When the War Comes Home on an ICE Jobsite

I got a call a couple hours ago. It was from a young man who is very dear to me. He lives in Texas with his wife and young children. I have known him for many years. He served in the Army. Fifteen years ago, he was deployed in Iraq. That experience changed him forever.

The young guy did most of the talking. He wanted to tell me about his work pumping concrete at construction sites. He lives in the country, and a lot of his jobs are in the Bryan/College Station area. He told me that six out of eight of his company’s recent jobs were cancelled because ICE agents were grabbing people who looked illegal to them.

He had mentioned to me previously that almost all of the concrete finishers on the jobsites were Latinos. During the last few days, very few of them have been showing up for work, so the young man has not been able to work either. In general, he likes to work with the Latinos. They bust their ass on the job. In the past, they have been friendly and shared their food with him.

He went off on a tangent for a moment and said, “Well, if things get bad pumping concrete, I might just join up with ICE. I don’t know what else I would be able to do.”

I thought to myself, “Jesus Christ, don’t do that.” I didn’t reply out loud to his comment. I could imagine the conversation going down a deep rabbit hole.

At one point, the young man asked me, “What do you think of that woman who got killed in Minnesota?”

I replied, “I got some thoughts. It’s not a good idea to surprise a guy carrying a loaded gun.”

The young man said, “She was coming at him at high speed.”

I got pissed off. “No, she wasn’t!”

He answered me, “Yeah, well, I would have done the same thing he did.”

I responded, “I know you would. If somebody started coming at you, you would be right back in Iraq.”

I felt scared and hurt, nearly shaking. The young guy was speaking the stone-cold truth. If he had been in that situation, he would have pumped four rounds into the woman too. I know that in my heart. He would have been at war again.

I had actually been thinking about the killing of Renee Good before the young man called me. I have been wondering if the ICE agent was a combat vet. I have been wondering if he had PTSD like the young man I know. Did the shooter just react? Was the decision to shoot automatic? Was he suddenly back in a very scary place far, far away from Minneapolis? Did he bring the war back home like my young man?

I don’t know. I can’t know.

The young man knew I was upset. He told me, “Well, I took a different path. I’m not an ICE agent.”

I replied, “I’m glad.”

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Frank (Francis) Pauc is a graduate of West Point, Class of 1980. He completed the Military Intelligence Basic Course at Fort Huachuca and then went to Flight School at Fort Rucker. Frank was stationed with the 3rd Armor Division in West Germany at Fliegerhorst Airfield from December 1981 to January 1985. He flew Hueys and Black Hawks and was next assigned to the 7th Infantry Division at Fort Ord, CA. He got the hell out of the Army in August 1986.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.