I was deployed to Iraq in April 2003 and returned home for a
two-week leave in October. Going home gave me the opportunity to put
my thoughts in order and to listen to what my conscience had to say.
People would ask me about my war experiences and answering them took
me back to all the horrors the firefights, the ambushes, the time
I saw a young Iraqi dragged by his shoulders through a pool of his
own blood or an innocent man decapitated by our machine-gun fire.
The time I saw a soldier broken down inside because he killed a
child, or an old man on his knees, crying with his arms raised to
the sky, perhaps asking God why we had taken the lifeless body of
I thought of the suffering of a people whose country was
in ruins and who were further humiliated by the raids, patrols and
curfews of an occupying army.
And I realized that none of the reasons we were told about why we
were in Iraq turned out to be true. There were no weapons of mass
destruction. There was no link between Saddam Hussein and al Qaeda.
We weren't helping the Iraqi people and the Iraqi people didn't want
us there. We weren't preventing terrorism or making Americans safer.
I couldn't find a single good reason for having been there, for
having shot at people and been shot at.
Coming home gave me the clarity to see the line between military
duty and moral obligation. I realized that I was part of a war that
I believed was immoral and criminal, a war of aggression, a war of
imperial domination. I realized that acting upon my principles
became incompatible with my role in the military, and I decided that
I could not return to Iraq.
By putting my weapon down, I chose to reassert myself as a human
being. I have not deserted the military nor been disloyal to the men
and women of the military. I have not been disloyal to a country. I
have only been loyal to my principles.
When I turned myself in, with all my fears and doubts, it did it
not only for myself. I did it for the people of Iraq, even for those
who fired upon me they were just on the other side of a
battleground where war itself was the only enemy. I did it for the
Iraqi children, who are victims of mines and depleted uranium. I did
it for the thousands of unknown civilians killed in war. My time in
prison is a small price compared to the price Iraqis and Americans
have paid with their lives. Mine is a small price compared to the
price humanity has paid for war.
Many have called me a coward, others have called me a hero. I
believe I can be found somewhere in the middle. To those who have
called me a hero, I say that I don't believe in heroes, but I
believe that ordinary people can do extraordinary things.
who have called me a coward I say that they are wrong, and that
without knowing it, they are also right. They are wrong when they
think that I left the war for fear of being killed. I admit that
fear was there, but there was also the fear of killing innocent
people, the fear of putting myself in a position where to survive
means to kill, there was the fear of losing my soul in the process
of saving my body, the fear of losing myself to my daughter, to the
people who love me, to the man I used to be, the man I wanted to be.
I was afraid of waking up one morning to realize my humanity had
I say without any pride that I did my job as a soldier. I
commanded an infantry squad in combat and we never failed to
accomplish our mission. But those who called me a coward, without
knowing it, are also right. I was a coward not for leaving the war,
but for having been a part of it in the first place. Refusing and
resisting this war was my moral duty, a moral duty that called me to
take a principled action. I failed to fulfill my moral duty as a
human being and instead I chose to fulfill my duty as a soldier. All
because I was afraid. I was terrified; I did not want to stand up to
the government and the army I was afraid of punishment and
humiliation. I went to war because at the moment I was a coward, and
for that I apologize to my soldiers for not being the type of leader
I should have been.
I also apologize to the Iraqi people. To them I say I am sorry
for the curfews, for the raids, for the killings. May they find it
in their hearts to forgive me.
One of the reasons I did not refuse the war from the beginning
was that I was afraid of losing my freedom. Today, as I sit behind
bars I realize that there are many types of freedom, and that in
spite of my confinement I remain free in many important ways. What
good is freedom if we are afraid to follow our conscience? What good
is freedom if we are not able to live with our own actions? I am
confined to a prison but I feel, today more than ever, connected to
all humanity. Behind these bars I sit a free man because I listened
to a higher power, the voice of my conscience.