ICYMI: The Price of Freedom

In Case You Missed It:
The Price of Freedom
By Councilman Bob Schroeder

Originally published in the Pascack Press

My company produces fabric structures for the U.S. military.  We build support bases for our country’s soldiers all over the world, including those stationed in Iraq and Afghanistan.  In my line of work, there are inevitably those callous few who ask me if “war is good for business.” 

I tell them the truth: war isn’t good for anybody.

Over the years, I’ve traveled to countries in conflict many times, and have seen firsthand the ravaging impact of war on buildings and infrastructure.  And still, nothing could have prepared me for what I witnessed during a recent trip to the Walter Reed Army Medical Center in Washington D.C.

When the Veterans of Foreign Wars Post #8946 asked me to join them to visit wounded soldiers, I wasn’t sure what to expect.  We often hear of the death toll in Iraq and Afghanistan, but the number of non-fatal casualties never seems to get as much attention.  Since Operation Iraqi Freedom began, 31,368 soldiers have been wounded overseas. In Afghanistan, over 3,000 soldiers have been wounded during Operation Enduring Freedom.  For some, these are nothing more than numbers on paper. Just a few days before our country celebrated the Fourth of July holiday, we headed down to Walter Reed, and I saw exactly what “wounded” means, up close and personal. It was an experience I will never forget.

The majority of the patients I saw were amputees. According to the Army Office of the Surgeon General, there have been close to 1,300 amputations resulting from the conflicts in Afghanistan and Iraq. Thanks to improvements in field trauma medicine and the widespread use of body armor, a higher percentage of our soldiers are surviving their battlefield injuries—but the rate of amputation has doubled. Yes, our boys are coming home in larger numbers, alive, but forever mutilated.

I met a 21-year-old whose left leg was blown apart by shrapnel, one of the many victims of an improvised explosive device (IED). He was from a small town in rural Georgia, and told me of his dream to be able to run again as he did before.  There was another man, also 21, from Monmouth County; he lost both legs in a roadside bombing in Afghanistan.

What struck me when I met these young men—most of the patients just a few years older than my own teenaged son—were the smiles on their faces. They had endured devastating injuries, but were grateful to have survived, their bodies broken but their spirits still very much intact.  Without exception, they expressed a desire to go back to combat, to serve alongside their fellow soldiers and complete their mission—not because they enjoy fighting, but because they believe so strongly in what they are fighting for.

As a civilian traveling with a group of seasoned military veterans, I was moved by the instant kinship between these soldiers: brave men from completely different generations, who fought in foreign wars decades apart.  From the moment they met, they recognized the flicker of mutual understanding in each other’s eyes, and greeted one another like old friends.  Some bore injuries that were obvious and raw, others had scars that ran deeper. Wounded warriors, all. 

The wounded are so much more than just a statistic. They have names, and faces, and families. A few days after my trip to Walter Reed, our country celebrated Independence Day.  As families gathered together to commemorate our country's freedom, my thoughts kept going back to those men at Walter Reed, who have sacrificed a large measure of their own independence, in order that we might celebrate ours.