Faces of the fallen
The war, which began a year ago amid non-stop media coverage, has faded from the limelight, although it is still deadly. Gone are the televised missile attacks on Baghdad and rumbling tanks passing through palm groves. Instead, the fighting breaks out along empty roads or at guard posts. Bombings and sniper attacks replaced set-piece battles with swooping aircraft and artillery barrages. Military accidents such as vehicle crashes or helicopter collisions cause many casualties.
Despite the far-away feel, the fallen are real people. They have names and faces. Each man and woman deserves recognition for taking on a risky challenge in the service of this country’s armed forces. Compared to past national conflicts, the number of deaths is small. But the sacrifice and loss on a personal level is just as painful.
As the nation’s most populous state, California has recorded the highest death toll, with more than 60 killed. The typical profile is that of a young male fresh from high school or college. Often this soldier, sailor, Marine, Guard or reserve member is foreign born or from an immigrant family. The roster of those killed gives a fair representation of the mix of races, home addresses and families that make up this state.
Many parents of the fallen describe their children as enormously proud of military service and the chance to serve in Iraq. Among the thousands from Northern California who went to Iraq, consider the stories of several who died.
Gunnery Sgt. Joseph Menusa from San Jose joined the Marines after high school. Born in the Philippines, he became a proud Marine recruiter, snappy in dress blues, before taking on more active duty in Japan, the Persian Gulf, Cuba and Hawaii. He died in an ambush near Nasiriya in the early days of active fighting.
Karina Lau stunned her family when she enlisted in the Army in January 2002. A top student and clarinet player in high school, she earned a scholarship to the University of the Pacific in Stockton.
She survived boot camp and was sent to Iraq as a network technician. Her older brother Luis, a Marine, warned her to “keep her head down and follow orders.” She was headed home to Livingston in Merced County on Nov. 2, when the helicopter she was riding in was shot down near Amiryah. She died along with 15 other soldiers in one of the worst setbacks of the war.
Genaro Acosta was infused with gung-ho military spirit. He could have left Iraq last August and returned to Fair Oaks near Sacramento, his Army service completed. But he re-upped as a tank driver.
He had already survived a rocket-propelled grenade fired at his tank. Then in November, his 12-ton tank clanked over two explosive charges while on patrol. The blast tore through the vehicle’s armored skin and killed Acosta.
Bay Area native Joseph Norquist played football at his Benicia high school before earning a degree at Diablo Valley College in Pleasant Hill. His parents, Carl and Sue Norquist of Oakland, said their husky only child was proud to go to Iraq.
“Joe believed in the job he was doing in Iraq,” they said in a statement after his army convoy was attacked on an Iraqi road in a fusillade of bullets and grenades. “We deeply mourn the loss of our son,” his parents stated.
Iraqi families have suffered, too. Thousands of their sons and daughters, mothers and fathers, friends and acquaintances have died in the conflict. We should recognize their losses.
Before the war is wrapped up and American troops depart, there will be more fatalities. Only then can the full human cost of the war be measured. But as the first anniversary of the war approaches, it is time to stop and think about those who have given their lives, and why.