Vincent Safuto’s Weblog

Notes and observations

Fanatics are losing it over the military

In 1982, anti-Constitutionalist fanatics took away my gun.

I was serving in the U.S. Marine Corps at MCAS Yuma, Ariz., and was living on base and in the barracks for VMA-513, a Harrier squadron based at the air station. I worked in the Avionics Shop, which took care of electrical systems of the AV-8A Harriers.

Like many people living in Arizona at the time, I thought it might be fun to own a gun. There was some hostility toward members of the military back then, and we were near the border with Mexico, and there had been a mass shooting in California. We had to be able to defend ourselves on base.

I bought a gun off someone in town, someone I knew from my weekends at Yuma Rollerland, and soon was going off into the desert with my comrades to fire off .22 ammunition and trying with no success to wing a rabbit.

We stored the guns in our barracks’ rooms, and one fellow even bought a whole kit for “reloading” his brass. Some nights, we’d have gun-cleaning parties where we’d sit down at tables in our rooms, drink beer and clean our pistols, pose for pictures with them and then store the weapons in our wall lockers.

Of course, we had all been issued M-16 service rifles, but the communists who ran the base insisted that they be stored in the base armory, not in our rooms, so we could not defend ourselves if enemies attacked the base or someone threatened our Constitutional rights. Only the military police were allowed to have guns and ammunition, but we had evened the score on that account now.

Once a month, we had to go to the armory and clean our M-16s. What a chore it was to stand outside for a half-hour and go through the drill we had learned at Parris Island. Then we’d have to surrender it to the Pfc. in the air-conditioned armory, and he’d inspect it and then let us know if we had to clean it again or if it was acceptable. Would you believe, they wouldn’t even let us have ammunition for our M-16s? Horror.

The Department of Defense apparently then was under the influence of someone named Barry Obama, because they wouldn’t let us have our M-16s and ammunition for the rifles in the barracks. Why, liberals might have invaded the base and we’d be defenseless until the MPs woke up.

I went on leave for a time and came back to the base to learn that while I was gone an old rule had started to be enforced on the base: no more personal weapons in the barracks. Now, today, we’d immediately be on the phone to Fox News and every conservative website in the land, howling about how we were being subjected to arbitrary enforcement of military rules, and who were our Marine commanders to tell us how to live in the barracks? And all because a Marine had committed suicide with his personal pistol while I was gone.

There’d be a hue and cry throughout the land, and maybe armed World War II, Korea and Vietnam veterans would come out and guard the base for us, and bring us food and other comforts while teaching us about how the Department of Defense was run by morons. It was bad enough that we couldn’t wear our camouflage utilities off base, and had to either wear our Class-A or Class-C uniforms, or – horror of horrors – dress in civilian clothing.

I was advised that I had to give my weapon and ammunition to the officer in charge of the Avionics shop, and if I wanted the gun back to go shooting, I had to go through the unbelievable and illegal process of asking him. It was so degrading. I mean, even though if I asked him before he went home for lunch, he’d have the gun for me when he came back in the afternoon. The nerve of the Marine Corps for trying to dictate how I should live in its barracks. The nerve.

I suppose I was such a sheep back then, trained to obedience by the evil government, that I did what I was told. The officer seemed glad and I had no idea of the violation of my personal rights. One day, I found someone who’d buy the weapon and had to endure the humiliation of asking the shop officer if I could have it back.

Would you believe that this man, whose only authority over me was because he was a warrant officer in the Marines and the first officer in my chain of command, actually had the nerve to ask me why I wanted the weapon.

I told him I was going to sell it. The next day (I had to wait a whole day, even though I wasn’t going to town until the weekend.) my bag was there in the shop. I thanked the officer, but I should have taken him to task for limiting my holy rights to my gun.

That weekend, I sold the gun to someone who was allowed to live free and without communist government rules over his head. I still ache today when I think of my beloved .22, which I had to sell because the military had such silly rules about having weapons, and the violation of my holy, god-given constitutional rights.

Every day, in every way, the government degrades the military by passing down orders. Why, the other day, the Department of Defense had to insane audacity to recommend that Marine Corps recruiters not wear their uniforms for a couple of days until the hysteria dies down over the shootings in Chattanooga. Why, I’d demand that all Marines everywhere, no matter their billet, dress in the highest level of dress uniform they own, even if they’re going to be fixing airplanes or working in the chow hall.

Just to show the evil anti-Americans in our country who don’t worship the military that we won’t surrender, ever.

My surrender to the rules of the military pains me to this day. I’m just glad I have no oath to obey my traitorous military commanders or their superior, who hates the military.

Why, I may take up a shovel and go stand by a military recruiting station to show my loyalty, and maybe grab some Krispy Kremes on the way for the recruiters. Though I wonder: If we feed them too much, won’t they have to buy new dress uniforms?


July 24, 2015 - Posted by | Life lessons, Living in the modern age | , , , , ,

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