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Speaking Truth to Power
| BIOGRAPHY |
| SITTING IN ON THE WINTER SOLDIER INVESTIGATION |
ALEX PRIMM
by ALEX PRIMM
Alex Primm is an oral historian and
freelance writer in the Ozarks. He
served as an Army newspaper
editor and correspondent for the
7th Public Information Detachment
in Long Binh Junction, South
Vietnam, Sept '68 to June '69.
Alex is VetSpeak.org contributor
who testified at VVAW WSI, Detroit,
1971, and joined us at WS: Iraq &
Afghanistan to observe and to write
about the event from a Past Winter
Soldier perspective, and to serve
on our front gate security group at
the site, the George Meany College
of Labor, in Silver Springs,
Maryland, with his wife Cathy at his
side, and in the company of 10
other VetSpeak contributors and
supporters who also attended.
freelance writer in the Ozarks. He
served as an Army newspaper
editor and correspondent for the
7th Public Information Detachment
in Long Binh Junction, South
Vietnam, Sept '68 to June '69.
Alex is VetSpeak.org contributor
who testified at VVAW WSI, Detroit,
1971, and joined us at WS: Iraq &
Afghanistan to observe and to write
about the event from a Past Winter
Soldier perspective, and to serve
on our front gate security group at
the site, the George Meany College
of Labor, in Silver Springs,
Maryland, with his wife Cathy at his
side, and in the company of 10
other VetSpeak contributors and
supporters who also attended.
Friday, 14.3.08 noon
I'm silent as an hoot owl on the roost in this ample auditorium with some
500+ other diverse citizens... young, old and not many in between... angry,
freaked out... aging vets and peaceniks... my people... I feel more
comfortable here than anywhere... no one passive, everyone silent and
respectful.
We're listening to the Iraq war vets. I've been given a few minutes leave
from guard duty by the front gate at the National Labor College where the
Winter Soldier Hearings 2 are going on. I can't seem to leave... there is no
break from the testimony where I can easily get up and get back to
checking people, so I take notes on the Apple and let thoughts stream
through me.
A couple is talking about their son... what they say reminds me of one of
our foster daughters... not easy stuff to listen to... but riveting.
Nightmares. The son I knew fell apart. Panic attacks. Unable to focus.
Balance is compromised. A tree picked from behind the house. PTSD.
"Come in to see a therapist as soon as possible. He did. Six employees to
get him down and hold him there." Hanging, suffocation or overdose.
Should take away the knives and that hose. Or one of these, but outside
the house. Three phone calls.
Why should I take the call? Why should I listen? How is it possible not to
listen? A mother's words demand involuntarily commitment.
A song now makes sense... this testimony has become unquestionably
powerful, so in some ways I'm just as glad the words are not coming thru...
how much longer can I sit here... should be back by the gate soon to check
out people who might be trying to disrupt these hearings.
I'm just as glad the lights are bright, and for the people who read from
prepared texts to track an untimely death. Many deaths... mostly Iraqi, just
like we did the Vietnamese... Haji... Gook...
This way hidden wounds can be seen. A suicide will not happen here now.
Just grief. A woman leaves weeping. A sister, a mother? Why aren't we all
weeping and storming the White House to bring that jerk to justice?
We find ourselves forced into ourselves, alone. But we are not left behind,
just sickened... silent... weak... the frail spirit exhausted by this disease of
death.
Even this hard chair feels good on my sore butt. It is something real and
physical, it is mine and alive. I will not kill myself.
No pain could equal the lone tree and the names of so many more. We are
not the only family, the only Gold War Family.
No funds, no staff, no support, so he is ignored. Each story worse than the
last.
Even one from Missouri to end things... home from the war a few weeks...
nothing helping... no doc can reach him... rampaged in the house last night
so the sheriff had to come out... he's he jail now... they are going to charge
him... that's all they know to do... keep him in jail... charge him... he's gone
crazy.
It's over... time to go back and try to talk to my fellow vets about the past
when we were young and crazy with our own senseless war. It still rots
within so many souls... so many families... the sacrifice of youth for almost
nothing.
Alex Primm
VetSpeak.org
I'm silent as an hoot owl on the roost in this ample auditorium with some
500+ other diverse citizens... young, old and not many in between... angry,
freaked out... aging vets and peaceniks... my people... I feel more
comfortable here than anywhere... no one passive, everyone silent and
respectful.
We're listening to the Iraq war vets. I've been given a few minutes leave
from guard duty by the front gate at the National Labor College where the
Winter Soldier Hearings 2 are going on. I can't seem to leave... there is no
break from the testimony where I can easily get up and get back to
checking people, so I take notes on the Apple and let thoughts stream
through me.
A couple is talking about their son... what they say reminds me of one of
our foster daughters... not easy stuff to listen to... but riveting.
Nightmares. The son I knew fell apart. Panic attacks. Unable to focus.
Balance is compromised. A tree picked from behind the house. PTSD.
"Come in to see a therapist as soon as possible. He did. Six employees to
get him down and hold him there." Hanging, suffocation or overdose.
Should take away the knives and that hose. Or one of these, but outside
the house. Three phone calls.
Why should I take the call? Why should I listen? How is it possible not to
listen? A mother's words demand involuntarily commitment.
A song now makes sense... this testimony has become unquestionably
powerful, so in some ways I'm just as glad the words are not coming thru...
how much longer can I sit here... should be back by the gate soon to check
out people who might be trying to disrupt these hearings.
I'm just as glad the lights are bright, and for the people who read from
prepared texts to track an untimely death. Many deaths... mostly Iraqi, just
like we did the Vietnamese... Haji... Gook...
This way hidden wounds can be seen. A suicide will not happen here now.
Just grief. A woman leaves weeping. A sister, a mother? Why aren't we all
weeping and storming the White House to bring that jerk to justice?
We find ourselves forced into ourselves, alone. But we are not left behind,
just sickened... silent... weak... the frail spirit exhausted by this disease of
death.
Even this hard chair feels good on my sore butt. It is something real and
physical, it is mine and alive. I will not kill myself.
No pain could equal the lone tree and the names of so many more. We are
not the only family, the only Gold War Family.
No funds, no staff, no support, so he is ignored. Each story worse than the
last.
Even one from Missouri to end things... home from the war a few weeks...
nothing helping... no doc can reach him... rampaged in the house last night
so the sheriff had to come out... he's he jail now... they are going to charge
him... that's all they know to do... keep him in jail... charge him... he's gone
crazy.
It's over... time to go back and try to talk to my fellow vets about the past
when we were young and crazy with our own senseless war. It still rots
within so many souls... so many families... the sacrifice of youth for almost
nothing.
Alex Primm
VetSpeak.org
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