Home » Wounded Soldiers In Search Of Home - MIAs and Government Corruption

I cannot help but think sometimes that the government is nothing more than a tool of the wealthy to enslave the population into perpetual debt.

 

I can remember the corruption in the government when I worked for the Office of the Adjutant General in our state capitol between 1982 and 1986. I held a position as liaison between the Pentagon and our state. I was responsible for the implementation and management of a multi-million dollar federal program for over 40,000 personnel throughout the state.

 

One of the tasks of my job was to authorize payment and validate participant receipt of federal funds. During the course of performing these duties I was able to identify discrepancies between the state and federal computer generated accounts. The numbers just did not match up.

 

Tens of thousands of dollars were being paid out every month to people who... didn't even exist! When I brought this subject up with officials at the Pentagon I was informed that it was a "computer glitch." The matter was out of my hands.

 

Although I received a medal for the exemplary performance of my duties the "computer glitch" was never discussed. In retrospect, I am certain that the glitch was responsible for the skimming of hundreds of millions of federal dollars nation-wide.

 

If this had been my only experience in the identification of government corruption I should not be so cynical. But, in 1989, when I was working for the county Veterans' Service Office I had a similar experience.

 

I had met a college student by the name of Tan. He was a Cambodian. His father had been a general in the Cambodian army, but had died during the war. Tan watched his father die. They shot him in the head right before his very eyes. During one of our conversations I had mentioned to Tan that I was working as the Veterans' Service Representative for the county and that it was my job to help veterans receive their benefits.

 

Tan's eyes grew wide...

 

"You were in war?" Tan asked.

"No" I replied, "I was never in the war."

"I was in the war." Tan confessed. "I killed."

"But, you're only seventeen!" I said.

"Everybody in war!" Tan asserted. "Killing everywhere. My uncle, he was in army. You help him?"

"Your uncle was in the Army?" I asked.

"Yes."

"Which army?"

"Your Army!"

"Was he hurt?"

"Yes."

"Tell him to come see me at my office."

 

One day Tan's uncle showed up at my office. He was a rather simple looking fellow. Pure Cambodian by the looks of him. I had him sit down.

 

"So... You were in the Army?" I asked.

"Yes." He answered.

"What Army?"

"U.S. Army."

"Do you have papers?" I asked.

"Yes."

 

Tan's uncle reached into a brown paper bag and pulled out some old folded papers. I unfolded the papers and discovered official looking documents containing the serial numbers for two soldiers. This rather surprised me.

 

"Where did you get these?" I asked.

 

Tan's uncle proceeded to tell me, in his broken English, that during the war in Cambodia some American soldiers had come down out of the sky in helicopters to his village. The Americans gave him and his people weapons, ammunitions, and supplies. Tan's uncle was told that he was now a member of the U.S. Army, and with the serial numbers that he was provided he received American money.Tan's job was to meet American helicopters in remote locations of the jungle to receive war supplies. During one of these events Tan's uncle was seriously wounded by a mortar explosion. He showed me his nasty scars. Shrapnel had ripped through his stomach area, disfiguring him terribly.

 

I informed Tan's uncle that I had to validate his service numbers. When I checked out the service numbers I discovered, much to my dismay, that they were indeed authentic Army serial numbers. In fact, they were the serial numbers of two American soldiers who had been listed as Missing in Action from the Vietnam War for more than fifteen years!

 

The man's eyes filled with tears when I told him that there was nothing I could do to help him. He did not understand. He had fought side-by-side with the Americans during battle. He had saved American lives in combat. He had been paid American money. The man deserved a medal for his courage. Instead, he found himself a stranger in a land that did not know him.

 

For shame the wealthy profit

   From the hopes and dreams of men

      And in the end deny it

         Saying, Never were we friends

 

Is this the Master to whom I owe my labors? A government of scandal, deceit and corruption? What treasure do we share? What covenants have we made? What honor is there between us?

 

A man has no measure of a world which he does not understand, but when once his eyes have been opened, and he has learned to read between the lines, it is imperative to his sanity that he follow the affections of his heart. And if his affections drive him after the things of the world, then it is the world to which he belongs. But, if his affections are not for the things of this world, then the world has no part of him.

 

I have renounced the world in my heart, for the things of the world are all together meaningless. I care not for power, fame, or fortune. But, let me rest and mend the wounds that the pursuit of these things has inflicted upon my soul, and perchance console the hearts of others.

 

We are all veterans from the war of life, wounded soldiers in search of homes long ago vanquished by the ravages of time. Oh, that we could but learn that our homes are in our hearts, and only there to be found. For true riches come neither from silver or gold, or any material thing; but from kindness, gentleness, acceptance, understanding, compassion, and whatsoever good things proceed forth from out of the hearts of men.

 

A man does not need God to do good, though many would do good to have God. For, until there is a conscious elevation in the thoughts of men towards higher things their thoughts shall be fixed upon the things of this world, their minds become confused, their hearts dull, and true happiness, joy and love evade them. For these things are not in the world for us to find, but in our hearts for us to give away.

 

© 1997 Mark Parsec