In June 2005, I was ejected from my high school graduation ceremony at Patrick Henry High in San Diego, where I was wearing a white robe, having one of the top GPAs in my graduating class, for screaming the words “Fuck US Imperialism.” The principal withheld my diploma.
I think of that afternoon often, and a lot lately, when the freshman ROTC came out after the national anthem in full uniform twirling fake rifles covered in football tape and marched toward the fifty yard line chanting in unison and tossing their guns while the entire stadium full of 5,000 people stood frozen in silence for two whole minutes with their hands over their hearts and at some point I snapped and yelled “Fuck US Imperialism” and security escorted me out and my mother started weeping in the bleachers and wouldn’t talk to me for several weeks afterwards so I stayed at my friend Kyle’s house and his parents were kind and so were all the others. They told me not to feel too bad.
“Don’t be too embarrassed,” they said.
I was just young, an idealist, and had to give it time, a few more years, perhaps, they said, to develop a more complex appreciation of geopolitics.
I remember Casey Madden’s dad. He was so certain. He smiled, supremely condescending.
“You’ll understand when you’re older.”
I’m still trying to understand the contradictions. I don’t know what to believe. But I don’t want to be naïve.
“Is the Pentagon hiring?” I asked Barry.
“Probably,” he said. “You could apply online.”
Barry straightened his tie and checked his watch again. He said he had to get back to work. We turned and started back toward the mezzanine above the security checkpoint. Walking down the long concrete ramp, I contemplated buying something in the gift shop or having a penny crushed into the shape of the Pentagon or working for an important think tank. This was the adult way to think about climate change and the history and future of the world. Protests don’t change things, powerful people do.
Barry stepped behind me onto the escalator above the checkpoint and grabbed the rail. Only one more question remained.
“Can the Pentagon actually go Green?”
On this point Barry finally laughed.
The above is from my book China Lake.
