Showing posts with label Veterans Day. Show all posts

"It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country." 

That is, apparently, a good translation for Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori. The line, itself, goes back to the Roman poet, Horace. But for many in the modern age, it comes from an anti-war poem by Wilfred Owen, who wrote the poem to recount a mustard gas attack during World War I but didn't release until after the war was over.

Owen, famously, calls this phrase, "The Old Lie." It is a lie, he says, that it is a sweet and fitting thing to die for one's country. Perhaps it is more of a lie today than it ever has been before.

I struggle with this.

I am in awe of veterans and also those who lose their lives in war. I'm in awe that they would willingly offer (no draft today!) to shoot and be shot at for their country. While I can conceptually wrap my brain around it if it seems there is a threat to our own country, to our homeland, to our families, I struggle, mightily, when it appears that the threat is farther removed...when it is someone else who is threatened...when we fight for vengeance...when we fight to "keep the peace." How do we convince young men and women that "it is a sweet and fitting thing to die for one's country" in these circumstances?

How do we make "the old lie" into a truth?

How, regardless of the fitting-ness of war, do we celebrate, recognize, and honor the sacrifices of our vetarns?

Can one even call out the lie while, at the same time, supporting our troops and those in harms way?

I leave you with the Owen poem:

Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.

Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! — An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound’ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.

~ Wilfred Owen

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Today is Veterans Day.  It marks the end of major military conflict of World War I at the 11th hour of the 11th day of the eleventh month in 1918.  On this day, over 90 years ago, a whole lot of "Veterans" were made.  And so, it is a day of remembrance.

And so I do remember.

I remember my great uncle, Uncle Bob.  He fought at the battle of Normandy in World War II.  He had medals and ribbons on his dresser but never wanted to speak of the war.  Granted, I was just a child when I knew him.  Perhaps I was too young to comprehend.

I remember all of the wonderful men of that Bible study in Kenai, Alaska. I was with that group when Saving Private Ryan was released (1998). I remember how formative that war was in their lives and how a few of them were eager to see the movie and, in some way, relive and remember what had happened to them and around them so many years ago.  But, I also remember how a few of those men were defiant in their not wanting to see that movie.  One said, "I can barely live with the memories now.  I can't go to a movie theater and try to experience all of those things again."

I remember Chris, who was a sniper in Somalia back in 1993, during the Black Hawk Down days.  Chris has had emotional issues since that time.  I try to put myself in his shoes, just a little.  Alone.  Rifle in hand.  Waiting.  Determining who it is that you're supposed to shoot.  Firing.  Watching.  Waiting.  Wondering who might be pointing a rifle at you.

I remember the many nameless (to me) casualties of our most recent wars whose stories I've read of late.  While I am amazed at how wonderful our technologies have become to keep persons alive, I'm stunned by the injuries sustained by roadside bombs, the IEDs.

I remember these folks today.

Most of those I remember are men.  But I know of women who have served in the Armed Forces and many more who have "military families" where the sacrifices of the soldiers are also carried by those they leave behind, those trying to "hold down the fort" in their absence.

Most of those I remember are no longer serving.  But there are many more who are in harms way today.  I remember Richie.  I remember the military couples I've married before the men have deployed.

It is good to remember sacrifice.

It is good to remember bravery.

It is good to remember our veterans and to thank them for service that most of us can't begin to understand most of us would have avoided at all cost.

We are a remembering people.  But I believe we remember so that our presents and our futures are shaped.  We remember to learn.  We remember, not to lay wreaths on our past, but to lay a new road to the future.

But I watch the news.   I read the paper.  I see the look on the faces of those who are so eager to join the military, to fight for their country, to serve...

And I wonder if we've learned.