heal the little girl driving the sputtering mind. She was able to reset. It is time that this is available to all of us–to take back our health, our happiness, our healing. I believe PAT can do that; it will take all of us to bring this to the fore. _________________________ Melina Bricker is a writer, trauma researcher, and advocate for improved behavioral health access and services for Veterans. She is a civil servant working and living in Colorado with her husband and their five children. She is the author of: The Reset: Trauma, Treatment Resistance, and How Psychedelics Could Save America. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    Ukraine: Justifying A False Narrative Through a Bad Picture

    No, Ukraine is not the dam holding back Russia from trying to consume the rest of Europe by Darin Gaub, Lt Col (ret) I was sent this picture a few days ago and asked if it reflected reality geographically or geopolitically. My answer was a simple one to start: “No, if Russia wanted to try to invade and control the rest of Europe, there are faster and easier routes to do that. This picture reflects a false narrative whereby too many want to draw the United States and the West into another unnecessary conflict based on an unrealistic and dishonest threat scenario where Russia’s goals and capabilities are inaccurately advertised.” Expanding on my statement, let’s consider the following from solely a geographical perspective. • To claim that Ukraine is the path Russia would choose to use to pursue the remainder of Europe is like saying the United States intends to invade Mexico but only use the Baja Peninsula. Each of these examples is choosing the hardest path forward and would make no sense if, in Russia’s case, Europe was the goal and not only Ukraine in total or in part. • History instructs us that any invading army would use three routes to move east or west. One is generally through the Baltics, the second through Belarus, and the third through Ukraine. As someone who planned many contingency operations for large-scale possibilities on multiple continents, I would never recommend that Russia invade Europe by way of Ukraine. There is no logical military reason to do so when the central and northern routes allow much faster access to Europe with fewer impediments. Cutting Ukraine off from Europe would also be more effective than invading Ukraine at its strongest defensive points. • I could go on, but these points are the major ones necessary to answer the question I was asked. The contingencies I planned for in Eastern Europe take up multiple binders; there is no way to account for that in a short essay. But it’s more dangerous than a simple lack of understanding of what is happening in Europe and the world today. This picture reflects the assumptions of those who’ve bought into the false narrative intended to lure the Western world into a wider conflict. This conflict could grow to its worst form, a nuclear exchange between two of the world’s superpowers, though I think the odds of that are low. Here are the critical assumptions behind the picture and why they are wrong. Russia wants all of Europe. Russia does not desire to invade Europe and inherit its problems. For example, it would rather sell energy to the countries of Europe for the benefit of the Russian people. Imagine what a major conflict covering the European continent would do to the nations Russia invaded and to Russia. This has happened in one form before, and Russia would only become the owner of a terrible situation where nobody benefits. If we want to stop fomenting war in Europe, stop expanding NATO. Russia can take all of Europe. Russia spent the last three years taking a sliver of Ukraine; they are not capable of taking on all of Europe/NATO anyway. Not too many years ago, I told a room of senior officers that Russia is not the boogeyman we make it out to be unless we are trying to make an enemy. Another example of the tail wagging the dog. Make no mistake, Putin is a thug, and so is Zelensky. We must work with the leaders of nations even when we find them distasteful. Imagine being another nation dealing with Biden for the last four years; our hands are not clean. The simple military reality is that Russia does not have the military and economic capability to invade and conquer Europe. Russia would only have a typical poorly led military if it did not have nuclear, space, and cyber capabilities. Dangerous, to be sure, but not an existential threat to Europe’s existence. (The use of nuclear weapons would change things so much I’m not going to account for that.) For the sake of argument, let us assume that the map below is accurate enough to demonstrate this military reality. Over three years of constant war, Russia managed to control the areas in red inside the red box. The selection includes the Crimean Peninsula, which Russia took over in 2014 without firing a shot. It is unrealistic to assume that a nation on a war footing that took three years to capture that limited amount of land could take over most of the land shown on the rest of the map. Ukraine is just a country trying to secure freedom from an evil oppressor. This war is terrible, and the suffering on all sides should not be happening. I’ve always stood with the people who suffer in war rather than align with their governments in an oversimplified binary good-versus-evil construct. To look for corrupt governments and officials in Ukraine and Russia is easy; it’s easy to do the same to our United States government. Zelensky canceled elections, closed churches while jailing pastors, eliminated the free press, and is overseeing the sale of untrained citizens to human traffickers who capture people, cuff them, and drop them off at the front with no training and only sometimes a weapon. The middlemen of this operation are military and police forces who make money from the sale and avoid the front lines simultaneously. Sadly, one must assume that much of that money came from American taxpayers. Ukraine was corrupt before the war and still is. So is Russia. This does not justify continued killing, nor does it mean we should be unwilling to try to bring both sides to the table and end the conflict. It’s better to deal with the reality in front of us than to keep saying, “Ukraine, good; Russia, bad.” NATO expansion is not a legitimate concern to Russia. We Americans often fail to put ourselves in the shoes of another person or nation and seek to understand their perspective. We also forget history too often. Understanding where another nation’s leader is coming from does not mean agreeing with them, but it is critical to begin to understand their actions. Since the fall of the Soviet Union, the creeping growth of NATO is the primary threat to Russia from their perspective. Therefore, Russia will not tolerate a NATO presence in Ukraine, much less having them as a NATO member. Russia views Ukraine much like China views Taiwan; their position is non-negotiable, and we need to acknowledge that going forward. Our counterargument is that NATO is only a defensive alliance, so Russia’s concerns are unfounded. Russia points to NATO action in the Balkans in the 1990s and NATO leadership in Afghanistan and surrounding nations to prove its point that NATO is an offensive military organization that it does not want on its doorstep. Imagine if, during the Cold War, Russia expanded the Warsaw Pact to include Mexico and Canada. Would we sit back and let that happen? Russia is an aggressor to the point that world peace is at stake, and no other risks are higher. If we stay too focused on the front lines between Russia and Ukraine, we miss a lot of what’s happening globally. China is the most significant risk to the United States, militarily and ideologically. If that threat continues to grow unchecked, we could have a much bigger problem on our hands. We need to do what we can to bring the war in Ukraine to an end and explore a different future. One where Russia could even grow closer to Europe and the West. Before we self-righteously determine that this is a horrible idea, we need to consider if it’s better to keep pushing Russia towards China. I am simplifying this possibility to prove a point. We must live in the real world, not an idealized world. I prefer to maintain positive ties with Russia despite all we know about them, then to see them become an even bigger ally of China. Russia and China are historical adversaries, but through our actions, we could force them closer together, and that’s a scenario where we lose. I have skipped over or simplified a lot of history to make this a short essay. I would encourage all interested in these topics to read histories about Ukraine and Russia, the post-Soviet era history of NATO expansion and the war in the Balkans, and Sino-Russian relations. For now, I hope I have been able to dispel some of the myths about how the Ukraine war is about stopping Russia from invading all of Europe. Though I welcome European nations spending more for their defense, I don’t think we will see the Russians try to throw a victory parade in Paris. Some will disagree, and I welcome the debate. _______________________ Lt Col (ret), US Army, Darin Gaub (@DLGaub) is a senior geopolitical and military strategist, former Blackhawk helicopter pilot and Battalion Commander, executive leadership coach, ordained Bible minister, and serves on the boards of multiple volunteer national and state-level organizations. The views presented are those of the author and do not represent the views of the U.S. Government, Department of Defense, or its components. He can be found on Rumble and Substack. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    Comprehensive Guide to Spine Tumors: Causes, Symptoms, and Surgery

    Spinal tumors can have a profound impact on someone’s health and well-being, often causing debilitating pain, neurologic dysfunction, and a significant decline in quality of life. The emotional and physical toll of living with a spinal tumor can be overwhelming, making timely diagnosis and treatment critical. Treatment options for spinal tumors depend on factors such as the tumor type, its location within the spine, and the stage of the disease. While some spinal tumors can be cured, mainly if detected early, others may require ongoing management to control symptoms and prevent progression. This guide talks about spinal tumors in detail, offering hope and clarity for those affected by this challenging condition. Continue reading to learn more. What Are Spinal Tumors? Spinal tumors are classified based on their anatomic location and type. They can develop within the spinal cord tissue (intramedullary tumors), in the membranes surrounding the spinal cord (intradural-extramedullary tumors), or outside the dura mater (extradural tumors). The most common type of spinal tumor is metastatic tumors, which occur when cancer cells from a primary cancer site, such as prostate cancer, kidney cancer, or breast cancer, spread to the spine. Primary tumors, on the other hand, originate in the spine itself and are less common. These include nerve sheath tumors, glial cell tumors, and vertebral column tumors. No matter the type of tumor, early detection, and timely treatment are crucial to avoid permanent harm to the area and nerve roots. Treatment Options for Spinal Tumors The approach to treating spinal tumors is determined by the type of tumor, its location, and how advanced or severe it is. A multidisciplinary healthcare team, including neurologists, oncologists, and spine surgeons, will develop a personalized treatment plan. Some standard treatment options include: 1. Surgical Removal Surgical resection is often recommended for primary tumors or cases where the tumor is compressing the spinal cord or nerve roots. State-of-the-art methods, like intraoperative neuromonitoring, avoid nerve damage during the surgery. In some cases, spinal surgery may be combined with spinal stabilization procedures to address spinal instability. 2. Radiation Therapy Radiation therapy is commonly used to treat metastatic tumors or tumors that cannot be entirely removed through surgery. Advanced proton therapy technology allows for precise targeting of tumor cells while sparing healthy tissue. 3. Systemic Therapy Chemotherapy, targeted therapies, and biological therapies are used to treat metastatic cancer or fast-growing tumors.   4. Physical Therapy Rehabilitation programs can help restore muscle strength and improve neurologic function after treatment. With a range of advanced treatments available, including surgery, radiation therapy, and systemic therapies, patients have more opportunities than ever to manage spinal tumors effectively and improve their quality of life. Causes and Risk Factors of Spinal Tumors Usually, the exact cause of spinal tumors can’t be determined, but certain risk factors may increase the likelihood of their development. These include: A history of cancer raises the risk of metastatic spine disease. Genetic predispositions or inherited conditions that promote abnormal cell growth. Exposure to radiation or environmental toxins. Certain types of bone cancer or blood cancer can spread to the spine. Metastatic tumors are the most common type of spinal tumor, accounting for the majority of cases. These tumors grow because of the cancer cells from other parts of the body that travel through the bloodstream or lymphatic system to the spine. Symptoms of Spinal Tumors There are several symptoms of spinal tumors depending on the tumor type, size, and location. Common symptoms include: Persistent back pain, especially in the cervical spine, thoracic region, or lumbar spine. Muscle weakness or bilateral muscle weakness, which may affect mobility. Weakened bowel or bladder control due to nerve damage. Numbness, tingling, or abnormal reflexes caused by pressure on the spinal nerves. Spinal instability or difficulty walking. In some cases, spinal tumors may cause significant neurologic dysfunction when the spinal cord or nerve roots get compressed. These symptoms require prompt medical attention. Woman experiences lower back pain radiating to legs. Painful condition affects posture. Medical image highlights spinal issue. Possible sciatica. Health care professional may, aid symptom relief. Diagnosis of Spinal Tumors Diagnosing spinal tumors involves a combination of imaging studies, medical history review, and clinical evaluation. MRI is used to visualize the spinal canal, spinal cord parenchyma, and surrounding soft tissue. Other diagnostic tools include CT scans, X-rays, and biopsy to analyze a tissue sample for tumor biomarkers. Your healthcare provider may also assess your clinical presentation, including any history of cancer or abnormal symptoms, to determine the best course of action. Coping with Spinal Tumors   A spinal tumor diagnosis can be emotionally and physically challenging, but there are ways to manage the journey effectively. Here are some practical tips to help you cope:   Seek support: Connect with support groups, counselors, or online communities to gain emotional strength. Stay informed: Learn about your condition and treatment options in depth from reliable sources, such as the National Cancer Institute or your healthcare team. Lean on loved ones: Rely on family and friends for emotional and practical support during treatment and recovery. Follow a healthy lifestyle: Maintain a balanced diet, engage in physical activity approved by your doctor, and rest adequately to support your overall well-being. Manage stress: Explore relaxation techniques to reduce anxiety and improve mental clarity. Communicate with your healthcare team: Keep an open dialogue with your doctors and nurses to address concerns and stay updated on your treatment plan. Explore rehabilitation: Consider physical therapy or occupational therapy to regain strength, mobility, and independence. Set realistic goals: Break tasks into manageable steps and celebrate small victories to stay motivated. Join clinical trials: If appropriate, consider participating in clinical trials to access innovative treatments and contribute to medical research. Utilize resources: Take advantage of guides and other resources provided by cancer organizations. Remember, you don’t have to go on this journey alone. With the proper support and strategies, you can navigate the challenges of spinal tumors and focus on improving your quality of life. Conclusion As with other acute ailments, spinal tumors require prompt diagnosis and treatment to prevent complications. With advancements in spinal tumor treatment, including surgical techniques, radiation therapy, and systemic therapies, patients have more options than ever before. If you suspect you may have a spinal tumor, consult a healthcare professional immediately to explore your treatment options and find the right path toward recovery. For more information, visit a specialized brain and spine center or consult with a neurological surgery expert to discuss your case and develop a comprehensive care plan.

    A Day in the Life of a Coast Guardsman

    2014 09 12 Friday The event started late in the afternoon. We received a rather vague notification that a vessel of interest (VOI) may be heading through our operations area. It figured because we had just lost yet our fourth helicopter to mechanical failure. On the upside, we were supposed to be getting a C-130 sometime in the evening. OPS said there was a 50/50 chance we’d see something. I finished my watch and headed up to the bridge to talk with the ensigns and have a look around. About 30 minutes into my visit, I damn near cut off the top of my right ear with a giant pair of binoculars mounted to the bridge rail. Later, after Doc glued the wound shut, I decided it would be best to lay below and go to bed.  At about 0130, maybe 4 or 5 hours later, the constant and shrill law enforcement/collision alarm sounded throughout the ship. Everyone held their breath, waiting on the announcement as to whether or not they were sounding collision or setting the law enforcement bill. Groggy, we roused ourselves, dressed out, and prepared for what was to come. I made it to CIC (Combat Information Center), also known as “combat,” or “OPCEN”, and plopped myself down in front of the COMDAC/COMARPA/COP workstation. After reading the intel notes, I plotted our position and that of the suspect vessel our C-130 had apparently just spotted. The room was full of people, all four operations specialists, an ensign, the CO, XO, and OPS. It quickly became a scene out of a movie. Three or four radios were going off at once; people were talking over each other: numbers, coordinates, vectors, furious note-taking, and event logging.  A buddy of mine was operating the FLIR (forward-looking infrared) thermal camera next to me. At the same time, I continuously updated our position and changed the VOI to a TOI (target of interest). In this part of the world, most VOIs are referred to as a “panga.” The C-130 overhead had issues with its radar and was reduced to strictly visual observation of us and the panga. They kept requesting to go lower to get a better fix, but that might have let the target know we were on to them. OPS was insistent that they not go to “overt” status. Honestly, the sea state was so rough for any vessel under 100 feet that I doubt the occupants would have even equated the rumble of the aircraft’s engines with a potential threat. The plane would have had to buzz the panga at tree-top height for them to hear and recognize it. OPS, however, had done this much more than I have, and being too aggressive too early can tip your hand.  So, we continued the overly complex game of Battleship with the aircraft calling out positions as we relayed that data to the small boat we’d lowered into the frothing sea. A twenty-four-foot boat does not do well in eight-foot waves, especially in the dark.  Finally, after an hour that felt like an eternity, my friend spotted a shape in the grey-scale haze that was the FLIR image. The panga was so loaded down that her gunnels were maybe a foot out of the water. The shape blended in perfectly with the waves and was damn near impossible to see. This is what it must feel like to hunt foxes. The captain had gotten into it; he was on my left, calling out directions for the small boat. We vectored our hound in on the fox, a bobbing sliver of wood and fiberglass on the water. The panga operators must have finally heard something because they throttled up and started to run. We had them on camera and in range. They weren’t getting away. Part of me itched to go down and rip the cover off the 25mm cannon to bring the chase to an appropriate climax of thunder fire and gore. It is difficult to understand the stress and hardship a small boat operator endures in those conditions. It is absolute darkness. The only light is the dim glow of the compass bulb and radio screens. They cannot see the waves to anticipate the impact of the bow on the water, much less read the wind and ocean to smooth out the ride. With the cutter running dark and three miles behind, they may as well be three hundred miles out and alone. All they know is that there is a panga somewhere out there with them, maybe armed, maybe not. The hound doesn’t know if it is chasing a fox into an empty log or a badger’s den. The only direction they receive is over a patchy radio connection. “20 degrees off your port bow… 90 degrees to starboard, big wave coming, brace! … They’re dead ahead 20 yards! … Circle back. You just missed them….” The coxswain’s (pronounced cock-sun’s) eyes are a pair of boarding team members using night vision, which is like looking at the world through the cardboard tube inside a roll of paper towels. There isn’t enough light to pick out the horizon; even if they could, the waves would blot it out at forty feet. After dozens of near misses and moments when we thought they might jump the next wave and land in the panga, the coxswain sang out. “We’ve got ‘em! Closing distance! They’re DIW (dead in the water), commencing boarding!” He began rattling off numbers, names, and descriptions of the illicit cargo and craft. The adrenaline still hammering through our veins begins to run out. Now it is down to custody, paperwork, offloading the cargo, and ensuring our TACON (tactical control) is fully aware of what’s happening. Making arrests in international waters can be a bureaucratically messy affair. TACON says “Good job,” to file everything in triplicate and to keep them appraised. The sun wasn’t even up yet. Navigation, tactical maneuvering, and apprehension over and done. I was hungry. Time to let the ensigns handle the case package paperwork. After a bit of bacon, eggs, and coffee, I stripped down and crawled back into bed.  _________________________ U.S. sailors assigned to the guided missile frigate USS Underwood (FFG 36) and Coast Guardsmen assigned to Law Enforcement Detachment 107 search for contraband from a rigid hull inflatable boat, Aug. 3, 2012, in the Caribbean Sea during Operation Martillo. The sailors and Coast Guardsmen recovered 49 bales of narcotics dumped from a speed boat into the sea after Underwood sighted and pursued the vessel. Operation Martillo is a joint, interagency and multinational collaborative effort to deny transnational criminal organizations air and maritime access to the littoral regions of the Central American isthmus. Underwood deployed to Central and South America and the Caribbean in support of Southern Seas 2012. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 3rd Class Frank J. Pikul) This first appeared in The Havok Journal on February 16, 2023. K.C. Aud has made a career of being lucky and has managed to find something positive in nearly every poor decision he’s ever made, even if it was only a new perspective on how not to do something. Enlisting in the U.S. Coast Guard in 2010 he became an Operations Specialist (radio and navigation) and did his first tour in Georgia guarding submarines from drunk fishermen. In 2014, tired of the heat and the bugs he transferred to a 210-foot medium endurance cutter in Washington state. The cutter then regularly deployed to the hot and buggy west coast of Central America to hunt down drug runners. Aboard USCGC Active he traveled 94,194 miles and personally handled enough cocaine to keep a small country high for a decade. Somewhere in there, he learned to write, if not spell.   Three years later, daunted by the prospect of spending the rest of his career in a windowless command center, he separated from active duty. After 13 different jobs ranging from beer brewer to dairy farmhand, to machinist, to Navy civilian contractor, he reenlisted in 2020 as a Coast Guard reservist, changing rates to Maritime Law Enforcement Specialist. When not helping the Navy assets in the Puget Sound troubleshoot radios, he’s on drill in Seattle doing water cop stuff and or flailing away at his keyboard. Though married and now a father, he misses the mission.  As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

    A Ranger in Vietnam Remembers

    Some of the Team Leaders were more “aggressive” than others. For some reason, Team 4 always had a Team Leader the “aggressive” ones called NUTS. Of the first four Team Leaders of Team 4, three are members of the Ranger Hall of Fame. We always seemed to get more than our share of action. My guess would be that we came under fire about 60% of the time. Usually, we were engaged with about a platoon-sized force or smaller. The largest force my team ever took on was an NVA company. It was the one and only time we were seen before we wanted to be. The 9th ID had just arrived in RVN and was convoying from the port at Vung Tao to their new base camp at Bear Cat. Someone very high up decided that snipers were going to be a problem, so they sent all of our teams out along each side of the highway, along likely infiltration routes. All of the 173rd LRRPs received a big laugh out of this because we all knew no self-respecting VC or NVA trooper would waste any time on a bunch of ‘leg’ cherries. We set up on our trail, with my partner Butch and me on the left about two meters off the trail. The alpha team leader, Ricca, and the point man, Moya, were on the right – about twenty meters from us. The team leader, Jake, and the radiotelephone operator (RTO) Bum were about ten meters off the trail in the middle. This was our normal ambush set up, but none of us were being particularly careful. Jake was messing with the signal operation instructions (SOI), making up the morning situation report (SITREP), and didn’t see Ricca signal, but I did. I nudged Butch and whispered “Company” as I slid the selector switch on my rifle from safe to semi-automatic. A lone VC comes “Diddy Bopping” down the trail with an M1 carbine at the ready when he sees Jake moving, sending out our SITREP. As he was turning to take Jake, I put three rounds in his chest as Ricca put three rounds in his back. He went down like a whore on payday, and as I looked behind him on the trail, I could see columns of two in NVA uniforms moving off the trail. All hell broke loose with rounds flying everywhere, I remember seeing Bum, hiding behind a small tree (about four inches in diameter) and chunks of the tree flying off next to his head. Then came the lull in the fight when everybody changes magazines and that was our time to execute or immediate action drill. Jake yells “LETS GO” so we all heaved a frag, blew our claymores, and Ricca and Moya came flying past us like the wind. Jake and Bum fired a few rounds to cover them and then took flight past us as we put down covering fire. Now it’s Butch and I’s turn; it’s weird how fast you can move with a 70-pound ruck on your back – given the proper motivation. As we were running straight through the jungle, we could hear them behind us and off to the left, cutting off our path to the extraction landing zone (LZ). Jake changed our path to the right to put more room between the flankers and us. I yelled to Jake that they were right behind us (we had to crash through the jungle, they could run in the trail we left), so Jake makes a sharp 90-degree right turn, runs twenty meters, and stops. This is a drill we had practiced many times and had used well before. The first five NVA that came around the corner in our back trail disappeared in a hail of bullets and frags. So much for ‘Charlie’ trying to overtake us from behind. We were still cut off from the closest LZ and now we could hear the ones who were behind us, moving to our right. Well, they couldn’t move through the jungle any better than we could, so now it became a foot race to another LZ. After a 2,000 meter dead sprint through the jungle carrying 70-pound rucks in 110-degree heat with 98% humidity, Butch goes down like he’s shot but I don’t see any blood. I yelled to Jake and turned Butch over, but still no blood. Butch looks at me and wheezes, “I can’t do it, leave me”. About that time Jake snatches him up by the collar with one hand, strips off his ruck and LBE, and tells him in the most menacing whisper I’ve ever heard, “What Charlie could do to you ain’t shit compared to what I’m going to do to you if you don’t start running right NOW.” I took his ruck and Bum grabbed his LBE, and off we ran. Another 1000 meters and we came across an LZ big enough to get a slick into and out of, so we spread out in the wood line while Jake talked to the slick pilot. The bum had already called in our code word, “TIMBER” which meant “We’re all fucked up, come get us quick,” while we were still running. Jake had Moya and I both take out the same color smoke and told the pilot that we were going to throw smoke and run, to have the gunships suppress the smoke. We saw the slick coming in, Jake gave the signal, and we popped smoke and ran out onto the LZ as fast as we could. Just as the slick came in, the gunships opened up on the wood line behind us. Moya was always the first man on and his job was to count noses to make sure no one got left behind. Ricca was behind him, then Butch, me, Bum (the RTO) and last was Jake. Moya yells “SIX” at Jake who gives the pilot the “thumbs up” and away we go. As we are lifting off, the wood line looks like an ants nest with NVA everywhere, then the gunships make another run and they start to disappear in the rocket explosions. I looked at Butch and screamed, “What was that back there about you couldn’t go on? You could’ve got us all killed, you sorry mother!” Up until that moment, Butch and I had been the best of Best Friends, closer than you could believe…those were the last words I ever spoke to him. He was moved to another team and did fine, but I never spoke to him again. It may seem odd, but I grieved like he was dead.  -Slowpoke This first appeared in The Havok Journal on March 28, 2014. As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.

Add a blog to Bloglovin’
Enter the full blog address (e.g. https://www.fashionsquad.com)
We're working on your request. This will take just a minute...