
When you were a kid, did you ever play dress-ups? I did. Often my sisters and I would put on some old clothes belonging to our parents and, giggling unashamedly, pretend that we were adults. Little did we realize that we were readying ourselves for some of what was to follow in our lives. If we’d known all that lay ahead, the games would’ve been spoiled and we might’ve cried.
As a child, I once fashioned a rifle out of some bits of wood. I would spend hours play-acting that I was a soldier and, with incredible courage and bravado I destroyed the enemy which in those distant days were Huns and Jerries. I had a sword too so the role of a pirate also beckoned, and, in a wooden box, I became an ace fighter pilot. In my imagination I became all things but always in a noble, honourable way, man against man.
The above photograph shows a person dressed up to kill. Right across the world, give any man (and now women it seems) lots of indoctrination, some training, a uniform, some heavy boots, a helmet, some body armour, night glasses, and a machine gun and, voila, you have a willing, capable killer.
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