Editor's Note: In this occasional series, Stars and Stripes examines the mental health of U.S. soldiers in Afghanistan and how they cope with warÂ’s internal burden while deployed. Stories will explore the work of psychologists, psychiatrists, social workers and chaplains to reduce the combat-related stress of troops; the efforts of senior officers to balance the needs of soldiers with the demands of the U.S. mission; and the fear of asking for help that still exists within the Army. This series is produced with the support of a Rosalynn Carter Fellowship for Mental Health Journalism.
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There was a time when Sgt. 1st Class Corey Hawkins showed concern toward fellow troops in a manner that more resembled a scolding. If his team, squad or platoon lost a soldier to serious injury, he offered words that pummeled rather than soothed. The PG-rated, expletive-deleted version went something like this: “Suck it up. You can’t stop going — you have to drive on. This is the way it is.” He cared but refused to coddle, a devotee of the Army’s tough-love philosophy that molded him. On a Friday morning a few weeks ago, three months into his sixth deployment, Hawkins confronted the same scenario in Afghanistan. He had learned that one of his men, Sgt. Luke Cifka, had stepped on an improvised explosive device in Logar province.
Spc. Travis Barrett, left, talks with Capt. Mickey Basham, chaplain of the 3rd Battalion, 7th Infantry Regiment, about an attack in Aghanistan's Logar province that seriously wounded a member of Barrett's platoon.
Hawkins, the leader of a scout platoon with the 3rd Battalion, 7th Infantry Regiment, called together his soldiers. They gathered in the narrow hallway of their plywood barracks at Forward Operating Base Shank. Most knew only that someone in the platoon of about two dozen had been wounded. He gave them the news with typical bluntness. “Cifka got hit by an IED,” Hawkins said, pausing to chop a hand against the middle of his thigh. “He’s lost both his legs from here down.” He went on that way for another minute or two as he detailed the attack and Cifka’s condition. Then, his tone softening, Hawkins turned more paternal, shifting his attention from the wounded soldier to those standing before him. “I want you to talk about this with each other,” he said. “I want you to talk about Cifka, talk about your times doing stuff with him. Keep a positive attitude because that’s what he would want. And remember: He’s alive, not dead.”
His open compassion suggested a changed perception of the internal ravages of war, and offered an example of a slowly rising sensitivity among senior officers to combat-related stress. “I still have some of the ‘suck it up’ mentality when it comes to day-to-day stuff,” said Hawkins, 35, of Boulder, Col., who has returned to Afghanistan 11 years after his first tour here. “But when you have big events like this — injuries to guys — it’s important that guys know they can talk. You don’t want them just staying in their rooms. That’s how they can wind up having problems.” The war in Afghanistan, nearing its 12th anniversary, and the eight-year war in Iraq that ended in 2011 illuminated the mental burden of combat across a generation of troops. A Veterans Affairs study last year found that almost one-third of Afghanistan and Iraq war veterans treated at VA hospitals and clinics suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder.
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Downrange, no longer suffering the code of silence - News - Stripes