Going Where They Are

Imagine for a moment that you are a member of perhaps the proudest group of warriors the world has ever seen; a “band of brothers” that embodies the seemingly long-forgotten traits of honor, duty, and country. Every line of your uniform, from its gold buttons to the blood-red stripe down the pants leg, was earned in blood; each part of it was born in your history. Every time you put it on, you are reminded of those who have come before you, those who have made your heritage what it is. Your brotherhood, this nearly mythical bond, is signified by two words that somehow encompass everything you stand for. They are not just words, however, but a promise, a solemn commitment that will be kept even if it means you will die keeping it. Semper fidelis: always faithful.

By your hand and the hand of your brothers-in-arms, the freedom of the United States of America stands. Your brothers have fought on every continent for over two hundred years, with a resolute courage and ferocity so incredible that even your enemies called you teufelhunden–devil dogs. There is not a better fighting force anywhere in the world, and being a part of it is the proudest thing you will ever accomplish.

You were sent to a faraway country, just like so many before you, and you did your duty the best you knew how. You sweated throughout the days and froze during the nights, sleeping in tents that were no protection against the mortars that deafened your ears and inched ever closer during the few moments of sleep you were allowed. You held the bloody hands of your friends as they died in front of you, some of them calling for their mothers, others whispering the bittersweet “Tell my wife…” Some of them didn’t say anything at all, instead gurgling through their own blood as they died. Semper fidelis.

You went without food, without sleep, without basic things like clean clothes and a shower. Through it all, you somehow managed to hang on to your sanity in a place where a lie is as commonplace as the truth, and the enemy just might be a 7-year-old child on the side of the road, smiling at you and asking for candy only so you will get close enough to him to be killed by the explosives he carries. No matter what the climate, the terror, the smells of blood and death or your buddy’s guts that spilled out in front of him, you press on, determined to complete the mission. Many of your brothers have come back again and again to this place, unwilling to sit in a recliner in their livingroom and watch TV while you try to wipe the blood from your uniform and catch a few minutes of sleep before the next mission. No matter what the cost, you are all willing to pay it. Semper fidelis.

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Now imagine that you are sitting in an 8×8 cell, as are seven of your brothers, waiting to find out if your promise to remain faithful will in fact result in your death–not in a hail of enemy fire, not in the blinding explosion of a terrorist’s bomb, but by the sterile needle of a lethal injection, administered by the very country you spent your adult life defending. You have been shackled, wearing a label that says “PVD”: potentially violent and dangerous. You have been here for over a month now, in solitary confinement for almost 24 hours a day, with nothing to do but pray that someone stands up for you, just as you did for them. But hope is dwindling. Your military attorneys don’t have time to help you, and your civilian attorneys are being denied access to evidence that would prove you’re innocent–no autopsy of the man they say you murdered in cold blood, no witnesses, nothing. In fact, you’ve just been told that you may be tried without ever facing your accusers in court–accusers who already have given conflicting stories and dishonest statements. Your life hangs in the balance, but the chances here are even worse than they were in Iraq. There is a very good chance that you will die, convicted of a crime you did not commit, betrayed by the very country you defend.

But this is just a story. This never actually happened, right?

Wrong. It’s happening right now. At the moment I write this, eight men sit in solitary confinement, charged with crimes that never happened. Their case is explosive, their story heartbreaking. I don’t believe any American, after hearing the facts of this case, can call it anything but a travesty of justice that may not only kill eight innocent men, but the idea of the United States Marine Corps as an honorable institution. I hope you read this series, yes. But I challenge you to act upon it.

The Innocent 8 fulfilled their vow. Now it is our turn.

Semper fidelis.

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