14. April. Joe Biden announced the complete withdrawal of US troops from Afghanistan.
July 21. Half of Afghanistan is under the control of the Taliban.
August 8. Kunduz fell.
August 13th. Four more provincial capitals fell.
August 14. Mazar-i-Sharif fell.
August 15. Kabul fell.
John Clenson followed the Taliban’s offense. He saw pictures of men wearing turbans and rocket launchers on the streets of Kabul, and pictures of people desperate for barbed wire at the airport. He saw the women painted on the posters and the young men who were afraid of death clutching the plane that was taking off.
An old Vietnam War friend called him: “Hey, don’t watch the news. Get out of there. This will drive you crazy.” His wife, Carrie, said, turning off the TV. Even so, he couldn’t help but watch the news. He is not sleeping well now.
Since the Taliban took control of Afghanistan, many veterans in the United States have had a bad life. They doubt their sense of commitment and struggle with traumatic memories. More and more men and women are seeking spiritual support from veterans organizations.
Death, injury and invisible injury
The Afghan War is the longest war in the history of the United States. 800,000 American soldiers were deployed. Nearly 2,500 people were killed and more than 20,000 were injured. To this day, countless people still suffer invisible harm.
John Clenson even said: Everyone suffers from it. He is too. Even today, even if he was deployed in Afghanistan 17 years ago. After the fall of the Taliban government, shortly after NATO took over the command of the International Security Assistance Force, he came to Kabul as a liaison officer for the NATO armed forces. He stayed in Afghanistan for nine months and then in Iraq in 2010.
When he was stationed in Kabul, he said it was relatively stable. “Maybe a missile strike a week, not a continuous combat situation.” Clenson’s child was three and a half years old at the time. His wife said today that she did not know how she spent this time. With the children alone, the husband is always in danger. She recently noticed that she no longer has any memories of it.
On a hot day in August, they were all sitting on the porch somewhere in southern Tennessee. Clenson was wearing a beige baseball cap with the words “Vietnamese Veterans” written on it, Carrie tucked her glasses into her hair, and the dog-a large mass of white fur-rubbed her lap. From the balcony, you can overlook the dense cornfields, shaded by trees, and the only sound is the buzzing of wind and insects. It is in stark contrast to the chaos and despair in Kabul.
“But I still saw their faces,” Clenson said. “Maybe I have another picture.” He found it immediately and saved it on his phone. The photo shows him 40 years old, between two children in an orphanage in Afghanistan. One child may be only twelve years old and the other not more than two years old. It sat confidently on the American soldier’s lap. “I always wanted to know how these two girls are now,” Clenson said.
Then he talked about Harry. No picture of Harry, no address, no phone number. However, he followed John in his mind. Harry’s name was actually different, but he just wanted to be called that by the Americans. He runs the safe house where the Krensen unit in Kabul is located.
