A Soldier Speaks: Sean Huze

Editor's Note: This is the last in a series of profiles of some of the tens of thousands of Iraq War veterans who have come home bearing the scars of battle – emotional and physical wounds that may never heal unless the nation pays them the attention and care that they deserve. We at AlterNet believe that in an election defined by a deep and bitter partisan divide, it is the one issue that can and must bring us all together as Americans.

Sean Huze was once a true believer. The day after the Sept. 11 attacks, the actor walked into the nearest recruiter's office in Los Angeles and enlisted himself in the United States Marine Corps. Sixteen months later, he was headed for Iraq as part of the 2nd Light Armored Reconnaissance Battalion, leaving behind his wife and young son.

The same idealism and belief in President Bush's war on terror that prompted Sean to enlist sustained him through a long and dangerous tour of duty. His first taste of battle: a 12-hour fire-fight just outside Al Nassiriyah. His unit – which was involved in battles from Al Kut to Baghdad and Tikrit – was recognized over and again for its tenacity and courage. Sean's own list of combat achievements were just as long: a Certificate of Commendation citing his “courage and self sacrifice throughout sustained combat operations”; the Combat Action Ribbon; Meritorious Promotion for Corporal; the Presidential Unit Citation, the National Defense Service Medal, and on and on.

Sean Huze was one tough, committed Marine.

His first months back at home were blissful, spent reveling in the warmth of a hero's welcome. But then there was the discovery of internal nerve damage that had gone undetected in Iraq. His terrible headaches were diagnosed as a post-concussive condition caused by injuries suffered during a truck accident.

The pain of betrayal, however, would be far harder to bear. When he discovered that none of the reasons offered by his commander inchief to justify the Iraq war were true, Sean found himself falling into despair. He started pouring his heart out in a journal, which would eventually become the basis for a play, "The Sandstorm." The Los Angeles Times praised "The Sandstorm" for its "shocking force and awesome honesty" in capturing the stark, terrible reality of war.

Sean sees the play as an affirmation of other veterans questioning the the war – be it the reasons for war or the way it's being fought. He says, "Be it Operation Truth or Iraq Veterans Against the War, we're not lone voices. We're part of a gathering storm."

As for making peace with his inner pain, Sean says the wounds may never heal. But that, he says, is a good thing: "When you're part of something that's wrong, I don't know if you should feel okay about it. I don't know if it should heal. I hope it always hurts."

Sean spoke to AlterNet via phone from Los Angeles.

Is there one memory from the war that still stays with you?

There was a little Iraqi girl – probably four or five years old. I remember her giving me a peace sign. It was probably 10 or 15 miles south of Baghdad [during the invasion] when the kids would all come running out. She was just a beautiful little girl. What stays with me is her innocence.

I gave her the peace sign right back, of course. And her little face just lit up. But the difference was my lack of innocence. When I gave her the peace sign, well, it was just bad, I guess. It was not the road we were on – not the road we're on now. You could say my job as a soldier was the direct opposite of that – peace.

When you look back, how has this war changed you?

I can never be the man I was before I left for Iraq. I had a lot of faith. I was a true believer in the administration's justification for the war – about the weapons of mass destruction and Iraq being an imminent threat. I believed in what we were doing when we were over there.