This I Believe

THEN, NOW

Fifteen years ago I witnessed an assault. ßIt was summertime, and there were soldiers everywhere. ßFor all its rightly celebrated diversity, New York City isn’t a place you regularly see members of the armed forces, especially in the years before 9/11.

ß ß ß ßIt was a sweltering July night, and I had stopped in a Korean deli, in search of dinner on my way home from work. ßLike many a college

student, my diet back then revolved around staples like pizza and ramen noodles. ßI must have had a slice for lunch, because I was

combing the shelves for those square bricks of starch (not just any brand, either, but the Japanese one, with a packet of seaweed, which I believed elevated the meal into near acceptability).

ß ß ß ßThe soldiers were in town for a parade the city was throwing to honor their service in the Gulf War. ßThey were an anomaly in Manhattan, these thick-necked men in crew cuts and uniforms, pointing their eyes and cameras skyward at the highrises. ßThey had the wonderment of children, the bodies of prizefighters.

ß ß ß ßEarlier in the year I had marched in antiwar protests, clogging Broadway with thousands of others. ßTwo chants stay with me, so many years later: “George Bush: Asesino,” and the hip-hop-inflected “Peace, peace, peace/Peace in the Middle East.” ßAt the deli that night, the soldiers were drunk and wanted to drink more. ßThey had the overloud

voices of people who are liquored up, or happy, or both. ßThey settled on a six-pack and brought it to the cash register. ßThen they wanted cups, and the man tending the cash register told them that cups cost additional money. ßThere was shouting. ßEverything escalated very quickly, and soon there was the sound of things knocked over, and the smack of flesh on flesh. ßAnother man bolted out from a door along the back wall, baseball bat in hand, and chased the soldiers out of the store.

ß ß ß ßIn the chaos, the soldiers left their hats behind, and a bystander gathered them and gave them to the man with the bat. ß”Here,” she said. ß”These have their names stitched inside.”

ß ß ß ßThe police came. ßI stuck around and mumbled through a statement. There was something jarring and terribly sad about the whole scene, and this sadness, coupled with my innate shyness, quieted me even more. ßThe officer listening told me to think carefully. ß”These boys might be going to jail,” he said. ß”Tell me exactly what you saw.”

ß ß ß ßAs the police gathered information, the soldiers came back. ßThey sauntered purposefully down the block, entering the sweep of the cruisers’ lights. ß”Sir,” they announced to no one in particular, “we

would not be returning if we had done anything wrong. ßWe would not be back here if this was our fault.”

ß ß ß ßAfter conferring briefly, the policemen handcuffed one of them and guided him into the back seat of a patrol car. ßHis friend started

jumping wildly: “What the hell? That’s my buddy. ßYou can’t do this.” The cops tried to restrain him, but he was inconsolable, kept lunging toward the imprisoning cruiser. ß”That guy had my back. ßYou can’t do that.” ßSeveral officers stood between the two men. ß”You don’t understand,” he pleaded. ß”They were going to use poison gas.”

ß ß ß ßAt work the next day, I warned my manager that the police might be coming by to talk to me. ßI was nervous about telling my boss, but he seemed almost disappointed when he learned I was merely a witness to a crime and not a perpetrator (my job was at a famous downtown used-book store, with what might be generously termed an unconventional workforce).

ß ß ß ßI have been remembering that spring and summer a lot lately. ßSo much about that war is eerily familiar. ßI was suspicious that violence was the solution back then, just as I am now. ßIt was difficult to sort out the truth, get a credible picture of the casualties, the toll. ßI

do know this: that conflict had a speedy end, and a city eager to celebrate, ticker tape raining from the windows. ßIt is hard to imagine a parade this time, or at least one that wouldn’t be shadowed not only by a sea of protest but by a stinging rehash of the murky, deceptive logic that brought us to war.

ß ß ß ßTwo lost soldiers, though. ßSomehow it is all too easy to imagine seeing them again.