[Congressional Record Volume 154, Number 12 (Friday, January 25, 2008)]
[Senate]
[Pages S326-S328]
From the Congressional Record Online through the Government Publishing Office [www.gpo.gov]
HONORING OUR ARMED FORCES
Lance Corporal Cameron M. Babcock
Mr. BAYH. Madam President, I rise today with a heavy heart and deep
sense of gratitude to honor the life of a brave soldier from Plymouth,
IN. LCpl Cameron Babcock, 19 years old, died January 20th at Twentynine
Palms Marine Base in California. Lance Corporal Babcock was killed as
the result of a firearms accident in his barracks. Cameron was a
committed soldier and servant to his country.
Cameron was a 2006 graduate of Plymouth High School and was a gifted
musician. He played the trumpet in the Big Red Marching Band and was a
member of the Plymouth High School Advanced Jazz Band. In 2005, he
competed at the State Jazz Festival in LaPorte with the Advanced Jazz
Band. He was also a member of the Wind Ensemble, comprised of some of
the school's top music students. Cameron also played the guitar and
enjoyed four-wheeling.
After graduation, Cameron fulfilled a lifelong goal by enlisting in
the Marines, telling his family it was what he had always hoped to do.
He was promoted to private first class after boot camp and was a
rifleman in the infantry. With his assignment to Kilo Company, 3rd
Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, 1st Marine Division, Cameron served an
exemplary tour in Iraq in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. He was a
decorated soldier and received numerous awards during his tour in Iraq
including the National Defense Service Medal, the Iraqi Campaign Medal,
the Global War on Terrorism Service Medal, the Combat Action Ribbon,
the Sea Service Deployment Ribbon and the Certificate of Commendation.
Cameron was awaiting his second tour of duty in Iraq when he died. He
is survived by his parents, Jeffery and Ann Smith Babcock; his sisters
Kailey, Abigail, and Hope Babcock; and his brother, Samuel Babcock. The
Babcock family resides in Plymouth.
Today, I join Cameron's family and friends in mourning his death.
While we struggle to bear our sorrow over this loss, we can also take
pride in the example he set, bravely fighting to make the world a safer
place. It is his courage and strength of character that people will
remember when they think of Cameron. Today and always, Cameron will be
remembered by family members, friends and fellow Hoosiers as a true
American hero, and we honor the example he set in serving his country.
It is my sad duty to enter the name of LCpl Cameron M. Babcock in the
Record of the U.S. Senate for his service to this country and for his
profound commitment to freedom, democracy and peace. When I think about
the unfortunate pain that comes with the loss of our heroes, I hope
that families like Cameron's can find comfort in the words of the
prophet Isaiah who said, ``He will swallow up death in victory; and the
Lord God will wipe away tears from off all faces.''
May God grant strength and peace to those who mourn, and may God be
with all of you, as I know He is with Cameron.
Major Andrew J. Olmsted
Mr. SALAZAR. Madam President, I rise today in honor of MAJ Andrew
Olmsted, who was killed on January 3 in an attack near Sadiyah, Iraq.
Major Olmsted was assigned to the 1st Brigade of the 1st Infantry
Division out of Fort Riley, KS, but he and his wife, Amanda Wilson,
lived together in Colorado Springs, CO. Andrew was 37 years old. He was
the first American casualty in Iraq of 2008.
Major Olmsted was a proud soldier whose sense of duty took him to
Iraq--whose commitment to his fellow soldiers earned him their deepest
respect--and whose compassion put him in the line of fire the day he
died.
Andrew was also an exceptionally talented writer. He shared his
experiences and perspectives in Iraq with the world on blogs, including
one he wrote for the Rocky Mountain News entitled ``From the Front
Lines.'' The thousands of readers who followed Andrew's deployment had
the privilege of his frank, thoughtful, stirring, and often humorous
take on the war, the Army, and politics.
For a writer and reporter as gifted as Andrew, it is hard to find the
words to properly honor his life and his sacrifice. I would rather let
him speak for himself and reflect on his memory by sharing with my
colleagues portions of Major Olmsted's final posting. He asked a friend
to post this on his blog in the event of his death. In its eloquence,
power, humor, and tragedy, it is one small way in which we may remember
the mark that Andrew made on our world:
This is an entry I would have preferred not to have
published, but there are limits to what we can control in
life, and apparently I have passed one of those limits. . . .
What I don't want this to be is a chance for me, or anyone
else, to be maudlin. I'm dead. That sucks, at least for me
and my family and friends. But all the tears in the world
aren't going to bring me back, so I would prefer that people
remember the good things about me rather than mourning my
loss. (If it turns out a specific number of tears will, in
fact, bring me back to life, then by all means, break out the
onions.)
I had a pretty good life, as I noted above. Sure, all
things being equal I would have preferred to have more time,
but I have no business complaining with all the good fortune
I've enjoyed in my life. So if you're up for
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that, put on a little 80s music (preferably vintage 1980-
1984), grab a Coke and have a drink with me. If you have it,
throw ``Freedom Isn't Free'' from the Team America soundtrack
in; if you can't laugh at that song, I think you need to
lighten up a little. I'm dead, but if you're reading this,
you're not, so take a moment to enjoy that happy fact. . . .
I suppose I should speak to the circumstances of my death.
It would be nice to believe that I died leading men in
battle, preferably saving their lives at the cost of my own.
More likely I was caught by a marksman or an IED. But if
there is an afterlife, I'm telling anyone who asks that I
went down surrounded by hundreds of insurgents defending a
village composed solely of innocent women and children. It'll
be our little secret, ok?
I do ask (not that I'm in a position to enforce this) that
no one try to use my death to further their political
purposes. I went to Iraq and did what I did for my reasons,
not yours. My life isn't a chit to be used to bludgeon people
to silence on either side. If you think the U.S. should stay
in Iraq, don't drag me into it by claiming that somehow my
death demands us staying in Iraq. If you think the U.S. ought
to get out tomorrow, don't cite my name as an example of
someone's life who was wasted by our mission in Iraq. I have
my own opinions about what we should do about Iraq, but since
I'm not around to expound on them I'd prefer others not try
and use me as some kind of moral capital to support a
position I probably didn't support. Further, this is tough
enough on my family without their having to see my picture
being used in some rally or my name being cited for some
political purpose. You can fight political battles without
hurting my family, and I'd prefer that you did so.
On a similar note, while you're free to think whatever you
like about my life and death, if you think I wasted my life,
I'll tell you you're wrong. We're all going to die of
something. I died doing a job I loved. When your time comes,
I hope you are as fortunate as I was. . . .
Those who know me through my writings on the Internet over
the past five-plus years probably have wondered at times
about my chosen profession. While I am not a Libertarian, I
certainly hold strongly individualistic beliefs. Yet I have
spent my life in a profession that is not generally known for
rugged individualism. Worse, I volunteered to return to
active duty knowing that the choice would almost certainly
lead me to Iraq. The simple explanation might be that I was
simply stupid, and certainly I make no bones about having
done some dumb things in my life, but I don't think this can
be chalked up to stupidity. Maybe I was inconsistent in my
beliefs; there are few people who adhere religiously to the
doctrines of their chosen philosophy, whatever that may be.
But I don't think that was the case in this instance either.
As passionate as I am about personal freedom, I don't buy
the claims of anarchists that humanity would be just fine
without any government at all. There are too many people in
the world who believe that they know best how people should
live their lives, and many of them are more than willing to
use force to impose those beliefs on others. A world without
government simply wouldn't last very long; as soon as it was
established, strongmen would immediately spring up to
establish their fiefdoms. So there is a need for government
to protect the people's rights. And one of the fundamental
tools to do that is an army that can prevent outside agencies
from imposing their rules on a society. A lot of people will
protest that argument by noting that the people we are
fighting in Iraq are unlikely to threaten the rights of the
average American. That's certainly true; while our enemies
would certainly like to wreak great levels of havoc on our
society, the fact is they're not likely to succeed. But that
doesn't mean there isn't still a need for an army (setting
aside debates regarding whether ours is the right size at the
moment). Americans are fortunate that we don't have to worry
too much about people coming to try and overthrow us, but
part of the reason we don't have to worry about that is
because we have an army that is stopping anyone who would
try.
Soldiers cannot have the option of opting out of missions
because they don't agree with them: that violates the social
contract. The duly-elected American government decided to go
to war in Iraq. (Even if you maintain President Bush was not
properly elected, Congress voted for war as well.) As a
soldier, I have a duty to obey the orders of the President of
the United States as long as they are constitutional. I can
no more opt out of missions I disagree with than I can ignore
laws I think are improper. I do not consider it a violation
of my individual rights to have gone to Iraq on orders
because I raised my right hand and volunteered to join the
army. Whether or not this mission was a good one, my
participation in it was an affirmation of something I
consider quite necessary to society. So if nothing else, I
gave my life for a pretty important principle; I can (if
you'll pardon the pun) live with that. . . .
I write this in part, admittedly, because I would like to
think that there's at least a little something out there to
remember me by. Granted, this site will eventually vanish,
being ephemeral in a very real sense of the word, but at
least for a time it can serve as a tiny record of my
contributions to the world. But on a larger scale, for those
who knew me well enough to be saddened by my death,
especially for those who haven't known anyone else lost to
this war, perhaps my death can serve as a small reminder of
the costs of war. Regardless of the merits of this war, or of
any war, I think that many of us in America have forgotten
that war means death and suffering in wholesale lots. A
decision that for most of us in America was academic, whether
or not to go to war in Iraq, had very real consequences for
hundreds of thousands of people. Yet I was as guilty as
anyone of minimizing those very real consequences in lieu of
a cold discussion of theoretical merits of war and peace. Now
I'm facing some very real consequences of that decision; who
says life doesn't have a sense of humor? . . .
But for those who knew me and feel this pain, I think it's
a good thing to realize that this pain has been felt by
thousands and thousands (probably millions, actually) of
other people all over the world. That is part of the cost of
war, any war, no matter how justified. If everyone who feels
this pain keeps that in mind the next time we have to decide
whether or not war is a good idea, perhaps it will help us to
make a more informed decision. Because it is pretty clear
that the average American would not have supported the Iraq
War had they known the costs going in. I am far too cynical
to believe that any future debate over war will be any less
vitriolic or emotional, but perhaps a few more people will
realize just what those costs can be the next time.
This may be a contradiction of my above call to keep
politics out of my death, but I hope not. Sometimes going to
war is the right idea. I think we've drawn that line too far
in the direction of war rather than peace, but I'm a soldier
and I know that sometimes you have to fight if you're to hold
onto what you hold dear. But in making that decision, I
believe we understate the costs of war; when we make the
decision to fight, we make the decision to kill, and that
means lives and families destroyed. Mine now falls into that
category; the next time the question of war or peace comes
up, if you knew me at least you can understand a bit more
just what it is you're deciding to do, and whether or not
those costs are worth it.
``This is true love. You think this happens every day?''--
Westley, The Princess Bride
``Good night, my love, the brightest star in my sky.''--
John Sheridan, Babylon 5
This is the hardest part. While I certainly have no desire
to die, at this point I no longer have any worries. That is
not true of the woman who made my life something to enjoy
rather than something merely to survive. She put up with all
of my faults, and they are myriad, she endured separations
again and again . . . I cannot imagine being more fortunate
in love than I have been with Amanda. Now she has to go on
without me, and while a cynic might observe she's better off,
I know that this is a terrible burden I have placed on her,
and I would give almost anything if she would not have to
bear it. It seems that is not an option. I cannot imagine
anything more painful than that, and if there is an
afterlife, this is a pain I'll bear forever.
I wasn't the greatest husband. I could have done so much
more, a realization that, as it so often does, comes too late
to matter. But I cherished every day I was married to Amanda.
When everything else in my life seemed dark, she was always
there to light the darkness. It is difficult to imagine my
life being worth living without her having been in it. I hope
and pray that she goes on without me and enjoys her life as
much as she deserves. I can think of no one more deserving of
happiness than her.
``I will see you again, in the place where no shadows
fall.''--Ambassador Delenn, Babylon 5
I don't know if there is an afterlife; I tend to doubt it,
to be perfectly honest. But if there is any way possible,
Amanda, then I will live up to Delenn's words, somehow, some
way. I love you.
Mr. President, our thoughts and prayers are with Amanda, Andrew's
parents, and all of his family. May they soon find comfort and respite
from their grief. May we always remember Andrew for his life, service,
and sacrifice. And may countless others have the blessing of reading
his words.
Staff Sergeant Justin R. Whiting
Madam President, I rise today to honor the memory of SSG Justin R.
Whiting, a Green Beret with the 3rd Battalion, 5th Special Forces
Group, out of Fort Campbell, KY. On January 19, Sergeant Whiting was
leading a convoy through the streets of Mosul, Iraq, when a bomb
exploded near his vehicle. He was killed at 27 years old.
Sergeant Whiting was born in Belton, TX, but at a young age moved to
Hancock, NY, where he developed a love for the great outdoors. Justin
was an avid hunter who reveled in the rugged landscape near the
Delaware River.
Those who knew him describe Sergeant Whiting as an adventurer. It was
this virtue, coupled with his deep-seated love for his country, which
led him to join the Army just 2 months after his high school
graduation.
In the Army, he chose the most difficult path he could pursue, that
of becoming a Green Beret. The Special
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Forces soldiers I know are the pride of our country. All at once, they
are soldiers, intelligence officers, diplomats, tacticians, linguists,
trainers, and advisors. They are at the tip of the spear of our
national defense. The Green Beret that they wear, said President
Kennedy, is ``a symbol of excellence, a badge of courage, a mark of
distinction in the fight for freedom.''
Sergeant Whiting was on his third tour in Iraq, on a mission to help
bring security and stability to a region torn by violence and tragedy.
Every day, he and his unit put themselves in harm's way to give Iraqi
citizens a chance at a society governed by the rule of law, free from
the threats of sectarian strife, terrorism, or autocratic rule. He
served bravely and was highly decorated. Among many other honors, he
earned the Bronze Star, one of the highest awards given for combat
service, for his bravery and selflessness.
For those of us who did not know Justin personally, it is difficult
to know what inspired his extraordinary sense of duty or what fueled
his courage on the battlefield. Alexander Hamilton, a Founding Father
and an Army officer, explained that ``There is a certain enthusiasm in
liberty that makes human nature rise above itself in acts of bravery
and heroism.'' I imagine that Justin found his strength in many
sources--friends, family, and fellow soldiers--but I imagine that he,
too, was motivated by an enthusiasm for liberty and a passion for
justice. In his life, he consistently chose the path that was most
challenging so that he could offer our country his highest service. He
was a true patriot.
To Justin's mother, Estelline, to his father, Randall, to his sister,
Amanda, and to his brother, Nathan, our thoughts and prayers are with
you. I hope that in time, your grief will be assuaged by the pride you
must feel in Justin's service and by the honor he bestowed upon his
country. May we never forget his service and his sacrifice.
____________________