Friday, July 23, 2010
Howard Zinn IS the BOMB!
Howard Zinn's The Bomb
By David Swanson
The late Howard Zinn's new book "The Bomb" is a brilliant little dissection of some of the central myths of our militarized society. Those who've read "A Terrible Mistake: The Murder of Frank Olson and the CIA's Secret Cold War Experiments," by H.P. Albarelli Jr. know that this is a year for publishing the stories of horrible things that the United States has done to French towns. In that case, Albarelli, describes the CIA administering LSD to an entire town, with deadly results. In "The Bomb," Zinn describes the U.S. military making its first use of napalm by dropping it all over another French town, burning anyone and anything it touched. Zinn was in one of the planes, taking part in this horrendous crime.
In mid-April 1945, the war in Europe was essentially over. Everyone knew it was ending. There was no military reason (if that's not an oxymoron) to attack the Germans stationed near Royan, France, much less to burn the French men, women, and children in the town to death. The British had already destroyed the town in January, similarly bombing it because of its vicinity to German troops, in what was widely called a tragic mistake. This tragic mistake was rationalized as an inevitable part of war, just as were the horrific firebombings that successfully reached German targets, just as was the later bombing of Royan with napalm. Zinn blames the Supreme Allied Command for seeking to add a "victory" in the final weeks of a war already won. He blames the local military commanders' ambitions. He blames the American Air Force's desire to test a new weapon. And he blames everyone involved -- which must include himself -- for "the most powerful motive of all: the habit of obedience, the universal teaching of all cultures, not to get out of line, not even to think about that which one has not been assigned to think about, the negative motive of not having either a reason or a will to intercede."
When Zinn returned from the war in Europe, he expected to be sent to the war in the Pacific, until he saw and rejoiced at seeing the news of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, 65 years ago this August. Only years later did Zinn come to understand the inexcusable crime of the greatest proportions that was the dropping of nuclear bombs in Japan, actions similar in some ways to the final bombing of Royan. The war with Japan was already over, the Japanese seeking peace and willing to surrender. Japan asked only that it be permitted to keep its emperor, a request that was later granted. But, like napalm, the nuclear bombs were weapons that needed testing. The second bomb, dropped on Nagasaki, was a different sort of bomb that also needed testing. President Harry Truman wanted to demonstrate nuclear bombs to the world and especially to Russia. And he wanted to end the war with Japan before Russia became part of it. The horrific form of mass murder he employed was in no way justifiable.
Zinn also goes back to dismantle the mythical reasons the United States was in the war to begin with. The United States, England, and France were imperial powers supporting each other's international aggressions in places like the Philippines. They opposed the same from Germany and Japan, but not aggression itself. Most of America's tin and rubber came from the Southwest Pacific. The United States made clear for years its lack of concern for the Jews being attacked in Germany. It also demonstrated its lack of opposition to racism through its treatment of African Americans and Japanese Americans. Franklin D. Roosevelt described fascist bombing campaigns over civilian areas as "inhuman barbarity" but then did the same on a much larger scale to German cities, which was followed up by the destruction on an unprecedented scale of Hiroshima and Nagasaki -- actions that came after years of dehumanizing the Japanese. Zinn points out that "LIFE magazine showed a picture of a Japanese person burning to death and commented: 'This is the only way.'" Aware that the war would end without any more bombing, and aware that U.S. prisoners of war would be killed by the bomb dropped on Nagasaki, the U.S. military went ahead and dropped the bombs.
Americans allowed these things to be done in their name, just as the Germans and Japanese allowed horrible crimes to be committed in their names. Zinn points out, with his trademark clarity, how the use of the word "we" blends governments together with peoples and serves to equate our own people with our military, while we demonize the people of other lands because of actions by their governments. "The Bomb" suggest a better way to think about such matters and firmly establishes that
--what the U.S. military is doing now, today, parallels the crimes of the past and shares their dishonorable motivations;
--the bad wars have a lot in common with the so-called "good war," about which there was little if anything good;
--Howard Zinn did far more in his life for peace than for war, and more for peace than just about anybody else, certainly more than several Nobel Peace Prize winners.
By David Swanson
The late Howard Zinn's new book "The Bomb" is a brilliant little dissection of some of the central myths of our militarized society. Those who've read "A Terrible Mistake: The Murder of Frank Olson and the CIA's Secret Cold War Experiments," by H.P. Albarelli Jr. know that this is a year for publishing the stories of horrible things that the United States has done to French towns. In that case, Albarelli, describes the CIA administering LSD to an entire town, with deadly results. In "The Bomb," Zinn describes the U.S. military making its first use of napalm by dropping it all over another French town, burning anyone and anything it touched. Zinn was in one of the planes, taking part in this horrendous crime.
In mid-April 1945, the war in Europe was essentially over. Everyone knew it was ending. There was no military reason (if that's not an oxymoron) to attack the Germans stationed near Royan, France, much less to burn the French men, women, and children in the town to death. The British had already destroyed the town in January, similarly bombing it because of its vicinity to German troops, in what was widely called a tragic mistake. This tragic mistake was rationalized as an inevitable part of war, just as were the horrific firebombings that successfully reached German targets, just as was the later bombing of Royan with napalm. Zinn blames the Supreme Allied Command for seeking to add a "victory" in the final weeks of a war already won. He blames the local military commanders' ambitions. He blames the American Air Force's desire to test a new weapon. And he blames everyone involved -- which must include himself -- for "the most powerful motive of all: the habit of obedience, the universal teaching of all cultures, not to get out of line, not even to think about that which one has not been assigned to think about, the negative motive of not having either a reason or a will to intercede."
When Zinn returned from the war in Europe, he expected to be sent to the war in the Pacific, until he saw and rejoiced at seeing the news of the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima, 65 years ago this August. Only years later did Zinn come to understand the inexcusable crime of the greatest proportions that was the dropping of nuclear bombs in Japan, actions similar in some ways to the final bombing of Royan. The war with Japan was already over, the Japanese seeking peace and willing to surrender. Japan asked only that it be permitted to keep its emperor, a request that was later granted. But, like napalm, the nuclear bombs were weapons that needed testing. The second bomb, dropped on Nagasaki, was a different sort of bomb that also needed testing. President Harry Truman wanted to demonstrate nuclear bombs to the world and especially to Russia. And he wanted to end the war with Japan before Russia became part of it. The horrific form of mass murder he employed was in no way justifiable.
Zinn also goes back to dismantle the mythical reasons the United States was in the war to begin with. The United States, England, and France were imperial powers supporting each other's international aggressions in places like the Philippines. They opposed the same from Germany and Japan, but not aggression itself. Most of America's tin and rubber came from the Southwest Pacific. The United States made clear for years its lack of concern for the Jews being attacked in Germany. It also demonstrated its lack of opposition to racism through its treatment of African Americans and Japanese Americans. Franklin D. Roosevelt described fascist bombing campaigns over civilian areas as "inhuman barbarity" but then did the same on a much larger scale to German cities, which was followed up by the destruction on an unprecedented scale of Hiroshima and Nagasaki -- actions that came after years of dehumanizing the Japanese. Zinn points out that "LIFE magazine showed a picture of a Japanese person burning to death and commented: 'This is the only way.'" Aware that the war would end without any more bombing, and aware that U.S. prisoners of war would be killed by the bomb dropped on Nagasaki, the U.S. military went ahead and dropped the bombs.
Americans allowed these things to be done in their name, just as the Germans and Japanese allowed horrible crimes to be committed in their names. Zinn points out, with his trademark clarity, how the use of the word "we" blends governments together with peoples and serves to equate our own people with our military, while we demonize the people of other lands because of actions by their governments. "The Bomb" suggest a better way to think about such matters and firmly establishes that
--what the U.S. military is doing now, today, parallels the crimes of the past and shares their dishonorable motivations;
--the bad wars have a lot in common with the so-called "good war," about which there was little if anything good;
--Howard Zinn did far more in his life for peace than for war, and more for peace than just about anybody else, certainly more than several Nobel Peace Prize winners.
Anti-torture Activists Meet Former Gitmo Detainees
American Anti-Torture Activists Visit Former Guantánamo Prisoners in Bermuda
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE Monday, July 19, 2010
Contact: Matt Daloisio, 201-264-4424, daloisio@earthlink.net
Luke Hansen, 605-407-2799, lukejhansen@yahoo.com
New York City — Three Christian activists from Witness Against Torture
traveled to Bermuda on Friday, July 16, 2010 to meet with four Uyghur
men who were detained in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba for more than seven years.
(The Uyghur ethnic group primarily resides in western China.) The Bush
administration conceded that the men are not “enemy combatants,” and in
October 2008 a federal judge ordered their release. Eight months later,
four Uyghurs were resettled in Bermuda. Other Uyghur detainees were
resettled elsewhere while five Uyghurs remain in Guantánamo.
The purpose of the delegation to Bermuda is to build relationships with
the Uyghurs, seek their counsel concerning further advocacy for both
current and former Guantánamo prisoners, and to bring a message of
atonement and reconciliation from the American people to the former
prisoners. “In the United States, public discourse on Guantánamo is
mainly informed by various perspectives from the military, politicians
and the U.S. public,” says John Bambrick, a Chicago youth minister. “We
have come to Bermuda to seek the perspectives of men who have
experienced Guantánamo firsthand.”
“The Uyghur men in Bermuda, like us, are people of faith,” says Jeremy
Kirk, a Ph.D. student in social ethics at Union Theological Seminary in
New York City. “We are practicing our Christian faith by seeking
connection with our Muslim brothers, in whose detention and abuse we
have participated as U.S. taxpayers and citizens.”
On Saturday, the three activists visited the Uyghurs’ apartment, shared
a meal and swam in the ocean with the former prisoners, and swapped
stories about family and religious faith. The Uyghur men shared some of
their experiences of being in Guantánamo and discussed their gratitude
for and challenges associated with resettlement. (They are very grateful
to the Bermudan Government’s support and hospitality.) On Sunday, the
activists will speak with the Uyghurs in further detail about their
experiences at Guantánamo and the conditions currently faced by the men
who remain in detention. Luke Hansen, who is studying to become a Jesuit
priest, states, “One of the many things that has impressed me in our
conversations with these men, whom the Bush administration repeatedly
labeled as the ‘worst of the worst,’ is their gentleness and compassion.
While these men fiercely criticize the rationalizations behind their
detention, they have expressed no resentment towards their captors, but
rather have focused solely on the imperative to release the remaining
Uyghur detainees at Guantánamo.”
The delegation to Bermuda included:
John Bambrick, 31, works as a Catholic youth minister in Chicago and is
a member of the White Rose Catholic Worker. He earned his B.A. at
Marquette University in 2001 and his M.A. in Pastoral Studies from
Loyola University Chicago in 2008.
Luke Hansen, S.J., 28, is part of the Wisconsin Province of the Society
of Jesus (Jesuits). In May, Luke earned an M.A. at Loyola University
Chicago. His thesis is titled, “Countering Terrorism with Justice: A
Catholic Response to Policies of Indefinite Detention in the Fight
Against Terrorism.”
Jeremy Kirk, 32, is a Ph.D. student in social ethics at Union
Theological Seminary in New York City, where he studies interfaith
response to crisis and liberation theology. He has worked as an
organizer with various environmental and human rights groups.
All three are members of Witness Against Torture, a grassroots
organization that formed in December 2005 when twenty-five activists
walked to Guantánamo to visit the prisoners and protest torture
policies. Since then, the group has engaged in public education,
lobbying, demonstrations, and nonviolent civil disobedience.
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE Monday, July 19, 2010
Contact: Matt Daloisio, 201-264-4424, daloisio@earthlink.net
Luke Hansen, 605-407-2799, lukejhansen@yahoo.com
New York City — Three Christian activists from Witness Against Torture
traveled to Bermuda on Friday, July 16, 2010 to meet with four Uyghur
men who were detained in Guantánamo Bay, Cuba for more than seven years.
(The Uyghur ethnic group primarily resides in western China.) The Bush
administration conceded that the men are not “enemy combatants,” and in
October 2008 a federal judge ordered their release. Eight months later,
four Uyghurs were resettled in Bermuda. Other Uyghur detainees were
resettled elsewhere while five Uyghurs remain in Guantánamo.
The purpose of the delegation to Bermuda is to build relationships with
the Uyghurs, seek their counsel concerning further advocacy for both
current and former Guantánamo prisoners, and to bring a message of
atonement and reconciliation from the American people to the former
prisoners. “In the United States, public discourse on Guantánamo is
mainly informed by various perspectives from the military, politicians
and the U.S. public,” says John Bambrick, a Chicago youth minister. “We
have come to Bermuda to seek the perspectives of men who have
experienced Guantánamo firsthand.”
“The Uyghur men in Bermuda, like us, are people of faith,” says Jeremy
Kirk, a Ph.D. student in social ethics at Union Theological Seminary in
New York City. “We are practicing our Christian faith by seeking
connection with our Muslim brothers, in whose detention and abuse we
have participated as U.S. taxpayers and citizens.”
On Saturday, the three activists visited the Uyghurs’ apartment, shared
a meal and swam in the ocean with the former prisoners, and swapped
stories about family and religious faith. The Uyghur men shared some of
their experiences of being in Guantánamo and discussed their gratitude
for and challenges associated with resettlement. (They are very grateful
to the Bermudan Government’s support and hospitality.) On Sunday, the
activists will speak with the Uyghurs in further detail about their
experiences at Guantánamo and the conditions currently faced by the men
who remain in detention. Luke Hansen, who is studying to become a Jesuit
priest, states, “One of the many things that has impressed me in our
conversations with these men, whom the Bush administration repeatedly
labeled as the ‘worst of the worst,’ is their gentleness and compassion.
While these men fiercely criticize the rationalizations behind their
detention, they have expressed no resentment towards their captors, but
rather have focused solely on the imperative to release the remaining
Uyghur detainees at Guantánamo.”
The delegation to Bermuda included:
John Bambrick, 31, works as a Catholic youth minister in Chicago and is
a member of the White Rose Catholic Worker. He earned his B.A. at
Marquette University in 2001 and his M.A. in Pastoral Studies from
Loyola University Chicago in 2008.
Luke Hansen, S.J., 28, is part of the Wisconsin Province of the Society
of Jesus (Jesuits). In May, Luke earned an M.A. at Loyola University
Chicago. His thesis is titled, “Countering Terrorism with Justice: A
Catholic Response to Policies of Indefinite Detention in the Fight
Against Terrorism.”
Jeremy Kirk, 32, is a Ph.D. student in social ethics at Union
Theological Seminary in New York City, where he studies interfaith
response to crisis and liberation theology. He has worked as an
organizer with various environmental and human rights groups.
All three are members of Witness Against Torture, a grassroots
organization that formed in December 2005 when twenty-five activists
walked to Guantánamo to visit the prisoners and protest torture
policies. Since then, the group has engaged in public education,
lobbying, demonstrations, and nonviolent civil disobedience.
Thursday, July 22, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Women Nobel Peace Prize Winners
2004, The Nobel Peace Prize
Wangari Muta Maathai
2003, The Nobel Peace Prize
Shirin Ebadi
1997, The Nobel Peace Prize
Jody Williams
1992, The Nobel Peace Prize
Rigoberta Menchú Tum
1991, The Nobel Peace Prize
Aung San Suu Kyi
1982, The Nobel Peace Prize
Alva Myrdal
1979, The Nobel Peace Prize
Mother Teresa
1976, The Nobel Peace Prize
Betty Williams
1976, The Nobel Peace Prize
Mairead Corrigan
1946, The Nobel Peace Prize
Emily Greene Balch
1931, The Nobel Peace Prize
Jane Addams
1905, The Nobel Peace Prize
Baroness Bertha Sophie Felicita von Suttner, née Countess Kinsky von Chinic und Tettau
Wangari Muta Maathai
2003, The Nobel Peace Prize
Shirin Ebadi
1997, The Nobel Peace Prize
Jody Williams
1992, The Nobel Peace Prize
Rigoberta Menchú Tum
1991, The Nobel Peace Prize
Aung San Suu Kyi
1982, The Nobel Peace Prize
Alva Myrdal
1979, The Nobel Peace Prize
Mother Teresa
1976, The Nobel Peace Prize
Betty Williams
1976, The Nobel Peace Prize
Mairead Corrigan
1946, The Nobel Peace Prize
Emily Greene Balch
1931, The Nobel Peace Prize
Jane Addams
1905, The Nobel Peace Prize
Baroness Bertha Sophie Felicita von Suttner, née Countess Kinsky von Chinic und Tettau
Thursday, July 8, 2010
4th of July: Independence or Explosions?
Is it About Independence, Or Explosions?
I sat on the stone wall that lines Druid Lake tonight and watched Baltimore destroyed by bombs. I watched tracers light up the sky, followed by the deep pulse of distant explosions.
I watched huge clouds of smoke rise from downtown, escaping from the flaming buildings. I saw explosions as far as Dundalk, Curtis Bay, and Morgan State. I saw light emerging from deep in the West Side, illuminating the trees that line the park.
I saw the Belvedere Hotel hit by a series of missiles, a huge flame bursting out the East wall. I remembered when the bartender there took me and a friend on the roof to see the best 360 degree view I’d ever seen of the city. I wondered if he would survive the attack.
Then a huge bomb fell into the apartment building at Howard and 28th, sending a large cloud of smoke into the air. I could only imagine the horrors inside as elderly residents tried to escape the flames. I watched cars crossing the 29th St. bridge fired on by helicopters that then continued on their way into Remington. I watched mortar fire land in the houses of Reservoir Hill that face the park, and heard the sounds of gunfire from the streets behind them.
It was a total nightmare, something I never wanted to experience. Thankfully, it was mostly in my head. It was the Fourth of July, and celebratory explosions were popping off all over the city.
But I wasn’t celebrating, I was mourning. The fireworks reminded me not of 1776 or 1812, but of 2003, when I watched an almost identical scene on the TV news. I thought not of British Redcoats, but of U.S. Soldiers and Marines. I was watching a re-run of Shock And Awe, the massive bombing campaign the U.S. unleashed on Baghdad on March 19th, 2003.
I texted a friend, a former National Guardsman who participated in the initial invasion of Iraq. I told him I was thinking of Baghdad, watching the city light up, and I asked how he was. He said he was “in hiding”, not interested in being taken back to that place again, at least, not this year.
I thought how many friends of mine, Iraq and Afghanistan war veterans who have joined the ranks of the anti-war movement, were in hiding too, taking pills to calm their shattered nerves, reasoning with their shame and anger at the roles they played in occupying these countries.
I thought of my childhood friend Austin Koth, who deployed to Baghdad in 2006 with an Explosive Ordnance Disposal unit. I imagined which exploding firework might best match the sound of the Improvised Explosive Device (IED) that took his life two weeks before he would have come home. Then I heard it.
I thought about the millions of Iraqi and Afghan citizens whose lives have been turned upside down by the “Global War on Terror”. I felt so sad and sorry to the Iraqi people for the actions of my government, a government that wouldn’t budge no matter how unpopular the invasion was or how many people voiced opposition to it.
I wondered how I could explain that to those who lost limbs when our bombs came crashing into their neighborhoods because one of their neighbors may or may not have posed a threat to U.S. forces. I thought about the brave people who picked up weapons to defend their communities from the invasion of my government.
I thought “what if Baltimore was really being bombed right now?” I wondered what I would actually feel like, what it means to watch your home, the home of so many friends and family, crumble under the bombs of a foreign government. I wondered what I would do and what my friends would do. Would I go out into the chaos to look for survivors? Would I stay far away hoping to save my own life? Would I fight? Would I organize others to fight with me?
These thoughts paralyzed me for an hour as I sat and stared out into the city. I was among families having cookouts, all the while a simulation of a major bombing campaign lit up my city’s skyline.
All I could think of was Baghdad.
It is amazing that we celebrate our Independence Day in such a way. A total glorification of war. A sensory overload of violence. After all, our fireworks are meant to imitate the “bombs bursting in air” which helped win the Independence War against Britain.
I wonder how many take time on this day to consider the Independence movement that led to the creation of the United States. I wonder if they think about other Independence movements, from India to Algeria to Mozambique, that fought similar struggles against colonialism.
I wonder if any note the parallels between British policy in colonial America and U.S. policy in Iraq. After all, it was the British who set the stage for our presence when they invaded and occupied Iraq in 1921.
And the Iraqi resistance that arose after U.S. Administrator of Iraq Paul Bremer set drastic and far-reaching economic decrees in 2004 isn’t that different from events in our own history. American Patriots fought back after similar changes were initiated by the British in the 1760s and 70s. They rioted against the Stamp Act and dumped Tea in the Boston Harbor to protest British economic policies.
Then they picked up guns.
But political history aside, a deeper question remains; why the glorification of war? Is it to remind ourselves of the glory of victory, to remember those who suffered and died to free the United States from Britain? Is it to turn war into a celebration, to be enjoyed from afar, knowing we will probably never see it?
I tend to believe the latter, that the fireworks celebration is not about Independence, it’s about explosions. It’s about war. It’s a yearly mass-experience that reminds us that we live in a culture of violence and that we are safe enough from war that we can celebrate it from a detached position. But it’s not a conspiracy by some branch of government or some multinational fireworks company, it’s a cultural practice, an unwritten consensus.
If we took time to consider the real impacts that war and mass violence have across the world, I don’t think we would be able to stomach all the hot dogs. I think we would start to feel the weight of so many lives that were taken early by the crippling shards of shrapnel bursting out of bombs and missiles dropped by our military around the world.
And if we all considered what we would do if we were on the receiving end of such an assault, if we saw the bombing of Baltimore the way i did tonight, maybe we would feel the common humanity that binds us to those in Iraq, Afghanistan, and countless other countries that live the results of our government’s aggressive foreign policy.
Perhaps then we could start celebrating Independence Day in a way that honors, educates about, or supports those fighting similar battles today, even if they are against our own government’s policies.
- Ryan Harvey is a musician and organizer with Civilian Soldier Alliance. Check out his blog at http://voiceshakes.wordpress.com/.
I sat on the stone wall that lines Druid Lake tonight and watched Baltimore destroyed by bombs. I watched tracers light up the sky, followed by the deep pulse of distant explosions.
I watched huge clouds of smoke rise from downtown, escaping from the flaming buildings. I saw explosions as far as Dundalk, Curtis Bay, and Morgan State. I saw light emerging from deep in the West Side, illuminating the trees that line the park.
I saw the Belvedere Hotel hit by a series of missiles, a huge flame bursting out the East wall. I remembered when the bartender there took me and a friend on the roof to see the best 360 degree view I’d ever seen of the city. I wondered if he would survive the attack.
Then a huge bomb fell into the apartment building at Howard and 28th, sending a large cloud of smoke into the air. I could only imagine the horrors inside as elderly residents tried to escape the flames. I watched cars crossing the 29th St. bridge fired on by helicopters that then continued on their way into Remington. I watched mortar fire land in the houses of Reservoir Hill that face the park, and heard the sounds of gunfire from the streets behind them.
It was a total nightmare, something I never wanted to experience. Thankfully, it was mostly in my head. It was the Fourth of July, and celebratory explosions were popping off all over the city.
But I wasn’t celebrating, I was mourning. The fireworks reminded me not of 1776 or 1812, but of 2003, when I watched an almost identical scene on the TV news. I thought not of British Redcoats, but of U.S. Soldiers and Marines. I was watching a re-run of Shock And Awe, the massive bombing campaign the U.S. unleashed on Baghdad on March 19th, 2003.
I texted a friend, a former National Guardsman who participated in the initial invasion of Iraq. I told him I was thinking of Baghdad, watching the city light up, and I asked how he was. He said he was “in hiding”, not interested in being taken back to that place again, at least, not this year.
I thought how many friends of mine, Iraq and Afghanistan war veterans who have joined the ranks of the anti-war movement, were in hiding too, taking pills to calm their shattered nerves, reasoning with their shame and anger at the roles they played in occupying these countries.
I thought of my childhood friend Austin Koth, who deployed to Baghdad in 2006 with an Explosive Ordnance Disposal unit. I imagined which exploding firework might best match the sound of the Improvised Explosive Device (IED) that took his life two weeks before he would have come home. Then I heard it.
I thought about the millions of Iraqi and Afghan citizens whose lives have been turned upside down by the “Global War on Terror”. I felt so sad and sorry to the Iraqi people for the actions of my government, a government that wouldn’t budge no matter how unpopular the invasion was or how many people voiced opposition to it.
I wondered how I could explain that to those who lost limbs when our bombs came crashing into their neighborhoods because one of their neighbors may or may not have posed a threat to U.S. forces. I thought about the brave people who picked up weapons to defend their communities from the invasion of my government.
I thought “what if Baltimore was really being bombed right now?” I wondered what I would actually feel like, what it means to watch your home, the home of so many friends and family, crumble under the bombs of a foreign government. I wondered what I would do and what my friends would do. Would I go out into the chaos to look for survivors? Would I stay far away hoping to save my own life? Would I fight? Would I organize others to fight with me?
These thoughts paralyzed me for an hour as I sat and stared out into the city. I was among families having cookouts, all the while a simulation of a major bombing campaign lit up my city’s skyline.
All I could think of was Baghdad.
It is amazing that we celebrate our Independence Day in such a way. A total glorification of war. A sensory overload of violence. After all, our fireworks are meant to imitate the “bombs bursting in air” which helped win the Independence War against Britain.
I wonder how many take time on this day to consider the Independence movement that led to the creation of the United States. I wonder if they think about other Independence movements, from India to Algeria to Mozambique, that fought similar struggles against colonialism.
I wonder if any note the parallels between British policy in colonial America and U.S. policy in Iraq. After all, it was the British who set the stage for our presence when they invaded and occupied Iraq in 1921.
And the Iraqi resistance that arose after U.S. Administrator of Iraq Paul Bremer set drastic and far-reaching economic decrees in 2004 isn’t that different from events in our own history. American Patriots fought back after similar changes were initiated by the British in the 1760s and 70s. They rioted against the Stamp Act and dumped Tea in the Boston Harbor to protest British economic policies.
Then they picked up guns.
But political history aside, a deeper question remains; why the glorification of war? Is it to remind ourselves of the glory of victory, to remember those who suffered and died to free the United States from Britain? Is it to turn war into a celebration, to be enjoyed from afar, knowing we will probably never see it?
I tend to believe the latter, that the fireworks celebration is not about Independence, it’s about explosions. It’s about war. It’s a yearly mass-experience that reminds us that we live in a culture of violence and that we are safe enough from war that we can celebrate it from a detached position. But it’s not a conspiracy by some branch of government or some multinational fireworks company, it’s a cultural practice, an unwritten consensus.
If we took time to consider the real impacts that war and mass violence have across the world, I don’t think we would be able to stomach all the hot dogs. I think we would start to feel the weight of so many lives that were taken early by the crippling shards of shrapnel bursting out of bombs and missiles dropped by our military around the world.
And if we all considered what we would do if we were on the receiving end of such an assault, if we saw the bombing of Baltimore the way i did tonight, maybe we would feel the common humanity that binds us to those in Iraq, Afghanistan, and countless other countries that live the results of our government’s aggressive foreign policy.
Perhaps then we could start celebrating Independence Day in a way that honors, educates about, or supports those fighting similar battles today, even if they are against our own government’s policies.
- Ryan Harvey is a musician and organizer with Civilian Soldier Alliance. Check out his blog at http://voiceshakes.wordpress.com/.
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