I got a story for you all. When I was unhappily locked up in Okinawa, Camp Kinser (sausage fest) I felt the oppression, depression, and imprisonment unlike most Marines in the USMC. I’m talking about we had to march to the chow hall, march to work etc. If we had to go to the PX the Sgt. would literally make us walk in fire teams, like the grunts do in echelons, with the “supposed” rifle man, fire team leader and machine gunner. We would look stupid going to get haircuts, etc. in fire team formations.
We would then form it up to form it up right out side barracks 1224 for 45+ minutes with the fat drop (Forrest Gump) style kind of rain. The Sgt. would then make us get in a straight line and police call the football field. We were ordered to pick up all the white daisy flowers. But it was not your average police call, we had to stand at attention, forward march one step, stop, bend over, and pick up a white daisy. We went from goal post to goal post for, let’s say, 600 yards back and forth. We were then ordered to field day our rooms. The Chinese way. Note that we lived on the fourth deck and had to carry all of our shit out to the parking lot. The Sgt. (with a beer in his hand and his Japanese girlfriend waiting in his room) would order us to skuz brush the deck like recruits do in bootcamp. We would do this for, let’s see, till 0330 or something. It did not matter how clean we made our rooms because the Sgt. would just “find” dirt somewhere and tell us to clean. This Sgt. would make sure he PT’d us for a very long time, so that when we came back to our barracks, showered, shit, shaved we barely had enough time for chow and if we were a minute late, the Sgt. would be waiting with a charge sheet.
At work, we would be ordered to move shit to one corner, then another corner, then another corner etc. On the way back to the barracks we would always be ordered to type a 1000 word essay on stuff like “why I love the USMC, why was Chesty Puller great, what does it mean to have Espirit de Corps etc.” and would be ordered to take it to the Sgt’s room at 0000 sharp. Mind we had to get up at 0430, to form it up at 0445, so the Sgt. can take us on a run at 0545, come back and be at work by 0730 sharp or else. We would constantly get harrassed with this beer holding Sgt., mind that we were not allowed to drink at all but the Sgt. would chug his beers in front of us while we were getting our asses chewed in the common lounge. The Sgt. would later order us to have our rooms uniformed, even though he had a couch, big screen tv, two racks put together to make a kind size bed, but we had to be “uniform” because that is what Marines do.
This is when it hit me. This is when I realized that this Sgt. did not fuck with us cause we fucked up, he fucked with us because he was cynical and the higher ups did not give a damn at all. This is when I realized that I made a big mistake coming to Okinawa prison. I soon hated putting on the uniform. I soon hated the Eagle Globe and Anchor because I thought that it was full of cannibals that enjoyed hurting their own. That is when me and a couple of other Marines became “shit bags” but in reality we just stopped caring about “Espirit de Corps.” This unit was so bad that Marines in Iraq would porpusefully extend so that they wouldn’t have to deal with garrison bull shit. This is the tip of the ice berg and I will soon write part 2 of my Okinawa experience.
Submitted by: “free_bird”