[Congressional Record (Bound Edition), Volume 154 (2008), Part 1]
[Senate]
[Pages 873-875]
[From the U.S. 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

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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 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

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     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 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.

                          ____________________