One of the many troubling aspects of service in Iraq was identifying the enemy. Who was the enemy? Quite frankly, it was impossible to tell. Some of the people I broke bread with by day were likely engaging us at night. So we wore our smiles thinly, never knowing who we were really looking at or speaking to.

My military service to this country is now in the past, but I have since become engaged in another conflict, a conflict in which, just as in war, there are friends, and there are enemies.

I pointed out in a previous article that it is the sworn obligation of every veteran and servicemember to support and defend the Constitution against all enemies, both foreign and domestic. We swore this oath at least once over the course of our military careers.

Given the relative confusion of identifying enemies in Iraq, you may be able to appreciate the relief with which, as your campus police obstruct and intimidate my fellow Americans, violating our rights to free assembly, I can gesture towards your office calmly and say: There’s one there, peeping out behind the blinds.

By targeting supporters of the OWS movement from being able to assemble on your campus, a state university paid for by tax dollars, you have drawn a line in the sand—but with a crayon.

As a graduate of the University of New Mexico School of Law, I am sure that your actions will be overturned in court, and that OWS supporters will be allowed once again to assemble freely on university grounds.

But that is not good enough. That is why I am writing you now. To assail you, to enjoin others to assail you, and to make it clear that you have dishonored your presidency and have no place at the head of any university—great or small. The OWS is a peaceful movement with no history of violence. Despite your actions we remain peaceful, and will continue to conduct ourselves peacefully. But know that you have been identified for what you are—a villain. What was once an institution standing for the free exchange of ideas now stands for the silencing of them. If you but crept out of your office at 6pm to Yale Park, you would be able to see how low you have brought this university—and this community. If your ballot were before me, you can be sure I would vote as your faculty did two years ago: No confidence.

Alex E. Limkin      UNMSOL ‘04

Signatories in support:

Adán Trujillo         UNMSOL ‘04

Matthew Clifton    UNMSOL  ‘04

Kirsten Salchow    UNMSOL  ‘04

Chris Berkheimer  UNMSOL  ‘00

Schmidly’s Acts Make Him Occupy Foe: Albuquerque Journal, 11/4/2011

Schmidly Enemy of Free Speech, New Mexico Daily Lobo, 10/31/2011

Faculty Votes Schmidly: No Confidence, KRQE News

There is no indignation like that of a Catalan. Yesterday, I brought my mother, a Catalan, to Yale Park. At 71, having grown up under the fist of General Franco, she knows what a totalitarian regime feels like. For the last several weeks, supporters of the local OWS movement have been gathering at the park, situated on the grounds of the University of New Mexico, for general assemblies. Some supporters, including a number of homeless people, have occupied the park overnight with a permit issued from the university. On Monday night, supporters were informed that the university, citing safety issues, would not be renewing the permit to stay past 10pm. Henceforward, no one would be allowed to remain in the park past that hour. My mother and I arrived at the park the following Tuesday at 6pm to take part in the general assembly. Since the meeting was called well in advance of the park’s closing, no one was concerned about the police. However, the meeting never had a chance to get started. A Lt. Peck approached the group, backed by a squad of university police subordinates, and informed everyone that the university had opted, as of that afternoon, to make the grounds of Yale Park off-limits to everyone assembled there. I started right away, incredulous. “That’s impossible,” I shouted. “That’s unconstitutional! This is a public space. We have the right to free assembly!” But even my indignation, which was a fury, was no match for my mother’s. She came to my side, just a few feet from the mustached gendarme, and became apoplectic. “What is it?” the police lieutenant said, addressing her directly. In her state of indignation, all that she could summon, all she could manage was: “What is it, you!” In her heavily accented English, this sounded a little crazy, but I knew what she was saying. I knew that indignation had tied her tongue so completely that she could not speak, could not think. As the police moved against the small group assembled in the park, my mother stood her ground. “I am not leaving!” she said. “I have a right to be here!” The police ignored her, moving past both of us, but pushing the other members of the small group towards the sidewalk. We remained there for a few more minutes, standing, as people chanted “Shame! Shame! Shame!” The officers arrested one young man who did not vacate the park, then remained with their backs to us, as though we did not exist. After a few minutes, seeing that the general assembly was now taking place across the street, my mother and I left the park, but not before approaching the police lieutenant who rousted us. “I served in Iraq, I was given the bronze star,” I said. I wanted his full attention before continuing. “And your actions today make me ashamed to be an American!” His companion turned to me, saying nothing, a slight smile on his face. “Alex Limkin! You hear me! You make me ashamed to be American!” My mother, having had a few minutes to calm herself, contributed: “I know you are just following orders but you are wrong. This is a public park! You should be ashamed!” And she was right, my mother, the brave Catalan who stood her ground and would not be bullied. I was still trembling when we got to the car.

How swiftly the street turns sinister. Taking out the trash. The familiar bump of the wheels as it comes off the curb. I’ve done this a hundred times, pushing and pulling the container into place so it’s convenient for the trash man to pick up in the morning, not tucked up against a car. I’m by the container at the edge of the street when I first notice the headlights. There are no streetlights so it is hard to tell what kind of car it is. But it is coming fast, bearing down on me. I know the driver can see me, I am blinded by the lights. The car is picking up speed. I can hear the engine growling, some sort of truck or SUV, something heavy. I can hear the tires against the pavement. Without thinking, I recognize that I am in danger. Without hesitating, knowing that I have something heavy in my hand with a trigger, I draw my right arm up just as the vehicle is abreast of me, charging past. I fire, illuminating the side windows. It is just a flashlight. I fire it again and again, trying to wound the beast, slow it down. Yes, that’s it. The SUV slows down heavily at the stop sign, pauses, then starts backing up slowly towards me. I stand my ground, holding on to the light. Just wait then. Just wait. It is a big SUV, maroon colored. The driver side door cracks open a few inches, and the dome light comes on. I can see everything: the man, the woman. He is big and heavy in the driver’s seat, a rhino. “What’s with the light?” he asks. I can already hear the plastic casing of the battery cracking into fragments against his bald head, a shaved head. It is a heavy battery, but I would need it to hold together for me. I would need it to not go to pieces on me, because he is some kind of rhino. The only other passenger is a woman. “You’re doing forty miles an hour. Slow down.” No cursing, no motherfucker this, motherfucker that, even though the words are pounding in my ears, ringing in my ears, churning at the edge of my throat. Is he going to get out? Should I let him out? Or do I throw myself against the door when an arm comes through? Slam the door on the arm. It would be a waste of a good flashlight if he gets out. There is a brief pause while he thinks about what it’s worth to him, being flagged down by some nobody taking out the trash. “Fuck that,” he says, and guns his car, speeding to the end of the street. I spend the night checking the windows from within a darkened house, prepared for something, feeling once again the cold comfort of a heavy plate of armor against my chest and back, like a turtle, waiting for it, waiting for it.

On Thursday, a Santa Fe deputy driving a Dodge Durango SUV smashed into three vehicles at an intersection in Santa Fe while responding to a call. Here is what the front of her vehicle looked like. Totaled. It is remarkable no one was killed. Some members of the community have come to this deputy’s defense, invoking the “mile in their shoes” argument. One individual has pointed out that injuries were involved in the accident she was responding to, which justified her disregard for traffic lights: “Keep in mind she was responding to a crash with injuries, wouldny you want her getting there as quickly as possible of that were you or your family member involved in the crash!”
I sharply disagree with this viewpoint. A law enforcement officer responding to the scene of an auto accident in a reckless manner that endangers the lives of others, for which she then gets cited by her own department, is objectionable. Period. No “walk a mile in my shoes” argument pertains. Not even ambulance drivers (who are actual paramedics that may be able to render life-saving measures at the scene) are allowed to smash through red-lights as though the laws of physics have been suspended for them by flipping the overhead switch that reads, “Emergency Lights + Siren.” There is no switch for “Grand Theft Auto” in either police cars or emergency vehicles that I am aware of, although during my tour in Iraq, we drove as though that switch not only existed, but was permanently engaged. In Baghdad. In Iraq.

Santa Fe is no combat zone. Drive accordingly, sir.

How many of us must die in front of your very eyes before you start paying attention to us, before you realize that something is drastically wrong, before you realize that all your Jesuses are dying, are killing themselves off? How long before you realize that your Jesuses are all dying in front of you, trying to get your attention, trying to save you, but you are not seeing them. You are not counting our deaths. You are not noticing our dyings. All these veterans who are shooting themselves, all these veterans who are shooting themselves full of drugs, all these veterans who are retreating into the mountains, all these veterans, all these veterans, all these veterans are trying to tell you something but you are not listening. The whole country is not listening. The whole country is asleep, the whole country is asleep, the whole country is glassy eyed and unseeing even as their family members are dying off one by one around them. How many more Jesuses must die frantically trying to get you to care? What is it you are doing you cannot hear their feverish voices calling out to you, pleading with you, trying to convince you at all costs that what we are doing is wrong, that murder by drones is wrong, that drones are wrong, that remote-control gunships are wrong, that remote killing is wrong, that ALL THE KILLING BEING DONE NOW IS BEING DONE REMOTELY, THAT YOU ARE SENDING US OUT WRAPPED IN PROTECTIVE BODY ARMOR AND FURTHER DISTANCING US FROM THE REALITY OF KILLING, THAT YOU ARE KEEPING US FROM BEING KILLED, YOU ARE KEEPING US ALIVE ALIVE ALIVE ON TUBES AND MORPHINE AND RESTORATIVE SURGICAL PROCEDURES WHEN WE SHOULD BE DEAD DEAD DEAD. WHEN WE SHOULD BE MOURNED AND OUR CLOSEST COMRADES ENTERING A CHASM OF GRIEF. HOW IS IT THAT NOTHING MAKES A PACIFIST STRONGER THAN THE VIOLENT DEATH OF A BROTHER AND ALL THE HOARY MEN THAT RUN THESE WARS HAVE NEVER LOST A LIFE AND HAVE NEVER LOST? WHY ARE PEOPLE WHO HAVE NEVER LOST IN CHARGE OF OUR WARS, IN CHARGE OF DRONES, IN CHARGE OF WRAPPING US IN KEVLAR AND SENDING US TO KILL REMOTELY AT GREATER DISTANCES THAN EVER? IF WE MUST KILL, LET US HEW AND HACK AT CLOSE QUARTERS AND GIVE US GREAT LEADERS WHOSE HANDS HAVE KNOWN THE COLOR OF BLOOD AND ENTERED THE CHASM OF GRIEF, LEADERS THAT HAVE EXPERIENCED THE THREATENED EXTINGUISHMENT OF THEIR OWN SOUL.