Another Purple Heart soldier learns that supporting the troops now means deporting the troops
The cold machinery of the American deportation machine has claimed another casualty—not some faceless criminal lurking in the shadows, but a man who bled for this country, a soldier who took bullets in its name, a father now ripped from his children by the same nation he once defended in war.
Sae Joon Park, 55, is a Purple Heart recipient, U.S. Army veteran and legal immigrant since childhood who now has been exiled, forced to flee the only home he’s ever known or face the humiliation of being dragged away in shackles.
This is not justice. This is not law and order. This is the heartless, bureaucratic gutting of a man who already gave more than most ever will.
Park arrived in America at seven years old, a child of divorce fleeing the chaos of South Korea for the promise of California. He grew up in Van Nuys, surfed its beaches, skated its streets, and—when the time came—answered the call to serve.
In 1989, he found himself in Panama, part of the invasion force sent to topple Manuel Noriega.
On his second day in combat, he was shot twice—once in the spine, saved only by the dog tag that deflected the bullet.
A four-star general pinned a Purple Heart to his hospital gown. George H.W. Bush shook his hand.
And then America forgot him.
The PTSD that followed was a silent, gnawing beast. Nightmares. Paranoia. The crack of gunfire in his mind long after the war ended. He self-medicated, spiraled into addiction, made mistakes—possession charges, a skipped court date.
He served his time, got clean, raised two American-born children alone, cared for his ailing mother. But none of that mattered. Not the combat wounds, not the decades of lawful residency, not the fact that he had built a life here.
Because in the eyes of the Department of Homeland Security, Park was just another “criminal alien,” another checkbox in their relentless deportation quotas.
Never mind that he was a legal permanent resident since childhood. Never mind that he could have naturalized if the Army hadn’t discharged him early due to his injuries. Never mind that his crimes were born from the same war trauma this country inflicted upon him.
So now, rather than be hauled away like a fugitive, Park made the agonizing choice to leave on his own terms. He kissed his children goodbye, left his mother—who may not live to see him return—and boarded a plane to a country he barely remembers.
He is barred from setting foot on American soil for a decade. He will miss his daughter’s wedding. He may never see his mother again.
And for what?
This is what “supporting the troops” looks like in 2025. Not parades, not flags, not hollow thank-yous—just a one-way ticket out for those who stumble after serving.
A system that discards its veterans the moment they become inconvenient. A nation that would rather purge its mistakes than heal them.
Park’s story is not unique. There are thousands like him—veterans cast out by the country they fought for, left to rot in nations they no longer know. But his case is a particularly grotesque indictment of an immigration system that values cruelty over reason, that would sooner deport a wounded soldier than lift a finger to help him.
So here’s the truth, plain and ugly: America doesn’t love its veterans. It uses them. And when they break, it throws them away.
Sae Joon Park deserved better. They all do.