We recently had Remembrance
Day - a day that started in remembrance of the Armistice
that saw the end of the active fighting on the Western
Front and many other areas (not all) that had been drawn into World
War (part) One.
For the first time, we had a post on our
internal company version of social media about Remembrance Day.
That’s good - I personally observe a
minute’s silence on that day, and was pleased that the design review workshop I
was in was paused for a minute’s silence at 11 am . . . but my
observance of that day differs from what was covered by the post.
The post referred to “the brave fallen”,
and mentioned their sacrifices “for our nation”.
I replied - and got an acknowledgement -
that we should also honour those who returned who had been affected (I had
referred to PTSD,
so the acknowledgement wasn’t limited to those who had been physically injured),
but I also referred to civilians who had been injured, which wasn’t responded
to.
There are a few problems I have with
honouring those who “bravely fell for our nation”.
Firstly, people rarely neatly “fall”.
I have relative who have fought and
returned with physical and psychological scars (and others similarly scarred
by peacetime events such as this),
I have talked to others who have served, I’ve read the accounts of those who
have witnessed or taken part in war, and I’ve seen photos and videos (especially
some of the French film from World War One, which used to be shown on TV on Anzac
and Remembrance Days when I was a kid in the 60s).
People who are killed may be literally
blown to pieces, or they may die in agony (bullets don’t come with little
sachets of anaesthesia), or from things like the soldier who was shot and
paralysed in World War One just outside his side’s trenches: his comrades
couldn’t get to him because of the enemy’s machine gun fire, but they could see
him - and took photos - as he slowly slipped down the shell hole he was
in and was swallowed by the mud (not water).
Then there’s the deaths and incapacitation
caused by disease - and the abuses.
My Uncle Clive who was one of the choco’s
in Papua-New
Guinea (PNG)
(watch the film “Kokoda”
and read Peter
FitzSimons’ book “Kokoda”
to get and understanding of that - and read this
post of mine [and this
one] ) hated the Japanese throughout his life because of what they had
done to prisoners.
But then again, he readily admitted they
didn’t necessarily take prisoners back to base, either.
It’s partly fashionable, partly - in my
opinion - a deflection of praise that feels unmerited for those who have
survived a war, to say the real brave are those who fell. My opinion is that
dealing with the physical and psychological scars may require greater courage,
but I understand not wanting the glib superficiality of “oh you must be brave”.
If you want to know what war’s like, talk
to someone who was actually there - and I have, including - as mentioned -
relatives who served in PNG, Somalia,
and Bougainville,
and vets who served in northern
Africa (in the British Eighth
Army), Viêt
Nám
and Afghanistan
- and there are the words of many others who have served, including Erich
Maria Remarque, who wrote “All
Quiet on the Western Front”, and several generals who have also
commented on the terribleness of war.
The other point that needs to be made here
is that people change.
Some people who were “brave” can become
exhausted and overwhelmed, and thus no longer be “brave”. If you start waffling
on to someone who reached their breaking point (I understand the US Army had
evidence that for most people, that happened after around nine months [possibly
less] ),
whose last memories of their involvement was of breaking, talk of being brave
would, at best, seem mocking, and at worst would seem an attack.
Others can go the other way - as illustrated,
for example, in the book “The
Red Badge of Courage” and the episode “Carentan” of the
miniseries “Band
of Brothers”.
On top of that is the profound difficulty of
killing.
In World
War (part) Two, a (controversial) survey by the USA found no
more than 25% of their soldiers fired their weapons - and many of those
didn’t try to kill the enemy. I think it was the British Army that found - particularly
in the Falkland
Islands war - that most killing is done by around 2% of all soldiers. (I
couldn’t find the link I wanted [which I think was in a video], but this
informal blog post outlines the issues / suspected issues) In the days
of muskets, one problem was soldiers just loading their weapon with more and
more balls and powder but not
firing them.
These soldiers were often doing brave
things - dragging wounded comrades back into safety, for example - watch the
film “Hacksaw
Ridge” for an idea of that.
In fact, the issue of conscientious
objectors raises the issue of courage having different forms - the conscientious
objectors having moral courage, and some of those, as illustrated in the film
just mentioned, also quite clearly having physical courage.
I wish to mention Gandhi
here - a deeply
flawed person who raised and was part of an “ambulance
company” (what we would perhaps refer to now as stretcher bearers)
during the Second
Boer War, the time when he still saw India as being self governing but
still part of the British
Empire.
Later, after the Amritsar
Massacre, Gandhi turned towards true
independence, and guided India on a remarkable campaign
of non-cooperation
that included provoking sometimes physically violent reactions from the British
but having the
courage to not retaliate.
That was a remarkable exercise in combining
courage with discipline (and training, incidentally), a lesson that the
US Army finally cottoned on to around seven decades later when its troops in Iraq
realised that their reactions were being filmed on mobile phones and streamed (shades
of the influence of television
and the media
in Viêt Nám), and started ensuring they were taught restraint under
provocation during interactions with protesting civilians.
The US-led and initiated
invasion
of Iraq also raises the issue of why people fight. Since the Boer War and,
to some extent, World War (part) One, I would argue soldiers generally
fight for those about them - their comrades / buddies / mates - rather
than for “noble ideas”.
In Australia, the ridiculous concept of
noble sacrifice for the British Empire could be said to have been seriously
wounded at Gallipoli,
and finally killed off on the even bloodier Western Front.
When someone you have become close to is at
risk of being injured or killed, you are more likely to take action than for a
wealthy capitalist member of the social elite proselytising about “the nation” -
or even when you are being threatened (a matter some kidnappers in the tumultuous
period after the Iraq War were aware of, and thus threatened people off camera
to get hostages to make videos of apparently being distressed and fearful -
they were, but for their friend at risk, not themselves).
And for another layer of complexity,
consider the role that drugs have played in some wars - not the murkiness of
wars about drug profits, but things like the “rebels” on Bougainville fighting
to end the desecration of their environment and society by the Panguna
copper mine. I’ve talked to someone who was part of the Australian military
there, and they told me of some of those rebels having arms nearly shot off or
shot off, applying a tourniquet, and then continuing to fight.
They were, in their eyes, independence
fighters struggling for their society and land’s integrity, and were doing what
can quite rightly be considered brave (and terrifying their enemies - our
soldiers) - but using traditional drugs.
How does that fit into the notion of being
brave?
Other soldiers used alcohol as
self-medication. When they continued fighting, were they brave?
And German soldiers - in the early parts of
World War (part) Two at least - used
crystal meth (I also understand hitler was a drug addict).
The Allied campaign against nazi Germany
and imperial
Japan in World War (part)
Two is what I would consider a necessary or justifiable war - albeit one that
is flawed, as it could possibly have been prevented (or minimised), and
there was the whole issue of some of Allies having colonial
empires.
Wars against invasion are generally wars
that can be considered justifiable - which means that, if we honour those who
fought in World War (part) Two on those sorts of grounds (i.e., to
free invaded lands), we also should honour indigenous warriors such as Pemulwuy,
Jandamarra,
Musquito,
Yagan,
Windradyne,
Tarenorerer
(she was sometimes referred to as “an Amazon”), Tunnerminnerwait
(nicknamed “Napoleon” - there is a memorial
commemorating
the execution of him and Maulboyheenner), and Multuggerah
for doing same in Australia against
white invaders.
Some wars (or, at least, our involvement
in them) are clearly questionable - e.g., those that we took part in to cosy
up with the British Empire (Sudan,
Second Boer, World War [part] One) or USA - e.g., Viêt Nám, and Iraq.
Other wars are partly questionable - for
instance, the early stages of the Malayan
“Emergency” (not called a civil war so business owners could claim
insurance . . . ) was clearly objectionable,
the later
stages perhaps less clearly questionable. Also, if the Korean War had stopped
when South Korea was freed, it would have been justifiable - and would possibly
have weakened the Kim
regime, which, instead, has been cemented into place by the USA’s longest unended
war.
To sum up, war, courage and sacrifice are
complex topics - largely because of the complexity and fluidity of being human.
The issue of remembering is also either
complex, or at least too often contentious. Properly, it should be partly about
helping all those (military and civilian) harmed (directly or
indirectly) by war to heal (some of this is the concept holding space
with victims), and partly about learning from history so wars are not
repeated (or are less devastating where they do occur).
Thus, “Lest
We Forget” is not - or should not be - about honour nor glory: it is
an exhortation to learn and avoid glib superficiality.
It is never - or should
never be - about “honouring those who bravely fell for our nation”.