Invasion: 28 Years Later

I haven’t asked anyone about when it happened. The fresh-looking graffiti spattered across cinderblock walls tells me American invasion is still a touchy subject.
Our friends and family had essentially the same response when they heard we would be living in Grenada: “Oh, isn’t that the place where Reagan sent in the troops and evacuated the medical students?”
Yes, Grenada’s political situation was turbulent in 1983. Yes, a lot of people were killed. And yes, we are living here.
With the undertones of invasion clouding the international image of Grenada, it was a legitimate question to ask, “Will you be safe?”
As we drove away from the airport after landing in our new home, we saw an arched monument to those killed in the 1983 invasion.

American spy planes saw Grenadians and Cubans building that long landing strip as a launching point and military stronghold for this thing called Communism.
For me, it is difficult to understand the political climate of October 1983. The words “Communism” and “Castro” don’t inspire the same pulses of fear in me that they did in my parents. But this airstrip was saturated with those words, and that fear.
As if things weren’t tense enough, Maurice Bishop, the Prime Minister, was arrested in a coup. Today, Maurice Bishop is simply the name of the highway that leads to the medical school to me. In 1983, he was a big deal. Big enough that thousands took to the streets and broke him out of the house where he was being held, tied to a bed, starving and in his underwear. That was Bloody Wednesday.
They headed to Fort Fredrick, a military stronghold filled with medical supplies and ammunition. After gaining the fort, military coup supporters arrived and opened fire. Bodies flew from the fort’s cliff in an attempt to dodge the bullets. About 40 people died. Hundreds more were wounded. Then, a burst of the executioner’s machine gun fire against a cinderblock wall killed Bishop and seven of his closest allies. Seven days later, on October 25th, the American GIs landed and almost 1,000 medical students were tracked down and airlifted out.
Today, Grenada is a different place. SGU’s numbers have swelled to 5,000. I watch American students play with underprivileged kids, I laugh with my cleaning lady about our crazy lives and hear about fifth term students who help in the hospital. Locals on the bus tell me stories of Hurricane Ivan and their day-to-day work as SGU staff. Their friendliness makes me feel safe here. I can’t help but hope that they still want Americans in Grenada.
I don’t know what the locals think of the American Medical Student invasion of the 21st Century. But I do know that almost 28 years later, I see this on the walls.

Yes, mom and dad. We are safe here.