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Not sure how veterans and others feel about this issue. As for myself, a U.S. Army veteran, I think it is stupid. Why do you need to be armed at a protest? What exactly are you going to be shooting? A good piece from The Washington Post that reflects how many veterans feel.
Link: https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2020/05/25/why-military-style-gear-protests-rings-hollow/
"I took comfort in my Army uniform. Not a physical comfort, because that certainly was never synonymous with Army-issue items, but a comfort of familiarity. I suffered in that gear, and it became a part of me. Some veterans can’t wait to take off their uniform, but I didn’t want to live without mine.
The Uniform has become a fixture in political storms and crises. People in these outfits show up to political events, where they scream and scowl. They demand freedom as they wield assault rifles. They reject criticism as un-American. Some carry flags that are un-American. In a country where minorities are killed for mistaken perceptions, they protest in a protective ether of unrecognized privilege. They have adopted the Uniform to show a willingness to use force to protect their way of life. Thankfully, this interpretation of the appearance of strength is generally as far as things go.
At first, my discomfort with wearing tactical gear was rooted in not wanting to be associated with a particular political stance. I worried less that the look was being appropriated than I did about not wanting to explain my position to anyone either way. As many veterans can attest, the effort to do so can be exhausting and traumatic.
Now, however, I feel a different discomfort when I see the Uniform. Those wearing it are attempting to make their appearance speak for them, sometimes without the service that normally gives power to that voice. Over our nation’s history, the sacrifice and commitment of military service have made it a source of integrity and wisdom. It is meaningful when someone in uniform speaks because the uniform is also speaking. The power of that voice is such that political activities of military members in uniform are restricted. The fiber and brass of military uniforms announce the service of those wearing it; they suggest valuable insight and perspective.
Veterans know brothers and sisters who died in uniform. Tattered camouflage was often still wrapped around detached limbs. Millions of goodbyes have been said in uniform, and the uniform was the last thing that far too many family members touched. Millions of Americans have stood in uniform and watched innocent people suffer. Sometimes we could help; sometimes we were helpless. Some of us wore the same gear for weeks straight with no showers or laundry. We know the permanent coloring inflicted by months of billowing dust and sand. Uniforms get dirty — covered in hydraulic oil, mud, blood. Still, we wear them as we serve.
The military uniform has always shrouded pain. Veterans know this, and our uniforms speak because of it. Military veterans, of course, are not gatekeepers of suffering. Many across our country are struggling. People are sick. Income inequality is rampant. Skin color and class trigger bias and discrimination. These conditions are not new, but the pandemic has exasperated them.
Citizens have every right to be angry at government responses that are unclear, insufficient or unwarranted. Citizens have every right to protest — to speak from their personal pain. They don’t need gear to speak for them.
I don’t pretend to know what suffering others have experienced. When I see the Uniform engaged in protest, I understand that it is intended to convey a message. But this appearance, reappropriated in anger, rings hollow."
Link: https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/2020/05/25/why-military-style-gear-protests-rings-hollow/
"I took comfort in my Army uniform. Not a physical comfort, because that certainly was never synonymous with Army-issue items, but a comfort of familiarity. I suffered in that gear, and it became a part of me. Some veterans can’t wait to take off their uniform, but I didn’t want to live without mine.
The Uniform has become a fixture in political storms and crises. People in these outfits show up to political events, where they scream and scowl. They demand freedom as they wield assault rifles. They reject criticism as un-American. Some carry flags that are un-American. In a country where minorities are killed for mistaken perceptions, they protest in a protective ether of unrecognized privilege. They have adopted the Uniform to show a willingness to use force to protect their way of life. Thankfully, this interpretation of the appearance of strength is generally as far as things go.
At first, my discomfort with wearing tactical gear was rooted in not wanting to be associated with a particular political stance. I worried less that the look was being appropriated than I did about not wanting to explain my position to anyone either way. As many veterans can attest, the effort to do so can be exhausting and traumatic.
Now, however, I feel a different discomfort when I see the Uniform. Those wearing it are attempting to make their appearance speak for them, sometimes without the service that normally gives power to that voice. Over our nation’s history, the sacrifice and commitment of military service have made it a source of integrity and wisdom. It is meaningful when someone in uniform speaks because the uniform is also speaking. The power of that voice is such that political activities of military members in uniform are restricted. The fiber and brass of military uniforms announce the service of those wearing it; they suggest valuable insight and perspective.
Veterans know brothers and sisters who died in uniform. Tattered camouflage was often still wrapped around detached limbs. Millions of goodbyes have been said in uniform, and the uniform was the last thing that far too many family members touched. Millions of Americans have stood in uniform and watched innocent people suffer. Sometimes we could help; sometimes we were helpless. Some of us wore the same gear for weeks straight with no showers or laundry. We know the permanent coloring inflicted by months of billowing dust and sand. Uniforms get dirty — covered in hydraulic oil, mud, blood. Still, we wear them as we serve.
The military uniform has always shrouded pain. Veterans know this, and our uniforms speak because of it. Military veterans, of course, are not gatekeepers of suffering. Many across our country are struggling. People are sick. Income inequality is rampant. Skin color and class trigger bias and discrimination. These conditions are not new, but the pandemic has exasperated them.
Citizens have every right to be angry at government responses that are unclear, insufficient or unwarranted. Citizens have every right to protest — to speak from their personal pain. They don’t need gear to speak for them.
I don’t pretend to know what suffering others have experienced. When I see the Uniform engaged in protest, I understand that it is intended to convey a message. But this appearance, reappropriated in anger, rings hollow."
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