Most of the time, I have serious issues with hating cops or military personnel on a general level. I know soldiers, and cops, and for the most part, they’re good people. Some of them are even my role models, or at the least, people I look up to.

But then I see all the things that their coworkers, or people in their field of work have done. The cover-ups of civilian killings in Afghanistan. Drone strikes in Pakistan. Beating innocent people to death just for the ‘fun’ of it. Shooting downed, incapacitated suspects. The sexual assaults of various women, and men. Blatant abuses of power. All of these acts go unpunished; murderers and rapists walk free because they’re wearing a badge or a unit insignia. I want these people, who believe themselves to be immune from all forms of punishment, to spent the remainder of their lives in a cage, or awaiting a noose.

I feel a great sense of injustice, and I simply hope that one day a lawyer, judge, jury, or even an individual with the will to shoot, does something that makes the western world step back, look at who they’ve been worshiping as heroes, and grit their collective teeth in anger at what they’ve been allowing to occur right under their noses for centuries.

Canada’s Secret War, The Story of the Medak Pocket

Unheard of by most, the Canadian and French defense of the Medak Pocket in September of 1993 is considered the heaviest fighting faced by Canadians since the Korean War, likely until the Afghanistan mission of 2002. Nearly half of those fighting with the PPCLI were part-time reservists.

The Pacific Coast Militia Rangers

During the Second World War, many Commonwealth nations formed official home defense groups as a means of dealing with possible attacks by Japanese or German forces, as much of their military strength was concentrated overseas in Europe and the Pacific. Canada, a country facing threats on both the east and west coasts, relied heavily on militias and other informal military units to patrol the vast territories that make up its ten provinces and three territories. After the bombing of Pearl Harbor, rumors spread about a possible Japanese attack on British Columbia. In order to quell the public’s worries, the provincial and federal governments worked together to form the Pacific Coast Militia Rangers in 1942 as a semi-official branch of the Canadian military. This option was chosen because many members of the government believed that local militias, which primarily operated out of populated cities or towns, were unsuited for the task of patrolling the vast British Columbian wilderness.

Primarily made up of loggers, trappers, prospectors, and miners, the PCMR’s mission was relatively simple; to patrol British Columbia, protect it’s people from raids by Japanese infiltration groups, and to counter any attempt at a full-scale Japanese invasion of the Canadian West Coast. Many men who served in the PCMR were either too old or too young to fight in the Canadian Army, and many of them were veterans of the First World War. Because of the geographical distance between PCMR detachments, many of the militiamen went officially untrained, and relied mostly on members with prior military experience or those who had attended Ranger training to teach them the basics of fighting and patrolling. Because of this, the PCMR began publishing a magazine called The Ranger, which featured articles revolving around combat, survival, and various other tasks militiamen were expected to understand.

The PCMR’s choice of weapons varied throughout the years. Initially armed with their own personal weapons, several armories were able to supply surplus P14 Enfields, SMLE No.1s, and Ross rifles. The Rangers quickly bulk-ordered thousands of Winchester Model 1894 lever-action carbines in .30WCF (.30-30) in an effort to ease logistical concerns. These Winchesters were exceptionally popular given their weight, and became the iconic rifle of the group; they are easily discernible by their markings and cotton tan Lee-Enfield slings. Various other small arms were issued to members of the PCMR, such as Marlin lever-actions and Winchester Model 1895s, but were never as widespread or popular as the Model 94 was. After the PCMR were disbanded in 1945, former militiamen were given the option of buying their rifles for $5 from the Canadian government. Today, those same rifles can command costs of up to $1200 (Most Model 94s in Canada range from $300-$600).

Though the PCMR was exceptionally lax with regards to dress code, almost all militiamen wore an armband and a fisherman’s hat or beret with a cap badge denoting their service in the PCMR. Tan and green shirts and pants were popular, as can be seen from the various pictures in the photoset. First Nations people also made up a significant portion of the PCMR; in the January 1945 issue of The Ranger was written “Appropriately enough the man on this month’s cover is an Indian. No one is more fitted to take part in the defense of this province than the native son, for his heritage as a British Columbian runs far back into the beginning of time. We are glad to have his native skill and woodcraft working against the common enemy.” Given the racist attitudes towards First Nations peoples at the time, this was an incredibly progressive statement to make.

The Pacific Coast Militia Rangers were officially disbanded on September 30th, 1945, almost a month after the end of the Second World War. Though they never saw action against the Japanese, they acted as firefighters, lifesavers, and search-and-rescue teams during their short service to the people of British Columbia. If they had faced their intended enemy, it has been suggested they would have acted in a manner similar to the Russian partisans of the Eastern front, carrying out hit-and-run attacks, sabotaging Japanese operations, and disrupting supply lines. Today, very little information exists regarding the PCMR, as most of the group’s veterans have since died, and very little has been written about the subject. In many ways, their legacy lives on with the Canadian Rangers, who have since taken on the role the Pacific Coast Militia Rangers across all of Canada.

In total, fifteen thousand (15,000) British Columbians served in the PCMR, in a total of one hundred and thirty seven (137) companies, ranging from Vancouver to the Gulf Islands to the Queen Charlotte Islands.

More Information:
- Esquimalt Naval & Military Museum
- Canadian Soldiers
- Nambu World
- Whonnock Community Website

(Article by Austin Herrmann, thespookyscarygentleman.tumblr.com/thearmedgentleman.tumblr.com)

The Volunteer

You think about back home. Don’t lie. Most people out here do. You’re from a far away land, wondering why you enlisted in the first place. You think of the light snow drizzling over the trees of your homeland, where your newly bought cottage out on the ocean coast awaits you when you return as a hero. That’s the thing about you people, you get welcomed home as heroes. Your partner will embrace you, your family will bring you homecoming presents, maybe even present you with the family’s honored blade. But that’s not how it is for me, or anyone like me. This burnt, battered, and broken city is my home.

Don’t look shocked. You’ve known I’m not one of your people the second I decided to slide into this foxhole with you. Probably the lack of a beard or one of your flashy religious necklaces, which, by the way, will get you killed if you don’t rub some dirt on it. No, it’s not sacrilegious, if you Gods created this earth I don’t see why they’d throw you in the underworld for letting them get a little closer to it. There we go. Probably increased your chance at living through this by about three percent, give or take.

Yes. I’m a volunteer. Not everyone who lived here before that asshole forced himself into office just hid in their homes like little children from the bogeyman at night. You don’t know what a ‘bogeyman’ is? Not gonna explain it, sorry.

Your army needed guides into this place. Doesn’t matter how many braids you’ve got in that beard of yours, or how many rifles you’ve put in the hands of how many men. We know this city, my people and I, because we lived here. Because contrary to popular belief, this place used to be a world-class city. Five star hotels, ski resorts, and even fucking sports arenas. In fact, I think fourth company is running supplies out of the big sports arena downtown. But that’s all besides the point. All the ‘volunteers’ like me that your good-looking recruiters managed to entice into joining your army were political dissidents, outcasts, and overall punks who got thrown onto the island you found us on to starve in their camps. They wanted a world class city, alright, even if it meant removing the ‘trash’.

Why did I get detained? Nah, I wasn’t a gutterpunk, but my buddy Nolan over in sixth company is, same with his brother, who’s in ninth… I think. I could be wrong. No, I was a political activist. Anarchist, actually, but not your type of anarchist. I was anarcho-socialist, back in the day. Showed up at a few too many protests, and eventually the cops set up a permanent file on me. When our dear beloved took power, he used those files to find every single person on serious record, especially for political crimes. The libertarians and state socialists got it the worst, most of them were simply taken out into the forest and shot, some were even made ‘examples’ of. They pulled me out of my political science class one day and handcuffed me. Man, I kicked and screamed like a little bitch, screaming about my rights. See this scar here? Yeah, the one on my chin. That’s from when one of the cops got tired of my flapping lips and bashed me in the face with his rifle. Told me I didn’t have any rights. I promised myself I’d prove him wrong, and so far I’m doing a pretty good job.

Yeah, when your buddies arrived, I hid. The last few camp guards flipped their shit when a bunch of bearded, camouflaged soldiers, bayonets fixed, and led by a massive motherfucker wielding a beaten up iron sword and screaming at the top of their lungs charged out of the bushes. Those last few guards ran or dropped their guns. One of them tried to shoot back, from my memory, but he was shot dead and impaled by a longsword and a few bayonets seconds later. That’s when I realized these weren’t some resistance types, or even military defectors. I studied military history and the last I remembered of anyone brazenly charging into battle like that was in the ’40s. Then the ‘occupation’ force rolled in, and considering you weren’t exactly a military force and maybe two of you spoke Gaeladian Praetannic, I assumed you weren’t from around.

How’d I end up enlisting? Oh, when you’re living in a sealed off suburban containment zone designed to destroy your non-sanctioned beliefs of lifestyles, it’s pretty big news when a man in olive-drab fatigues with a two-handed axe strapped to his back starts talking about his employer’s desire to recruit locals as guides or attaches to regular combat units. Most of us volunteered or made up our minds to when the bloke told us we’d be alongside the men and women landing on the mainland. I signed my enlistment papers that very fucking half hour. They ended up using a recently abandoned military base to house us during our month-long training. It was pretty basic stuff, marching, bayonet practice, physical training, et cetera. Only thing I had trouble with were the guns, since I’d never dealt with them before. This younger bloke, maybe eighteen at best, seemed to know his way around guns and ended up actually teaching me to field strip my MKb. Last I heard about him was that he was assigned to the parachute company that went in over downtown; they got shot up pretty bad so I have no idea if he lived or not. I hope he did, he seemed like a decent kid.

How do I feel about this type of anarchism? Man, I don’t know, your whole ‘warrior culture anarcho-voluntaryism’ shit is some of the weirdest stuff I’ve ever experienced. I’d spent my whole life living under a ‘moderate’ government that had no interest in anything beyond money and power. When they saw the chance, they threw out everyone they didn’t want. It’s sort of weird being part of a military that isn’t government, you know? I guess you don’t know. I grew up in a society where the only armed groups were law enforcement and the military, we couldn’t own guns here and private security was outlawed. I agreed with those measures right up until they threw me in handcuffs.

Anyways, we’re both in the same regiment, you know just as well as I do what happened during our initial assault. Once the paratroopers took downtown and secured the coast, we rolled out onto the beach in our up-armored jeeps and mopped up what remained of the resistance. You were with Yorvaskr company? I had no idea you transferred over here, seemed like you got along with everyone pretty easily so I just assumed you were part of the section. Ah well.

Well, my company spent a good four days rooting out law enforcement officers and disorganized patches of part time soldiers here in downtown. Most of them just surrendered when they saw us, though a couple of federal drug enforcement cunts threw a nice ambush before the infantry fighting vehicle in front of the truck I was in cleared out the building they were in with white phosphorous rounds. You’ve never seen those used? Try to avoid it, the screams that came from the target are still clear as day in my mind. Can’t avoid it? Cover your damn ears and hum yourself a song.

How do I feel about where we’re sitting now? You mean in this muddy dugout foxhole filled with shell casings and three day old rations that smell like baby shit? Can’t say I’d miss it if I were gone.

You hear that? They’re calling up the fucking line, we’re advancing across the city park. You know what to do, fix bayonets and stay low, just a walk in the… Huh, it’s actually just a walk in the park. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. Don’t be a hero, cover your ears when they drop white phos, deshine your damn religious symbols, and kill the enemy. No big deal, eh?

Austin’s Opinons and You: The Military

Given the recent controversy on my dash regarding a fellow anarchist’s opinions on the military, I thought I’d put my two cents into the pot here.

I can’t say I know how to feel about the military. While I’m a hundred percent supportive of it’s abolition and replacement by militias, private security groups, or voluntary defense forces, I can’t bring myself to hate it like other anarchists, socialists, libertarians, and ‘liberals’ do. With the intent of joining the CF Army Reserves in the very near future (Voluntary deployments, no signed contract, get training in return for my tax dollars being returned to me in my paycheck, et cetera) in my mind, I find it very hard to choose between my beliefs as an anarchist, and the history and familial ties I have with the state’s armies.

I suppose I look at it this way; if we were to live in a society without the rule of the state, I would most likely be joining a militia or voluntary defense force. I feel more at home under a shitty tarp while it’s raining, freezing my balls off in northern British Columbia than I do working a regular job. To put it mildly, I find the discomforts associated with frivolously marching up and down gravel squares or carrying a heavy pack an extra mile because your group leader read his map wrong more strengthening to my resolve than fetching a toy for a whiny child in a department store.

The point I’m trying to make is, discomfort is where I feel most at home. Whether I’m simply hiking up north, teaching new militia members how to clean their rifles, or pointlessly getting lost during a training exercise with a state military, I would go mad if my whole life was spent at a desk or running around a goddamn Canadian tire. I can only stand so many straight weeks of intellectual pursuits before needing to spend some time in the oh-so-miserable outside world. When the military is eventually abolished and replaced, I will cheer. But until then, I’m being offered the opportunity to train in martial skills and get some of the money the state robbed from me back.

Yeah, I’m not a very good anarchist.

taco-man-andre:

When Canadians get bored…

An accurate representation of life in the Canadian Forces.

taco-man-andre:

When Canadians get bored…

An accurate representation of life in the Canadian Forces.

(Source: canadian-pacific)

In order to dissuade as many Call of Duty players from joining the Canadian Forces, I have to post this. Because this is essentially what military life is like, not some sort of Michael Bay movie where you get a codename.

omarisme:

“I have sat back and assessed the incident with the video of our Marines urinating on Taliban corpses. I do not recall any self-righteous indignation when our Delta snipers Shugart and Gordon had their bodies dragged through Mogadishu. Neither do I recall media outrage and condemnation of our Blackwater security contractors being killed, their bodies burned, and hung from a bridge in Fallujah.

“All these over-emotional pundits and armchair quarterbacks need to chill. Does anyone remember the two Soldiers from the 101st Airborne Division who were beheaded and gutted in Iraq?

“The Marines were wrong. Give them a maximum punishment under field grade level Article 15 (non-judicial punishment), place a General Officer level letter of reprimand in their personnel file, and have them in full dress uniform stand before their Battalion, each personally apologize to God, Country, and Corps videotaped and conclude by singing the full US Marine Corps Hymn without a teleprompter.

“As for everyone else, unless you have been shot at by the Taliban, shut your mouth, war is hell.”Allen West

Now here’s the type of shit I don’t like seeing. And no, I’m actually going to take the side of the ‘over emotional pundits’ because quite honestly, I find the actions taken by these Marines to be undignified and dishonorable towards both the United States Marine Corps, and towards the people of Afghanistan, whether they be civilians, or Taliban.

The Taliban fighters shown in the video were killed in action. They’re war dead, just like Coalition troops who are killed by IEDs or rifle rounds or shrapnel. As civilians in a Coalition state the Taliban are the enemy, but that by no means justifies this sort of disrespect to those with enough will (What a horrible thought!) to pick up a Kalashnikov instead of strapping on a bomb vest; yeah, the Taliban’s leaders are psychotic murderers, but it doesn’t mean they’re not human.

I don’t like the Taliban. In fact, I’m enlisting with the Canadian Army in a year. But to dehumanize your enemy, to disrespect them even after you’ve killed them, turns people against us. It doesn’t win hearts and minds, and neither does trying to justify it. Let’s most certainly not forget that Allen West was responsible for the severe beating and torture of an Iraqi civilian policeman. Yeah, war is hell. Yeah, what happened to Shugart and Gordon wasn’t right. But to try and say that it’s alright to piss on the corpses of our enemies because of our dead have suffered the same fate puts us at the same level as the Taliban. We’re supposed to be morally superior to these theocratic psychopaths, not on par.

(via militaryheroes)

Laeffy, the one man who understands how to kill boredom in the military.