- When George W. Bush sent U.S. troops to Iraq in March
2003, he warned Iraqis about their treatment of American Prisoners Of War:
"I expect them to be treated, the POWs I expect to be treated humanely,
just like we're treating the prisoners that we have captured humanely.
If not, the people who mistreat the prisoners will be treated as war criminals."
Regretfully, we did not live up to the standards we demanded from others,
thus losing our moral authority.
-
- Pointing the finger down to the frontline, U.S. officials
claimed the torture resulted from a lack of troop discipline. Yet, a
recently released report from Human Rights Watch (HRW) entitled, The Road
to Abu Ghraib, points the finger upward to policies of the Bush administration.
HRW describes the pattern of official decisions which encouraged the
use of torture and prisoner abuse by U.S. forces in Iraq and in other detention
facilities around the world. HRW also revealed high level "cover-up"
to quash the allegations of abuse.
-
- The use of torture and other illegal methods of interrogation
are poor techniques which yield unreliable results. Torture can induce
the detainee to say what he thinks the interrogator wants to hear. It
also puts U.S. and allied personnel at greater risk of abuse if they become
captured. Even so, the U.S. continues to use these inhumane methods, more
egregious knowing that many abused detainees were innocent. According to
a Red Cross report given to the Bush administration earlier this year,
70% to 90% of prisoners detained in Iraq "had been arrested by mistake."
-
- Torture by U.S. personnel discredits this nation and
its Armed Forces. Such dishonorable behavior undermines America's role
as a world ideal. A grave problem facing the Bush administration is its
hypocrisy. It talks one way and acts another. It talks of spreading democracy
while undermining The Bill of Rights with the Patriot Act; it expresses
sympathy for military families and then cuts their benefits; it claims
to promote the rule of law while scoffing at laws it considers inconvenient--like
the Geneva Conventions protection of POWs.
-
- John Seebeth Issaquah, Washington
-
-
- More about John Seebeth...
-
- The following article is written by Captain Robert B.
Robeson, a pilot with the 236th Medical Detachment, Helicopter Ambulance
and is excerpted from the May, 1983, edition of Soldier of Fortune magazine.
-
- DUSTOFF!: "God Go With Us"
-
- He trudged through the ankle-deep sand at the 95th Evacuation
Hospital in Da Nang, Vietnam, displaying the smiling face I would learn
to appreciate so much in the next few months. He was short, wiry, and he
saluted even though his flight helmet was still on - visor up and intercom
cord trailing out behind him like some dangling reptile.
-
- Grabbing my overloaded duffel bag and effortlessly slinging
it over a shoulder, he directed me toward the idling helicopter on the
pad 50 yards away. It was my first glimpse of Specialist Five John N. Seebeth.
-
- It was mid-July 1969. War would now be a reality for
me, but Seebeth -- at 21-- had already seen it all. I wondered, later,
if he'd ever really been young or if, like so many others I would get to
know in Vietnam, he had been born old and experienced in the ways of death
and life. Although the next month and a half would irretrievably alter
our lives, I will never forget his smile at that first meeting -- and it
was always there whether we were involved in good and hard times. I knew
Seebeth was a good man for a bad medevac, but I knew little else about
this grinning, gung-ho medic until it was really too late.
-
- Our crew was assigned to field stand-by duty at LZ Baldy,
about 25 miles south of Da Nang. Further south, Americal Division units
had been engaged with an entire North Vietnamese Army (NVA) Division and
we began flying 12 to 13 hours a day picking up their dead and wounded.
During those 2 1/2 days, our DUSTOFF crew was forged into a team that worked
under the worst conditions to save lives in combat.
-
- I remember lying on my back on a dusty bunk during a
brief lull in the action the second day, and talking to Seebeth across
the hooch. A high-pitched voice and animated conversation were his trademarks
and I smiled as he drew me a picture with hands that had saved many lives.
This time the words had a serious note -- probably because we knew our
odds were getting worse. He spoke rapidly and I listened and nodded as
he talked. He brought up the possibility of our being shot down.
-
- "Well, Sir" he said, "if we go down you
can sure count on one thing." "What's that?" "That
I won't leave you alone out there. Especially if you're hurt. If I have
to die, I want to go trying to help someone or trying to protect my buddies."
-
- At the moment it sounded a bit too dramatic, even though
we'd already taken a number of "hits" the morning before in our
first aircraft. I had been locked into my shoulder harness when a round
entered behind my seat and broke the unlocking device.
-
- But even in combat you don't really think the worst will
ever happen. You see it all day but it's always someone else -- never you.
We talked for a few minutes more until another mission being called in
ended our discussion.
-
- It was another insecure landing zone, under heavy small-arms
fire. Normally, we'd try to get gunships to accompany us, but none were
available because of the heavy action in the area. The ground troops had
also radio-relayed to the aid station that the patient would be dead unless
we got there immediately. Although we were unarmed, we agreed to go alone
and try to sneak in as we'd done so many times before.
-
- This mission was for a seriously wounded American. He
waited for us in a valley that we'd gone into 10 to 15 times before. We
had received fire on almost every attempt.
-
- I remember looking down as we approached the area. It
appeared calm and untroubled from 2,000 feet but inside I knew danger was
waiting down there. Even Seebeth's usual "God go with us", spoken
softly into his intercom before every approach, seemed different. The crew
chief said later that he held up crossed fingers as he said it. He'd never
done that before. Maybe intuition warned him.
-
- Diving down from 2,000 feet, we spun quickly toward the
yellow swirl of smoke in a tiny clearing. But all of our maneuvering was
to no avail because we had to drop straight down into a "hover-hole"
barely wider than our blades. We began taking hits before we touched the
ground.
-
- As our skids made contact, the entire jungle exploded
with enemy fire. We were encircled. As they threw the wounded man aboard,
holes popped in the chopper's skin as if by magic.
-
- I turned to Seebeth to see if he was inside when a short
burst of automatic fire blew open his neck. I yelled for the crewchief
to assist him as we attempted to climb out of the ambush. The fire continued
and knocked out all of our radios but one. Somehow we climbed and limped
toward home. I turned in my seat and told Seebeth, "We'll get you
back. You'll be all right." I doubted it since there was a ragged
hole where his throat had been. He just shrugged his shoulders and instructed
the crewchief, via hand motions, how to put the IV into his arm. Then he
monitored its flow and kept his own airway clear of the blood that was
quickly filling his lungs.
-
- With great difficulty we flew the aircraft back and landed
safely. A litter team was waiting for us but Seebeth pointed to the other
patient, pushed them away, and ran 70 yards to the aid station- unassisted.
As a medic, he knew the severity of his injuries and was well aware that
seconds saved meant life.
-
- I ran in behind him and marveled as he jumped up on an
open litter used for examinations. He waved for the doctors to start working
- doctors who had worked with him on other patients only hours before.
-
- He kept mouthing the words, "I can't breathe",
as they began a tracheotomy to get air to his lungs. There was no time
for pain-killers -- they just started cutting. Seebeth was fighting to
live and began kicking his feet in anger at his body's failure. I held
his feet and tried to ease the fears we all had.
-
- He looked at me. His lips moved silently: "I can't
breathe", and big tears began to run down his cheeks -- mingling with
the mucus and blood that covered him and everyone nearby. He suffered bravely
until he passed out.
-
- After surgery, Seebeth began to respond and was judged
capable of being evacuated from the war zone for further surgery. I went
to see him a number of times, between missions, at the evacuation hospital
but he was always unconscious so I just stood by the bed feeling inadequate,
watching the heaving chest and the tubes running in and out of his body.
-
- I wished then that the whole world could have seen him
bring three Americans back to life in one day after they had been placed
aboard our aircraft apparently dead. Mouth-to-mouth breathing and closed
heart massage, which he could do simultaneously, gave them another chance
to live. Seebeth would do anything to save another human.
-
- Days later, Seebeth was taken by helicopter to DaNang
Air Force Base for evacuation. The crew that flew him over told us that
as they took his litter from our ship to the waiting ambulance, Seebeth
raised two fingers to form a "V" and then he raised his other
hand. In it he waved our unit patch -- a patch that exhorted "Strive
To Save Lives."
-
- They said he was smiling through the blankets and tubes.
The two pilots had to look away; they were all crying, Seebeth included.
Even in combat there is time for love to grow, and we all loved Seebeth
for what he was - the best medic we'd ever seen.
-
- He had lost his larynx but not his spirit. He always
gave more of himself than was required. He kept going because he believed
that human life was the most important thing. I'll always remember those
words before every approach, "God go with us."
-
- Seebeth left his mark on the thousands he treated but
he knew and respected the inevitability of death. He took his wounds the
same way: fighting, but humble. His memory will always be with me - watered
by tears and warmed by the smiles of yesterday. His words so long ago were
prophetic- the memory of John Seebeth, of his courage and humanity, will
never leave me alone.
-
-
- ***
-
- Nearly 14 years have passed since then. The world has
changed dramatically, but the memories of this special medic still touch
me because he typified the humanity that often is overshadowed by the inherent
brutality of any war. Seebeth was wounded in August 1969. This 21- year-old
is now 34. He saved my life that day; the burst of machine-gun fire would
have hit me if he hadn't been sitting between me and the NVA. I have only
one photo of John Seebeth. It doesn't do him justice, but then nothing
does. Strangely enough, it shows the exact position I saw him when he was
hit, because he was sitting facing toward the rear, with his back against
the other pilot's armored seat.
-
- For 12 years, I wrote letters to VA hospitals and to
fellow pilots, trying to find out where Seebeth was and how he was doing.
Finally, I was told that the VA computer system could assist me if I wrote
down his name, rank, serial number, and where and when he was wounded.
I sent a letter with my address and phone number in the summer of 1981.
The VA forwarded it to his last known address.
-
- That fall, the phone rang. My wife answered. She said
to me, "It's for you. It's some guy with a very hoarse voice. I can
hardly understand him.
-
- "Hello," I said.
-
- "Bob?"
-
- "Yes."
-
- "This is John."
-
- "John who?"
-
- "John Seebeth."
-
- He's now lives in Seattle, Wash., and we talked for 30
minutes, reliving that near-tragic day and the past 12 years. He's had
10 or 12 throat operations. Science and surgery have allowed him to speak
again, but not in that rapid, high-pitched voice we knew. An alien sound
has replaced the laughter he gave so freely, but he's alive and well.
-
- On 3 October 1982, I flew to Seattle to visit John. We
met at the Seattle/Tacoma, Wash., airport. KOMO-TV and radio from Seattle
were also on hand to cover the story for their 6 and 10 p.m. news programs.
But I wasn't thinking about the surrounding cameras, lights or microphones
as I walked from the aircraft and embraced this special medic and friend
after so many years. All I could think of was that we were survivors- we'd
helped each other to make it back alive.
-
- We shared some tears, laughter and many reminiscences
during the next few days. John's positive outlook on life and living, despite
the pain and suffering he'd undergone with his 100-percent disability from
the war, overshadowed everything else, as always.
-
- When it was time to say good-bye again, John placed his
finger over an opening in the plastic device that fits into the 1 1/2-inch
by 1/4- inch hole in his throat. This device lets air pass through his
mouth so that he can speak.
-
- "Thanks for coming, Bob, " he said. "It
has really meant a lot to me." Our eyes misted as we embraced for
the final time. My gaze went past him to a poster on his bedroom door.
It said:
-
- "Some men see things as they are and say, why? I
dream things that never were and say, why not?" - Robert Kennedy.
-
- Somehow, no other statement seems so appropriate in John
Seebeth's world.
|
