Triangle Women Veterans - Unit 144

One of the great lessons I learned during my years in the military was that differences—our uniqueness—can profoundly shape how we experience one another. I learned this not only from the Americans with whom I served, but from the people of the countries where I was stationed.

 

I learned that lesson in an unexpected way while on vacation in Bangkok, Thailand. At the time, I was stationed at Osan Air Base in the Republic of Korea. My husband and I were riding a crowded city bus when, after several stops, an older man leaned toward me and asked, “Are you American military?” Immediately, all my military training kicked in.

 

  I checked for the nearest exit, door, and window. I looked at his hands and his bag, wondering whether I could see a weapon. We had been briefed to remain inconspicuous when traveling abroad. But how inconspicuous can you really be? We were both Caucasian, of average height and build, with short hair and a confident demeanor. We were wearing polo shirts and jeans. Apparently, that was enough for him to recognize us. He noticed my apprehension and quickly said, “It’s okay. I just want to thank you.”  Thank me? He explained that he and many others missed the presence of American military personnel in his country, particularly the medical teams who had worked in the mountains. “We wish you would come back,” he told me. I thanked him. A moment later, we reached our stop and had to get off the bus. He continued on, and I never saw him again.  But I have never forgotten him.

 

  How often do we assume that someone who approaches us unexpectedly means us harm? Sometimes our training, our experiences, or simply our fear tells us to be cautious—and sometimes that caution is necessary. But sometimes the person we are watching warily is carrying nothing more threatening than gratitude. That man had remembered something that had happened a generation earlier. The American military presence had meant something to him, and apparently to many others. What I saw as a difference that made me conspicuous, he saw as a reason to approach me with appreciation. In that moment, our difference made us stand out in a positive way.

 

  It wasn't always that way.  When my unit deployed for the first Gulf War, approximately half of our Services unit was female. When we arrived in Egypt to refuel on our way to Oman, we were told that the women would likely be sent home. The concern was not about our qualifications, our training, or our ability to perform our jobs. They simply did not want American women in the theater, particularly a woman serving as an officer. I was the only female officer on board.

 

 

  I asked the commander why they would send us home, especially since we would not be stationed in or near any major city. Our assignment was out in the desert.  An hour passed. Then we loaded back up. Somewhere during that hour, the decision had been made to allow us to continue. 

 They had not met us. They had not seen us work. They did not know our capabilities or our commitment to the mission. Their initial reaction was shaped by cultural, traditional, and religious beliefs about the role of women—and especially women in positions of authority—working in their country and alongside their military.

    I remained in Oman for two weeks before being transferred to Doha, Qatar, where I was responsible for setting up and running a morgue. I also served as Chief of Services, MWR, and the Tactical Field Exchange.

   

 Those experiences taught me that cultural differences can make us visible in ways we don't always anticipate. Sometimes that visibility opens a door. Sometimes it closes one.     And sometimes, we don't discover what our differences mean to someone else until a stranger leans across a crowded bus and says, “I just want to thank you.”  (continued)

 

  We never really know what people see when they look at us—or what memories we may represent to them.    You never know.