An unsettling acknowledgment that the toll of war extends far beyond the battlefield, intimately told by a handful of American Veterans, their families, and those charged with their care.
THE ISSUE Since the attacks of September 11th, 2001, more than 1.8 million military personnel have deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan one third of those have deployed multiple times. Many of these brave servicemen and women, their lives forever changed by combat and the war environment, face reintegration issues when they return home. With hundreds of thousands of veterans returning from theatre in the next several years, access to mental health care including new and alternative methods of treatment are needed to prevent a generation of American veterans, and their families, from falling through the cracks.
After losing a Senate re-election campaign in 2002, Former Senator and Silver Star recipient, Max Cleland, who lost three limbs ended up back at Walter Reed Army Medical Center suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), thirty-five years after being treated there for his initial combat trauma. Today, after battling his unseen wounds, he has recovered, and is a vocal advocate for men and women recovering from the aftermath of war.
THE AMBUSHDecember 3rd, 2003. Tommy Rieman and Rob McAllister are in the lead vehicle on a reconnaissance mission near Abu Ghraib prison in Iraq when they come under heavy enemy fire. Rocket-propelled grenades slam into the three door-less vehicles, tearing through metal and flesh as more than thirty insurgents open fire from the right side. Explosions, tracer fire and muzzle flashes shatter the darkness. McAllister is in the vehicles turret manning the .50 caliber machine gun as shrapnel rips into his back and legs. As he turns the big gun into the fight, Rieman, who is in the passenger seat, pushes himself into the back of the vehicle, shielding his gunners exposed body with his own. Bullets pierce Riemans chest and arm but he manages to return continuous fire, enabling McAllister to rock away on the .50 cal. Soon the enemy is silenced. Although seriously wounded, Tommy Rieman and Rob McAllister escape death. But from now on, they will have a hard time escaping the memories of that harrowing nighta night that would change them both forever.
AIMEEIn Baghdad, with an Air Force rescue squadron in the spring of 2004, Aimee Sherrod worked on helicopters, often cleaning off the blood from incoming casualties and regularly receiving indirect fire. I was getting mortared all the time, she says. But it was her previous deployments to Jordan and Pakistan, where she was singled out for abuse by an all-male unit that left Aimee shaken. When she left the Air Force she turned inward, to a world of fear and darkness. After years of rarely leaving her house, she was diagnosed with PTSD. Aimee feared her explosive temper the most and worried for her two small children.
MAXAs a basketball star in high school and then an Army captain in Vietnam, Max Cleland demonstrated his ability to lead. But in Vietnam in 1968, when a grenade blew off both his legs and his right arm, everything changed for the strapping young officer from Georgia. He would spend nearly two years at Walter Reed Army Medical Center recovering from his wounds and learning how to live as a triple amputee. He vowed to lead again. Once he was released from the hospital Max devoted his life to politics and advocating for veterans rights.
Max became a state senator and then headed the Veterans Administration (VA) in the post-Vietnam era when PTSD was officially recognized as a compensable disability. He opened the first Vet Center now a nationwide string of drop-in facilities for vets in crisis. But when he lost his bid for re-election to the U.S. Senate in 2002, the long-buried trauma of Vietnam nearly destroyed him. I wound up back at Walter Reed, or Walter Wonderful as I call it, because he saved me twice. I needed professional help, the grace of God and the help of friends.
RECOVERYFor years after their experiences in war, Rob, Tommy, Aimee and Max pretended that everything was okay. But not a day passed that they didn't relive the horrific moments of their experiences. They rarely slept, and when they did, they were each haunted by nightmares. They descended into living hells, confounding their families and those closest to them. I knew I had PTSD, said Rob. I was just hoping it would go away. Desperate, Rob drove himself to the local VA hospital where he broke down, pouring his heart, and his story out to the mental health care professionals there. He was now, finally, on his way home.
Dr. Judith Broder was winding down her upscale practice in Beverly Hills when she saw "The Sand Storm: Stories From the Front," a play about Marines struggling to cope with their combat experiences. She was so moved by the drama that she set out to create a safety net for veterans who fall through the cracks of military and VA mental-health services. In 2005 she founded The Soldiers Project, a nonprofit that provides free, unlimited counseling to Iraq and Afghanistan war veterans and their families. One can't help but notice the bigger picture, she says. The stress on the returning warriors family and those closest to them. Left untreated, this trauma can be generational, and devastating. Anger, depression, substance abuse, these issues can destroy familiesand in turn, their families.
THE FILMHalfway Home is an empowering story of courage and hope on the grim face of the psychological toll of war. As Rob, Tommy, Aimee and Max confront their demons, they come face to face with the greatest obstacle to treatment: themselves. The stigma of unseen wounds, and mental health within the warrior culture, and the negative attitudes towards treatment, cause more than half of those who need care, to avoid it. But quality treatment is out there for those who seek it. The aim of the film is to raise awareness about this timely issue facing our brave men and women in uniform and to encourage them, and their families, to talk about their problems.
