Semper Fi (2006) Movie Script

Dear Sir,

This is the most

difficult letter

I've ever had to write.

However, I must be

true to the dictates

of my own conscience.

When I decided to become

a Marine at 34 years of age,

I was an easy sell.

The young Marine

who greeted me

insisted on going through

the sales pitch anyway,

so I consented to oblige.

I was disappointed

when he showed me a list

of common reasons

for wanting to join

the Marine Corps,

and found that

the list did not include

many of the reasons

I had for joining.

Here are the reasons

I gave.

They're more important

to me today

than when I first walked

into that office.

Number 1,

to support and defend

the constitution

of the United States

against all enemies

foreign and domestic.

Number 2,

to defend

defenseless people.

Number 3,

to promote and preserve

peace on Earth.

Number 4,

love of country.

There are others,

but those are

the ones that,

when the going

got tough in boot camp,

or later on in Iraq,

are to remind myself of

and continue on.

That may sound idealistic

and naively patriotic

to some,

but I was raised

in a time and place,

Alabama in the '60s

and '70s,

when the pursuit of liberty

and justice for all

was everywhere present

and apparent.

Plus, I was blessed

to be raised

by parents who taught me

the importance

of standing up for

what you believe in,

and that the love of God

and country are essential.

I do love my country--

more than I can say,

more than I will say.

It breaks my heart

to know that, to be true

to the reasons I joined

the Marine Corps

in the first place,

I must now leave

the military.

I'm a homosexual.

"Don't ask, don't tell"

simply doesn't work

for me anymore.

Make that out first?

Yes.

Is, uh--

Yeah.

That's nice.

Yes?

Yes.

Okay.

Got it?

Ready?

Ready.

Let's go.

The contrition

of a hungry child

is something

I do not want...

or need.

Tomorrow night

at 8:00 is probably

the most important show

I've ever done.

You know, my parents

will be together here

and watching it,

and my brother

and his fiancée

will be here.

This will be the first time

Dad's seen it.

I'm not down here

to change their politics

or change their religion

or any of that,

but, when I leave

this town,

they'll know, um,

that you don't have

to be a Republican

to be patriotic,

and you don't have to be

a Baptist to love God.

[knock on door]

[Man]

Jeff?

Yes.

We are at half hour,

please, sir.

Thank you.

Half hour.

Hi!

[Man]

Hi.

[phone rings]

Hello.

[Woman on phone]

Are you watching TV?

No, Mom. I'm sleeping.

Maybe you should be.

We going to war?

You may be, sweetheart.

I'll call you back.

11 September, 2001.

It was my Mom

who called to to tell me

about the terrorist attacks

from the classroom where

she taught social science

to eighth graders

back home in Alabama.

You know, your mom's voice

does something to you

that no other sound

on Earth can do.

I know that woman so well,

I could tell just

by the way she ignored

my initial irritation

that there was

something big going on.

In--In the exchange

of just a few syllables,

I could feel her concern

for me, her baby.

[chuckles]

And, at the same time,

her checking

to make sure that I,

the Marine,

would protect her.

[Woman]

I've always

been proud of Jeff.

I've always

been proud of Jeff.

I was only 19

when he was born,

and so we...

did a lot

of things together.

He uses the phrase,

"We grew up together."

Jeff came along

in our life,

and was a great blessing.

And I just told--

I was overjoyed

with the little rascal,

which always pleased me,

and he was such a delight.

And he was just

an amazing young--

young boy.

I even prayed to God,

and this was

a selfish prayer,

and maybe I shouldn't,

but, you know,

I asked God to bless us

with a little preacher.

And I remember calling

the radio station

in Jasper, WWWB,

and telling them

we had a little preacher

born last night.

I grew up, um--

It wasn't really

much of a town.

It was kind of a stop

on the railroad tracks,

ca-called, if you

can believe it, uh,

America Junction.

And we never locked

our doors.

Everybody sort of

looked out after

each other's kids.

And my family was there

on the hill with us.

My grandmother

was on one side.

My uncle and his wife

and sons

were on the other side.

It was a great place

to grow up, really.

There was a little church

called Hatt Church of Christ

where we went.

I really loved going there.

It, um...

I liked the way

the church smelled

when you walked in,

and so many people

there were people

who I loved,

and were great people.

So this was

the old church...

right here.

You see how this section--

I mean, it looks

like an old church.

My parents were married

right inside there.

In each one

of those classrooms--

Right there,

that middle one's

where I taught,

when I was a teenager,

and I taught the 2-

and 3-year-olds.

Man...

So, this is the house

where I grew up.

[chuckles]

That was my bedroom

on the front.

That's the porch swing

where Mama and I would sit

for every understorm.

When I was a little kid,

one of things I'd do

when I was out playing was,

I would take

the hymnal and the Bible

in, uh, the woods

behind our house.

I'd go out and sing

from the hymnal, and preach.

I think about it

as the place where

I first, like,

had conscious

contact with God.

When I was in Iraq,

or wherever I go,

I just picture myself

walking that little hill

right there.

And that way

I'm gonna be all right.

Nothing was more important

than service to God,

but it was running

a close second

about how very

important it is

to be part of the best

nation on Earth,

and what we have here,

and what responsibility

goes with that.

I mean, we would never

put a bite of food

in our mouth before

praying over it.

And when Dad did,

that's what they--

I mean, they would say,

you know,

"For those fighting

on foreign soil."

When I was in

the Cub Scouts

and I carried the flag,

it was right down

this street.

Man, they would--

you know the people would

just line these streets.

[Judy]

I was the den mother

for the Cub Scouts.

We had the Cub Scout

flag to carry,

and then the

United States flag.

And, of course,

being the mother,

I really wanted Jeff

to carry it,

but I wasn't gonna

be unfair to any

of the others,

so I put all their names

in a coffee can,

shook them up,

and pulled it out,

and Jeff was the one

that I drew.

[Jeff]

Man, I was so proud

to carry that flag

down the streets

in Parrish.

[Man]

Scripturally,

from the Bible,

the loyalty to country

is a part of Revelation.

And so, uh,

in the South,

uh, people take,

you know,

their--their faith

and their loyalty

to their country

very seriously.

Parrish was the kind

of place to grow up--

It was, you know,

a small town.

You know, in school with

the same 40 or 50 kids

all the way through

from first grade

to twelfth grade.

And everybody

knew everybody.

Jeff caught a lot

of criticism

from people in school

that, you know,

called him names,

called him sissy,

called him different things,

because he was more creative,

and, you know, he,

you know, he didn't

exactly fit

the mold that all the--

You know, there was

no football, no sports.

You know, and us being

in the band, that was a big--

for us, it was, you know,

brought in question

of--of your--

You know, people thought--

It wasn't always thought

so highly of as being, like,

the masculine thing

to be in the band.

When church

is such a issue,

and God loving you

is such an issue

for you growing up,

when all that

your whole life

is a conflict,

you know,

it's a very big thing.

It's a great burden.

I knew that there was

something different

about me.

And, I don't know,

just from growing up

around Jeff,

and wondering if any

of that sensitivity

might be a clue

of any kind,

kind of sought him out.

And I came out to him

one time sitting out

by his pool.

And that's how

we came to know

that each of us was gay.

That's

the field house there.

And when I was still--

You know I was, like,

10 years old,

and I caught

a glimpse of this guy

who was, like, butt naked,

about to get in the shower...

and my heart nearly stopped.

And I thought

he was so beautiful.

Then I knew, you know,

that wasn't what it was

supposed to be.

I wasn't supposed to,

you know, think that was

as cool as I did.

I guess, on some level,

I was trying

to beat it down.

As an early teenager,

you know, it was

so horrifying to me

that I might be that thing

that everybody

so clearly hates,

that I prayed to God,

"Please don't let this be."

You know, if--You know,

"Take this from me,

"and make me into,"

you know,

"somebody who likes girls

in the way I'm supposed

to like them."

And, you know, I might

as well have been a,

you know,

a black person

praying to be white.

He came from school,

and he came in,

and his dad and he

and I were sitting

in the living room,

and...

he just said,

"I'm gay."

And, for what

I remember,

we both just kind of

looked at him and...

well,

he had put in words

what we thought.

I think I had

probably read some

"how to tell your parents

you're a fag" little flyer.

And I sat between them

and held their hands,

and--and said,

"You know, there's something

that you need to know

about your son."

And--And I told them.

I haven't understood that.

Still don't.

That's still major

in my mind.

He's, uh...

There's something

apparently that's there,

and I'm trying to pick up

from TV and books and all

about that situation.

And--And, uh, I have some

strong convictions about it.

It really, uh--

is the way God

intended for it to be.

If God intended

for it to be that way,

it ought to be that way.

When I learned that Jeff,

uh, became gay,

or at least Jeff openly

talked about being gay,

uh, it concerned me

to the--

to the extent that--

And I felt that

it was wrong,

that it--

that lifestyle is,

you know, contrary

to what God teaches.

And, in my view,

it puts his soul

in jeopardy.

And, uh, because

I love Jeff,

I, uh--I'm concerned

about that,

and I pray about that

for him.

[Jeff]

Night, with ebon pinion

Brooded o'er the vale

All around was silent

Save the night winds'

wail

Those songs are seared

in my mind forever.

When Christ,

the man of sorrows

With tears and sweat

as blood

Prostrate in the garden

Raised his voice to God

I got my degree in theater,

and I came to California,

came to Hollywood

to be with the other freaks.

Me and this boy

from Mississippi,

Sonny, ended up

in a little guest house

in North Hollywood.

And we actually chose it

'cause there were goats

and chickens in the yard.

You know, it kind of--

I guess it was a little homey.

When he said

he was going

to California,

that just seemed

the natural step,

you know, the next--

the next step

in his life.

That's

where he should be.

[Smooch]

It was the dream he had had

most all of his life.

I thought it was

time for him to try it,

and I was all for it.

[Jeff]

Being gay in a place

like Los Angeles

is obviously different

than it was in Alabama.

People are celebrated here

for the things

that, you know,

we're ridiculed for

back in the normal

real world.

Jeff rolled into town,

and he came

straight to brunch.

And the guy that

he was gonna be

living with...

was sitting next to me.

And, um, Jeff popped

into the restaurant,

just literally, like,

blew in and popped in.

And he sat down

right in front of me

across the table.

And that's how I met him.

And, um, he was just

so full of light and energy,

and he was so skinny.

[chuckles]

He was so thin and happy,

and, um,

he was like a boy.

There's a guy tapping me

on the shoulder.

I turned around,

and there was Jeff.

You know, so I'm,

like, looking up at him,

and he said, uh...

He says, uh,

"You don't know this,

"but you're--

you're gonna be in my life.

I want you in my life,"

or something like that.

And I was, like,

"Uh, sure."

He had beautiful blue eyes.

I loved that accent.

He was intriguing.

He reminded me

of some of the people

that I'd known

when I was growing up.

The kind of person

that would call up

and say,

"I'm coming to pick you up.

We're going to the beach,"

at 9:00 at night.

And I love that.

[Jeff]

My life was about, sort of,

reclaiming the things

that I had not pursued,

or, for whatever reasons,

had felt fear about doing.

One of the things

that I had wanted to do

was to serve

in the military.

It was something

very noble to me.

Probably being gay

had something to do with it.

You know, maybe

it's gonna make me

into this man that

I'm supposed to be.

I called them, and I said,

"What's the age cutoff?

And they said, "28,"

and I was like--

He goes, "Why?

How old are you?"

And I said, "Well, I'm 34."

He said,

"Well, come in anyway."

I had to write this letter.

I walked in there

with the intention

I was going

to Marine Corps boot camp

if I had to, you know,

make up a new

birth certificate

to--to become 26 again.

Now,

that did surprise me.

If it had happened

10 years before,

it wouldn't.

But at the point

in his life

where he was--

And then I took

a step back,

and I thought,

Well, yeah.

Because Jeff

has always done

the unexpected.

I started telling

my friends, and, um...

I mean, different ones

reacted in different ways.

You know, uh...

Orlando comes to mind.

There's so many

political thoughts

that I have about that--

about, you know, uh,

if they don't want us,

hey, screw 'em.

We don't have to go.

Great. One benefit,

you know?

And, you know, I, uh...

And I just thought,

Why?

He needed

to explain it to me.

And I finally said,

"Jeff, I'm not

so much worried

"about an enemy

from a foreign shore.

"I'm worried about

the guy in the next rack

"who's gonna figure out

that you're gay

"and catch you alone

and bash your head in.

'Cause it's--It's--

It's an issue."

And he said, "Well,

you know, I think I can

take care of myself.

I don't think that's--

it's that big a deal."

[Jeff]

The recruiters

had told me,

"You know, because you're

an old fuck,

"and because you're tall,

"they're probably gonna try

to make you the guide.

"But nobody gets to be

the guide all the way through,

"so if you get fired,

don't, you know,

don't let it

get next to you."

I was determined

I was not--

I was not gonna get fired.

I was--I wanted

to be the guide.

Um, and so...

when we got through receiving

and we were sent to our--

our, uh, our platoon

that we would go through

boot camp with,

um, they put me up front,

and I was the guide.

For the first time

in a really long time,

for all the hell it is,

there wasn't an iota of me

that was depressed

in any way.

I think he was

about 32, 33.

And when he told me,

I was, like, "Man,

what are you doing?"

You know? "Why'd you join

the military now, man?

Something you should

have done 10 years ago."

And he said something

that has always stuck

with me.

I mean, in--in, like,

other aspects of my life,

I've remembered what he said.

He said, "You know,

it's never too late

to do the right thing."

That was a very

powerful statement.

I was, like,

"Yeah, that's heavy."

He was an awesome Marine,

because...

the ideals of what

the Marine Corps

has taught us,

um, he held true.

And he would always

look out for us.

It was just like

big brother

making sure we're

all dressed up right.

And he would be like,

"Look at you, Marine.

Let me square you away

for a moment."

And he would, like,

put us up in attention,

and he'd, like, check us out,

and he'd look around,

and be like,

"Okay, you're good to go."

Platoon, atten-hut!

[Jeff]

Boot camp ends

with the crucible,

which is about a three-day

intensive of the things

that you've learned

up to that point.

You go, you know,

without sleep

and little food.

I mean, you're real tired

and hungry at the end of it.

But you go up this, uh...

this mountain

they call the Grim Reaper.

And you're at the top,

and, uh--

and they play

I'm Proud To Be an American,

do a flyover,

and the drill instructor

comes with a cigar box

of eagle, globe, and anchors,

uh, the symbol

of being a Marine.

You know, it's not

on any of our uniform

or anything before.

He shook my hand.

He said,

"Congratulations, Marine."

First time I'd ever

been called Marine.

And, um, man...

It's--It's a great moment.

You know, only a few

proud people know what

that feels like.

And, uh--

I mean, it was one of the very,

very best moments of my life,

because, instead of

taking it out of the box,

he took it off of

his campaign cover,

and he gave me his eagle,

globe, and anchor.

Somewhere, when I'm 8

years old and I missed

the baseball,

and it, on some level

registered,

"Oh, my God, I did that

because I'm a little sissy,"

and when I became

a Marine,

I got what I had wanted.

You know, I mean,

I got what I wanted.

I got to be in the biggest,

baddest boys' club in the world.

Jeff, in the Marine Corps,

ended up being

the person that I--

you know, I thought

that he would be.

Oh, I was so proud.

I went to, uh--

went by myself

to his

Marine Corps

graduation.

He carried the flag

that day.

He carried the flag.

That's--Yeah,

I remember that.

Although the flag...

that was on the staff,

the United States flag,

was at half-staff,

because that's

when U.S.S. Cole

had been attacked.

And that was something

to think about, too,

because it was

"What are our children

facing now?"

All of a sudden, it just went

like those

little Matchbox toys

when you're a little kid.

It just went poof,

and the smoke went up.

We heard, like, a crack,

and then the building

just slid off diagonally.

Coming from

the World Trade Center,

it was just, like, chaos.

You saw people just

pouring down the street.

And, obviously, a lot

of sirens and ambulances

going the other direction.

[siren wailing]

[Jeff]

Am I going to war?

[Judy]

You may be, sweetheart.

9/11...

[sigh]

was a school day.

I had gone to

the teachers' work room

to go and get caught up

on some things,

and, in passing by

the office,

I noticed

that the secretary

and--and some others

were...

kind of gathering around

the TV monitor in there.

And they were showing

the video

of the planes

hitting the towers.

I just took

a few deep breaths,

and I walked

down the hall.

But I thought,

I've got to talk

to Jeff first.

[Jeff]

I really thought about

America as a place

that most people around

the world really loved.

You know, I felt

like I was part of

this beloved nation.

And, uh--And to see

that somebody

hated us that much

was, I mean,

was shocking to me.

I must have sat there

for hours,

transfixed by the TV,

paralyzed by what emotion

I'm not really sure.

As I watched the nation

I'm sworn to defend

under attack,

I knew that the events

that were unfolding

in front of me

were going to affect me

in a big way.

and that my life,

just as the lives

of millions of others,

was changed forever.

I knew I had

to do something.

I just didn't

know at the time

what I'd be doing.

So until I got that call

that I knew to expect,

all I could do was wait.

I went to New York,

and I wore my dress blues

to the site,

'cause I wanted

to be respectful.

And I walk, you know,

walk into this sea of--

like, they're all,

you know, dirty from

working on the site.

And they look--

you know, whipped

around and looked at--

"What's this Marine

doing in here?"

But a lot of them

came over to me,

and a lot of them

who were Marines,

who went on to be

cops and firemen,

you know, and, uh,

and they pumped

my hand, you know,

and, uh...

told me what unit

they were with or whatever.

Said, "Hey,

you gonna go do--

You're gonna do something

about this, right?"

And, um...

and then they took me

onto the site.

And I knew I was gonna

be part of whatever it was

that we were gonna do

to make sure

something like that

was not gonna happen again.

Over the next several months,

I prepared myself

for the inevitable,

all the while getting

angrier and angrier

at what had happened

to my beloved country.

My thoughts were

almost continuously

on my loved ones:

my friends in L.A.

who were like family to me,

my real family

back home in Alabama.

I came to believe

that somebody was

out to hurt them.

I can't really tell you

what that did to me.

So I ate good,

worked out harder,

smoked more.

I bought all these books

on the Taliban,

Islamic fundamentalism.

"Know your enemy,"

they always say.

And then the strangest

thing happened.

One night,

while I was asleep,

somebody switched the enemy.

Before September the 11th,

many in the world believed

that Saddam Hussein

could be contained.

But chemical agents,

lethal viruses,

and shadowy

terrorist networks

are not easily contained.

Imagine those 19 hijackers

with other weapons

and other plans,

this time armed

by Saddam Hussein.

It would take one vial,

one canister, one crate,

slipped into this country,

to bring a day of horror

like none

we have ever known.

We will do everything

in our power

to make sure that

that day never comes.

[applause]

You stopped hearing

about the al-Qaeda.

And the more and more--

I mean, you would hear...

uh, September 11

and Saddam Hussein

in the same sentence

over and over.

[Man on TV]

Saddam Hussein

is very much focused

on putting in place

a key missing piece

from his nuclear

weapons program,

the ability to produce

fissile material

Colin Powell

going in front of the UN

was a turning point for me.

After that day,

I was, like, you know,

"Okay, so maybe Saddam Hussein

did not send the pilots,

"but clearly

he's part of this whole

"kind of evil group

"that hates us so much

that September 11 happened.

"So it's kind of

all the same thing,

really, when you think

about it."

[George W. Bush]

I--I want you to know

that, um...

the mission you are on

is vital

to achieving peace...

and to protecting America.

One of my most solemn duties,

a duty that you

have joined me on,

is to protect

the American people.

...like my unit, 4th LAR,

was headed to Iraq.

There was no way in hell

I was gonna let my buddies

go into some shit

without me being there

doing my best to try to...

help protect them.

So suffice it to say that,

between all

the rationalizations

I gave myself

and everything

I heard on Fox News,

by the time Oscar Night

rolled around

and Michael Moore

took the stage,

all I saw was some fat guy

screaming that I was going

to a fictitious war.

I was packed for Iraq,

praying

for fictitious bullets.

In different ways,

and on different levels,

I had felt like the abused,

uh, weak, powerless,

defenseless person.

And now was

this opportunity to go

and just kick the shit

outta somebody who was...

being mean

to innocent people.

AIDS happened

in my lifetime.

I have buried a lot

of beautiful young men

before, you know,

what I would consider

their time.

To suddenly have to face war?

On top of AIDS?

And here's

a friend of mine

who is healthy

and young and vibrant,

who's choosing

to put himself

in harm's way

for something

that he believes in,

was really hard

for me to swallow.

There's a feeling

of powerlessness

when your friends is--

are doing something

that you think is

the wrong choice for them,

and you can't stop them,

and you can't change it.

And that's what

I was really angry about.

I was proud of him,

you know, uh,

for what he was doing,

um, because there's

so many millions,

you know, over here,

you know, just going

about their--

their own business

in their daily lives.

And, uh--

And then you've got the--

the select few

that are over there,

um, actually putting

their lives on the line

When I actually

got the call

that said,

"Hey, we're gonna

get deployed,"

I had a flashback,

an instant flashback,

to a--a moment

in boot camp,

this one moment where

our drill instructor

took his cover off

his hat, and, like,

wiped his face

and gave us a look

and said,

"You know, I never

thought I'd go to war."

And I was just, like,

I--I--I knew

what he was feeling

because I never

thought I'd go to war.

One thing I want you

to keep in mind is,

right now in Iraq

and all over the Middle East

there are

young men out there,

about our same age,

that--that are preparing

for a war, too.

[Man]

Our parents all knew

where they were

when Kennedy was--

was assassinated.

I'll remember where I was

when I learned about 9--

you know,

what happened

during 9/11.

And, um, I will

always remember,

you know, the days

leading up to somebody

that, uh--

that I had come

to know and love,

you know, was going

off to war.

I remember

when we went to his--

his, um, going away party--

we had a dinner party

for him--

and I didn't want to go.

I just didn't want to go.

I, uh--It's--You know--

And then, when I walked

in the restaurant,

and there he was

in his uniform,

you know,

he looked beautiful.

He looked like

the epitome of a Marine.

But I had absolutely

no desire

to walk through the,

you know, the door

of the restaurant,

'cause I--I didn't want

to say good-bye,

'cause I didn't know

if it was, um,

you know,

gonna be good-bye.

When you hold Jeff,

every part of your body

touches him,

and every part

of your soul

touches him.

And I just

remember standing

in his living room...

and holding him...

and not wanting

to let go.

[Judy]

One of

the hardest things

that's ever happened

to me in my life

is when my son

handed me his will...

and his power of attorney.

That was hard.

So, uh, I hope I live.

I probably will.

I'm too mean to die.

[Man]

You will.

I'll live.

I'll make sure of it.

Get that on tape.

Make sure.

I'll make sure

he'll come home.

That's a guarantee

right there from Vaughn.

[Estenzo]

We landed in Kuwait,

got out.

Immediately, a rush of hot,

humid air came in.

It, uh, immediately

caught my senses,

and I was, like, "Wow,

"we're in it.

"You know,

next thing you know,

"we're gonna pass

the line,

and we're really

gonna be in it."

You come out of this big,

giant belly of a ship,

and, uh, like, the--

just everything

just kind of opens up,

And you see

a foreign country,

kind of like a animal

just let out of a cage.

And you're just,

kind of, looking around...

adjusting to

your surroundings.

[Jeff]

We got to Kuwait City,

to this huge tent town,

where there had been,

you know, 100,000 troops

at one time.

And we're there at

this basically deserted

tent town,

uh, cleaning up

their trash.

And, um...

finally we cross

the line into Iraq.

[Magaña]

You get to this line

in the sand.

That's the border,

the difference between

Iraq and Kuwait.

And as soon

as you cross it,

you're in a whole

different world.

I mean, literally, within--

within two seconds

of crossing that line,

I saw little kids

with no shoes,

no food, you know,

literally, begging,

putting their hands out

and gesturing to their mouth,

you know, "Can you guys

give us some food?"

And it just--

It broke my heart.

I was like,

"Oh, my God."

And that, if anything,

solidified my belief

that we were there

to do the right thing.

[Jeff]

Little bitty kids

would come.

They would hear us coming,

and they would tear out

to the road

as fast as they could run,

hoping we would, um,

throw them out some food.

So, you know,

then I'm thinking,

Oh, you know, definitely,

it's a good thing

we are here.

Hi!

The first place we stopped

made Parrish, Alabama,

look like a metropolis.

We just kinda sat out

on the hillside

that afternoon

with the kids,

and they were

very nice to us.

All the kids...

are so beautiful.

You know, they're--

they're just--

The kids are so beautiful.

If you look somebody

in the eye, no matter what,

you kinda get them.

And I took all

of these pictures

of the kids' eyes.

I kneeled in front

of seven Iraqi children

obediently seated

on a 2-foot wall

made of mud and shit

and straw,

pull a bottle of lotion

from my pack,

and gently smooth it

onto each grateful face,

massage each tiny hand.

Their hands looked

so small in mine.

Each child waits

eagerly but patiently

for me to finish

with the last,

this ritual they have

come to call magic.

Where they learned

the word I cannot know.

The volumes

of communication

that occurs between

our eyes is limitless.

The very term

"language barrier"

makes me laugh.

Eventually,

they all leave...

save one,

a boy of about 10

with eyes

the color of olives

with flecks

of blood-red and gold.

His eyes were as piercing

as a tiger's.

When he checks to make sure

his buddies have all gone,

he opens his mouth

to sing to me.

The beauty of his song

I would not insult

by trying to describe it.

All of the heads of state

with armies at their command

cannot wield the power

I found in that little

boy's song.

In a filthy, impoverished,

war-torn country,

I have found the very seed

of all that is beautiful

and perfect

and right.

[Magaña]

I mean, the smallest things,

like giving candy

to a little kid

or giving a man

a bottle of water,

like, um, the--

those tangible things

that you can really feel,

like, you're giving

somebody something,

you're putting a smile

on their face.

You know, those things

made me proud.

I really like that idea

that, not only are we

here to, you know,

chase down the bad guys

and the people

that are making

their lives miserable,

but it's also great

to help out the people.

Badrah, a tiny town

on the outskirts of Al Quds,

is where I met Mehadi,

a young boy with a happy,

if desperate, face.

He adopts me immediately.

"Mister! Mister!"

Mehadi is streetwise

for his age,

and works my sympathy

for every bit of food

and money he can

get out of me.

"Mister! Mister! Okay!"

Finally, I say,

"Hey, no more Mister.

I'm Jeff."

"Jeff! Okay!"

When he forgets

and calls me Mister,

I just look around

the crowd and say,

"Mister! Mister!"--

then shrug my shoulders

as if I can't find

this "Mister."

He laughs at my joke.

It's very important to me

that he makes the separation.

On the second day,

when we arrive in town,

I just hold my hand

4 or 5 feet

from the ground

and say,

"Mehadi? Mehadi?"

They understand, and soon

my small guide appears.

We spent the whole

afternoon together,

him dragging me

from one place to the next,

always surrounded

by hungry children.

This is his home,

and he's proud of it.

[Jeff]

Mehadi?

Mehadi.

And Mehadi's

brother, uh--

Ishtar.

Yes.

And we're here in--

Muhar?

This town?

[Ishtar]

Badrah.

[Boy]

Jeff!

What's your name?

[Jeff]

My name is Jeff.

What's your name?

Sirwan.

Sirwan?

Salaam aleichem.

Aleichem salaam.

Mister!

[speaking Arabic]

[Jeff repeats Arabic word]

Ah.

Boo!

[laughter]

[Jeff]

Check this out.

Look at it now.

What's it--

Now you see all.

[Kids]

Wow!

That's a better idea.

Jeff!

[Jeff]

Yes.

Jeff--

[speaking Arabic]

Yes.

Okay, I have to go.

I have to--

I have to go.

[Boy]

Mister! Mister!

[Jeff] Yes? You?

It's okay.

[Jeff]

Okay.

Jeff!

Suddenly,

we received the order,

and we have to leave.

Back inside the driver's

compartment of my vehicle,

crowds gather around.

With my column helmet

and my tinted goggles on,

I just pretend I can't hear

Mehadi there in the crowd.

"Jeff! Jeff!

Jeff!"

Eventually, I can't resist,

so I search the crowd

with my eyes.

He's there,

just below my hatch.

One of the other little kids

pokes fun at Mehadi

by pointing out

his tears to me.

So I just lift

my tinted goggles

so he can see my eyes.

So we receive the order,

and I drive away.

I don't even know

if I'd left

and I was on my way home,

or...

or where this--

but this Marine

came up and said,

"Hey, is your

first name Jeff?"

'Cause, you know,

you--

People only know

my last name.

And I said, "Yeah."

And he goes,

"There's this kid

in Badrah,

"and whenever Marines

go to town,

"he's got 'Jeff Key'

written on his arm.

And he comes up

and he, you know,

he points."

He was, um,

trying to find me.

I later found out

that his name means peace,

which is, uh,

a great little nod

from the universe.

[Magaña]

It's really hard.

You want to go over there,

and you want to help

these people

because you see them,

you know--

They're either asking

for food or water.

But at the same time,

you have to be standoffish

'cause you are--

you're in a--in a war zone,

and you're protecting

yourself.

So that was one--

one issue that, um,

we butted head with--

with a lot.

He was always like,

"Oh, yeah. Let me go

talk to this guy."

And I was like,

"Key, you can't do that."

You know, I would, like,

literally yell at him.

"Hey, get back over here."

And he'd get pissed.

He'd be like,

"Man, I'm just gonna

go talk to the guy."

"No. We're in Iraq.

You don't know this guy."

And he'd be like,

"Aw, Magaña, man,

you just--

you don't know."

Part of the rest

of the company

joined us today.

It's taking forever

for the whole company

to get here,

and part--part's

already marched north.

Man, when my buddy

Estenzo showed up,

I was up on top

of the vehicle.

And, man,

I was so happy to see him.

[Estenzo]

We found ourselves together

at this place

called Dogtown.

It was nicknamed that

because there were

so many dogs

all over the place.

We immediately left

to go and get some

materials and supplies

from another position.

[Jeff]

We rolled somewhere

for a part or something,

and a big dust storm

came up.

The sand storms over there

are incredible,

like, just, you know,

they can cut you.

[Estenzo]

Two other Marines

that was with us were like,

"Screw this, man.

I'm going inside.

I'll see you guys later."

So they went

inside the vehicles

while we stayed out.

And we're like,

"Man, how can you go inside

and--and not experience

this crazy-ass sand storm?"

We were just, kind of,

like, screaming at that point.

We were, like,

just yelling, "Ooh Rah!"

and, "Woo-Hoo!"

And I was like...

"You wanna say something!"

And he was like,

"You can tell!"

And I was like, "Say it!

Say it!

Say what you wanna say!"

They knew that,

on some level, it was--

it had to be rough for me

to have to keep this secret,

you know, to never

just say something--

just to freakin' say it

out loud or whatever.

So he--he got it in his mind

that he wanted me to, like,

scream "I'm a fag" or, uh,

out there where nobody

could here it,

and just, like,

get it out or whatever.

[Estenzo]

He said that he was gay,

and it was just...

you know,

it was just something

that he whispered

into the wind,

and it took--

it took, you know--

it took--

it took a glide away.

And--And, uh, it went

to the rest of the world

from there.

And that's when you kind of,

like, realize that,

you know, there's only

so much you can do

before, you know,

finally revealing

one's true self.

So much is happening

for me,

spiritually

and emotionally,

that I just can't

pour it onto the page

or onto a camera

fast enough.

Takes me time to just

try to sort it out.

Just comes too fast.

I could continuously write

and still not

get it all down.

"Lance Corporal Key's

Summer Vacation.

This summer I--"

I felt like what

was happening to me

was profound.

It was just like the volume

was turned up on life.

Everything was

so incredibly real.

[Magaña]

He would crack us up.

Whenever we had time,

we'd be like,

"Hey, Key. What's up?

Can you read us something?"

Almost like a--

like a--like a story.

And he just, uh--

I remember he was writing

about, like,

how hot the day had been.

And one of the lines--

I think it was in his play.

He said, "Oh, it feels

like the devil, you know,

"crawled out of hell

and farted in my face.

It was so hot."

And I was like, "Oh, man."

It was--It was funny

because I can see it.

If the devil...

turned around, bent over,

spread his bright-red

ass cheeks,

and farted in my face,

it would take

my breath away,

because it would feel

so frigid cold

as compared to the way

I feel right now.

Woo-hoo! It is "fot"--

fuckin' hot. 127 degrees.

Inside my dirty little tent,

I rest my head

on what I believe was once

a white foam pillow.

I found it in the dumpster.

If this thing had

a pillow case on it,

I'd take it off and burn it.

If I saw you on

the sidewalk in L.A.,

I would cross the street

for fear of catching

something.

At least I would

call the CDC--

or the ASPCA.

I think I just saw

the motherfucker move.

Here it's one of

my few comforts.

Since I broke my headphones,

I've been borrowing

Corporal Magaña's

3-inch stereo speakers.

which is great,

because I still

have my music.

But it sucks,

because passersby

can hear what

I'm listening to.

How pathetic.

After all I've been through,

having to worry about

explaining the musical Rent

to those who don't

want to get it.

[Jeff]

What are you doing there,

trying to kill--

Dude, you have a rat

underneath your--dude.

I have a rat

under my tent?

A big-ass rat, dude.

There you go.

Smash it with that bitch.

Why don't you go and--

Well, for number 1,

why don't you shoo it

off into the desert

where it belongs?

Man, why don't you come and--

Get it!

[Jeff]

A big-ass rat.

I couldn't do it!

[Men laughing]

[Jeff]

Don't kill it.

I couldn't do it, man.

He was right there!

We were like--aw, shit.

Don't kill him.

Shoo him in--

Shoo him into

the desert.

It's bad karma.

You'll be able

to see his ass.

It's bad karma.

He's innocent.

You serious?

There it is!

Right there.

He's right there.

Where?

[rat squeals]

[Men shout]

[Men cheering]

Oh, my God!

Blood and guts!

[Men laughing]

Holy shit!

Hey, put him over there!

Hey, no, no,

no, hey.

[men chattering]

The desert feels

awesome at night.

It's pretty here.

Clean.

The next day is a cool

and pleasant day,

and I put out my cigarette

on a box marked "Explosives"

and make my way to one

of the blue port-a-shitters

here at Tent City.

On the inside

of the port-a-shitter,

the writing on

the wall says that

"Corporal Ballard is gay

and will suck your cock

for free."

Somebody drew an arrow

to that entry and wrote,

"A nigger fucked your mom."

Nice.

A 3-D drawing of two towers.

"9/11. Remember

what they did."

"Hell is near, but if you

only ask, God will help."

"Fuck all white people.

Stupid crackers."

"Jesus died for my sins."

And...

"I am definitely

a homosexual."

I resist the urge

to add anything.

This is our freakin'

humble little home.

I always had to freak out

and hide the porn

'cause the first sergeant

came by.

The first sergeant would

probably like to see that.

Now I lost my position.

And this is

the softer stuff.

You know what--you know--

Well, never mind.

Hey, E.,

will you let me know

if you come across anything

that might be

of interest to me?

Man,

you'll be surprised.

There were Marines

that sensed he was gay

and tried to make

an issue out of it,

like "Oh, he's a fag,

he's a queer."

You know,

"He's nothing but a faggot,"

and I'm like,

"So what? Who cares?

He's gay, and he's a Marine.

Leave him alone."

So that was--

that was really hard

to deal with sometimes.

I stand atop my vehicle

in Badrah

with my weapon at the ready,

balancing friendly

with guarded.

We want the people to know

we're here to help,

but looking passive

is an invitation for trouble.

A man in his early 30s

passes on the opposite

side of the street.

He is fit and good-looking

in that brooding

Middle Eastern sort of way.

I follow him with my eyes.

So I'm watching my little

Iraqi soccer player

walk down the street,

and he looks back

in that way.

He smiled at my catching him,

In a couple of minutes,

he's made his way over.

Corporal Magaña's

come back,

and agrees

to watch the vehicle,

so I jump off the front,

and I go over to the Iraqi,

showing off my best cowboy

American Marine swagger.

Speak English. Dear God,

let him speak English.

I greet him in Arabic.

Salaam aleichem.

I must have an accent.

Something makes him laugh.

"Aleichem salaam."

"You speak English."

"A little."

Yes.

"I'm Jeff."

"Abbas. Nice to meet you."

We grip hands tight

and resist letting go

just long enough

so as not to get busted.

We make small talk

as much as possible,

and I begin to wonder if--

I don't know. I want more.

There's no way

we could do anything,

but I'm desperate for at least

a verbal acknowledgment

of what we both know.

He figures out how.

"You have wife?"

"No. No wife. You?"

"No wife."

Then those beautiful

brown eyes lit up.

You know, I'm a sucker

for brown eyes.

"Why?" he flirts,

and I just smile.

We're making out big-time

with our words:

Uh, "You're beautiful,"

he says quietly,

as his eyes dart around

to make sure no one hears.

"Yeah. You're beautiful, too."

You can see the electricity

in the air between us,

and my cammie bottoms are

getting tighter by the second.

I think he's having

the same problem.

"You have"--

and he pantomimes lip balm.

I reach in my pocket

and produce my dirty

half-used tube.

I got to tell you,

I don't think

I've ever seen anybody

put on lip balm

in a sexier way.

"What do you call"--

and he kisses the air.

"What, this?"

And I make

the kissing noise.

"Yes."

Uh, "Kiss.

We call it kiss."

"Kiss," he repeats,

and hands back the ChapStick.

"No, no, you keep it,"

and I hold up my hand,

refuse it.

"Kiss," he repeats,

and pushes it into my palm.

I'll be damned.

He's giving me a kiss.

I smooth the stuff

onto my own lips

as he watches,

and in that instant,

my anger at both our

stupid cultures' ignorance

and precluding us from

at least openly acknowledging

that which is natural to us

was diminished,

and all that shame

and anger

overcome by bliss and pride

in us, in our people,

and our everlasting

overcoming,

and our ability to love,

to show love,

no matter what,

no matter where.

We are everywhere.

We are love,

and we shall overcome.

[Magaña]

When, uh, President Bush

landed on the ship and said

"Mission Accomplished,"

we were, like,

on the border of Iran/Iraq,

providing security,

and I heard, you know,

"The war's over."

And I was like,

"The war's over?

What the hell

am I doing here?"

[Jeff]

They started talking about

"Marines, don't feel bad.

"An important part of this war

"is going to be

the incredible good things

"we're going to do

for the Iraqis.

"You know, Saddam is gone,

"but we're gonna--

there's gonna be

this unparalleled

humanitarian effort."

So we went

to the Iranian border.

I started looking around

for the humanitarian EMREs,

you know, to hand out.

They didn't come.

Um, uh...

I started--You know,

we started feel-stripping

our MREs,

and I was giving the kids,

you know, our M&Ms.

Mister!

100.

[Jeff]

I started to see

this shift of people

getting more and more

irritated

of us being there

longer and longer.

On both sides,

they're ready for us

to go the hell out of here.

"Okay, Saddam gone,

Saddam bad.

Good--America good.

Thank you. Go."

To watch the people

in the towns

where we went change

frightened me.

[Mike Karas]

In the southern Iraq,

Uh, you know, "Ameriqui,

Ameriqui number 1,"

and, uh, they would

let you know,

like, they would yell

"Saddam!"

like, show you

their, you know,

the bottom of their soles.

Later on, when we

moved out of Babylon,

we went to a base

that's farther north.

People seemed to have gotten

a little less friendly

as we were driving

through towns,

like you would see

more of those,

you know,

thousand-mile stares.

This one kid

was running through,

and he was like, you know,

yelling and shaking his hands

like, oh,

happy to see us there,

and his dad actually,

like, grabbed him

by the back of the--

his shirt

and, like, pulled him back

and smacked him one,

you know, basically

telling him,

like, you know,

"What are you doing?"

and, uh, "Simmer down."

And, uh,

it was kind of amusing,

but at the same time,

we're like, "Well, that guy

doesn't like us."

We were used to that.

For the first

couple of months,

we were used

to people liking us,

and then we went to

people not liking us.

With regard to the locals,

some of the Marines

behave in ways

that make me proud

to be American.

No matter what the politics

that brought us here,

there's no doubt

in my mind,

their individual

convictions are noble.

To see 'em with the kids

just warms my heart.

Unfortunately, that's

not always the case.

I think some of them

have heard too many

stories of Vietnam,

and all the kids

were strapped with bombs,

or maybe they're

just disappointed

that we may have gotten here

too late to kill.

Heard some of them say so.

Some of this shit

I've heard

about the way those detainees

are getting treated

scares the shit out of me--

not for me, really,

but for the mission.

The young Iraqi fathers

are forced to stand by

as weapons are pointed

at their children.

If anybody even

walked in the room

with one of my nieces

with a loaded gun,

I'd lose my mind.

You fucking kidding me?

We're supposed to be here

fighting a war on terror.

We're recruiting terrorists

is what we're doing.

I heard one of the cruels

describing his interaction

with one of the small kids.

I'm all up on the vehicle.

Yeah, this kids like,

"Mister, gimme candy,

gimme candy."

I'm all holding

a Starburst, right?

So I go, "Say please,

motherfucker, say please."

Say please?

For a crumb from a table

overflowing?

Please for a piece of candy

the Marines are sick of

or a scrap of an MRE

had probably been trampled

underfoot or burned.

No wonder so many hate us.

I hate us.

If I can offset

this phenomenon

in just a small way

by being a mite overgenerous

or kind or respectful,

then the small sacrifices

of my being without my cushy

Hollywood luxuries for a while

is more than worth it.

The meagerest

Christmas or birthday

in the life

of the poorest Marine

would seem a cornucopia

to any of these kids.

The contrition

of a hungry child

is something

I do not want or need.

I started to watch the way

I saw some

of the service members

treat the Iraqis.

I started to hear

some of the Marines,

uh, and soldiers,

uh, talk about, you know,

the Iraqis as they were--

as if they were

not valuable...

somehow less than

in some whatever way.

Get down!

Get on the ground!

Get down!

Hey, roof is clear.

What was so upsetting to me

about, you know,

seeing that

come from people

that were representing

the United States,

seeing that cruelty

or, you know,

in--in the long time

since I came back,

hearing other stories

of how people respond

in that way,

I--I guess it just--

the reason it

short-circuits me so much

is that it doesn't fit in

to my idea

about what a Marine is.

An Iraqi fort--

it can be 200 years old,

and no one can tell me.

I do not like it here.

I pray we won't sleep here,

but it's beginning

to look like we will.

The fort's

been secured for days,

so I strolled through

with my M16 and my camera.

All of a sudden,

I'm a fucking tourist.

I feel ridiculous

snapping photos,

but I can't not.

This place

turns my stomach.

As I stroll through

the holding cells

in the bowels

of the building,

there are grates in the floor

for the draining blood,

and I listen across time

the screams

of horror and anguish

from those once held

prisoner here.

With each blink,

the dark inside of my lids

offers flash visions

of the life once lived here,

the odd shots of boots,

uniforms,

black mustaches, berets,

skinny prisoners,

piss, food, a dog,

weapons, blood.

When I try to write of it

or speak of it,

I choke on the reality

forcing its way

out my throat.

My heart is shoving

it out sideways.

My God, I can't think

in the shadow

of that fucking fort.

Why can't we

leave this place?

Fuck! My pen

is having problems,

my camera's having problems.

I'm having problems.

I need to feel the joy.

It fuels me to go on.

My God, why have You

forsaken me?

It was there

just a moment ago.

Ah, my writing will save me.

Fuck it.

I want no more of this.

I've seen enough.

I want to go home.

Destiny then whispers

to me simply "Fuck no.

"There's yet more

for you here

before you're truly ready."

I'd give anything

if I could turn back

the hands of time.

To do what I wanted to do

by becoming a Marine.

My God.

I was sucked into some

romanticized idea

about what it was.

It was so wrong.

Look at this country.

It's, like, destroyed now.

I was dead asleep--

very poor choice of words.

"Hey, Key, get up.

We're rollin', dog."

Fuck. Every time, I--

the obligatory

complaining starts

before I'm even awake.

I start to pull on my boot.

"Hey, hurry up, devil dog."

I'm coming, I'm coming.

"Hey, devil, you know

Marenco over at Motor T?"

Yeah, what about him?

"He's dead, bro.

Grab your shit. We got

to get the vehicle."

To the family and friends

of Corporal

Douglas Marenco Reyes,

I did not think

this war could not get

any more real for me,

but now it has.

As I drove to the scene,

my first thoughts

were of you,

his loved ones

back in the States,

and of my own family

whom I love so much.

Man is not afforded

the opportunity

to choose the way and time

of his passing,

but if he was,

what nobler way

to enter the next life

than in service

to those he loves,

or to help those

he never met.

When I arrived at the scene,

the first thing I noticed

when I turned off my engine

was how peaceful it was.

The Marines had already

made a small cross

and placed it

at water's edge.

It had a sign

with his name on it,

and at the foot of the cross,

they'd placed some

of their personal items:

a little Bible

opened to the 23rd Psalm

and held there against

the wind with stones,

a--a headband

soaked with sweat.

I wrote a note

and had the Marine

traveling with me to sign it.

Our note said, "No greater

love hath mortal man

than to lay down his life

for a brother."

I knelt to pay my respects

and left our note there

with the other items.

The truck that Douglas

was driving

was carrying bottles

of water for the Marines.

They were now scattered

about the desert floor.

I bent over

and picked one of 'em up.

It was hot to the touch

from the blistering sun.

I looked back

over at the little cross

and realized

that the water was for me,

so I took off the cap,

toasted him,

then drank it all down.

Under my breath,

I thanked him:

Gracias por el aqua,

mi hermano.

Semper fi.

We had left Dogtown,

which had been our only place

what ever stayed still

since we got to Iraq,

and, uh, and had moved

to Al Hillah,

which is, uh, Babylon,

and, uh, it was a trip

to be there

on that place

that, you know,

that's where I'd heard

from church all my life.

You have Saddam's palace

up in the hill

that's like a recreation

of Nebuchadnezzar's palace,

way up on the hill,

and then

an amphitheatre there.

From the hilltop,

you could see

the ruins of Babylon.

When Baghdad fell,

and the word got out

the Saddam was, you know,

was--had been defeated,

they came and stripped

anything they could rip out,

like any pieces of marble

or anything anywhere they--

If they could get it

out of there, they had,

and it was--

the place was chaos.

[Karas]

The area we were getting

ready to set up at

had all these giant

cement benches,

and we wanted

to clear them out

so we can set up

our hooches.

And, I mean, those things

were enormous.

They were just so heavy.

It took, like, eight of us

to move one of them,

and at one point,

like, we're using

these pole--tent poles

to--to move 'em over,

and, uh, I guess Jeff,

uh, he took on a little

more than he could carry,

and, uh, he--

something snapped.

As we moved it, he was

feeling pains already,

so once

we dropped the bench,

he was starting to tell me

that, you know,

he's starting to feel

some pinch in his belly.

He's like, "Hey, what's

this thing poking out?"

and, uh,

he showed everybody,

and everybody had

a little poke at it.

It would stick out

through my abs,

that little piece

of my intestines,

but you could--

shit, you know,

you kind of roll it up

and shove it back

through the hole,

and it would be all right,

although, you know, it--

it would make your eyes water.

It hurt--you know,

it hurt bad enough

to make my eyes water.

And I think it was Costa

said, "Oh, yeah, my cousin

died from that,"

or some--you know,

somebody had said,

you know...that it could be

dangerous to have that.

And I got it checked out,

and I said, "Okay,

could I conceivably die

of something like this?"

He goes, "If your chow gets

stuck out on the outside,

"and you can't put

that piece of your intestine

back through,"

um, um...

"then you'll die.

"Your body will become toxic,

and you'll die,"

um, "and you should

get it sewn up.

You could probably

have it done in Germany,

but they'll probably

want to send you on home."

Going back,

and I packed my gear,

you know,

and I started saying

good-bye to these Marines,

and, uh...and, you know,

they put my--

they kept my weapon.

I hadn't been without

that piece of metal.

It had been attached

to my body all the time.

It was the freakiest thing

not to have, you know,

Judy in my hand.

I just felt like,

at each moment, regret.

I wish I hadn't done this,

I wish I hadn't done this.

You know, I felt like I

could have just said

"Oh, I was just kidding,"

you know.

I was thinking, How can I

get out of this?

You know, when the helicopter

lifts it up, and we left,

it was--it was like

this weird, long dream.

[Estenzo]

He didn't want to not

finish the mission.

I mean, he really gone--

he'd grown close

to these Iraqi people,

and he really liked them.

He liked their culture,

he liked their way of life,

and he thought

it was very precious.

There wasn't anyone

that I could trust

in terms of emotions

and talking about things,

and, uh, I was somewhat

depressed about it.

Stuff, you know,

maybe somebody else

wouldn't listen to,

you know,

you could always

kind of bitch to Jeff

about it,

and he would, uh,

you know,

he would have

something, uh...

some kind

of pick-me-up.

You can't turn around

and say, "Hey,

I'm just not feeling

good today, man."

"You know, I really

miss my girl,"

or

"I really miss my wife,"

or "I really miss my mom."

You couldn't do that

with any other Marine

other than Key,

and, uh, when he left,

it was just like

there was a big void,

like,

"Ah, Key's gone, man."

They loaded us

up on these planes,

on these little cargo net

benches down the side,

and then they started

bringing in these gurneys,

and they were--

They brought in

the first one,

and...and I thought, Wow,

something big

happened to this guy.

That's kind of--It was weird.

And another and another,

and they...

then they started, like,

hooking them together,

and they were four deep

on both sides

with people with very

serious war injuries.

And in that moment,

as they pull--

you know, continued

to fill this airplane

with people who were

being injured

to a growing resistance

to American occupation,

it was my first wake-up call

that the war

was not nearly as over

as I thought it was,

and the--you know, the--

the feeling of panic

that ran through me

because, you know,

then I really knew,

What if all my guys

get into this shit

and I'm freakin' on my way

to sunny America right now?

And, uh, I mean,

if I could have walked

back to Babylon

at that point,

I would have.

[Judy]

I thought in my naiveté

that everything

would be okay

once he got home.

But it wasn't.

It wasn't at all.

There was a sadness

in Jeff,

just a deep, deep

sadness.

His overall health

wasn't as good

as, uh, as it was

when he left,

and, uh,

that's physically,

and then just, uh,

I think mentally, um...

uh...war is just a...

you know, it's a--

it's a horrible thing.

[Jeff]

I drank coffee

and smoked cigarettes

almost continuously.

Um, and I would go--

I was not comfortable

in one place for very long.

I would go from...you know,

like, leave one coffee house

to go to another,

and, uh, and everybody

wanted to see me, you know,

that had--all my friends,

and then it was like, uh...

I didn't really...

I didn't really want

to talk about the war

and, you know, so that's

what people want to talk about

when you come back

freshly from one.

And, uh...I would go,

you know, to the internet

and try to find

news of Marines

from different points

in my Marine Corps career,

and just regret

that I had left.

When Jeff came back

and we met for coffee,

I remember walking

into the coffee shop,

and the first thing

I noticed is,

he's--he was thinner.

Uh...

and the sparkle was

different in his eye.

It was less,

and it was...sharper.

When people asked me

about the war,

I said, "well, the thing

that I did in Iraq was,

"I read my journals

to my fellow Marines,

"and if you want to know

"what it was like

for me there,

"I'll read

my journals to you.

I'll read you a couple of

entries from my journals."

It was very moving.

I mean, I remember,

like, all of us

sort of

sitting there

and, like,

trying to, like,

keep the tears back.

They're streaming

down his face.

But also

just so beautiful,

like what he saw,

and some

of the stories

that he was telling,

but also

there was a lot of,

like, heartbreak

in that story,

like his heart broke

in Iraq.

I was amazed

when I got back,

and they--and people

were going, "Oh, yeah.

There were no weapons."

You know,

we didn't know that.

I mean, to--my guys

were still over there

looking for 'em.

Saddam Hussein's regime

had to be a threat

to our national security.

That's the only reason

you should ever, uh, uh,

expend the lives of those

who have, uh, offered

to give them freely

for their nation.

For me to find out,

when I came back,

that this was common

knowledge, you know,

that there were no weapons,

and then we hadn't said,

"Well," you know,

"if not"--I mean, to hold

those people responsible

who had lied to us

in that moment

and get our troops

out of there

and help the Iraqis,

but, see,

it already had crumbled.

We had already not,

you know,

we were already

fueling the insurgency

by all the things--

by the way the war

was being orchestrated.

The more stories I heard

about service members

who were coming home

in such bad shape,

my commitment to them

for all

that they have given me,

separate, even, from the--

from what every Marine gets

by the privilege, the honor

of being called a Marine,

but what a smaller group

of men had given me

in the way

of their trust of me

and their willingness

to fight alongside me

and to be invested

in my well-being

and to be all the things

they were for me,

the idea that somebody

would squander their life

was so unacceptable to me,

I knew I had to do something.

I prayed for an answer,

and the answer came,

as it always does,

almost immediately,

and it was to tell the truth,

you know,

just to start talking

and...and tell my story.

Dear Sir,

This is the most

difficult letter

I've ever had to write.

However, I must be true

to the dictates

of my own conscience.

It breaks my heart

to know that, to be true

to the reasons I joined

the Marine Corps

in the first place,

I must now leave

the military.

He knew that they

were gonna ask him

to, you know, step out.

You know, he basically

told, you know,

the "Don't ask, don't tell,"

he told,

and--and I--

I loved him for that.

Jeff is more of a hero

to me right now

than he was

when he left.

To go back into the closet

and start the deception

all over again

almost 20 years later

seemed counter to all

that I believe is right.

However, an intense desire

to protect this nation

and our people

caused me to go along

with the policy

that seems archaic

to any thinking person,

just to be allowed to serve.

The fact that he is--

is, uh, willing

to take a bullet for you

is more important

than the fact

that he chooses to have

a relationship

with somebody

of the same sex.

Uh, out there, all that stuff

goes out the window:

I mean, color of skin,

you know,

size of your bank account,

sexual orientation.

It doesn't matter.

The fact that everybody

is looking out for one another

is the bottom line.

On the 6th of June

in the year 2000,

on the 56th anniversary

of D Day,

I stood in a room

full of recruits

young enough to be my sons,

and we raised our right hand

and took an oath

to defend this nation

with our very lives

if necessary.

I didn't take that oath

lightly.

[Estenzo]

He fits the persona

of what a Marine

should be,

and he made sure

that he did things

110% at all times,

and because of that,

a lot of people looked up

to him and admired him.

Here are the reasons

I gave.

They're more important

to me today

than when I first walked

into that office.

Number 1,

to support and defend

the constitution

of the United States

There are others,

but those are

the ones that,

when the going

got tough in boot camp,

or later on in Iraq,

are to remind myself of

and continue on.

That may sound idealistic

and naively patriotic

to some...

...what I have to say.

If that's the way

it must be, so be it.

If I'm the last man standing,

I will fight for what is right

with all my strength

and until my last breath.

I'm a United States Marine.

I will die a Marine.

There are those who will

not call me brother,

now that they know

who I really am.

I'd still stand

between them and a bullet.

I love the Marine Corps.

I understand

that my unwillingness

to keep my sexuality a secret

will now necessitate

my separation from the Corps.

I'm greatly saddened

by this fact,

but at the same time

proud to be standing

true to those core values

so deeply ingrained:

honor, courage, commitment.

God bless 4th LAR.

God bless my Marine Corps,

and God bless America.

[playing Marine Hymn]

Hey, devil dog,

you're supposed to be

standing at attention.

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Semper Fi (2006) - full transcript