The Last and Greatest Battle Finding the Will, Commitment,
and Strategy to End Military Suicides
Visit the link below to download the full version of this book:
https://medipdf.com/product/the-last-and-greatest-battle-finding-the-will-commit
ment-and-strategy-to-end-military-suicides/
Click Download Now
The Last and
Greatest Battle
Finding the Will, Commitment,
and Strategy to End Military Suicides
John Bateson
1
1
Oxford University Press is a department of the University of
Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research,
scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide.
Oxford New York
Auckland Cape Town Dar es Salaam Hong Kong Karachi
Kuala Lumpur Madrid Melbourne Mexico City Nairobi
New Delhi Shanghai Taipei Toronto
With offices in
Argentina Austria Brazil Chile Czech Republic France Greece
Guatemala Hungary Italy Japan Poland Portugal Singapore
South Korea Switzerland Thailand Turkey Ukraine Vietnam
Oxford is a registered trademark of Oxford University Press
in the UK and certain other countries.
Published in the United States of America by
Oxford University Press
198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016
© John Bateson 2015
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in
a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior
permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law,
by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization.
Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the
Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above.
You must not circulate this work in any other form
and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Bateson, John, 1951–
The last and greatest battle : finding the will, commitment, and strategy to end military
suicides / John Bateson.
pages cm
Includes bibliographical references and index.
ISBN 978–0–19–939232–2 (hardback)
1. Soldiers—Suicidal behavior—United States—History. 2. Veterans—Suicidal
behavior—United States—History. 3. Soldiers—Mental health—United States.
4. Veterans—Mental health—United States. 5. Combat—Psychological aspects.
6. Suicide—United States—Prevention. 7. Military psychology. I. Title.
HV6545.7.B37 2015
362.28088’35500973—dc23
2014017942
9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Printed in the United States of America
on acid-free paper
To Suzan
Our greatest foes, and whom we must chiefly combat, are within.
—Miguel de Cervantes
Contents
About the Author xi
Preface xiii
Acknowledgments xix
1. The Problem Defined
“Even grasshoppers hate me.” 1
2.
The Effects of PTSD
“It’s 1999, and my husband just died
from the Vietnam War.” 37
3. The Morality of Killing
“I’m a murderer.” 73
4.
The Individual Is Blamed
“It was hard for her to be aggressive to
prisoners. She thought we were cruel
to them.” 111
5.
The Dark Side of Nationalism
“We’re the future leaders of America. It’s
our duty to serve.” 149
x |â•…Contents
6. The Challenges Coming Home
“He really left us a long time ago.”â•… 175
7. The Road to Answers
“Becomes much excited. Supposes
he is in battle; gives commands.”â•… 205
Afterwordâ•… 251
Appendicesâ•…
A. About Suicideâ•… 259
B. Resourcesâ•… 269
C. Glossaryâ•… 275
Notesâ•… 279
Bibliographyâ•… 311
Indexâ•… 345
About the Author
John Bateson was executive director of a twenty-four-hour cri-
sis intervention and suicide prevention center in the San Francisco
Bay Area for sixteen years. He served on the steering committee
of the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline and was appointed to a
blue-ribbon committee that created the California Strategic Plan
on Suicide Prevention. His previous books—The Final Leap and
Building Hope—focus all or in part on suicide.
Preface
If someone had told me when I was younger that one day I would write
a book sympathetic to members of the U.S. Armed Forces, I would
have been skeptical. I attended college in Berkeley at a time when
protests against the Vietnam War were at their peak and the military
was castigated. Every person of any prominence who opposed the
war spoke at local rallies, from Beatnik poets to Jane Fonda. There
were large marches in the streets, mass demonstrations on campus,
riots in People’s Park, car burnings, tear gas sprayings, clashes with
the National Guard, and more. I didn’t participate in all or even most
of the demonstrations, but I supported them. Like many of my peers,
I didn’t see any purpose to the war, only senseless carnage.
In 1970, when I was a freshman, the lottery was held to draft
young men to fight in the war. Those who got a low number, based
on their birthday, were the first ones drafted, while those who got a
high number—all the way up to 366 (leap-year births included)—
were spared, at least for the time being. I remember watching the
news on television in a dormitory lounge when the results of the lot-
tery were reported (few students had televisions in their own rooms
those days). I wasn’t all that worried even if my number turned out to
be low because I had a student deferment. Still, it was a jolt when my
birthday was announced as number forty-five. All men my age with
xiv | Preface
numbers under fifty who didn’t have a medical or student deferment
were certain to be drafted.
Four years later, when I graduated from college, the war had
ended. With the fall of Saigon, the fighting was over and everything
in this country returned to normal—or so I believed. No one in my
family had served. Only one of my close friends served (as a helicop-
ter pilot, a high-risk assignment, but he survived). No one from my
high school was killed in action or, as far as I knew, had been physi-
cally wounded. True, many veterans came home with serious, visible
scars—missing limbs that put them on long waiting lists for pros-
thetics, spinal cord injuries that necessitated permanent confinement
to a wheelchair, eye patches that covered the hole left after shrapnel
exploded in their face. I averted my gaze when I saw them, thank-
ful in my selfish and uncaring way that they weren’t me. I never
shouted invectives or otherwise disrespected these troops, but nei-
ther did I hold them in high regard. If anything, I pitied them for
being pawns in a deadly game that had no redeeming value.
Beyond reading periodic news stories about the dangers of Agent
Orange, I was oblivious to the war’s impact on people who served,
and totally ignorant to the impact on families. I was unaware of the
psychological damage, knowing nothing about the trauma and hor-
ror that these veterans were exposed to. My friend and I lost touch
after he enlisted, and even though we renewed our friendship years
later, I didn’t ask. I was more aware of the social impact—high post-
war incidences of alcoholism, unemployment, and homelessness—
but only because I saw tangible evidence of it, mainly crippled vets
on street corners begging passersby for money. I made sure to put a
few coins or a folded-up bill into their collection tins, but that was
the extent of my compassion. Lacking any window into their world,
and seeking none, I didn’t have the slightest idea about what their
lives were like. Even though the majority of service members who
returned from Vietnam were my age, their existence was as alien
to me as if they were from another country or another time period.
Post-college, I was more focused on finding a job and launching a
career than on the hardships of people with whom I perceived I had
little or nothing in common.
For many years, my thinking didn’t change. In 1983, when
President Ronald Reagan sent 8,000 troops to the small Caribbean
island of Grenada to liberate a handful of American medical students
Preface | xv
who were thought to be at risk when a new government took power
there, I was incensed. Nineteen U.S. soldiers were killed, one hun-
dred sixteen were wounded, four hundred Grenadians died or were
wounded (including eighteen mental patients who were killed in
their hospital beds), and $135 million was spent on Operation Urgent
Fury,1 for what? The students were never in any real danger. In 1991,
when President George H. W. Bush committed more troops to roust
Saddam Hussein’s army from Kuwait than the United States deployed
at the height of the Vietnam War, with the stated purpose of protect-
ing U.S. oil interests in the area, I was livid. Nearly 300 American
service members were killed (including 15 women), more than 450
were wounded, more than 100,000 Iraqi soldiers were dead and
another 300,000 wounded, while $60 billion was spent on Operation
Desert Storm.2 Yet gas prices continued to rise and Hussein remained
in power. In 2003, when President George W. Bush declared war on
Iraq* for reasons that subsequently proved to be manipulated, I was
outraged. Don’t our leaders ever learn? Every conflict seemed so
senseless to me that I not only blamed our presidents for getting
the country into these wars, but I also blamed those who partici-
pated in the fighting. From the luxury of distance and ignorance,
I felt that they were equally at fault. After all, you can’t wage a war
without soldiers. Someone has to drop the bombs, launch the gre-
nades, fire the missiles, and shoot the bullets that result in war’s
casualties. Politicians may issue declarations of war, but it’s people in
the military who carry them out. The fact that since Vietnam every
U.S. soldier who has been killed or injured in battle has volunteered
for service—he or she wasn’t drafted—was proof in my mind that
they bore much of the responsibility for what happened to them and
to others. If they hadn’t enlisted, they wouldn’t have suffered.
Then I was hired as executive director of a twenty-four-hour cri-
sis intervention and suicide prevention center in the San Francisco
Bay Area. During my sixteen years there, and especially since 2010,
the agency’s client load included an increasing number of people who
* Technically, we’re not in a war because Congress has the sole authority to
declare war. Congress approved the use of military force in Iraq, though—a
type of war declaration—and after 9/11 gave the president general authority
for the War on Terror. I don’t think most members of the general public, the
media, or deployed troops believe that what’s going on in the Middle East is
anything other than a war.
xvi | Preface
served in the military, as well as their families. My eyes were opened
in a way they hadn’t been before to the anguish, depression, guilt,
and grief that these individuals experienced. In addition, I learned
about PTSD (posttraumatic stress disorder), TBI (traumatic brain
injury), and other aftereffects of war.
One thing that is substantially different about the fighting in Iraq
and Afghanistan today as compared with either of the world wars
or Vietnam is that it’s possible to forget today we are even in a war.
Fewer than 1 percent of people in the United States—about 2.7 mil-
lion out of 314 million—has served in a current war zone. Another
1 percent represents these troops’ immediate families. For 98 percent
of the population, neither the reality of the war nor the possibility of
deployment is a personal concern. According to a 2011 study by the
Pew Research Center, “A smaller share of Americans currently serve
in the U.S. Armed Forces than at any time since the peace-time era
between World Wars I and II.”3
For most of us, our daily lives continue as always, and what
happens abroad is something we read or hear about, but that is all.
Moreover, whether the fighting goes on for another three years, five
years, ten years, or longer really doesn’t matter. The vast majority of
us will remain unaffected.
It wasn’t always so. The Civil War consumed the lives of everyone
in this country. Every member of society had a stake in it, from those
who fought to those who worried about the safety of their loved ones,
from those who saw their property destroyed and their businesses
bankrupted to those who cheered or feared the end of slavery. No one
was immune to the impact.
Similarly, nearly every community was affected by World
War I, and nearly every household was affected by World War II.
Able-bodied males from all walks of life were drafted into service and
sent overseas to fight. Women worked in factories and helped produce
supplies and arms for the war. Families posted maps of Europe and
the Pacific on their walls, noting the locations of loved ones with
pushpins in order to track their movements and know which news
stories to pay the most attention to.
During Vietnam, thanks in large part to CBS anchor Walter
Cronkite, there was war coverage almost every night, not just for
days or weeks but for months and years. Media attention didn’t come
and go depending on whether there were any new developments—it
Preface | xvii
was constant, every day, for the duration of the fighting. Even if one
didn’t serve, it was impossible to forget that the United States was
at war and the consequences of that. A primary reason for this was
because the majority of troops who fought in the war didn’t volun-
teer; they were drafted. As a result, nearly every community, rich
and poor, had a vested interest because its children were the ones
whose lives were on the line.
Today, what’s going on in various war zones around the world
only concerns the people who enlisted and their immediate families.
The rest of us have the luxury of not thinking about it if we choose.
Laurie B. Slone and Matthew J. Friedman head the National
Center for PTSD. They also are professors at Dartmouth Medical
School and authors of After the War Zone: A Practical Guide for
Returning Troops and Their Families. They offer this advice to the
American public:
Take a moment in your busy schedule to think about the fact that there
is a war going on and how it has affected individuals, families, and
communities. Think about what troops and their families are going
through. Think about all of the children who are separated from their
parents and about all of the partners who must now take full responsi-
bility for their households while also worrying endlessly about whether
their loved ones will return safely home. Consider how reunited cou-
ples must get reacquainted or learn to deal with the returned partner’s
agitation, silent withdrawal, or continual nightmares.4
To those of us on the outside, we see or read in the news about
happy homecomings during which veterans are reunited with loved
ones, and we think that their lives will return to normal after that. We
fail to think, even for a minute, about what really awaits them. The
training that these warriors completed to become killing machines of
the U.S. government, the experiences that they have endured putting
this training into practice, the atrocities that they have witnessed
and, in many instances, participated in because that is where their
training has led, and the consequences of it all can’t be simply cast
aside or compartmentalized when they return. As individuals they
are changed, and so are their families.
This change means that they need a lot more than medals, monu-
ments, accolades, and parades. Many need help, real help, the kind
that soldiers in combat have always needed and, to this point, rarely
