In 1995, I was deployed as a United Nations Peacekeeper to the Former Republic of Yugoslavia (FRY). Our base was located at a place called Camp Pleso, in Zagreb, Croatia. The murders, rapes, and torture committed by one ethnic group against another in that region received a coldblooded label — “ethnic cleansing.” While talking to survivors in overcrowded refugee camps and orphanages, I slowly realized this tragedy could happen anywhere. All it would take is for one group of people to believe they had the right to do whatever they wanted to another group of people.



As a chaplain for the 60th Medical Group in Travis AFB, I deployed with the 150 plus medical professionals to provide pastoral care for the supporting American contingent at Camp Pleso otherwise known as the Joint Task Force - Operation Provide Promise (Forward) and the United Nations Peacekeeper troops convalescing at our medical center.



Over 7,000 Muslims were slaughtered by Serbian military and paramilitary forces in Srebrenica, a UN “safe haven,” during my deployment — before NATO’s involvement. We also were rocketed by Serbian forces during that deployment. Our bunkers saved us. Unfortunately, the civilians in Zagreb did not fare as well.



I met some incredibly selfless UN staff and soldiers during my deployment. Several of them had been shot by snipers. One older gentleman from the UK was visited by his wife because of his dire prognosis. When I asked him about his future plans, thinking I would hear him talk about a desk job somewhere safe, he said he was staying and that he would continue to orchestrate food and medical runs to pockets of people who were trapped by paramilitary thugs. He had a gunshot wound that had almost taken off his arm. He showed me the specially made steel cored, high caliber, sniper round that had easily punctured his baby blue UN flak jacket. I thought at the time that this man needs to be presented to the world as a saint or as a hero or both or maybe he needed to be examined by a shrink.



The title Peacekeeper became absurd to me during that deployment. There was no peace to keep in that uncivil civil war. When the 60th Medical Group returned stateside, three members of our medical team committed suicide within a year. I officiated two of those memorials. To the best of my knowledge: one had either picked up a drug habit or it had gotten worse during his deployment, one was involved in a problematic relationship, and one remains a total mystery to me to this day. I relay these tragic facts as a way of showing that some of our team internalized their depression after our deployment. Most adjusted. Some evidently did not adjust. Military members and Veterans suffer from a much higher rate of suicide than the general public, almost twice the rate according to several reliable sources.



As a chaplain I felt that getting our people away from Camp Pleso and doing some good for the people of that region not only helped the Croatians but also helped us. Camp Pleso had a heavy drinking culture. To the best of my recollection it seemed like all the soldiers from around the world were in some sort of unofficial drinking rivalry. One night, not being able to put up with this nonsense any longer, I even approached the executive officer of the JTF in the early Sunday morning hours and asked him when his raucous drinking party would end because I had a worship service to officiate in a few hours. He told me to put some earplugs in my ears and go back to sleep. I cursed his very under my breath as I trudged back to my cot and then a miracle happened - his Bacchanal party of inconsiderate oafs abruptly stopped their alcohol soaked howling.



Taking people off the base to deliver whatever-we-could-scourge “care” packages to refugee camps and orphanages allowed some of us, the ones not so inclined to drink ourselves into oblivion, to get to know the brave and resourceful Croatians. We even participated in a few pick-up games of soccer at the refugee camps. We mostly got beaten by the young men at the refugee camps but that was part of the fun. The smiles those young Croatians had when they bested the “tough” Americans still gives me a smile every time I think back to those days. Visiting the orphanages helped many of us cope with our heartache in missing our own children. Me included. The success of these field trips was tamped down by the same executive officer who said that we could be targeted by bad faith actors. My excursions were capped at twenty individuals.



After six months our contingent of the 60th Medical Group returned to Travis AFB. Most wiser for wear.