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Remove your barbed wire

Written by Andrew Caskey

As I wander into the office, freshly brewed coffee and fries from Burger King fill the

space. Fingers are striking away at keys as the clattering is emitted over voices. At that

moment, it dawned on me just how unfamiliar I was with the new work environment. I drift

around the room like a shadow watching the other workers busy assisting someone at their

station. After finding my way to the desk that I'll soon take over, I notice how the oversized

leather chair is positioned to have my back towards the only wall with windows for the room. I

felt shocked but a little relieved. I realized that I'm not staring at a wall with triple strand barbed

wire on top of traditional Korean architecture every day. But, this desk is special because it's

situated to observe the work performance of everyone else in the office. It's also special

because it belonged to Chief.

During my three-week transition training, CW3 Tarpley taught everything he had

accomplished over two years. I watched and noted day-in and day-out how he ran through his

daily routine. I zealously gathered that Chief loved to take care of Soldiers. He would give out

his number to help anyone with their problem, even if he were in a store line. Issues were as

simple as a five-minute solution to a family emergency that would take a few days to resolve.

After watching Chief call in a few favors from his network of peers, I curiously ask, "Why

did you do that?"

"Never make a permanent decision off a temporary mindset," Chief would passionately

say.

I listened as he devotedly explained his theory that rash decision-making only occurs

because a person feels inaction on their issues. Instead of watching Soldiers struggle, Chief

would sacrifice his time and energy to ensure they were heard and a problem was solved.

Regardless of whether he had to stop all the daily requirements that forced him to stay after the

close of business.
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A year had passed since I last saw Chief in South Korea. I will never forget waking up to

read, "I'll see you in the next life." My heart immediately sank to the deepest part of my stomach,

and my hands clenched onto the phone as calls came in from former co-workers reaching out.

We each broke the worst imaginable news that Chief took his life the night before. His famous

quote in Korea quickly turned to a call for suicide prevention within our community. We

reinforced our commitment to each other by struggling to get the words out between cracked

voices to say:

"Call someone if you are having thoughts about suicide."

Suicide has significantly affected our military. Nearly twice as many service members

have died from suicide between July and September of last year than since the start of the

coronavirus pandemic. We have felt helpless because of the fears of speaking out about suicide

ideation. We believe we will no longer progress to the next level in our career or loss an

opportunity in the military. I am a person who sought help after suicide ideation, and I am now

on a path to Commission as an Army Officer.

Recalling the window by Chief's desk in South Korea. I didn't want to look out the

window because of the barbed wire sitting on top of the gorgeous traditional Korean

architecture. Red tiles made of clay were stacked and layered perfectly on top of a towering

wall. Like suicidal ideation, we stop looking at the life we spent building and the beauty sitting on

top, that is, being alive. We place a jagged and sharp barrier outward, impeding us from talking

about our feelings or suicidal thoughts with others. Break the cycle of turning our backs away

from other people's windows and commit to being ready to help remove their barbed wire. Let

us promise to each other that it's okay to reach out for help. We need to make this commitment

before it's too late for the next person.