Today I saw the Oregon State Patrol video of the traffic stop shooting between Trooper Matt Zistel and a driver named John Van Allen. It’s an interesting video, worth a quick analysis for lessons that can be applied both to law enforcement personnel and armed citizens.
In a nutshell, here’s what happened:
Trooper Zistel stops John Van Allen for speeding. Allen immediately exits his vehicle, wearing US Army fatigues, and puts his right hand behind his back while keeping his left hand at his waist. He ignores repeated orders to get back inside his vehicle and asks at least twice why he was stopped. Zistel is polite the entire time, even calling Allen “sir”. Allen walks toward the trooper, draws a weapon and opens fire. Zistel returns fire as Allen maneuvers around the hood of the patrol car. Allen is hit in the chest, Zistel in the side. Allen returns to his car and flees. He is found a short time later, dead from the chest wound. Three of Allen’s children were in the car when the shooting occurred.
Let me say two things up front: First, I ain’t no expert on nuthin’. I’ve been a cop 20 years, and most of that time was on night shift patrol in rough areas. I spent a few years as an assistant Active Shooter instructor. I’ve also been in the Marine Reserve and Army National Guard for 25 years, and have been in combat in Iraq and Afghanistan. That doesn’t make me master of all things tactical, but it does give me a good background to understand and explain the dynamics of this shootout.
Second, I am NOT in any way criticizing Trooper Zistel’s performance or judgement. He was there, not me. I am writing this to explain to the lay person how and why certain things happened, not to say that Zistel made any mistakes. Everything I’m about to write is from the perspective of an informed observer, not a direct participant. As always, I own any mistakes I make; if someone reads this and knows I’m factually wrong about something, please let me know.
The video I’ve linked is from someone who posts and critiques police videos. His commentary only lasts about 20 seconds. I chose this video because, for some reason, certain details are more visible here than in others I’ve seen. Please watch, it’s a very short video of a very fast incident.
Now, here are my observations.
1) Upon stopping, Allen immediately gets out of the car. In my experience, people who rush to get out of the car on a traffic stop are trying to keep attention away from what’s inside the car. The position of Allen’s car is also noteworthy. On a highway, with traffic flying by at high speed, most drivers know to pull well off the road, as far to the right on the shoulder as possible. Allen stops almost on the line. This could just mean he’s a bad driver, but it could mean he’s in such a rush to take whatever action he’s planning that he’s not paying attention. It could also mean he’s hoping the officer pulls over further to the right, which would give the suspect a good angle on the driver’s door of the patrol car. It would also allow the suspect to use his own trunk as partial cover/concealment.
But more importantly, 2) As soon as he was out of the car, Allen put his right hand behind his back. While some very unaware drivers can immediately reach for their wallet when they’re stopped, this looks very different. Allen stands very stiffly, head raised high, feet spread in almost a fighting stance. And instead of casually pulling a wallet from his pocket, he leaves his hand behind his back.
Also, watch his left hand. He moves it around by his hip, suggesting to me that he’s trying to find a position for it that looks casual. I’ve seen this before, and it’s hard to quantify and explain. But certain suspects will make an obvious attempt to look casual while they’re obviously doing something wrong. I’ve had stopped drivers try to casually smoke a cigarette while they’re kicking drugs under their seat, and had suspects act very friendly and wave with one hand while using the other to dig into their pockets for weapons or drugs.
In one hilarious robbery video I saw, the suspect walked up to a convenience store clerk, put a candy bar and milk on the table, then jumped the counter and started beating the clerk while ordering him to open the register. A minute later, a police officer walked into the convenience store. The robber immediately pretended to be a clerk, tried to look casual despite being obviously terrified, and pushed the milk and candy toward the officer as if the officer was about to buy them.
This is just my personal observation, so it’s only worth what you’re paying for it. But if you see someone whose overall demeanor suggests they’re extremely tense, yet they make some seemingly casual movement, they’re either doing something wrong or about to.
3) Next point: Allen demands, twice, for the officer to tell him why he’s been stopped. Yes, many drivers don’t like cops and immediately assume we stopped them for no reason. If Allen had been sitting in his car demanding it, I wouldn’t take it too seriously. But in this case, given Allen’s overall demeanor, it seems to me that Allen is trying to distract the officer with conversation. I arrested a guy for murder one night, and he tried the same thing; ignore my orders, keep talking, keep advancing toward me.
This doesn’t only apply to law enforcement. If an armed citizen is confronted by, say, a supposedly innocent stranger in a parking lot, watch out for repeated “innocent” questions.
“Hey man, you got a light?”
“No I don’t, sorry.”
“Hey man, I asked if you have a light.”
You already answered him. If he’s walking toward you while asking you a second time, in my opinion he’s using the question as a verbal distraction while he closes distance. Depending on the overall circumstances, an armed citizen might want to draw at this point.
4) At 1:04 Allen begins his draw.
The movement of his right arm as he reaches under his uniform shirt is obvious from the camera angle, and I’d guess it would be even more obvious to the officer, standing outside the driver’s door. My guess, and it’s just a guess, is that the officer didn’t fire at this point because Allen was wearing a US Army uniform. Most cops consider members of the military to be fellow “men of the cloth”, so to speak. That doesn’t mean we won’t treat them like criminals when they act like criminals, but it does mean cops generally are hesitant to fire on someone wearing an official good guy uniform.
5) At 1:06, a full two seconds from the time he first started drawing, Allen opens fire.
This was an extremely slow draw, giving Trooper Zistel plenty of advance notice. Most criminals don’t “train”; they might practice pulling their weapon from wherever they hide it, but they don’t work to develop muscle memory. To me, Allen appears to be an amateur with no appreciable pistol training. The majority of criminals are, like Allen, capable of not much more than operating a weapon. And despite comments from those who think anyone in uniform is a highly trained combat vet with PTSD, there is currently no reason to believe Allen ever did anything more than stateside military construction training. He served 3 years as a reserve construction engineer, and was discharged last year. No word yet on why Allen was in uniform.
6) At 1:07, one second into the gunfight, Trooper Zistel appears to have fired one round into the street in front of Allen. A puff of dust from a bullet impact is visible just in front of the car, near the left front bumper, where Allen had been standing a moment before.
It’s worth noting that Allen almost immediately moves sideways, off the initial line of fire. That could be instinctive, or could be the result of training. But it almost certainly isn’t something he learned in the military. Unless you’re lucky enough to get advanced weapons training, every time you fire a weapon in the Army you’re standing still and shooting at a stationary target. We have the same problem in law enforcement. Good officers have died because under stress they reverted to their training; stand in one spot, engage, holster. Allen’s movement seems to be instinct, not training.
Another item of interest in this frame is that Allen may have already been hit. For some reason, he has flexed his elbows and brought his weapon up near his head. This may be a flinch from being shot in the chest. On one web site where this incident is being discussed, a very uninformed but intelligent commenter said this:
“Is this normal? I mean, if someone gets shot in the chest, can they just keep moving as fast as he was? Or is this an indication of being on some sort of drug that keeps you going? Am I watching too many movies? I thought a bullet to the chest would at the very least make you wobbly and fall to your knees.”
This leads me to item 7), which is the major takeaway for both cops and armed citizens. The answer to the above question is, YES IT IS NORMAL FOR SOMEONE SHOT WITH A PISTOL TO CONTINUE FIGHTING!! Pistol rounds are inherently bad at killing people. Even when someone takes a life-ending hit, they can still present a lethal threat until the wound kills them. At the Miami FBI shootout, one of the suspects sustained a non-survivable wound in the first few seconds of the fight. He still managed to kill two FBI agents and wound several others. If someone actually is on drugs, they may take multiple rounds with no apparent effect.
If you think real life is like TV and everyone who gets shot drops dead immediately, you’re wrong. If you carry a “get off me” gun that you think will scare someone away even though it only carries a few small-caliber rounds, you’re probably wrong. If you carry a .45 because “Hell, even if you only hit someone in the pinky with a .45 it’ll still kill them,” you’re laughably wrong.
8) This is another interesting point. In combat, things go wrong and unexpected things happen. This wasn’t clear on other videos, but you can see it here. When Allen was (possibly) hit and jerked his weapon upward, the magazine fell out.
You can see it just below Allen’s right elbow. There are several reasons it could have fallen. Allen may have been gripping the pistol wrong and inadvertently depressed the magazine release when he was hit, or he may not have had it seated correctly in the first place (although if he hadn’t, it’s unlikely the weapon would have continued to fire). Maybe Zistel’s round even hit Allen’s weapon before entering Allen’s chest. Whatever the reason, Allen seems to be unaware that the round in the chamber is the only one he’s got.
After Allen moves off camera, one shot is fired (I think from Zistel), then two almost simultaneously (one from each of them). This would have been Allen’s last round fired; at this point, Allen apparently realizes he has an empty weapon. When he reappears on camera, he’s bent down frantically reaching for his magazine.
After he recovers and inserts his magazine, Allen appears to not rack the slide and chamber a round.
This goes along with my earlier comment, about most criminals barely being able to operate a weapon. With rounds in the magazine but an empty chamber, Allen then apparently tries to engage again. At this point, Zistel is already on the radio calling out “shots fired!”
Now Allen, maybe not understanding why his weapon isn’t firing, runs back to his car and speeds away. From the first round to the last, approximately 5 seconds passed. From the moment Allen drew his weapon to the time he got back into his car, ten seconds elapsed. If I’m not mistaken, eight rounds total were fired. Very brief, and very intense. Zistel sustained a non-life threatening wound and was released from the hospital the same day. Allen, of course, died from his injuries.
Bottom line here is that Trooper Zistel did a fantastic job. I’m proud we have police officers like him on the street. Allen may have been a good man at heart, and he may have had severe mental problems. We don’t know yet. I’m sorry his children had to watch him die. But that day, for whatever reason, he made Trooper Zistel kill him.
http://www.amazon.com/Line-Valley-Chris-Hernandez-ebook/dp/B00HW1MA2G/ref=cm_cr_pr_product_top
http://www.amazon.com/Proof-Our-Resolve-Chris-Hernandez-ebook/dp/B0099XMR1E/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1398105777&sr=1-1&keywords=proof+of+our+resolve
Filed under: Cops | 18 Comments
Tags: john van allen, Oregon state police, PTSD, veteran writers
So there I was, minding my own business, parked in a dark parking lot watching a crime hot spot across the street. This was years back, when worry about terrorism was way high. Officers were still assigned to guard critical sites like electrical stations and water purification plants. A friend of mine was guarding one of those spots, elsewhere in my beat. Close by the site she was guarding stood a nightclub, the kind any decent person avoids and gangsters love.
This club was notorious for fights, shootings and just generally being a pain in the ass. Customers sometimes stole cars just so they could drive there and show them off. People would wander out of the club high on PCP, then stand in the street freaking out. One time a super-high guy outside the club actually flagged down a police car, then climbed onto the hood and started screaming at the officer through the windshield. When I heard her yell for help on the radio I thought she sounded, shall we say, a tad concerned. I had been in a couple of stolen car chases that started there and had worked several shootings in and around the club.
One night a friend and I parked our patrol cars in a huge, well-lit parking lot behind the club. As we were talking, someone outside the club started shooting. My friend and I couldn’t see far past the club’s fence; just on the other side of the fence, I saw a guy crawling under a car. About 15 shots were fired. I thought, Oh hell, I’m about to get into a shooting. We took off, screeched around the corner and rushed into the club parking lot. Not only did we not see anyone shot, we couldn’t get anyone to talk to us. Nobody would even look at us. And nobody called the police.
So I guess you could say this club was a total craphole.
So on this early Sunday morning, I didn’t feel like prowling around that club looking for stolen cars driven by gunmen high on PCP. Instead I decided to watch this other bad spot in my beat. But unfortunately my friend, on guard at a critical site, decided to ruin my quiet morning. At around 3 a.m., she sent me a message on my computer:
I just heard a loud crash and gunshots at the club.
I knew that whatever happened at the club, it was going to be a mess. I checked the computer for calls holding in the beat. Seven calls for an accident or shooting had just dropped. I headed that way before the dispatcher told me to.
When I arrived there was mass chaos. Four wrecked cars were scattered in front of the club. People were running around screaming. Backup units showed up as I did, and we started trying to figure out what happened. Only a couple of people would talk to us, but eventually we pieced together some of it.
At this club, patrons would just stop in the middle of a busy street to drop people off or pick them up. Four cars were stopped in front of the club. And an old pickup came flying down the street and smashed right into the last car.
The last car hit the one ahead, which hit the one ahead, and so on. People in and around the cars were knocked to the street and probably injured. The old truck was badly damaged and smoking, but the driver backed up, swerved around the wreck he caused and tried to speed off.
At this point, a concerned citizen outside the club pulled his pistol and emptied a magazine at the fleeing truck. He did this despite the fact that hundreds of club patrons were scattered everywhere. More on this later.
Backup units started trying to find the drivers of the wrecked cars and I drove in the direction the pickup had fled. A couple of minutes later, I found it. The front end was smashed in and still smoking. The driver had made two quick turns, then drove into a heavily wooded dead end. A bullet hole was in the back window, above the headrest, perfectly placed to nail someone right in the back of the head. But it was on the passenger side, not the driver’s. I looked inside the truck. It was empty, nobody had been hit.
Now I was pissed. I’m not saying I wished I had found the driver with a bullet in his head. But I was hoping he’d still be inside the truck.
Meanwhile, my friends had no luck finding any occupants of the other cars. Four vehicles full of people, and they all fled the scene before we showed up. Maybe they took off because they had warrants, were high or had drugs on them. They didn’t show up at local hospitals.
I was frustrated as hell, knowing I wouldn’t get home for hours after the end of my shift. Now I had a hit and run accident with five vehicles involved, and the at-fault driver on the loose. Spent shells needed to be collected as evidence. We had tons of reports to fill out. And at the end of all that work, I wouldn’t even have a bad guy to throw in jail.
I called K9 to help me search for the driver. It was just a formality; I figured the driver was long gone, having a beer at a friend’s house and laughing about how he had smashed up a bunch of gangster cars at a gangster club, barely missed being shot and got away. And all he lost was his twenty-year old piece of crap pickup, which he’d spend $100 to replace the next day.
Right around the time I was fuming over my escaped hit and run driver, he stumbled out of the woods. Right next to the club.
Fortunately for him, an officer grabbed him before the crowd did. He was slobbering, stupid drunk. I headed back to the club to put him in my patrol car.
I was ecstatic that my bad guy was under arrest. But there was a downside. Now I had a five vehicle hit and run accident, a drunk driving arrest that could take hours to complete, evidence to be tagged, and tons-plus of reports to write. Then the dispatcher called me on the radio and made it worse.
A gunshot victim had arrived at a nearby emergency room. He told the doctor he had been shot in the hand while standing across the street from the club. Our concerned citizen had – shockingly – managed to shoot an uninvolved spectator. Of course the victim was suffering momentary amnesia from the gunshot: “Man, I didn’t see nuthin’. I just heard gunshots and then somethin’ hit me in the hand.” Now I had a five vehicle hit and run, a drunk driver to process, evidence, a gunshot victim, and metric tons of reports to write.
Then we checked the drunk for warrants. And found out he was an illegal alien wanted for sexually abusing a child in another state.
Putting his punk ass in jail was worth writing the metric ton of reports.
AVAILABLE AS AN EBOOK ON AMAZON, iTUNES/iBOOKS AND BARNES & NOBLE. AVAILABLE IN PRINT AND ELECTRONICALLY AT TACTICAL16.COM
Filed under: Cops, What Police Work is Really Like | 12 Comments
Tags: police work, veteran writers
This essay was published in Iron Mike Magazine on 25 September.
http://ironmikemag.com/the-cost-of-desk-jockey-decisions-and-honoringtrue-brotherhood/
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A few days ago I saw a video of soon-to-be Medal of Honor recipient Captain Will Swenson in combat. The video was taken by a medevac helicopter crewman who flew in to pick up a badly wounded Soldier, Sergeant First Class Kenneth Westbrook, during the Ganjgal Valley battle. When I watched it, I almost broke down in tears. Watch what happens right around 1:10.
http://www.cbsnews.com/8301-18563_162-57603788/medal-of-honor-winner-shows-bravery-tenderness/
The Ganjgal Valley battle took place on September 8th, 2009, while I was in Afghanistan. The battle stands out for several reasons. First, we lost five good men from an Embedded Training Team; three Marines and a Navy Corpsman were killed that day, and Army SFC Westbrook died of his wounds 29 days later. In Afghanistan we tended to lose men in ones and twos. The loss of five Americans and nine Afghans in one engagement was a major event.
Second, interference by “leaders” far from the battlefield helped us lose those men. Two captains on duty in Tactical Operations Centers denied repeated requests for air support. They did this despite a radio call from one of the doomed Marines, “We’re surrounded! They’re moving in on us! If [you] don’t give me this air support, we are going to die out here.” One of General Colin Powell’s principles was, “The commander in the field is always right and the rear echelon is wrong, unless proven otherwise.” That principle was ignored in Ganjgal, and five American warriors died.
Third, a very young Marine Corporal named Dakota Meyer was awarded the Medal of Honor for his efforts to save his fellow Marines. This was one of the few good results of the battle.
Fourth, Army Captain Will Swenson, who spoke out against the higher-echelon second guessing that helped kill five brave men, was recommended for a Medal of Honor. And his recommendation was somehow “lost”. An award packet that consists of numerous witness statements, after action reports, photographs and radio transcripts, saved as an electronic file and sent to numerous individuals for review and approval, was “lost”. Which meant the statements by Captain Swenson criticizing the rules of engagement and chain of command were also “lost”. Fortunately, the Army “found” the recommendation and Captain Swenson is finally going to receive the medal he deserves.
Last – and most personal to me – not long before the Ganjgal battle, I had the worst day of my military life. I was in a battle, attached to an Embedded Training Team, and we lost a fight. One American and three Afghans were killed, a few others wounded. Higher leaders made the decision to pull us out of a valley after we took those losses. We could have stayed. We could have kept fighting. But we weren’t allowed to. No matter how hard I try, I can’t look back to that day and see it as anything but a defeat.
More than any other incident, that engagement motivated me to write. The decision to pull us out instead of letting us hold ground left me feeling angry, disappointed, maybe even betrayed. I’m still furious when I think back on it. But I also remember something else, something that Captain Swenson’s video brought back to the forefront of my memories.
The day after that fight, I was on my firebase and ran into another American Soldier. This Soldier was a Sergeant First Class like me but had been a regular Army infantryman, an Airborne Ranger, for many years. He was big, blond and muscular, the kind of guy who just looks like a Soldier. He hadn’t been in the valley with us, but had heard about it. He asked me if I was okay.
I gave him a halfhearted nod. I guess I was “okay”. I briefly told him about the fight, and the close calls we all experienced. I described the death of the brave young American, and how frustrated I was at our inability to save him. I told him how angry we were at being ordered out of the valley before the fight was over.
As I spoke to him, two regular Army MPs stood close by, listening in silence. One was male and one female, and they looked about 15 years old. Their eyes were averted, but I knew they were following every word.
I finished the story. The tall blond sergeant shook his head sadly. Then he did something I’ll never forget.
He said quietly, “I’m glad you’re okay, brother.” And he hugged me.
This sergeant and I were friends, but not close. We were on different teams, and he was a regular Army infantryman whereas I was a National Guard support guy. Outwardly, we didn’t have much in common. But that one small gesture cut through any differences we had. For a moment we were two Soldiers, serving in a complicated, frustrating war, caring for each other like members of a close family. Before the hug, and afterward, I was bitter and disillusioned. But for those two seconds of closeness, I knew a brother had my back. And I needed to know that.
Captain Swenson’s video reminded me of those two seconds. But as I watched Captain Swenson’s and Sergeant Westbrook’s last moments together, I realized something. The memory of my brief moment, of a reassuring hug from a brother Soldier, holds about one thousandth the emotion Captain Will Swenson shared with his dying friend in the Ganjgal Valley.
Captain Will Swenson, congratulations on the honor you earned. I hope I get to shake your hand someday.
Sergeant First Class Westbrook, and the other American and Afghans lost that day, rest in peace.
AVAILABLE AS AN EBOOK ON AMAZON, iTUNES/iBOOKS AND BARNES & NOBLE. AVAILABLE IN PRINT AND ELECTRONICALLY AT TACTICAL16.COM
Filed under: Afghanistan | 4 Comments
Tags: Iron Mike, Medal of Honor, veteran writers, Will Swenson
Just wanted to drop a last minute reminder that I’ll be speaking with two other authors and signing books tomorrow at the River Oaks Bookstore in Houston. I realize I should have done this earlier, but I’m really bad at this whole self-promotion thing. I now have printed copies of my book for sale. If anyone is around River Oaks tomorrow, please come by. I’ll be there between 4 and 6 pm.
http://riveroaksbookstore.com/
This appearance is for Hispanic Heritage month. But as I’ve said before, I’m not a Hispanic militant. At an appearance yesterday, I was quoted by a reporter:
“Hernandez, a military veteran of 24 years, spoke about his heritage as a Hispanic-American. He said his family shaped his future in the same way as every other person and chooses to celebrate the differences and similarities he shares with his fellow Americans.
‘Being Hispanic doesn’t separate us. We’re all part of this very inclusive American culture,’ he said. ‘I don’t feel like I’m different. This happens to be my ethnicity. It doesn’t make me better. It doesn’t make me worse. It just makes me an American who has to make something of myself.’”
Thanks and hope to see you guys there.
Chris
Available as an ebook on Amazon, iTunes/iBooks and Barnes and Noble. Available in print and electronically from Tactical16.com
Filed under: Writing | 8 Comments
Tags: river oaks bookstore, veteran authors
Purple Hearts for PTSD?
This was published by BreachBangClear in two parts on September 17th and 18th.
http://www.breachbangclear.com/site/10-blog/485-should-we-award-purple-hearts-for-ptsd.html
http://www.breachbangclear.com/site/10-blog/486-should-we-award-purple-hearts-for-ptsd-part-ii.html
Yes, it’s a long essay. But some things can’t be explained in a short blurb. Especially something this close to my heart.
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SHOULD WE AWARD PURPLE HEARTS FOR PTSD?
No, we shouldn’t.
I came home from Afghanistan angry and depressed. Most of my problems came from guilt over one particular incident. Without going into too much detail, I felt that I failed to prevent another American’s death in combat. I knew that my feelings were objectively irrational. The situation had been chaotic and confusing, I was sick and suffering severe fatigue, and there was no way I could have known at the time what I found out later. But feelings don’t follow logic; even though I knew the man’s death was solely the enemy’s fault, I still blamed myself.
I had studied Post Traumatic Stress Disorder extensively between my Iraq and Afghanistan deployments. I knew I would come home with some aftereffects, which if handled correctly wouldn’t be permanent or debilitating. I also accepted my own responsibility for my mental state; I had reenlisted many times just so I could deploy, left one unit to join another that was going to Afghanistan, and volunteered for many combat missions I didn’t have to be on. I couldn’t complain about the result of what I chose to do.
I went to a VA counselor, and a civilian counselor. I talked things out. I shared my story with trusted friends. I leaned on my wife for support. My home life was affected, my work performance suffered, but I stuck to counseling until I worked through the issues. I made peace with what had happened. I’ll never forget it, and even now, four years later, I sometimes cry over it when I’m alone. I accept that I will never truly be over this incident, and to tell the truth I wouldn’t want to be. Occasional tears are my small but lasting tribute to a brave man’s life and death. But those tears don’t mean I have PTSD.
Two years ago I attended a class about PTSD. We watched videotaped interviews with PTSD victims. One was a former Special Forces sergeant named Paul Schroeder who had been awarded a Silver Star for valor but suffered from horrible PTSD after his discharge (I met him face to face a couple times). Another man on the video was a former Marine infantryman who had nearly destroyed his life with alcohol after his return from Iraq. We also listened to a speaker, a young woman who had completed two tours in Iraq.
I could relate to this woman. On one of her tours she had been a vehicle commander on a convoy escort team. I had the same job in Iraq. I experienced the same things, on the same missions, in the same places. For a couple of years after Iraq I had a startle response if someone used a camera flash near me, without warning me first (the first thing I saw when IEDs detonated near us at night was a blinding white or orange flash). I identified with the young woman, and while I didn’t come home with PTSD – no, the aforementioned startle response does not by itself equal PTSD – I understood how she could have it.
But toward the end of her talk, she said something that has come to trouble me greatly. This comment didn’t really register with me at first. As time has passed, and I’ve encountered many more instances of this, it bothers me more and more.
The young woman said her disability rating for PTSD was 30%. She was trying to get it raised, though. The reason?
“If I get it a little higher,” she laughed, “I can park in handicapped parking spaces.”
At the time, I thought it was a joke. I don’t think so anymore. In my opinion, too many veterans are jumping into the “PTSD business”, falsely claiming to have war-related emotional problems in order to receive a nice check every month, plus other little benefits, forever. This problem appears to be so widespread that many veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan are developing an automatic “This person is lying” internal response whenever we meet someone who claims to have PTSD.
This isn’t the response we should have. I’m not saying it’s “right”. But it’s hard to not feel that way after some of what we see and hear.
A sergeant, widely regarded as a malingerer, was on radio watch. A patrol near his firebase was ambushed. The patrol returned fire and pushed through the kill zone. No Americans were killed or injured, no vehicles damaged. The sergeant claimed PTSD because he listened to the ambush on the radio.
A large unit came home from a partnering/foreign military training deployment to a third world country. This country was not at war. There was no combat. Not a single soldier was in a firefight, no IED attacks occurred. Upon their return, a handful of soldiers claimed PTSD.
A Marine Iraq veteran I know well went to the VA to register for care. He saw a psychologist as part of the normal process. He told the psychologist the truth: he was never in combat, never heard a shot fired, never saw a casualty, never experienced anything more dangerous than rockets that landed far away and never hurt anyone. No nightmares, no isolation, no alcohol or drug abuse. His assessment? 30% disability for PTSD. He didn’t turn down the money.
A soldier told me that her deployment, which consisted of working 12 hour days as a supply officer, was traumatic. No, she was never in combat. But she worked crappy hours with no days off, was under constant stress from her superiors, and her marriage collapsed from the strain. “That’s PTSD,” she explained.
An Afghanistan veteran appeared on American Idol and told his story of being badly wounded in combat. He was called a hero on national TV and basked in sympathy for his terrible PTSD. Later, he was exposed as a liar who served one month in Afghanistan as a supply clerk and was never in combat (maybe I don’t have to go into much detail on this one, you might be familiar with it already).
My point is that fraudulent PTSD claims already abound, in addition to what certainly seems to be a zeal by the VA to diagnose veterans with PTSD. Those who legitimately suffer from it deserve all the help they can get. When they’re not stuck in the VA backlog, partly brought on by many vets who are gaming the system, they have access to therapy and medication. Yes, they deserve better treatment than what’s currently available. But do they need to be publicly recognized with a medal for suffering PTSD?
Recently an Afghanistan combat veteran, Army Major and author named Benjamin Tupper published an essay in the Daily Beast. Major Tupper wrote this essay as a plea on behalf of troops who came home from war physically sound, but suffer from PTSD. Tupper wants these veterans to be awarded Purple Hearts, just like those who suffer physical wounds.
In his essay , titled How The Purple Heart Can Help Heal Veterans with PTSD (http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2013/08/23/how-the-purple-heart-can-help-heal-veterans-with-ptsd.html), Tupper makes valid arguments, backed with personal experience. He acknowledges that veterans he has spoken to about it are almost universally against his idea, and admits he himself was opposed to it until recently. But he cites the veteran suicide rate as evidence that PTSD can be just as if not more crippling than physical wounds. He also points out that those who suffer Traumatic Brain Injuries – invisible wounds which weren’t recognized in the past – are now eligible for Purple Hearts. He argues that a veteran with PTSD is no less injured than one with physical scars, and deserves equal treatment.
For the record, I have nothing but respect for Major Tupper’s service. I don’t doubt the honesty of his opinion or his sincere desire to help traumatized veterans heal. I don’t disrespect Tupper for his views. But I can’t agree with him on this one.
One point of evidence Tupper uses to support his position is that Iraq and Afghanistan veterans are committing suicide at an alarming rate, leaving more veterans dead by their own hand than are killed in combat. On its face, that certainly does seem to suggest PTSD caused by wartime service is a crippling injury affecting masses of veterans. And nobody disputes the fact that one veteran suicide is too many.
But that statistic may not tell the whole story. Yes, the military suicide rate has risen dramatically. The civilian suicide rate has also risen to a similar level (20 per 100k vs 18 per 100k). Our Army “Resiliency” training informs us that 80% of soldiers who commit suicide have never deployed.
No, I’m not suggesting military suicides aren’t a problem. But they aren’t as simple as “being in combat makes you suicidal”. While I don’t accuse Tupper of making that simplistic argument, I do believe the general public often makes that assumption. Like everything else about the War on Terror, the reality is much more complicated than that. Suicides can result from a complex array of problems like alcoholism, drug abuse, mental problems or even PTSD from non-military causes (as Tupper acknowledges in his essay). And for those with suicidal ideations directly linked to combat, would a Purple Heart help? I don’t think so. Also, right or wrong, most soldiers who receive Purple Hearts for minor injuries are looked down upon by other veterans. This might lead you to think, as I do, that awarding a PH to a suicidal veteran might just make him feel guilty, which makes the problem worse.
My main argument against this proposal, though, is that it will create a wave of false PTSD claims. Tupper, to his credit, is aware that many veterans oppose his idea for this reason. But he offers a counterpoint: soldiers can lie to obtain other medals too. “Sadly, fakery can occur in any military award and that is why the current award system requires multiple witness statements to corroborate the award narrative. The same stringent review would be required for service members being submitted for PTSD related Purple Hearts: corroborating witness statements documenting combat exposure, as well as statements from professional mental health clinicians.”
The problem with Tupper’s proposed solution is that witness statements can’t prove or disprove feelings. Unlike awards for valor, which require witnesses to a specific action, there is no way to verify someone else’s emotions. Yes, witnesses could testify that a soldier experienced a traumatic event. They could testify to his or her behavior afterward. But they couldn’t give an insight into what that soldier is truly feeling.
In Iraq we had a soldier who was on numerous convoy escort missions as s gunner. On one mission in Baghdad his convoy was hit by multiple IEDs and small arms fire. He was wounded in the hand, but stayed on his gun. He was later given a Purple Heart and an award for valor, which we felt he legitimately earned.
But one day he got drunk on illicit liquor and passed out. He was taken to the base hospital. At the hospital he had to be restrained because he tried to fight staff members. At one point during his violent outburst, he screamed, “Have you ever been to Najaf? Then you don’t know what it’s liiiiiike!”
This soldier could be viewed as suffering from the effects of PTSD. He had an alcohol problem. He had been wounded in combat. He was screaming about a dangerous place, maybe even having a flashback.
But when I had conversations with other soldiers in my unit about the drunken outburst, the response was either laughter or a dismissive shake of the head. “What the hell was he yelling about? Nothing ever happened to us in Najaf.” And the soldier in question, who by the way I still respect for his service and genuinely like as a person, was known to have an alcohol problem long before we deployed. When I asked him why he was yelling about Najaf, he laughed and said, “Man, I was just drunk. I don’t know what the hell I was saying.”
So was his behavior caused by PTSD, or just a lack of self-discipline? How can the military tell? Witness statements wouldn’t prove anything either way.
Tupper also acknowledges, “… most soldiers look down on awards given for minor injuries, arguing that doing so cheapens the Purple Heart’s significance for those who were killed or more gravely wounded.” I absolutely agree, based on my personal experience with the Army’s latest watered-down award: the Combat Action Badge. Yes, I was in combat. Yes, I earned my CAB. But some soldiers see the CAB on my uniform and think, “Huh. I bet he was on some huge FOB and a rocket landed a kilometer away. Sure, he was really in combat.”
I know they think this because I catch myself thinking the same thing when I see a CAB on a stranger’s uniform. I think this because during my Afghanistan tour a rocket landed in a living area, and the next day “CAB hunters” paced off the distance from the impact crater to their huts to find out if they were inside the rocket’s killing radius and therefore qualified for the award (even though numerous other huts blocked the shrapnel). I think this because in Iraq mortars landed near a tactical operations center, and everyone who was assigned to the TOC received CABs whether they were in the TOC at the time or not. I think this because I was there when another team had a vehicle window chipped by a rock, and one soldier wrote a report citing “damaged by gunfire” as the cause of the chipped window, then tried to use that to claim a Combat Action Badge.
I’m damn proud of my Combat Action Badge, because it means I’ve followed in the footsteps of generations of family members before me. But because of people who stretch the truth or outright lie to get it, the CAB doesn’t mean to others what it means to me. I don’t want the same thing to happen with the Purple Heart, one of our most respected awards.
When my brigade returned from Iraq, as part of our outprocessing we listened to a parade of representatives from veterans’ advocacy groups. One of those representatives urged us to submit a VA disability claim for anything that might be service connected. Ringing in the ear, sore elbows, lower back pain, headaches, anything.
One soldier asked, “But if we have a lot of problems, how many should we claim? Should we really claim every little thing?”
The representative answered, “Well, how much money do you want to get every month?”
Do I think some soldiers apply that same greedy, morally corrupt thinking to PTSD claims? You bet. The American military is a reflection of American society. If we have liars, cowards, posers and thieves in our civilian population, we’ll have some in the military. Awarding the Purple Heart for PTSD is guaranteed to produce more liars seeking an award, attention and money. Which makes it harder for real PTSD sufferers to get treatment.
In Tupper’s essay, he tells the story of a friend who was slightly wounded in Afghanistan, but almost killed himself in a drunk-driving accident, fueled by PTSD, after his return home. I don’t doubt Tupper’s story, and I wish his friend well. But I also have a friend who suffers from PTSD. My friend was horribly wounded and almost killed by a huge IED blast that killed two of his friends. He’ll never walk normally again and will struggle with memory issues the rest of his life.
Does my friend benefit if soldiers are awarded Purple Hearts for PTSD? I don’t see how. He would likely have to wait even longer to receive the services and benefits he’s entitled to, because of the mad rush of alleged PTSD patients who would mob the VA in search of a medal and a free monthly handout. If we think we have a problem with liars and posers now, wait until we start issuing Purple Hearts for how people feel.
As I said before, I don’t have PTSD. I know this, and two independent counselors confirmed it. But if the military changes its policy and awards Purple Hearts for PTSD, I could get one. All I’d have to do is go back to the VA, retell my story, add a few nightmares, claim I get scared in crowds or have withdrawn from my friends, say whatever’s necessary to meet the criteria for PTSD. No witness statements could refute what I claim to feel. And I could go home with a shiny Purple Heart, at the cost of only my integrity, on the back of a heroic American who died valiantly facing the enemy one horrible day in 2009.
I’d rather shoot myself than get a Purple Heart that way. I’d almost rather shoot myself than see others lie to get a free medal and monthly check. I’d venture a guess that even many veterans with PTSD would rather not get a Purple Heart for it. Even if I really had PTSD, I know that I could never look my horribly wounded friend in the eye and tell him about my “PTSD Purple Heart”.
Sorry, Major Tupper. Love you, brother, and I respect what you’re trying to do. But I just can’t see it.
And by the way, remember Paul Schroeder, the Special Forces sergeant suffering from PTSD who I mentioned earlier? Turned out he was never SF and never in combat. He was just another lying scumbag, holding a hand out for all the money he’d get for being a PTSD victim.
Available as an ebook on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and iTunes/iBooks. Also available in print and electronically at Tactical16.com.
Filed under: Afghanistan, Iraq | 16 Comments
Tags: military posers, PTSD, purple heart, veteran writers
Patriot’s Day
I got out of the Army National Guard in August 2001. I had been on inactive status for a year, while I worked as a UN police officer in Kosovo. When my enlistment expired I considered just staying out. Yes, the Guard is allegedly only one weekend a month and two weeks in the summer. But it seems like it’s always getting in the way of work and family life.
On 9/10/01 I came home on leave from Kosovo. I heard the news as I drove my son to school. As soon as I got back home I rushed to the TV. My wife and I sat in shock, just like everyone else in the country, mesmerized by the horror of it all.
I knew, for certain, that America would hit back. I knew our lives had changed drastically. And I had a horrible revelation.
We’ve been attacked. We’re at war. And I just got out of the Army.
I felt sick over it. My friends were still in. I couldn’t stand the thought of them going to war without me.
Commentators on television were already saying the government had to “do something”. I agreed, but I’m not the kind of person to demand action from others. If “someone” needs to do something, that someone is “you”.
I called a recruiter and set up an appointment. Three weeks later, the day before I flew back to Kosovo, I swore back in to the National Guard. Six months later I was back at my unit. In 2005 I ran convoys on Iraqi highways, muscles clenched tight against IED attacks that were as inevitable as they were unpredictable. In 2009 I trudged through Afghan valleys, trying to track down the enemy who had helped al Qaeda attack us.
I was never hit. In Iraq other teams and convoys took horrible losses, but we were always lucky. In Afghanistan men died in ones and twos and threes around me. I came home without a scratch.
Twelve years after 9/11, almost four years after my service in two wars, I look back on the attacks and ask myself, What have we accomplished?
In Iraq I never heard a Soldier claim we were fighting those responsible for 9/11. If a Soldier ever said something like “I’m here to avenge the Twin Towers” he probably would have been laughed out of the room. I think we knew that, at best, some of our enemies sympathized with al Qaeda, or became AQ after we invaded. But we certainly weren’t going to kill anyone who planned the 9/11 attacks.
In Afghanistan I never heard any talk about 9/11 either. We were there to oppose the Taliban. Their past support for AQ didn’t feel like it had anything to do with the war anymore. America and NATO were trying to turn Afghanistan into a democracy, the Taliban didn’t want democracy, so we were fighting them. By the time I arrived, I don’t think any troops on the ground really believed Afghanistan would ever be a democratic anything. We were just there for the fight.
So was our collective wartime service worth it? Who knows? I don’t have any answers.
But I am proud of my service. I’m proud of the men and women I served with. I’m proud of the memories, even the bad ones. I treasure time spent in the presence of those who chose to risk their lives for a cause, even after hard reality stripped away the last vestige of idealism.
Whatever history says about our response to 9/11, I’m proud I was part of it. No, that response wasn’t perfect. But it was carried out by men and women who didn’t just sit on their couch and demand that others act in their defense.
To all those who actually took action after 9/11, whether it was through military service, supporting the troops, donating to help people overseas, or even protesting the war if you truly believed that was best for America, Happy Patriot’s Day.
Filed under: Writing | 24 Comments
Tags: 9/11, veteran writers
Wait…you mean this goofy bastard actually ISN’T Special Forces?
Friday afternoon I picked one of my boys up from school in my Army uniform. At his school, parents wait at the playground for their kids to come outside. I had just walked up to the playground when an older man sitting beside the playground got up and walked toward me.
The man was wearing sweatpants, an old, faded, sweatstained shirt with sleeves cut off, and a USMC baseball cap. The man walked awkwardly, as if suffering from old injuries. His face was unshaven, mouth filled with blackening teeth.
The man held his hand out and said, “I just wanted to thank you for your service in the Army.”
I had to stop and pulse check myself. I’ve had many people thank me for my service, which is always an honor. But I knew who this old man was. I had known for some time.
Two years ago I was visiting a friend in the neighborhood. Across the street, American and Marine Corps flags flew over a house’s front door. A cutout of a kneeling soldier was in the front yard. Vehicles with POW/MIA, Vietnam Vet and USMC stickers all over them were in the driveway. I asked about the neighbor and was told he had been awarded “a big medal” in Vietnam. I decided to walk across the street and knock on the man’s door.
When the man answered I told him I was a veteran and was curious about his service. The man immediately assumed what I took to be a “I’m so humble” stance and told me his story.
He was a Marine Vietnam vet. He had been a sniper. But before Vietnam he was on a secret mission in Russia. In Vietnam he was captured and put in a POW camp. He escaped, found an American unit, led them back to the camp and rescued 85 POWs. “I’m not bragging,” the man said. “But I’ve got a Medal of Honor, a Silver Star and five Purple Hearts.”
At this point, of course, I knew the man was lying. But I wasn’t certain how to respond. Was it possible this man actually was a Vietnam vet, had served honorably, and now was legitimately suffering from some type of mental issues? If I called him out as a liar, would I be doing the right thing?
I asked the man’s name again, “John Smith”, and made a mental note. Then we shook hands and I walked away. As soon as I got home I looked John on the internet.
Shockingly, he wasn’t in the database of Vietnam Medal of Honor winners. A search on his name didn’t turn up anything related to Vietnam. I went to our neighborhood police station and asked the officers if they had heard of him.
They knew exactly who John was. For years he’s been claiming to be a Vietnam War hero. The police have been called to his house many times, sometimes for serious incidents. He’s known as a drunk, liar and scammer. He owns a small business and advertises himself as a disabled Vietnam veteran. He’s told officers he’s got mental problems “from all the babies he killed in Vietnam”. The officers there considered him such a nuisance they kicked him out of the station.
I contacted the POWNetwork.org, which I knew outed military posers. I gave them all the information I had on John. They submitted an open records request to the National Personnel Records Center.
Not long afterward, they emailed me: “Record found. NO NAM.” John had served two years in the Marine Corps, 64-66. Never left the United States.
John’s service record and picture were put on the POWNetork’s “Hall of Shame” (which apparently no longer exists; however, I still have copies of the record and photo). I let the local officers know John was a complete liar, and spread the word around the neighborhood.
Not the same guy, but the same kind of guy
Not long after that, a small nearby town held a parade for a wounded Marine who had just been released from a military hospital. Flags, fire trucks and local patriots lined the main street. Motorcycles and VFW vests were everywhere.
The first vehicles in the parade came into view. And among them, a blue SUV with USMC, POW/MIA and Vietnam Veteran stickers all over it. Driven by John, our local fake Medal of Honor winner.
I actually chased the SUV for a few seconds before I thought, What am I going to do if I catch him? Drag a pathetic old man out of his SUV in the middle of the parade route? So I backed off, shook the wounded Marine’s hand when his jeep drove by, and went straight to the local police station.
Not him either, but they’re probably good buddies who cry over tragic, imaginary war stories together at the VFW
The local police could only document it. I talked to the parade organizers and they said John had only presented himself as a former Marine, not as a Medal of Honor winner. As soon as I could I called the FBI. I was told they only pursue larger Stolen Valor cases where the liar is gaining a large benefit from the lie. They’d look into it, but criminal prosecution was unlikely.
Time passed. I kept my eyes open for John, but never saw him around. Until Friday.
So there I was, standing in a playground surrounded by parents and small children, when this old, pathetic, lying scumbag walks up to me with his hand out, thanking me for my service. Because I was in uniform, anything I said or did to John would directly reflect on the US Army. I took a breath and calmed myself before responding.
Biting back anger, I raised my hand in a “back off” gesture. “I’m not going to shake your hand. I know exactly who you are, John. I know you’ve been lying about being a Medal of Honor winner for years. You need to just stay away from me, because I really am a combat vet.”
John was, to say the least, surprised. He backed away, muttering “Thank you for your service.” I told him, “Just stay away from me.”
He sat down with his wife and kept his back to me. Later, when he was leaving, he gave me one glance, and quickly turned away when he saw me still staring at him.
Since the War on Terror started I’ve met more Special Forces Recon Ranger Sniper SEALs than have ever existed in the entire history of our military. One night a wrecker driver at an accident scene told me he was such a good shot in boot camp, he was pulled out of basic and put directly in SF. Some other guy one night told me he had been SF, wearing black uniforms on secret missions. I asked him which SF group he had been in and he gave me a dumbfounded look, then said, “Uh…all of them. Yeah, they moved me around to all of them.” I had a guy walk up to me in a restaurant and tell me he was SF in Iraq. Then he didn’t know what an ODA was. I had the misfortune of meeting a former SF “PTSD counselor” who was suffering horribly from all his wartime trauma. Turned out he had never served in combat. He altered his DD-214 to make it appear as if he was an Iraq and Afghanistan vet, a Silver Star winner who had been wounded overseas. The actual disorder he suffers from is known medically as “being a lying sack of crap”.
What the hell is wrong with these people? Why do they feel this need to make up stories about nonexistent wartime service, when honorable peacetime service is more than enough to be proud of? And why the hell do they have to spout their ridiculous crap to real soldiers who actually know some truth about war?
Now I’m asking myself if I did the right thing. I once loudly confronted another notorious poser when I ran across him working at a local store. So should I have blown up at this old man in front of all those parents and kids, and let them all know who he really was?
And what should I do about this guy now?
Chris
p.s. I didn’t post his picture and military record because his address can be found on the internet, which then lets everyone know what city and neighborhood I live in.
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Filed under: Writing | 37 Comments
Tags: military fakes, military posers, veteran writers
