The Protected

We hear it at the same time and turn to look at each other. For a second no words are spoken, then a smile comes to her face as she says, "I love that sound." The methodical thumping of a group of military helicopters as they come into view just over the tree tops. "Makes me feel patriotic" she says as she shields her eyes from the sun and takes a few steps forward for a better view. "Wonder what they're doing?" I too wonder the same thing, but almost instinctively I feel my stomach tighten as well.

My country is well known around the world for saving countries from themselves and others. We have a powerful military and have a history of not being afraid to use it. I don’t mean to suggest that I think we use our power flippantly, though I admit it seems that way at times. The answer to that question is way above my grasp of politics and I’m reduced to which opinion I find the most convincing. I feel sure we have done good all over the globe, but just how different would it feel if those helicopter blades thumping above my house belonged to someone else?

How would it feel to be the protected instead of the protector? How would it feel to hear this noise and wonder if it was “us” or “them”? How would it feel to be required to prove my reasons for taking the 30 mile trip to Macon to a group of armed men who barely spoke my language? The closest I have ever come to this is showing my passport to a customs official in a Mexican airport! And trust me, when a uniformed Jamaican security officer singles you out of a group, motions for you to turn around and asks “Is it okay if I touch you” your life is shortened! I’d love to stay, but not this way.

So why does this group of military helicopters give me a sense of dread? I’ve never been to war; I’m not on the run. I admit this feeling only lasts a split second and it is quickly followed by a rush of patriotism…but where does it originate? Maybe it’s just the instinct that all animals have; when the twig snaps and the deer looks up, it doesn’t take a biologist to determine that the look on his face is one of fear. He is not expecting to share his breakfast with a group of his deer buddies, he is anticipating flight. The deer is born with these memories and they preserve his species.

Maybe deep down we all store of images of war. These memories may not keep our finger off of the trigger, but hopefully they will make it harder to pull. They will ensure the survival of our species.