Holding Two Truths: Reflections on War, Service, and Dialectical Thinking

I wrote this back on March 9, 2026, on social media before I started my blog, so I wanted to put it here so it had a place to be remembered.

Obviously, like all of us, I’ve been pondering our current military conflict with Iran and wanted to share some thoughts.

Dialectical thinking is the ability to hold two truths at once, even when they seem to contradict each other. I’ve been thinking a lot about what this means in the context of family and friends serving in the military, and the difficult realities of war.

For example, a friend of mine trained many of the crewdogs (aircrew) flying B-52s on current missions over Iran. I can be proud of my friend. Proud of the skill, dedication, and professionalism that keep our Air Force mission-ready and safe. I can be proud of my dad and his service and sacrifice. I can be proud of all of my family and friends who are currently serving in the military or who have served in the past. I can feel grateful that many of Iran’s nuclear facilities and military operations have been neutralized. I can feel glad that leaders who oppress their own people are no longer in power.

I can also oppose war ideologically. I can oppose the killing of civilians, especially children, and the idea of “boots on the ground.” I can oppose getting involved in foreign entanglements that are costly, pointless, or needlessly traumatic. I can oppose Sharia law and hope for women’s freedom. I can recognize the human cost of conflict while still honoring those who serve. I understand viscerally the fear of watching a parent or loved one head to war.

I can see through Iran’s lens, its history of imperialism, foreign interference, and struggles over controlling its own resources, and understand why cycles of militia creation and retaliation persist. I can recognize that my own country’s history of intervention has contributed to these cycles. I can grieve for families who have lost loved ones, even as I honor those who serve. I can feel pride, fear, sorrow, and hope all at once. I can hope for diplomacy, understanding, and a future where fewer lives are lost to conflict.

I can acknowledge complexity, hold pride and gratitude, and sorrow and critique simultaneously. I can be a citizen who hopes for security, justice, and freedom. I can wrestle with the tension between protecting lives and opposing violence, between honoring service and questioning policy.

Dialectical thinking is not a weakness or indecision. It is the capacity to hold contradictions, to sit with discomfort, and to pursue understanding without losing compassion or conviction.

I’ll end with a verse from my poem I Was Raised. This verse reflects my dad, Lt. Col. Anthony "Andy" Correro, deploying to Afghanistan after 9/11. I was 12 years old at the time.

I was raised

by quiet fear,

the weight of waiting

for a man in uniform to return.

Pride woven deep

into the fabric of folded flight suits,

in the hush of unsaid words,

a love written in altitude and silence.

I watched the planes carve the sky,

hold their paths like prayers,

and still, I wondered

what the orders meant.

One of my most cherished photos: In 1989, my dad, a Captain and B-52 pilot, returned from a bombing competition (training exercise) while my mom held me at one year old at Andersen Air Force Base in Guam. This photo, like my poem, captures pride, waiting, and love.