When I returned from Afghanistan in 2003 I was not the same person who had left his family just ten months before. As a military policeman it was my duty to protect others, to ensure their safety. I believed this applied not only to my fellow soldiers but to all those that were in need. The military police crest is embossed with the words Assist, Protect, Defend. I thought those words had no boundaries, but they did. The people who were living outside our gates were killing one another. They cared nothing about human rights or social justice. Their only purpose was to force their will upon the less powerful. Many nights at area 24 I would listen to the gunfire, and as I stood there at my post I'd watch tracers ricochet into the night, and feel the shock waves from explosions flow over and through my body. These horrific sounds and feelings were followed by the screams and cries of women and children. Our superiors explained to us that the fighting between local groups was an internal affair and not the business of the American military. I was a member of one of the most highly trained and disciplined military forces in the world, and I was powerless to stop their suffering. This weighed heavily on my conscience.