Today, while the President was referencing freedom and justice as being “written in our hearts by All Mighty God”, The New York Times began a new series entitled War Torn: A series of articles and multimedia about veterans of the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan who have committed killings, or been charged with them, after coming home, which I think is sadly telling.
When I wrote The Boy Come Home for Hospital Music it was based on stories of paranoia and disparity felt by a handful of Iraq veterans that I had been corresponding with. Of course, the story that I convey in the song is fictional, but it is steeped in a psychology that, having corresponded with those veterans, is not.
The words “In God We Trust” first appeared on American currency during the US Civil War. It’s telling, given that that conflict was the deadliest in US history, that then Secretary of the Treasury, Simon P. Chase, received countless appeals from American Christians to have the motto, which was adopted as the official motto of the United States in 1956, placed on US currency. Prior to the 1956 adoption, the de facto motto of the nation had been, since its appearance on the Great Seal in 1782, E Pluribus Unum, or – “for many, one”.
During those catastrophic four years, the people of the United States perhaps looked to a greater power to somehow define the nation given the insanity that had torn it apart. And yet, those men that died to preserve it, religious or not, were duty bound to enact the nation’s first creed – for many, one.
It is this motto that is looked to in times of justifying the defense of liberty. It is the second, when the reality of the price being paid becomes apparent, that is clung to.
Not long ago, the less than adequate conditions that injured US veterans returning from overseas were made to endure were exposed to the nation. It caused national outrage, as it should have, and forced the administration to deal with a problem that they had perpetuated the existence of prior to it being uncovered by the media and becoming politically damaging. Lost in the enveloping comfort of In God We Trust, the nation, and its government, had forgotten…
…for many, one.
War Torn: Part 1

Across America, Deadly Echoes of Foreign Battles…
“Late one night in the summer of 2005, Matthew Sepi, a 20-year-old Iraq combat veteran, headed out to a 7-Eleven in the seedy Las Vegas neighborhood where he had settled after leaving the Army.
This particular 7-Eleven sits in the shadow of the Stratosphere casino-hotel in a section of town called the Naked City. By day, the area, littered with malt liquor cans, looks depressed but not menacing. By night, it becomes, in the words of a local homicide detective, “like Falluja.”
Mr. Sepi did not like to venture outside too late. But, plagued by nightmares about an Iraqi civilian killed by his unit, he often needed alcohol to fall asleep. And so it was that night, when, seized by a gut feeling of lurking danger, he slid a trench coat over his slight frame — and tucked an assault rifle inside it.
“Matthew knew he shouldn’t be taking his AK-47 to the 7-Eleven,” Detective Laura Andersen said, “but he was scared to death in that neighborhood, he was military trained and, in his mind, he needed the weapon to protect himself.”
Head bowed, Mr. Sepi scurried down an alley, ignoring shouts about trespassing on gang turf. A battle-weary grenadier who was still legally under-age, he paid a stranger to buy him two tall cans of beer, his self-prescribed treatment for post-traumatic stress disorder.
As Mr. Sepi started home, two gang members, both large and both armed, stepped out of the darkness. Mr. Sepi said in an interview that he spied the butt of a gun, heard a boom, saw a flash and “just snapped.”
In the end, one gang member lay dead, bleeding onto the pavement. The other was wounded. And Mr. Sepi fled, “breaking contact” with the enemy, as he later described it. With his rifle raised, he crept home, loaded 180 rounds of ammunition into his car and drove until police lights flashed behind him.
“Who did I take fire from?” he asked urgently. Wearing his Army camouflage pants, the diminutive young man said he had been ambushed and then instinctively “engaged the targets.” He shook. He also cried.
“I felt very bad for him,” Detective Andersen said.
Nonetheless, Mr. Sepi was booked, and a local newspaper soon reported: “Iraq veteran arrested in killing.”
Town by town across the country, headlines have been telling similar stories. Lakewood, Wash.: “Family Blames Iraq After Son Kills Wife.” Pierre, S.D.: “Soldier Charged With Murder Testifies About Postwar Stress.” Colorado Springs: “Iraq War Vets Suspected in Two Slayings, Crime Ring.”
Individually, these are stories of local crimes, gut-wrenching postscripts to the war for the military men, their victims and their communities. Taken together, they paint the patchwork picture of a quiet phenomenon, tracing a cross-country trail of death and heartbreak.
The New York Times found 121 cases in which veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan committed a killing in this country, or were charged with one, after their return from war. In many of those cases, combat trauma and the stress of deployment — along with alcohol abuse, family discord and other attendant problems — appear to have set the stage for a tragedy that was part destruction, part self-destruction.
Three-quarters of these veterans were still in the military at the time of the killing. More than half the killings involved guns, and the rest were stabbings, beatings, strangulations and bathtub drownings. Twenty-five offenders faced murder, manslaughter or homicide charges for fatal car crashes resulting from drunken, reckless or suicidal driving.
About a third of the victims were spouses, girlfriends, children or other relatives, among them 2-year-old Krisiauna Calaira Lewis, whose 20-year-old father slammed her against a wall when he was recuperating in Texas from a bombing near Falluja that blew off his foot and shook up his brain.
A quarter of the victims were fellow service members, including Specialist Richard Davis of the Army, who was stabbed repeatedly and then set ablaze, his body hidden in the woods by fellow soldiers a day after they all returned from Iraq.
And the rest were acquaintances or strangers, among them Noah P. Gamez, 21, who was breaking into a car at a Tucson motel when an Iraq combat veteran, also 21, caught him, shot him dead and then killed himself outside San Diego with one of several guns found in his car.”
Continue reading ‘Across America, Deadly Echoes of Foreign Battles’ here.