“Summertime Chi”—Summertime in Chicago. I start here because there is no story about me becoming a marine or having any hope for this nation without first acknowledging the land that shaped me. It’s here where I, unlike millions of Americans, had the opportunity to place my feet in the grass, access the outdoors unencumbered, and build a relationship with my mind, body, and spirit. Access to nature hasn’t always been guaranteed. In 1919, 70 years before I was born, a Black boy was stoned to death for swimming across an invisible barrier in Lake Michigan—the same place that connected me to the outdoors. His act of rebellion was a pivotal moment that ensured that following generations, such as mine, could find joy in nature. 

As a Black man, I’ve operated under societal expectations, both physical and mental, about what it means to be in the outdoors. I served this country with the understanding that others sacrificed to ensure the next generation could find joy in the lakes, in the fields, and in the great forests of this nation. Nature can provide hope where none exists.

Growing up in the Chicago suburbs, my guide was an uncle who, unbeknownst to me, was likely utilizing the outdoors to find healing after a life serving with Doctors Without Borders in war-torn countries and witnessing the worst humanity has to offer. Eventually, as I grew up, the city grew around us, and people moved on to different spaces. Our exploration was replaced by the substances that would take his life. 

It wasn’t until I became a father and spent months in foreign lands serving others that I truly appreciated why he found healing in the prairie. I found the same peace walking among the Joshua trees in the Mojave National Preserve—my chosen place to ground myself and find clarity in the chaos that accompanies preparing for war. 

I had never truly considered leaving the marines until immediately before my second deployment to the Middle East. It would have been impossible to lead and survive without conviction in my judgment and love for a nation I had never expected to love me back. Clarity came to me while traveling through two pristine deserts on opposite sides of the world—the Syrian Desert in Iraq and the Mojave in California. 

My life before the marines, during my service, and in the years afterward are defined by navigating extremes. Living as an American in the United States of America is inherently an act of extremism. To wake up and choose to love ourselves, maintain resilience, and choose hope is an act of bravery. I never lost sight of the acts of extremism and bravery displayed by my ancestors, which enabled me to enjoy the natural world and serve as an officer in the United States Marine Corps.

"2023 Team River Runner Affinity Clinic—Lower Salmon River, Idaho." The annual TRR Affinity Clinic, supported by the Sierra Club Military Outdoors program, intentionally brings together leaders in the veteran community to experience a multiday whitewater rafting trip to develop outdoor leadership skills. | Photo by Gerry James

In the service, I learned about some of those ancestors while stationed at Camp Johnson aboard Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune—the location where 20,000 Black Montford Point Marines chose to dedicate their lives to a country that refused to treat them as equals until 1949. 

“There would be a definite loss of efficiency in the Marine Corps if we have to take Negroes,” the 17th Commandant of the Marine Corps, Major General Thomas Holcomb, once stated. “[The] Negro race has every opportunity now to satisfy its aspirations for combat, in the Army—a very much larger organization than the Navy or Marine Corps—and their desire to enter the naval service is largely, I think, to break into a club that doesn’t want them.”

Despite the official position of the Marine Corps at the time, those men fought for the right to serve the United States with the hope that men and women like me could later enjoy the freedoms they fought and died for oceans away. While stationed at Camp Johnson aboard Marine Corps Base Camp Lejeune, I was admittedly taken aback that the Marine Corps centered the legacy of the base’s namesake, Sergeant Major Gilbert “Hashmark” Johnson, its first Black marine, so boldly. In 2020, I was proud to see Marine Corps leadership proactively reckon with its past and take bold action to lead efforts to remove Confederate memorabilia from installations for my generation.

Sierra magazine may seem like an odd place to reflect on these disparate events in history and my life. I beg to differ. Without supporting the organizational mission to “explore, enjoy, and protect” in a manner that centers our most vulnerable communities, we’re left without hope. 

Today, our parks, prairies, and the streets of Chicago are inaccessible to millions. Today, we must continue reconciling our tortured past by taking tangible action to craft inclusive narratives of those who sacrificed to inspire others to serve. Today, we must take action to protect delicate environments like the Mojave and restore lands that have endured a generation of war to ensure an enduring and sustainable peace. Tomorrow, we must choose to continue exploring, resolve to find joy in nature, and reaffirm our commitment to protecting the earth. I am grateful to have found a place to continue that work. 

On this Veterans Day, I reaffirm my commitment to serve. I want to respect the service and sacrifices of those who came before me. I will remember that they maintained hope in the face of enemies, both foreign and domestic. I want to recognize that many veterans, especially my predecessors, chose to serve a wounded, broken, and disillusioned nation. We fight so that others may enjoy a freer and more just society than what we’ve inherited. 

In the wake of Election Day, and on this particular Veterans Day, it seems appropriate to mind the wisdom in the proverbs of our Apache warriors:

“Strength is not about how much you can handle before you break. It is about how much you can endure after you’ve been broken.”

All veterans are humans. However, as veterans, we willfully test our limits—whether driven by a desire to defend the United States or to find hope. I am grateful for serving a nation that honors my service as a United States Marine. I hope my country will match that gratitude with action to preserve the prairies, lakes, and deserts necessary to ensure we endure.