The Things We Carry Still. Part I

by Stefan Schindler

To get to the truth of a war story, find the square root of an absolute, then multiply by maybe.  That’s Tim Obrien’s formula for guessing the veracity of any tale told by Rat Kiley.  Kiley was a platoon buddy during the Vietnam War.  O’Brien declares: “It wasn’t a question of deceit.  Just the opposite: he wanted to heat up the truth, to make it burn so hot that you would feel exactly what he felt.”  Admirable; and understandable.  “This isn’t civilization.  This is Nam,” says O’Brien.  “The thing about remembering is that you don’t forget.”

These are quotes from O’Brien’s celebrated memoir, The Things They Carried.  Here’s another: “The land was haunted.  We were fighting forces that did not obey the laws of twentieth-century science.”  And another: “I’d pulled enough night guard to know how the fear factor gets multiplied as you sit there hour after hour, nobody to talk to, nothing to do but stare into the big black hole at the center of your own sorry soul.”

O’Brien has a way with words.  Like the best of writers, he makes writing seem easy, even though it’s not.  I recall a poet saying: “It’s easy to write.  Just stare at a blank sheet of paper until droplets of blood form on your forehead.”

As with T. S. Eliot’s mixture of memory and desire in “The Wasteland,” O’Brien’s stories heat to a sizzle, then reach from the page to scorch your eyes.  Sometimes I think he channels Dylan.  For example: “You’re never more alive than when you’re almost dead.”

It’s been said that in war, the first casualty is truth.  But there is a truth that can be said.  It is this: War is the ultimate obscenity.  It ranks right up there with slavery and rape.

What too often goes unnoticed, though, is that soldiers are almost always slaves to the stories they’ve been told by the spin-meisters of profit and power.  Such soldiers rape – and slash, burn, maim and kill – because their capacity for reason and conscience has been sucked into a vortex of patriotic idolatry.  Unaware they’ll be brutalized by their own brutality, they are sent to the killing fields by what Eliot calls the “hollow men” who rule from the heights of hubris.

Stefan Schindler is the co-founder of The National Registry for Conscientious Objection; a Board Member of The Life Experience School and Peace Abbey; and author of America’s Indochina Holocaust: The History and Global Matrix of The Vietnam War.  His forthcoming book is entitled Buddha’s Political Philosophy.

NUCLEAR WAR AND ME: Annihilation Inscribed Across Time and Place, Part 1

American soldiers taking up defensive positions in the Ardennes. During the Battle of the Bulge. In the public domain.

by Anthony J. Marsella, Ph.D.

Note from KMM: Today we begin the story of another lifelong peace advocate who exemplifies John Pavlovitz’s superheroes .

WWII Soldiers Return Home: I listen to War Stories

War’s horrors were inscribed in me as we welcomed back relatives and family friends who served in WWII.  Women shrieked, kissed, hugged returning veterans, those who survived combat!

I stared at uncles and family friends with childhood awe and reverence. How courageous!  I listened as they sat around tables quietly speaking to each other. No children or wives were permitted to hear their words; I hid behind a basement furnace or crouched underneath a table, listening, thinking. 

Family and family friend veterans would sit together alone after dinner dishes were cleared.  Ash trays and a bottle of Four Roses whiskey, shot glasses, and soiled napkins still gripped in hands. Salute! Shot glasses would be raised. Names and places, memorialized: Patton, Nimitz, MacArthur, Eisenhower, Bradley, Clark; Places: France, Bulge, Aleutians.  Heads nodded in agreement.

Cigarette smoke hung in the air: Camels, Lucky Strikes, Chesterfields. No filters! Veterans sat with bent elbows on table, looking down, occasionally wiping watery eyes with a crinkled napkin. Crying was unacceptable. Soldiers don’t cry!

Uncle Jimmy B . . .

I remember a close family friend we called Uncle Jimmy. Even as a child, I recalled his appearance as he went off to the wars in the 1940s. Uncle Jimmy was typically Sicilian in appearance and temperament: dark complexion, black wavy hair, a big smile on his face, constant jokes with me and cousins, a show of bravado, a display of courage to comfort those who would await his return.

When Uncle Jimmy returned home after the war, however, his hair was white, his skin pale, his eyes had bags, and his demeanor was serious and detached. There was no bravado, no Sicilian joviality, no presence; a few hugs, soft voices, silence. Family faces were grim! They understood something I could not imagine.

Jimmy sat quietly at the dinner table as my mother and aunts brought him and others pasta and salad: “Eat, Jimmy, eat!  Do you want some more?  Nina!  Get Jimmy some bread.”  My aunts kissed his head and shoulders.

Uncle Jimmy was an infantry soldier! He ended up fighting in the Battle of the Bulge, one of the major battles of WWII.  In December, 1944, Germany made a final effort to stop allied advances. The German military massed tanks and artillery in an area in the Ardennes region of Belgium and France, surrounding the American troops between December 16, 1944, and January25, 1945, pounding them daily artillery and fresh assault troops.

American soldiers fought back gallantly, but were over-matched in supplies and weapons; the American Airforce was grounded because of dense cloud cover. I remember my Uncle Jimmy saying the frontline troops hunkered in frozen foxholes, shitting and pissing, awaiting a deadly shell or German attack. It is estimated 19,276 American troops were killed; the second highest number in any battle.

As I tried to understand my Uncle Jimmy’s face and behavior, my mother, Nina, took me aside and said: “Uncle Jimmy was in battle. Don’t talk with him now. He doesn’t want to talk about it.”  I shuddered.  And then the child’s obvious question: “But why is his hair all white now, and why does he look so sad? He survived! He should be happy!”  My mother never answered.

Uncle Jimmy died shortly thereafter! It was called “shell-shock.” No care was provided for many of the WWII vets who served. This remains a problem today for returning veterans from the Middle-East wars; there are 22 suicides each day. War! War! War!

Time to join in

 

Local musical groups including Occupella, La Peña Community Chorus, and Vukani Mawethu sing together at the “End the Wars at Home and Abroad” Spring Action 2018 in Oakland, CA. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 4.0 International license. Author: Pax Ahimsa Gethen.

Note from Kathie MM: I received this essay today from fellow peace and social justice activist Dot  Walsh. I believe that, increasingly, everyone who believes in, values, and seeks peace and social justice needs to find ways to support organizations like the William Joiner Institute for War and Social Consequences, along with Engaging Peace.  Read.  And don’t weep.  Act.

From Jimmy Jeenz’s website: https://jummyjeenz.com/2018/07/01/the-origin-of-peace/

The Origin Of Peace  (shortened and lightly edited)

by Deana J. Tavares 7/1/18

Where exactly does peace begin, and where does it end? I believe peace begins with the individual. Peace dries the tears of oppression, hate, injustice, and unites us. Heals us. It softens our chains by growing flowering fields of beauty within the seas of fear and distrust. One bloom at a time.

I believe peace ends when we lose faith in its possibility and turn angrily and violently towards the pursuit of hatred and war. I believe it ends when race, culture, class, and our various differences are demonized instead of celebrated. I believe it ends the very moment a bright-eyed child full of potential is shot and killed because lines have been drawn, and enemies have been forged.

Peace also ends when we don’t acknowledge the loss of innocence and light within our veterans’ eyes, young women and men alike. When the darkness of war pervades every pore of their being, we lose 22 vets a day as a result of suicide, due to morals and values being questioned when weighed against patriotism. This is the reality of war.

So, how do we collect, cultivate, and harvest peace, and distribute it out into the world? There are many organizations of activists, artists, writers, and performers  actively engaged in pursuit of peaceful paths in which to educate and create change.  These are also the types of programs that don’t receive adequate funding in order to continue their mission of growing community, promoting peace, and healing our world.

One such program is the William Joiner Institute For War And Social Consequences. For 31 years, the Joiner programs have actively brought together writers across cultures, socio-economic backgrounds, religions, and countries. The programs have united Vietnam and United States veterans in hand to hand friendship, together healing the scars of combat. The Joiner summer writers workshops allow individuals to learn by sharing their perspectives about war and social issues in a safe, understanding, and nurturing environment where  the consequences of war are no longer avoided, but processed, and healed.

Graduates of the program give peace a voice within their own countries, communities, schools, organizations, and individual creative practices. In organizations like the Joiner Institute, change begins when we use our voices to find the common threads weaving us together, strengthening our collective quilt of compassion and understanding.

To find out more about The William Joiner Institute for War and Social Consequences, go to their website:    https://www.umb.edu/joinerinstitute

 #savethejoiner

 

Veterans Speak Out, Part 1



Ross Caputi in Iraq.

Note from Kathie MM:  This post from long-time guest author  Ross Caputi begins a new series on ending violence; his focus is on the role of veterans in promoting repair as an antidote to violence.

Veterans Speak Out, Part 1

By Ross Caputi

Ever since I got out of the military, I’ve felt that those around me, conservatives and progressives alike, have bent over backwards to give me an opportunity to talk about my experience in Iraq. I think many people do it because they think they owe me this courtesy.

But others seek me out and ask me to speak about my experience because they know and I know that veteran stories accomplish a lot of political work. I always accept, because I have an agenda to push.

I want to end war and prosecute war criminals.

But I’ve always felt uncomfortable with using the authority of my voice as a veteran to accomplish anti-war work. It’s a strange corner that I feel backed into where I have to identify myself as a former soldier so that I can try to undermine our culture of soldier-worship. And I can’t help but feel troubled by the contradiction between the means and ends of this rhetorical strategy.

No doubt, the privileged status of soldiers/veterans in the US is a major reason why we play such an important role in the anti-war movement. Our biggest contribution is that we help civilians navigate support-the-troops jingoism and accusations that anti-war ideas are unpatriotic. For whatever historical reasons, veterans enjoy a near sacred status in US culture and society. We carry with us an enormous amount of symbolic capital, and our voices are privileged like none others. We then bring this symbolic capital and privilege with us to the antiwar movement.

Simply by letting us make short speeches at anti-war rallies, or even letting us wear our cammies in an anti-war march, organizers know that audiences will be more willing to listen and less likely to criticize. In short, veterans help legitimize anti-war ideas by vouching for them.

But we can do more than that. Stay tuned.

Ross is the co-founder of the Islah Reparations Project. He is also the director of the documentary film Fear Not the Path of Truth: a veteran’s journey after Fallujah. The full essay, from which this post is excerpted, can be read at VeteranReparations.org.