In one of my past commentaries here, I stated that the American military would inevitably accept the service of LGBT persons. It now appears that only the U.S. Marine Corps is still resisting this decision. I recently found, courtesy of author Robert Coram, evidence that some Marines do "get this." In his new biography of Victor "Brute" Krulak, Coram included the following sermon given by Rabbi Gittelsohn (5th Marine Division) at the Jewish memorial service conducted on the island of Iwo Jima in the battle's aftermath.
Here lie men who loved America because their ancestors generations ago helped in her founding, and other men who loved her with equal passion because they themselves or their own fathers escaped from oppression to her blessed shores. Here lie officers and men, Negroes and whites, rich men and poor...together. Here are Protestants, Catholics and Jews together. Here no man prefers another because of his faith or despises him because of his color. Here there are no quotas of how many from each group are admitted or allowed. Among these men, there is no discrimination. No prejudices. No hatred. Theirs is the highest and purest democracy...
Whosever of us lifts his hand in hate against a brother, or who thinks himself superior to those who happen to be in the minority, makes of this ceremony and the bloody sacrifice it commemorates, an empty, hollow mockery. To this, then, as our solemn duty, sacred duty do we the living now dedicate ourselves: to the right of Protestants, Catholics, and Jews, of white men and Negroes alike, to enjoy the democracy for which all of them have here paid the price.
We here solemnly swear that this shall not be in vain. Out of this and from the suffering and sorrow of those who mourn this will come, we promise, the birth of a new freedom for the sons of men everywhere.
Semper Fidelis
Monday, November 29, 2010
Monday, September 13, 2010
The Great War, The War to End All Wars, The First World War, but especially The Ultimate Infantry War
Many scholars, including myself, spent many years carefully avoiding much of what had been written about the First World War. After all, what could you learn about a muddy bloodbath in which armies of lions were led by donkeys as line after line of infantry marched blindly into massed rows of machine guns?
Of course, in recent years we have discovered that there is actually a great deal to learn from study of the Great War as both revisionists and counter-revisionists conducted new research, old manuscripts and books were rediscovered, and a more thorough and professional study and analysis of the subject emerged. This re-assessment came with new attention to first hand material – the memoirs written by the actual combatants.
I have three such works on my shelf and recently read them as a part of a study of the changing life and evolving times of the modern (20th and 21st Century) infantryman. Two are the memoirs of British officers and the third is an English translation of a German officer’s memoirs. I strongly recommend always reading sources from both sides of any battle, campaign, war, or conflict as the best possible way to get a complete and well rounded understanding of the subject. While none of these fully reflects the experience of the enlisted soldier, as officers their authors are in a better position to tell us not only what happened but what was supposed to have happened.
Good-bye to All That, Robert Graves, © 1985 Robert Graves, Anchor Books Edition, 1998, New York, ISBN: 0-385-09330-6
A Passionate Prodigality, Guy Chapman, © 1966 Guy Chapman, Fawcett Publications, Greenwich,
The Storm of Steel, From the Diary of a German Storm-Troop Officer on the Western Front, Ernst Jünger, 1996 printing, Howard Fertig, New York
Robert Graves served as a rather un-regular Army officer in a very regular army battalion of the Royal Welch Fusiliers. Guy Chapman was one of Kitchener’s New Army volunteers in a wartime battalion of The Royal Fusiliers. As a result, the two memoirs reflect the differing attitudes and atmosphere between these two British Army communities and their sometimes-strained relationship. Ernst Jünger served in the 73rd Hanoverian Fusiliers. The Hanoverians were a regular army regiment though not Prussians. The 73rd Hanoverian Fusiliers, in fact, wore a “Gibraltar” battle ribbon on their coat sleeves commemorating their role as one of the defenders of that British outpost during the period of the American Revolution when both realms were under the rule of the House of Hanover. This gave them a peculiar relationship with their British foe and offered British Army personnel a surprise either on the battlefield or when encountering Hanoverian prisoners or captors.
Graves was a prolific novelist, poet, and translator, which is reflected in particular in this memoir by its treatment of his life both before and after the war and his many encounters with other British literary figures in and out of the Army. Chapman, who would go on to a writing career of his own as a historian and publisher, concentrates more on the war and his experiences in it. The former entered the war directly from school at about the age of 20 while the latter was in his mid-20s. Their initial experiences of army life were fairly similar as they completed officers’ training and then fulfilled various brief temporary duty billets before finally reporting to their respective regiments in France.
Both memoirs are replete with detailed accounts of battle and descriptions of life in the trenches, every bit as harrowing and at times monotonous as we might expect, as well as those often extended interludes behind the lines. Many of these anecdotes and episodes will not belie the traditional view of the war as one of bloody, mindless slaughter in the mud – but both officers also describe their efforts and the efforts of their superiors (at most levels) to try and find other, new ways of war that would protect the lives of the men under their charge (and their own for the front line officers as the deaths among the officer ranks are more frequently reported in detail).
Ernst Jünger, by contrast to our two British amateurs, was an accomplished soldier as well as subsequently successful author, earning Germany’s highest decoration – the Pour le merite – for his First World War service. He was a leader of the "storm trooper" assault formations that were critical to Germany's late war successes, though he does not go in to great detail on their training. He was also a recognized conservative and nationalist, though one who was never comfortable with or reconciled to the Nazis and their regime. Nevertheless, these war memoirs were very popular in both Weimar and Nazi Germany, with their air of youthful ardor and emphasis upon the manly martial virtues.
All three books capture the boredom of trench life and its punctuating moments of terror, as well as the frenzied ennui of life behind the trenches, usually soothed by alcohol. Jünger makes a particular emphasis upon the amount of drink consumed during these rear area respites from the horrors of war, but all three authors make it clear that Post-traumatic Stress was not an unknown reality during the First World War.
Of course, in recent years we have discovered that there is actually a great deal to learn from study of the Great War as both revisionists and counter-revisionists conducted new research, old manuscripts and books were rediscovered, and a more thorough and professional study and analysis of the subject emerged. This re-assessment came with new attention to first hand material – the memoirs written by the actual combatants.
I have three such works on my shelf and recently read them as a part of a study of the changing life and evolving times of the modern (20th and 21st Century) infantryman. Two are the memoirs of British officers and the third is an English translation of a German officer’s memoirs. I strongly recommend always reading sources from both sides of any battle, campaign, war, or conflict as the best possible way to get a complete and well rounded understanding of the subject. While none of these fully reflects the experience of the enlisted soldier, as officers their authors are in a better position to tell us not only what happened but what was supposed to have happened.
Good-bye to All That, Robert Graves, © 1985 Robert Graves, Anchor Books Edition, 1998, New York, ISBN: 0-385-09330-6
A Passionate Prodigality, Guy Chapman, © 1966 Guy Chapman, Fawcett Publications, Greenwich,
The Storm of Steel, From the Diary of a German Storm-Troop Officer on the Western Front, Ernst Jünger, 1996 printing, Howard Fertig, New York
Robert Graves served as a rather un-regular Army officer in a very regular army battalion of the Royal Welch Fusiliers. Guy Chapman was one of Kitchener’s New Army volunteers in a wartime battalion of The Royal Fusiliers. As a result, the two memoirs reflect the differing attitudes and atmosphere between these two British Army communities and their sometimes-strained relationship. Ernst Jünger served in the 73rd Hanoverian Fusiliers. The Hanoverians were a regular army regiment though not Prussians. The 73rd Hanoverian Fusiliers, in fact, wore a “Gibraltar” battle ribbon on their coat sleeves commemorating their role as one of the defenders of that British outpost during the period of the American Revolution when both realms were under the rule of the House of Hanover. This gave them a peculiar relationship with their British foe and offered British Army personnel a surprise either on the battlefield or when encountering Hanoverian prisoners or captors.
Graves was a prolific novelist, poet, and translator, which is reflected in particular in this memoir by its treatment of his life both before and after the war and his many encounters with other British literary figures in and out of the Army. Chapman, who would go on to a writing career of his own as a historian and publisher, concentrates more on the war and his experiences in it. The former entered the war directly from school at about the age of 20 while the latter was in his mid-20s. Their initial experiences of army life were fairly similar as they completed officers’ training and then fulfilled various brief temporary duty billets before finally reporting to their respective regiments in France.
Both memoirs are replete with detailed accounts of battle and descriptions of life in the trenches, every bit as harrowing and at times monotonous as we might expect, as well as those often extended interludes behind the lines. Many of these anecdotes and episodes will not belie the traditional view of the war as one of bloody, mindless slaughter in the mud – but both officers also describe their efforts and the efforts of their superiors (at most levels) to try and find other, new ways of war that would protect the lives of the men under their charge (and their own for the front line officers as the deaths among the officer ranks are more frequently reported in detail).
Ernst Jünger, by contrast to our two British amateurs, was an accomplished soldier as well as subsequently successful author, earning Germany’s highest decoration – the Pour le merite – for his First World War service. He was a leader of the "storm trooper" assault formations that were critical to Germany's late war successes, though he does not go in to great detail on their training. He was also a recognized conservative and nationalist, though one who was never comfortable with or reconciled to the Nazis and their regime. Nevertheless, these war memoirs were very popular in both Weimar and Nazi Germany, with their air of youthful ardor and emphasis upon the manly martial virtues.
All three books capture the boredom of trench life and its punctuating moments of terror, as well as the frenzied ennui of life behind the trenches, usually soothed by alcohol. Jünger makes a particular emphasis upon the amount of drink consumed during these rear area respites from the horrors of war, but all three authors make it clear that Post-traumatic Stress was not an unknown reality during the First World War.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Fathers and Sons, Flags and Soldiers
In keeping with my recently established theme, there is another not so recently published book that speaks eloquently about the experiences of the American infantryman during World War II – in this instance primarily the experiences of the Marine rifleman in the Pacific theater. I avoided reading James Bradley’s “Flags of Our Fathers” for years because I underestimated both this book and the author. I claimed the historian’s skepticism of an unknown author writing on a topic of which I already knew a good deal from my own studies (including the controversy and allegations that the photo was posed), and more personally I expected a sentimental and even emotionally overwrought tale of father-son bonding left too late. I think that in admitting my error I can safely claim that at least I have only rarely been this wrong about something. Read this book.
James Bradley has presented us in “Flags of Our Fathers” with what is in fact a rather complex work. It is the story of a son reaching out to know more of the untold story of a father, it is a military history of one of our bloodiest battles in one of our bloodiest conflicts – the war with Japan that crossed the Pacific Ocean and back, it is the story of how the experience of war and close combat can and does effect men and in turn their families, it is the story of the power of an image and how we relate to that powerful image individually and as a society or as institutions within that society. As a historian, I enjoyed Bradley's ability to work with documents, people, places, and the artifacts of war to present as complete an account as possible of a moment in history – tracing back to its earliest roots and carrying the story forward to examine its lasting impact on individuals and even the nations represented.
As in the other theaters of war that we place together in that intellectual box we label World War II, combat in the Pacific was not a constant unchanging reality. The fighting on Guadalcanal, in the Philippines, on Tarawa, and on Iwo Jima, for example, shared only the reality of men fighting and dying. Bradley’s narrative does a good job of identifying and discussing this evolution that in simplest terms went from fighting off banzai charges to the hard slog of digging a hidden enemy out of his bunkers, caves, spider holes, and trenches – an enemy whose from was invisible even as he laid down a deadly fire with every weapon at his disposal. The author also places this experience of the ground war in its proper context within a war that called upon the full range of combined arms – artillery, tanks, naval gunfire, and aircraft – to which was ultimately added a new, ultimate weapon in the atomic bomb.
Flags of Our Fathers, by James Bradley, (c) 2000 James Bradley and Ron Powers, Bantam, New York
James Bradley has presented us in “Flags of Our Fathers” with what is in fact a rather complex work. It is the story of a son reaching out to know more of the untold story of a father, it is a military history of one of our bloodiest battles in one of our bloodiest conflicts – the war with Japan that crossed the Pacific Ocean and back, it is the story of how the experience of war and close combat can and does effect men and in turn their families, it is the story of the power of an image and how we relate to that powerful image individually and as a society or as institutions within that society. As a historian, I enjoyed Bradley's ability to work with documents, people, places, and the artifacts of war to present as complete an account as possible of a moment in history – tracing back to its earliest roots and carrying the story forward to examine its lasting impact on individuals and even the nations represented.
As in the other theaters of war that we place together in that intellectual box we label World War II, combat in the Pacific was not a constant unchanging reality. The fighting on Guadalcanal, in the Philippines, on Tarawa, and on Iwo Jima, for example, shared only the reality of men fighting and dying. Bradley’s narrative does a good job of identifying and discussing this evolution that in simplest terms went from fighting off banzai charges to the hard slog of digging a hidden enemy out of his bunkers, caves, spider holes, and trenches – an enemy whose from was invisible even as he laid down a deadly fire with every weapon at his disposal. The author also places this experience of the ground war in its proper context within a war that called upon the full range of combined arms – artillery, tanks, naval gunfire, and aircraft – to which was ultimately added a new, ultimate weapon in the atomic bomb.
Flags of Our Fathers, by James Bradley, (c) 2000 James Bradley and Ron Powers, Bantam, New York
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