He finally starts his lecture. There's no good morning. No here's what we're going to talk about today. No lesson objectives.
Guess I'm not in Kansas anymore. An Army slide would have been carefully scripted with lesson objectives, key concepts and a course guide.
Looks like I'm supposed to think for myself here, too.
Which is kind of terrifying in a lot of ways.
"So let's talk about ISIS today. From your readings, you see they're in the news this week because of their beheading of another American citizen. What do you think motivates these people to do such a horrific act?"
From the front left, a hand shoots up into the air. Spoiler alert, it’s Parker. Here we go. She's what we call a spring butt in the Army. The first person to raise their hand and always has something they think is brilliant to say.
Her voice is pitch perfect in a super-annoying Elle Woods kind of way. Except that she doesn't have the dorky charm of Elle Woods. And no, I'm not embarrassed for having watched Legally Blonde on my last deployment.
Parker is confident in a way that suggests prep school and a mother with a ruler and a strong look of disappointment if she so much as looked at something the wrong way or dared to have her own opinion about anything.
"They're completely insane," she says.
I look down at my paper. I do not want to talk about this shit today. Or ever, for that matter. This class is a massive f*ck
ing mistake. It needs a f*ck
ing trigger warning.
My advisor and I are going to have a serious discussion about why she thinks this class is necessary for my degree. I want to do Homeland Security consulting. I know more than enough about violence and conflict management.
I wonder when the drop deadline is. Or if I can change majors. Maybe I can bribe my advisor to let me take something else. I’ll claim psychological distress or something.
But then they might ask for a mental health evaluation and god forbid should the veteran have mental health issues. And I’m most certainly not doing one of those. They might discover my other problem.
Parker continues. "They're using horrific violence as shock value, nothing more. If they were better integrated in society, they wouldn't have run off to join this band of murdering psychopaths."
She's so wrong it's not even funny. Guess a lack of cultural understanding isn't unique to the Army.
"Mr. Douglas, you disagree."
f*ck
.
I look up to find the entire class has turned around, waiting for my answer.
I grind my teeth, wondering how the hell I managed to draw attention to myself.
Guess it's my f*ck
ing super power.
I wonder what they'd do if I ran screaming from the room, yelling for everyone to take cover. It's how I feel right now. Like they're waiting for me to grow a second head.
But those are my issues, not theirs; because none of them know I’m a soldier. It’s all in my head. Most of them probably have no idea that I should have a blazing neon sign over my head that says Warning: Angry Veteran. May snap if provoked.
The only war they know about is the one they see on TV. Or the one that could happen if Starbucks runs out of their favorite espresso.
"They're not psychopaths." I keep my voice calm and level and speak extra slowly. I need to keep my emotion out of this entire exchange and that is getting more and more difficult by the moment. "Just because someone is willing to engage in violence does not make them crazy."
Parker launches into her defense before I barely finish talking.
"No, I'm not willing to acknowledge that. Studies have consistently demonstrated that people who engage in this level of violence are severely mentally disturbed."
I smile at her and it is as cold and dead as I feel inside. She has no idea what life outside the smooth stone walls of this campus and her gated community is like.
"So explain all of human history," I say. "We used to gather in the town square for stoning as Saturday night entertainment."
I made that up. I think. But she's wrong.
She's f*ck
ing wrong.
The girl next to me shakes her head and lifts her hand. "Whether or not members of ISIS are mentally ill is irrelevant, isn't it? I mean, we're not going to assess their mental health before we launch drones at them."
Professor Quinn motions to her, not dismissing her remarks like he’s done to mine.
She is rapidly becoming my obsession. "Go further with that, Ms. Hilliard. What do you mean?"
Hilliard.
At least now I have her name.
Abby
I have a rule about talking in class. If I wouldn’t say it to the whole room, I don’t say anything. And now, I’m diving into a conversation that is incredibly uncomfortable. Well, that's what I get for opening my mouth in class.