Originally posted on my political blog at https://politicalmusingsofkayleen.blogspot.com/2021/11/thoughts-on-observing-remembrance-day.html.
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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”.
