There was a reception. Not fancy of course, just the ad hoc stuff pulled from the exchange shelves using a slender portion of unit funds. None of the men for whom the reception was organized were of the rank for which military protocol required such expense, nor were any of their awards such high honors. Rather, it was because there were so many of them. Rotation policies had changed yet again.
Their departure would take a bite out of the community. That was the only real reason any of them drew any attention. But one man in particular, who seemed to have breathed some fresh subtle hint of life into things when he came, would be surely missed when he was gone. But the plans to honor him were borged by the the commander who was the ultimate politician. The reception was more military than community. To no one’s surprise, this did not hinder that particular man at all.
Most of the men mumbled a few standard phrases when given their awards and a chance to address the crowd. Two even managed to sound very close to the standard military ideal, if the leadership manuals meant anything. Nice speeches with a fresh bite, not entirely predictable, and even funny at points, but ending on a sober patriotic note. Then it was his turn, because the civilians demanded he be last on threat of a very ugly revolt of sorts. The commander had wanted to do this one first and get it out of the way. He dreaded what the fellow might say. This one had not given him one shred of military reason for official disfavor, but the man was totally alien. So while it was never anything dramatic, it was always obvious just the same. Always on protocol, this soldier was still scared him.
The award was presented, and the man was asked to speak. The commander’s jaw tightened and his brow lowered just a bit over his eyes.
It’s not possible to find words for what I feel today. I would, therefor, not normally speak to you all. However, an iconoclast never misses a chance, and I hope you’ll indulge me a few seconds with my sledge hammer. The plaque has little value in itself, and I’m not the sort who will wave it people’s faces after today. I’ll keep it because it will form a symbolic anchor point, a way to recall all the things I found worthy of the time I spent here, and the people I’ve come to love. A few of you understand well what has driven me.
We cannot ever know what we are. And what we do is always fraught with imperfections in the eyes of someone somewhere, if not our own eyes. It remains for others to say why it was this plaque should be given to me. But just one more time I want to declare for the record: This is merely a bit of stuff which represents to me the things to which I am committed. It would change nothing if I left without any plaque, and without a chance to speak.
The other awards will go on my record, and someone somewhere will count them in the standard military bureaucratic fashion, measuring me against an ever changing, yet always lifeless, standard for serving under the authority of human government. They matter only in the sense of their utility. What matters to me is the irreplaceable opportunity to operate under commitments bigger than any of us, or all of us, or all humanity together. That is something needed everywhere, at all times. What matters to me is demonstrating what really does matter. Such a thing is its own reward, so the rest of this matters little. For your cooperation, such as it was, I am truly grateful.
It wasn’t code language, but of the couple thousand whose presence in that foreign land depended on a shared mandate from their government, only a dozen or so understand what he had said.
