I was born in Twenty-nine Palms, California on September 7, 1989 to a military family. As a child, I remember asking my father about his travels in the Marine Corp. More often than not, he would reply, “It always seems to rain when I go to a country”, or as he would joke, “I cure draughts when I travel”. Studying the politics around the landscape, I’ve come to understand what he was actually saying. I put the connections together that he always traveled to the arid desert, where rainy seasons are becoming increasingly rare. As a Marine, he traveled to areas considered to be of interest to national security. If there is draught, there is war. That explanation is simple and ties the politics of our global economy to the politics of climate change. People take up arms to feed their families. Protection of those close to us is a feature that transcends culture. It unites my father with the impoverished people he encountered during his countless deployments to what is classified as the third world. My father didn’t join the Marines to bring an end to conflicts, nor to protect out rights within the United States. He joined the Corp to feed his family. He worked to prevent the spread of draught at home.


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