Margo Rita Capparelli, MA’89, PHD’02
Why did I decide to teach sociology on a downrange military base? Having reached the crossroads in life that sends some of my male contemporaries to the nearest Harley-Davidson retailer, I was ready for some adventure.
So I catapulted myself off to one of the American military bases in the Arabian Desert that act as staging areas for troops serving in Iraq. I was now as far away as I could get from my peaceful Massachusetts existence.
No one in my family had served in the armed forces since VJ Day. I’d grown up listening to Pete Seeger and Bob Dylan warning against studying war and assuming that God’s on our side. I had no grasp of military rankings, protocols, or regulations. Images drawn from M*A*S*H reruns and Bob Hope specials were the only frames of reference I could muster up before I actually saw the base in the middle of the desert.
The reality is beige: beige sand, beige tents, beige buildings, and beige clothing, camouflaged to blend in with the beige all around. We few civilians, in our street clothes, are the only spots of color against the sand.
Many aspects of the job are the same as teaching in the States. Others are not. Guns, which used to be an anomaly in my life, are everywhere here. Soldiers “going north,” for instance, are required to carry them at all times. I’ve become very accustomed to seeing combat knives and semi-automatic rifles in the classroom.
I’ve also gotten used to hearing a different kind of excuse for missing class: “I have to go to Iraq for a few days.” I’ve even warmed up to my new name: “Ma’am.”
As the sole university professor on the base, I know my presence offers my students a small reprieve from the military. Sometimes I see my greater purpose here as reminding them about the rules of civilian life.
One day, several students had to miss class to go on a mission. When they returned, they were disheartened to hear we’d covered additional material in their absence. One Marine expressed his displeasure by proclaiming, “Leave no soldier behind!”
“Do you know where that philosophy gets you in the civilian world?” I asked them.
From the back of the room, someone muttered, “Yeah, left behind with the guy getting left behind.”
No lesson needed there. My students know the civilian world doesn’t always value looking out for your buddy, whatever the cost.
It’s ironic, I’ve found, that some of the best aspects of American life seem to flourish amid the harsh realities of war. In many ways, the base is a community of civility and respect. Pedestrians always have the right of way. Strangers say hello. People spend time getting to know you. You feel taken care of and, in turn, feel responsible for everyone around you.
Yet, although our basic needs are provided for, life here is harsh, both physically and psychologically. People are away from their loved ones. Loneliness, depression, and divorce run high. Pimply nineteen-year-olds talk about their ex-wives.
Faced with such inner turmoil, I quickly became marriage counselor, therapist, and confidante. It seemed the least I could do.
I edited a love letter for one of my favorite students. I counseled another young soldier who was going to use two weeks of R&R to get cosmetic surgery in Thailand. Though she was excited about returning with a new nose, a reconstructed smile, and an enhanced upper body “like Angelina Jolie’s,” she was nervous about undergoing these procedures alone in a foreign land.
At times, I’ve been on the receiving end of the lesson. I learned to disassemble and reassemble an M16A2 rifle. Two sweet young Marines were delighted to explain to the teacher the art of stabbing a man so he doesn’t scream. When I correctly parroted back their instructions, I got high-fives all around.
Civilians will tell you they are here “for the troops” or the lucrative salaries many of them enjoy. However, this really isn’t a place that people run to; it’s the place they land. Over time, I have come to understand that no civilian is here without good cause, including myself. Some are escaping their own wars at home. Others don’t have a home to return to.
For me, the most surprising thing about this beige world is how at home I feel here. Though I miss my friends and family back in the States, I’ve learned to reach out to those around me and embrace the qualities of this strange location.
I’ve managed to find an oasis of peace and friendship in a place created by war. The desert is the same endless monochromatic landscape it was when I first arrived. But the people here have transformed it into Technicolor.
Margo Rita Capparelli is a senior lecturer in Northeastern’s College of Professional Studies.