| NEWS | A Deadly Toll Memorial Day reminds us of the costs of suicides on the home front. BY SCOTT BOURQUE Base west of Glendale to a house in the far northern reaches of Peoria. There had been a “flight line mishap” S involving a junior sailor and a helicopter at Naval Station Norfolk, Virginia, and the chiefs had the unenviable task of informing that sailor’s parents about the accident. The two chiefs — casualty assistance calls officers (CACOs) — had been instructed to tell the parents that their son was gravely injured, but still alive and in the hospital. By then, though, news of the mishap had already been leaked to the Navy Times: The sailor was dead. When the CACOs saw the article, they pulled their car over to the side of the road and called Norfolk just to confirm. Again, they were ordered to tell the parents the sailor was alive but seriously injured. After the chiefs mentioned the news article that already had been published, the helicopter squadron finally admitted the truth. Brandon Caserta, a 21-year-old aviation electrician’s mate third class, was dead, and the chiefs now had to inform Caserta’s parents that the Secretary of the Navy wanted to express his condolences because their son was gone. Caserta’s parents, Teri and Patrick Caserta of Peoria, already had an inkling that something was seriously wrong. Through no fault of his own, Brandon had suffered some serious career setbacks and was working for what investigators would later call a toxic, abusive supervisor. His mental health had deteriorated to the point that he sent a final text message to his parents: “Just know I love you.” He then removed his helmet and threw himself into the spinning tail rotor of an MH-60S helicopter. He died instantly. A 2021 research project indicates that 8 20 years after the 9/11 attacks, more than 30,000 active duty service members and veterans have died by suicide — over four times the number of combat-related deaths in the same period. It’s difficult to tally the total number of veterans and active duty hortly after 6 p.m. on June 25, 2018, two U.S. Navy chief petty officers clad in crisp white dress uniforms were driving from Luke Air Force troops who have died by suicide since the Civil War because there’s a history of spotty record keeping and nonstandard definitions of suicide — but some researchers have tried. In Arizona, military veterans make up about 10 percent of the adult population, but represent about 20 percent of all suicide victims statewide, according to 2021 data from the Department of Veterans Affairs. As a national holiday, Memorial Day exists to remember the nearly 650,000 Americans killed by enemy forces since 1776. Caserta’s parents want Americans to start paying attention to the untold numbers who, in their eyes, were murdered by their own country. Broken Expectations and Wasted Potential Brandon Caserta grew up in a Navy household: His dad, Patrick, served for 22 years, retiring as a senior chief petty officer in 2006. “I would never let my kid join the mili- tary, ever,” said Patrick, who spent the last 15 years of his military career working as a recruiter. “He could have gone anywhere he wanted to. But we were determined to make sure our son had a different life than we had, and opportunities that we didn’t.” Brandon was athletic. He held a black belt in karate and swam competitively. “You could yell at him and tell him to do 100 pushups, and he’d laugh at you while doing them,” Patrick said. When he was a sophomore at Liberty High School in Peoria, Brandon decided he wanted to be a Navy SEAL. His parents couldn’t talk him out of it. “I knew we were faced with a dilemma,” Patrick said. “Either support him and give him everything we possibly can for him to succeed, or go against it. And he’s going to join anyway, probably, so we decided to support it.” Potential SEAL recruits go through rigorous screening, even before they report for the famously difficult Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) course in San Diego. Aside from a daunting physical fitness screening, potential SEALs undergo a thorough physical exam and a detailed psycholog- ical exam called the C-SORT, which the Navy says evaluates a candidate’s mental toughness and resilience. Before leaving for basic training, Brandon passed all of these tests. He reported to BUD/S in January 2016, deter- mined not to be one of the roughly three- quarters of students who drop out of training. About two weeks in to his training, Brandon went to see the medics, complaining of severe leg pain. The medics told him it was shin splints, accused him of faking his injury, and said they wouldn’t waste an X-ray on him, his parents said. Shauna Springer, a psychologist who works with the military and veteran community, says that there’s a culture within the military that punishes asking for help. This culture, she says, is one of the root causes of the suicide epidemic. Springer recently published the book Relentless Courage, about military and first responder trauma and moral injury. “Service members give up some of their individual rights when they’re in the mili- tary,” Springer said. “They subordinate themselves to a system that puts people in a position of making judgments about whether they are fit for duty.” For the next week after his first visit to the medics, Brandon would run about 20 miles each day, despite the pain. On May 6, 2016, he collapsed on the beach while carrying an inflatable boat over his head. The medics relented and ordered an X-ray, and discovered that his leg was broken in two places. He wasn’t allowed to continue SEAL training, and was given 30 minutes to choose his new Navy career. He eventually settled on aviation electrician’s mate, with the hope he could eventually work his way onto a helicopter flight crew. After several months of training on his new specialty, Brandon reported to a heli- copter squadron in Norfolk, Virginia in October 2016. Despite the thousands of dollars taxpayers spent on his technical training, despite his high scores on the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery, despite his physical fitness and motivation, Brandon was assigned to the squadron’s geedunk — the snack bar. His career was derailed again. “Losing your career is a major trauma,” Springer said. “It’s the same trauma as an athlete, who suddenly has a career-ending injury,” she added, noting the change sepa- rates people from their self-identity. Springer says that when someone chooses to join the military, they often have a distinct career goal in mind. They want to be a SEAL. They want to travel the world. They want to get technical training. They want to serve their country in some capacity. Those career plans sometimes don’t work out. In a large bureaucracy like the military, something as simple as error on a form could make the difference between Scott Bourque After Brandon Caserta died by suicide, artists sent his parents portraits. These portraits and other keepsakes stay on the bed in his childhood bedroom. serving as a search-and-rescue swimmer or serving as a snack bar attendant. In Brandon’s case, there wasn’t clear communication between the squadron career counselor and the aircrew personnel, Patrick said. This cost Brandon his orders. Brandon’s case is not unique. New service members are often assigned menial tasks unrelated to their job. They mow the lawn, clean the company office, peel the potatoes, wash the dishes, and paint the side of the ship — despite months of training in their career specialty. Often, someone might join in a highly technical field like air traffic control or radar repair, only to be assigned to a non- deploying unit, where their daily duties include cleaning, maintenance, and more cleaning. The Navy recently has been forced to confront this problem aboard the aircraft carrier USS George Washington, where four sailors have committed suicide in the past year — three in April. Sailors assigned to the ship have come forward complaining of uninhabitable living conditions aboard the vessel, which is currently undergoing a five-year mid- life overhaul at a shipyard in Newport News, Virginia. Crewmembers told national news outlets that there’s no hot water, heating, or air conditioning on the ship, and shipyard workers often make noise at all hours. Many of the systems that make the ship habitable are shut down for maintenance. The Navy’s official response fit a theme: Suck it up, snowflake. Russell Smith, Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy who’s the top enlisted person in the service, spoke to the crew in in April after the suicides. In his speech, he told sailors: “What you’re not doing is sleeping in a foxhole like a Marine might be doing. The downside is some of the shit that you have to go through logistically will drive you crazy.” >> p 10 JUNE 2ND– JUNE 8TH, 2022 PHOENIX NEW TIMES | MUSIC | CAFE | FILM | CULTURE | NIGHT+DAY | FEATURE | NEWS | OPINION | FEEDBACK | CONTENTS | phoenixnewtimes.com
