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Good article, good story and a good read. There should be more like this!
http://www.canada.com/components/print.aspx?id=94869c74-1add-4e95-89d3-5708c3b84a13
Attitudes may differ, but these soldiers know why they fight
Nigel Hannaford
Calgary Herald
Saturday, September 02, 2006
CREDIT: Courtesy ,Cpl. Chris Poonwah
From left: Cpls. Chris Poonwah, Adam Wanvig, Josh Morris and Joe Green.
More Columns By This Writer
:: Mixed signals for today's males
:: Red chamber's version of drama
:: Let's do a better screening job
There's no satisfaction, Churchill once said, like being shot at, and missed.
I had the pleasure this week of meeting three young Calgary men who more than proved the great man's point. Reserve corporals all of them, they lately returned from service with the Princess Pats in Afghanistan, where they had spent six months chasing the Taliban. They were satisfied, exuberant, in just such a Churchillian way.
Put yourself in their shoes. They had thrown the dice and won. Glad to be alive, by their shared experience, they had won membership of a special in-group -- those who serve. In their view, they had been in the best section of the best platoon, of the best company, of the best regiment, doing something worthwhile -- bringing peace and stability to Afghanistan.
All that set them apart from fellow countrymen who clearly didn't understand how they had been served -- apparently NDP Leader Jack Layton's situation, and that of Grit defence critic Ujjal Dosanjh. Layton would end our Afghanistan presence. Dosanjh wants to negotiate with the Taliban. (About what?)
These men, then, could appreciate Buchanan's restaurant knowing they deserved its comforts, darn it. It could have been 1902, 1918, 1945, 1953 or any of many later missions.
Some things never change. In so many ways, they were like their grandfather's generation. But, other things do change, and this isn't your grandfather's army. Here's their story.
Josh Morris, Joe Green and Christian (Chris) Poonwah are reservists. They drill at the Mewata Armoury on 11th Street. (So does Adam Wanvig, who missed the bar call, but is very much part of this).
They come from varying backgrounds. Poonwah, 25, has Caribbean roots. Morris and Wanvig, 23 and 20 respectively, are white (once almost the sole makeup of the army). Green is 22 and has a mother of Chinese heritage. They have been in the militia for four to eight years, and when the regular force let it be known it was looking for volunteers to go to Afghanistan, they decided together to go. Only Poonwah had previous experience: 2003 in Bosnia.
They are like brothers, bonded as only men can be who have lived an intense experience together.
How intense? Carrying equipment weighing in at 45 kilograms, in a country where temperatures can reach 60 C, and one's job is to chase an elusive enemy over rough ground, wary of traps, with the ever-present risk of getting shot for one's trouble, and always -- always -- watching out for the other guys in their section. That intense.
Why would anybody sign up?
Morris: "You train to be a soldier, so you want to go and be a soldier, to see what it was like."
Green: "I wanted to go overseas. Afghanistan was it. There's no way to understand what it feels like until you go there."
Poonwah: "It's often forgotten men used to go through this. They'd go overseas and go to war. I wanted that. I got to feel emotions I'd never felt before."
There is agreement it is a historic conflict. "I don't want to get political, but we went there because of 9/11," says Morris. "We were all damn excited to go," adds Green.
And so, after 45 straight days of intensive training at Wainwright, they ended up in Kandahar. That was February.
A month later, now indistinguishable from their regular force confreres, they were part of a quick reaction force. (Factoid: According to retired major-general Cam Ross, reservists are approaching 20 per cent of the total deployment).
There seemed nothing special about the night of March 28. Canadian troops patrolled every day, sometimes in a light armoured vehicle, sometimes on foot. Sometimes they came under fire, sometimes they didn't. When they did, they shot back. "When the LAV opens up, it's devastating."
But, that night was to be different, for them at any rate.
Something was up. Taliban were attacking the U.S. forward operating base Robinson, about 40 kilometres north of Kandahar. It was a frequent circumstance.
Morris and Wanvig went, part of a 10-man section that included Thunder Bay-born Robert Costall. Poonwah was on leave, Green was going out the next day. ("You go when you're sent, three weeks and $3,800 for anywhere you like.") He was told to stay put.
When Morris and Wanvig got there, "the sky was alight with tracers. It was mesmerizing, the fire going back and forth," says Morris. "I've never been so scared in my life."
It didn't last long -- 10 minutes, maybe? The Taliban had mortars, rocket-propelled grenades, AK-47s. Then, U.S. and British warplanes dropped bombs -- and, quiet.
Costall was dead. So were at least a dozen Taliban, maybe more. Wanvig had been shot in both legs. Morris: "Me and (reg-force) Mike Cuevas, we took care of him." Two other Canadians were injured. Now, they wear Costall's name on their wrists, inscribed on a plastic Lance Armstrong-style bracelet: "Rob Costall, 1PPCLI, 7Pl, 29 Mar 06. KIA Afghanistan."
It's a U.S. thing they've adopted. It's personal, some old sweats might say too much so. But it's theirs now.
Green, especially, is still processing. He wasn't there, he wishes he had been. But he knows he might have been lucky. What's he to think? Nobody who hasn't been there can say and, if they have, they may not. Six weeks later, Capt. Nichola Goddard was killed. They knew her. Did they feel worse that a woman was killed? No. "We didn't see her any differently. She was great, though. We really liked her."
Interesting. This is the mind of a different generation.
I can't imagine my Second World War veteran father taking the death of a woman so calmly or wearing a bracelet.
No, let's admit it: 65 years ago, not everyone in the army welcomed non-whites. Some things have changed, indeed.
As Ottawa's captive, Canada's Armed Forces have been a social laboratory for politicians who knew nothing of military culture, and sometimes openly disdained it. Making the army reflect what they thought society should be like seemed more important to them than its effectiveness. (The year the DND spent $1 million on developing a combat bra for female soldiers, for example, the army was short of practice ammunition).
But, the easy relationship among these guys shows they are united, not by some vision of Canadian multiculturalism, but by military monoculture.
Poonwah, the big brother: "I'm so proud of these three."
Green: "Damn proud."
Morris: "I love these guys."
Was it all worth it?
Poonwah: "We win by being there. If we weren't, it would be the Taliban. These people (the Afghans) have their own culture, to follow Islam, peacefully. We help them do that. (Gen. Rick) Hillier says we'll be there for 10 years. I hope we are. It would be a shame to bail after two or three years, after all this sacrifice. I'd go again."
As Ross says, that "speaks volumes about Canadian values. This is no Vietnam. Layton should listen to these young men." (So should Dosanjh).
Different war, different time. New ways of looking at things. But, the same old pride, in Canada's new-look army.
And alas, same old survivor's guilt. There is a companion sorrow to a soldier's joy at surviving, which is to have been missed and a buddy not so fortunate. This was their story. It was also Costall's.
Some things about soldiering really do never change.
nhannaford@theherald.canwest.com
© The Calgary Herald 2006
http://www.canada.com/components/print.aspx?id=94869c74-1add-4e95-89d3-5708c3b84a13
Attitudes may differ, but these soldiers know why they fight
Nigel Hannaford
Calgary Herald
Saturday, September 02, 2006
CREDIT: Courtesy ,Cpl. Chris Poonwah
From left: Cpls. Chris Poonwah, Adam Wanvig, Josh Morris and Joe Green.
More Columns By This Writer
:: Mixed signals for today's males
:: Red chamber's version of drama
:: Let's do a better screening job
There's no satisfaction, Churchill once said, like being shot at, and missed.
I had the pleasure this week of meeting three young Calgary men who more than proved the great man's point. Reserve corporals all of them, they lately returned from service with the Princess Pats in Afghanistan, where they had spent six months chasing the Taliban. They were satisfied, exuberant, in just such a Churchillian way.
Put yourself in their shoes. They had thrown the dice and won. Glad to be alive, by their shared experience, they had won membership of a special in-group -- those who serve. In their view, they had been in the best section of the best platoon, of the best company, of the best regiment, doing something worthwhile -- bringing peace and stability to Afghanistan.
All that set them apart from fellow countrymen who clearly didn't understand how they had been served -- apparently NDP Leader Jack Layton's situation, and that of Grit defence critic Ujjal Dosanjh. Layton would end our Afghanistan presence. Dosanjh wants to negotiate with the Taliban. (About what?)
These men, then, could appreciate Buchanan's restaurant knowing they deserved its comforts, darn it. It could have been 1902, 1918, 1945, 1953 or any of many later missions.
Some things never change. In so many ways, they were like their grandfather's generation. But, other things do change, and this isn't your grandfather's army. Here's their story.
Josh Morris, Joe Green and Christian (Chris) Poonwah are reservists. They drill at the Mewata Armoury on 11th Street. (So does Adam Wanvig, who missed the bar call, but is very much part of this).
They come from varying backgrounds. Poonwah, 25, has Caribbean roots. Morris and Wanvig, 23 and 20 respectively, are white (once almost the sole makeup of the army). Green is 22 and has a mother of Chinese heritage. They have been in the militia for four to eight years, and when the regular force let it be known it was looking for volunteers to go to Afghanistan, they decided together to go. Only Poonwah had previous experience: 2003 in Bosnia.
They are like brothers, bonded as only men can be who have lived an intense experience together.
How intense? Carrying equipment weighing in at 45 kilograms, in a country where temperatures can reach 60 C, and one's job is to chase an elusive enemy over rough ground, wary of traps, with the ever-present risk of getting shot for one's trouble, and always -- always -- watching out for the other guys in their section. That intense.
Why would anybody sign up?
Morris: "You train to be a soldier, so you want to go and be a soldier, to see what it was like."
Green: "I wanted to go overseas. Afghanistan was it. There's no way to understand what it feels like until you go there."
Poonwah: "It's often forgotten men used to go through this. They'd go overseas and go to war. I wanted that. I got to feel emotions I'd never felt before."
There is agreement it is a historic conflict. "I don't want to get political, but we went there because of 9/11," says Morris. "We were all damn excited to go," adds Green.
And so, after 45 straight days of intensive training at Wainwright, they ended up in Kandahar. That was February.
A month later, now indistinguishable from their regular force confreres, they were part of a quick reaction force. (Factoid: According to retired major-general Cam Ross, reservists are approaching 20 per cent of the total deployment).
There seemed nothing special about the night of March 28. Canadian troops patrolled every day, sometimes in a light armoured vehicle, sometimes on foot. Sometimes they came under fire, sometimes they didn't. When they did, they shot back. "When the LAV opens up, it's devastating."
But, that night was to be different, for them at any rate.
Something was up. Taliban were attacking the U.S. forward operating base Robinson, about 40 kilometres north of Kandahar. It was a frequent circumstance.
Morris and Wanvig went, part of a 10-man section that included Thunder Bay-born Robert Costall. Poonwah was on leave, Green was going out the next day. ("You go when you're sent, three weeks and $3,800 for anywhere you like.") He was told to stay put.
When Morris and Wanvig got there, "the sky was alight with tracers. It was mesmerizing, the fire going back and forth," says Morris. "I've never been so scared in my life."
It didn't last long -- 10 minutes, maybe? The Taliban had mortars, rocket-propelled grenades, AK-47s. Then, U.S. and British warplanes dropped bombs -- and, quiet.
Costall was dead. So were at least a dozen Taliban, maybe more. Wanvig had been shot in both legs. Morris: "Me and (reg-force) Mike Cuevas, we took care of him." Two other Canadians were injured. Now, they wear Costall's name on their wrists, inscribed on a plastic Lance Armstrong-style bracelet: "Rob Costall, 1PPCLI, 7Pl, 29 Mar 06. KIA Afghanistan."
It's a U.S. thing they've adopted. It's personal, some old sweats might say too much so. But it's theirs now.
Green, especially, is still processing. He wasn't there, he wishes he had been. But he knows he might have been lucky. What's he to think? Nobody who hasn't been there can say and, if they have, they may not. Six weeks later, Capt. Nichola Goddard was killed. They knew her. Did they feel worse that a woman was killed? No. "We didn't see her any differently. She was great, though. We really liked her."
Interesting. This is the mind of a different generation.
I can't imagine my Second World War veteran father taking the death of a woman so calmly or wearing a bracelet.
No, let's admit it: 65 years ago, not everyone in the army welcomed non-whites. Some things have changed, indeed.
As Ottawa's captive, Canada's Armed Forces have been a social laboratory for politicians who knew nothing of military culture, and sometimes openly disdained it. Making the army reflect what they thought society should be like seemed more important to them than its effectiveness. (The year the DND spent $1 million on developing a combat bra for female soldiers, for example, the army was short of practice ammunition).
But, the easy relationship among these guys shows they are united, not by some vision of Canadian multiculturalism, but by military monoculture.
Poonwah, the big brother: "I'm so proud of these three."
Green: "Damn proud."
Morris: "I love these guys."
Was it all worth it?
Poonwah: "We win by being there. If we weren't, it would be the Taliban. These people (the Afghans) have their own culture, to follow Islam, peacefully. We help them do that. (Gen. Rick) Hillier says we'll be there for 10 years. I hope we are. It would be a shame to bail after two or three years, after all this sacrifice. I'd go again."
As Ross says, that "speaks volumes about Canadian values. This is no Vietnam. Layton should listen to these young men." (So should Dosanjh).
Different war, different time. New ways of looking at things. But, the same old pride, in Canada's new-look army.
And alas, same old survivor's guilt. There is a companion sorrow to a soldier's joy at surviving, which is to have been missed and a buddy not so fortunate. This was their story. It was also Costall's.
Some things about soldiering really do never change.
nhannaford@theherald.canwest.com
© The Calgary Herald 2006
, and to the author, and the Calgary Herald for publishing it.
