I was scrolling on my phone as the gate agents worked through the preflight boarding groups. “Families with children under two. Those who need extra time to board.” As usual, one or two people or families presented their boarding passes and disappeared into the jet bridge. “Active duty military are now invited to board, thank you for your service.” I didn’t notice them at first, but after the third beep of a boarding pass, I looked up out of curiosity to see a line of at least 50 soldiers, the men with tan rucksacks and sharp fades and the women with long hair wrapped into almost identical buns. They couldn’t be past their early 20s, but they carried themselves like they had done this trip before. They were not scared new recruits. And every one of them had brown skin like mine.
The war with Iran had just begun. I don’t know if they were coming or going, but I couldn’t help but wonder what brought them all into that life. Was it necessity or a sense of call or duty? Were the options before them so few that they were willing to take risks and make sacrifices for an administration that would so readily deny their citizenship? Or did they believe in an America I didn’t see? I wondered if they were fulfilled, or conflicted, or numb, or just trying to do a job.
Eventually, my boarding group was called. I found my seat and there I was, sitting in their midst as they flicked through movies or dozed off or scrolled through their phones or chatted with their fellow soldiers.
