The Collision of an Open Mind & "Group Think"

A Three Minute Read

Though I grew up surrounded by war-time veterans including my father, brother, and all of my uncles, I would have made one crappy soldier. My role models growing up were certainly the men listed above, but also my Boy Scout leaders. That would include an army WW2 veteran who, along with his family, rescued me from the chaos of my own family.

Photograph by JV - Unsplash

It would also include Mr. Hand, our assistant scoutmaster and former USMC drill instructor. He’s the one who shaped us boys into the “finest” of Americans. George H. was the oldest member of our troop and its only Eagle Scout. He left the troop a year after I joined and went on to serve three tours in Vietnam as a Marine.

Mr. Hand fought in Korea, so it was no surprise that he took us tent camping each winter in sub-zero temps. It was he who introduced us to the experience of cold-induced sleepless nights. One hot summer day, he had us march twenty-three miles - I really think with full backpacks. I loved the guy and what he did for us. He knew how to challenge us and, in many ways, brought out the best in us.

What’s a Crappy Soldier?

Let me first say that, when I was a teenager, few Americans could have loved their country more than I did - and still do. As I stood next to my father at age seventeen, about to receive my Eagle Scout award, I had to fight back tears as we said the Pledge of Allegiance. I was at that time so proud of “all the good that our great country had done in the world.” I was at long last, pleased with myself and so happy to have made people like my father and Mr. Hand proud of me. I was genuinely grateful for the upcoming opportunity to serve my country.

However, I was always one of those kids who asked a lot of questions.

I didn’t know much about the military beyond what I’d heard from my role models. But I learned an important concept. You never challenge a superior officer’s orders or the rationale behind them making those orders. I certainly understood the reasoning for that, but the implications for my future sanity had become a stumbling block.

Only years later did I realize that there was an even more important concept to consider before putting on a uniform. That would be agreeing to exchange my mind, for group think. If I were to enlist, I’d be leasing my soul to the whims of other human beings who might be considerably more flawed than I am.

There would be a long line of leaders whose ethical and moral standards would trump my own. I’d heard many times that “truth was the first casualty of war,” but dealing with reality and hard truths has always been the foundation of any enduring peace. There’s a definite mismatch there. The compromising of personal ideals could become standard practice.

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As it turned out, a pair of glasses took away my dream of flying for the U.S. Air Force - while lots of books and different perspectives took away my naivety. Through all the years, I was left with was one nagging question: Who has the right to tell me who my enemy is?

Before I could kill anyone, I would want to be certain that my perspective victim was more depraved than me. And to do that, I would have to know them and the origins and cultural pressures that got them sword to sword with me. And in the process of learning those things, I would have inevitably uncovered multiple strands of the humanity that actually binds us. . . I understand that this is a most absurd scenario, but then again, what is war?