14. Say Goodnight to the Sun, Gents

As long as I’m on the topic of amusing little SEAL training anecdotes, the following is probably especially useful to convey the spirit of Powerful Peace. I promise not to turn this blog into a weepy meander down Military Nostalgia Lane…but I will toss this one in:

BUD/S (Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL training) is a monumental, six-month contest of wills. It’s a contest between the student…and himself. Several times a day, relentlessly, the instructor staff reminds the class that, “This program isn’t for everyone, Gents”; and, “There’s no shame in quitting – this is a voluntary program”; and, “Just step out of that cold water and walk up to the ambulance truck to get a nice, warm blanket and some hot cocoa”.

These gentle admonitions are designed as a form of PSYOP (Psychological Operations, or, getting in someone’s head) to inspire the half-hearted to throw in the towel and return to the easy life he knew. Only those who really, really, really want to become Navy SEALs will press on through the pain and the endless invitations to comfort.

The events of this essay happened in our class (I don’t know about every class). We had been running, jumping, swimming, and carrying heavy things around for two or three straight days. In other words, with the exception of one forty-five minute nap and four big meals a day, we had been in constant motion for about half the duration of Hell Week. While the students keep going and going, day after day, the school has to activate extra shifts to manage the 24-hour training. We still had two or three days of the same to look forward to.

We had been very cold, very wet, and very tired for the duration. Now, just about halfway through, we were given our once-daily “hygiene” time. This is a brief, frigid, open-air evening shower before pulling on dry “greens”, diving back into the 52-degree ocean water, and rolling in the sand once again. (Hygiene time is also a chance for the medical staff to survey everyone for concealed injuries.)

After this evening’s hasty rinse off and dress up, we were surprised to find the mood calm and non-threatening. Perhaps “surprised” isn’t the right word. Let’s use “wary”.

The staff formed us up on the beach, parallel with the waterline . We knew the drill. We would be instructed to walk slowly into the hated surf, not run pell-mell without discipline. Walking in before submerging increases the discomfort significantly.

The command to move was given, we trudged forward dutifully, and it might as well have been Groundhog Day for the sameness of this miserable march. Suddenly, mere feet before touching the foam, we were called to a halt. We were told to turn around.

We were then told that the speaker understood how hard all of this had been for us, how he knew it was painful; he’d been there, too. We were told that the staff wanted to reward us with a few precious minutes of rest. We were told to turn back around, facing the beautiful Pacific Ocean, and kneel there in the warm, dry sand. The sun was a lovely, swollen, orange ball on the horizon.

Then we heard a soothing, “Say goodnight to the sun, Gents.”

Those five minutes of reflection on past nights, with our joints seizing into this kneeling “rest”, were some of the longest of our lives. We willed the sun to slow down, don’t go so fast – don’t bring another night like the last ones. We were permitted to cool down, motionless, as the night fell without mercy. Finally, far sooner than seemed fair, we were asked to rise and walk into the water.

I don’t remember clearly, but I believe some guys quit right there and got some cocoa.

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Powerful Peace is not hot cocoa and fuzzy blankets. A hate-filled terrorist pushing a long knife into the side of a living man’s throat and sawing through the front while he gurgles and kicks is real.

Terrorism is stark, and terrorism is real.

One of the crossovers between my reconnaissance days and my antiterrorism days is an expression I coined: “If you would see in the dark, you must first be in the dark.” Literally, one must stand in the dark for some time before his physical eyes adjust and he can see through the dark. Metaphorically, one must stand in the darkness of humanity’s inhumanity before his psychological eyes can truly see the darkness itself.

I don’t recommend this for most decent folk, but one method I use to “become” the enemy is immersion in the darkness. (It takes a thief….) Most readers would not comprehend what can be found on the Internet; most should not. If it has been done to a person, it can be seen – in graphic, living color.

For those charged with defending, as I’ve said before, innocence isn’t an affordable luxury. The fact that one can’t bear to see a decapitation is no excuse to avoid its existence. The wringing of hands and the lamenting of the state of the world is the domain of the protected; protectors must wade into the water.

Protectors must find the courage to face down their own urge to hate, knowing that it perpetuates the hate. Protectors must find the strength to bear up through the dark night of retaliation.

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One final point bears mentioning. Following that fateful evening, hours after I said goodnight to the sun, a marvelous thing occurred: it came back up. The sun warmed my frozen bones and lifted my heart with hope. Every darkness seems absolute, and every trial infinite, but the unbreakable resilience of our human spirit has overcome the Dark Ages, the Inquisition, the Holocaust, and even my long-winded postings.

(Congratulations, if you’ve read this far!)

It should be obvious by now that I’m not going to “get to the point” of Powerful Peace. It is a process. We will succeed, and we will fail.

We will want to get the cocoa, but we will define Powerful Peace through choices.

Say goodnight to the sun, Ladies and Gents.

Copyright © 2008 by Jack Oatmon. All rights reserved.