The New Faces of Soldiers

The movies filed under Blockbuster’s list “Military Romance” seem to continue with no end in sight. To name just a few of the most popular ones, there is Casablanca, Pearl Harbor, The English Patient, From Here to Eternity, Top Gun, and of course, one my personal favorites, An Officer and a Gentleman. All of these movies, despite coming from very different time periods in American history and all featuring different wards, have some very recognizable elements and themes. To review the checklist: overly starched, crisp white shirts, likable and dashingly good-looking American man, young and naïve love, beautiful and wholesome girl worthy of American man’s unwavering affection, crisis and conflict, an a happy ending. Most if not all of the movies filed under this list at blockbuster contain these elements and themes. For the most part, war and the military have been romanticized in the same way for the last century. That is not to say that since then there have not been movies that do anything but romanticize war. There surely have been, especially in relation to the more recent and unpopular wars. But, whenever a movie is showcasing war in a positive light, they usually pull out the same and predictable stops because no matter how many times they have been recycled, these same moves never fail to pull at American heart strings. For some reason though, what is appealing in the movies is less than ideal in life. In the movies mentioned, when a boy wearing a sailors cap and a suit with shiny gold buttons tells a girl he is in the navy, violins are cued. However, in real life such an utterance is now frequently greeted with a much more unsavory reaction. Questions like: “But, why?” “Do you support the war?” or “Are you a Republican?” usually follow. This wasn’t always the case. The public’s attitude towards serving in the war used to align with those seen in the Blockbuster movie list. Military service used to be seen as noble and prestigious, now if one wants to serve their country they sign up for Teach for America or Habits for Humanity. The movies do not seem to reflect the change, but the image of the American solider is no longer rose hued. The accolades that once accompanied a military man are now being withheld. This begs the question: why has the image of the American solider suffered in recent years? To me, the answer remains a mystery. The most obvious explanation is that the idealized narrative of a solider originated during wars that the public supported and that were triumphs. These two crucial factors have been missing from wars in the more modern times. However, I also feel that in large part it has to do with economics. With the repeal of the draft, it was suddenly a choice, not a duty, to serve in the military. Now with many people from middle or upper classes not exercising that choice, rather than be cast in a negative light in comparison to the once laudatory light surrounding the solider, they repositioned the rhetoric to be in their favor. Now, going to war isn’t considered a duty (with all of the positive connotations the word duty implies) but something to do if you don’t have anything else to do. This idea is further discussed in a book by Frank Schaeffer and Kathy Roth-Douquet, who met her husband, a Marine One pilot, while serving in the Clinton White House. Written in 2006 it is called AWOL: The Unexcused Absence of America’s Upper Classes from the Military and How It Hurts Our Country. The authors note in it that, “not too long ago the sons of presidents, bankers, and oilmen regularly served. This was even true for members of powerful dynasties such as the Roosevelts, the Kennedys, the Sulzbergers (owners and publishers of the New York Times), and the Bushes. Now, however, not one grandchild from those powerful dynasties serves.”

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas by Ursula LeGuin

The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas

by Ursula LeGuin - from The Wind's Twelve Quarters

With a clamor of bells that set the swallows soaring, the Festival of Summer came to the city Omelas, bright-towered by the sea. The ringing of the boats in harbor sparkled with flags. In the streets between

houses with red roofs and painted walls, between old moss-grown gardens and under avenues of trees, past great parks and public buildings, processions moved. Some were decorous: old people in long stiff robes of mauve and gray, grave master workmen, quiet, merry women carrying their babies and chatting as they walked. In other streets the music beat faster, a shimmering of gong and tambourine, and the people went dancing, the procession was a dance. Children dodged in and out, their high calls rising like the swallows' crossing flights over the music and the singing. All the processions wound towards the north side of the city,where on the great water-meadow called the Green Fields boys and girls, naked in the bright air, with mud-stained feet and ankles and long, lithe arms,exercised their restive horses before the race. The horses wore no gear at all but a halter without bit. Their manes were braided with streamers of silver, gold, and green. They flared their nostrils and pranced and boasted to one another; they were vastly excited, the horse being the only animal who has adopted our ceremonies as his own. Far off to the north and west the mountains stood up half encircling Omelas on her bay. The air of morning was so clear that the snow still crowning the Eighteen Peaks burned with white-gold fire across the miles of sunlit air, under the dark blue of the sky. There was just enough wind to make the banners that marked the racecourse snap and flutter now and then. In the silence of the broad green meadows one could hear the music winding throughout the city streets, farther and nearer and ever approaching, a cheerful faint sweetness of the air from time to time trembled and gathered together and broke out into the great joyous clanging of the bells.

Joyous! How is one to tell about joy? How describe the citizens of

Omelas? They were not simple folk, you see, though they were happy. But we do not say the words of cheer much any more. All smiles have become archaic. Given a description such as this one tends to make certain assumptions. Given a description such as this one tends to look next for the King, mounted on a splendid stallion and surrounded by his noble knights, or perhaps in a golden litter borne by great-muscled slaves. But there was no king. They did not use swords, or keep slaves. They were not barbarians, I do not know the rules and laws of their society, but I suspect that they were singularly few. As they did without monarchy and slavery, so they also got on without the stock exchange, the advertisement, the secret police, and the bomb. Yet I repeat that these were not simple folk, not dulcet shepherds, noble savages, bland utopians. There were not less complex than us.

The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe happy man, nor make any celebration of joy. How can I tell you about the people of Omelas?

They were not naive and happy children--though their children were, in fact, happy. They were mature, intelligent, passionate adults whose lives were not wretched. O miracle! But I wish I could describe it better. I wish I could convince you. Omelas sounds in my words like a city in a fairy tale, long ago and far away, once upon a time. Perhaps it would be best if you imagined it as your own fancy bids, assuming it will rise to the occasion, for certainly I cannot suit you all. For instance, how about technology? I think that there would be no cars or helicopters in and above the streets; this follows from the fact that the people of Omelas are happy people. Happiness is based on a just discrimination of what is necessary, what is neither necessary nor destructive, and what is destructive. In the middle category,however--that of the unnecessary but undestructive, that of comfort, luxury, exuberance, etc.--they could perfectly well have central heating, subway trains, washing machines, and all kinds of marvelous devices not yet invented here, floating light-sources, fuel less power, a cure for the common cold. Or they could have none of that: it doesn't matter. As you like it. I incline to think that people from towns up and down the coast have been coming to to Omelas during the last days before the Festival on very fast little trains and double-decked trams, and that the trains station of Omelas is actually the handsomest building in town, though plainer than the magnificent Farmers' Market. But even granted trains, I fear that Omelas so far strikes some of you as goody-goody. Smiles, bells, parades, horses, bleh. If so, please add an orgy. If an orgy would help, don't hesitate. Let us not, however, have temples from which issue beautiful nude priests and priestesses already half in ecstasy and ready to copulate with any man or woman, lover or stranger, who desires union with the deep godhead of the blood, although that was my first idea. But really it would be better not to have any temples inOmelas--at least, not manned temples. Religion yes, clergy no. Surely the beautiful nudes can just wander about, offering themselves like divine souffles to the hunger of the needy and the rapture of the flesh. Let them join the processions. Let tambourines be struck above the copulations, and the gory of desire be proclaimed upon the gongs, and (a not unimportant point) let the offspring of these delightful rituals be beloved and looked after by all. One thing I know there is none of in Omelas is guilt. But what else should there be? I thought at first there were no drugs, but that is puritanical. For those who like it, the faint insistent sweetness of drooz may perfume the ways of the city, drooz which first brings a great lightness and brilliance to the mind and limbs, and then after some hours a dreamy languor, and wonderful visions at last of the very arcane and inmost secrets of the Universe, as well as exciting the pleasure of sex beyond all belief; and it is not habit-forming. For more modest tastes I think there ought to be beer. What else, what else belongs in the joyous city? The sense of victory, surely, the celebration of courage. But as we did without clergy, let us do without soldiers. The joy built upon successful slaughter is not the right kind of joy; it will not do; it is fearful and it is trivial. A boundless and generous contentment, a magnanimous triumph felt not against some outer enemy but in communion with the finest and fairest in the souls of all men everywhere and the splendor of the world's summer: This is what swells the hearts of the people of Omelas, and the victory they celebrate is that of life. I don't think many of them need to take drooz.

Most of the processions have reached the Green Fields by now. A marvelous smell of cooking goes forth from the red and blue tents of the provisioners. The faces of small children are amiably sticky; in the benign gray beard of a man a couple of crumbs of rich pastry are entangled. The youths and girls have mounted their horses and are beginning to group around the starting line of the course. An old woman, small, fat, and laughing, is passing out flowers from a basket, and tall young men wear her flowers in their shining hair. A child of nine or ten sits at the edge of the crowd alone, playing on a wooden flute.

People pause to listen, and they smile, but they do not speak to him, for he never ceases playing and never sees them, his dark eyes wholly rapt in the sweet, thing magic of the tune.

He finishes, and slowly lowers his hands holding the wooden flute. As if that little private silence were the signal, all at once a trumpet sounds from the pavilion near the starting line: imperious, melancholy, piercing. The horses rear on their slender legs, and some of them neigh in answer. Sober-faced, the young riders stroke the horses' necks and soothe them, whispering. "Quiet, quiet, there my beauty, my hope..." They begin to form in rank along the starting line. The crowds along the racecourse are like a field of grass and flowers in the wind. The Festival of Summer has begun.

Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No?

Then let me describe one more thing.

In a basement under one of the beautiful public buildings of Omelas,or perhaps in the cellar of one of its spacious private homes, there is a room. It has one locked door, and no window. A little light seeps

in dustily between cracks in the boards, secondhand from a cobwebbed window somewhere across the cellar. In one corner of the little room a couple of mops, with stiff, clotted, foul-smelling heads, stand near a rusty bucket. The floor is dirt, a little damp to the touch, as cellar dirt usually is.

The room is about three paces long and two wide: a mere broom closet or disused tool room. In the room, a child is sitting. It could be a boy or a girl. It looks about six, but actually is nearly ten. It is feeble-minded. Perhaps it was born defective, or perhaps it has become imbecile through fear, malnutrition, and neglect. It picks its nose and occasionally fumbles vaguely with its toes or genitals, as it sits hunched in the corner farthest from the bucket and the two mops. It is afraid of the mops. It finds them horrible. It shuts its eyes, but it knows the mops are still standing there; and the door is locked; and nobody will come. The door is always locked; and nobody ever comes, except that sometimes--the child has no understanding of time or interval--sometimes the door rattles terribly and opens, and a person, or several people, are there. One of them may come in and kick the child to make it stand up. The others never come close, but peer in at it with frightened, disgusted eyes. The food bowl and the water jug are hastily filled, the door is locked; the eyes disappear. The people at the door never say anything, but the child, who has not always lived in the tool room, and can remember sunlight and its mother's voice, sometimes speaks. "I will be good, " it says. "Please let me out. I will be good!" They never answer. The child used to scream for help at night, and cry a good deal, but now it only makes a kind of whining, "eh-haa, eh-haa," and it speaks less and less often. It is so thin there are no calves to its legs; its belly protrudes; it lives on a half-bowl of corn meal and grease a day. It is naked. Its buttocks and thighs are a mass of festered sores, as it sits in its own excrement continually.

They all know it is there, all the people of Omelas. Some of them have come to see it, others are content merely to know it is there. They all know that it has to be there. Some of them understand why, and some do not, but they all understand that their happiness, the beauty of their city, the tenderness of their friendships, the health of their children, the wisdom of their scholars, the skill of their makers, even the abundance of their harvest and the kindly weathers of their skies, depend wholly on this child's abominable misery.

This is usually explained to children when they are between eight and twelve, whenever they seem capable of understanding; and most of those who come to see the child are young people, though often enough anadult comes, or comes back, to see the child. No matter how well the matter has been explained to them, these young spectators are always shocked and sickened at the sight. They feel disgust, which they had thought themselves superior to. They feel anger, outrage, impotence, despite all the explanations. They would like to do something for the child. But there is nothing they can do. If the child were brought up

into the sunlight out of that vile place, if it were cleaned and fed and comforted, that would be a good thing, indeed; but if it were done, in that day and hour all the prosperity and beauty and delightof Omelas would wither and be destroyed. Those are the terms. To exchange all the goodness and grace of every life in Omelas for that single, small improvement: to throw away the happiness of thousands for the chance of happiness of one: that would be to let guilt within the walls indeed.

The terms are strict and absolute; there may not even be a kind word spoken to the child.

Often the young people go home in tears, or in a tearless rage, when they have seen the child and faced this terrible paradox. They may brood over it for weeks or years. But as time goes on they begin to realize that even if the child could be released, it would not get much good of its freedom: a little vague pleasure of warmth and food, no real doubt, but little more. It is too degraded and imbecile to know any real joy. It has been afraid too long ever to be free of fear. Its habits are too uncouth for it to respond to humane treatment. Indeed, after so long it would probably be wretched without walls about it to protect it, and darkness for its eyes, and its own excrement to sit in. Their tears at the bitter injustice dry when they begin to perceive the terrible justice of reality, and to accept it. Yet it is their tears and anger, the trying of their generosity and the acceptance of their helplessness, which are perhaps the true source of the splendor of their lives. Theirs is no vapid, irresponsible happiness. They know that they, like the child, are not free. They know compassion. It is the existence of the child, and their knowledge of its existence, that makes possible the nobility of their architecture, the poignancy of their music, the profundity of their science. It is because of the child that they are so gentle with children. They know that if the wretched one were not there sniveling in the dark, the other one, the flute-player, could make no joyful music as the young riders line up in their beauty for the race in the sunlight of the first morning of summer.

Now do you believe them? Are they not more credible? But there is one more thing to tell, and this is quite incredible.

At times one of the adolescent girls or boys who go see the child does not go home to weep or rage, does not, in fact, go home at all. Sometimes also a man or a woman much older falls silent for a day or two, then leaves home. These people go out into the street, andwalk down the street alone. They keep walking, and walk straight out of the city of Omelas, through the beautiful gates. They keep walking across the farmlands of Omelas. Each one goes alone, youth or girl,man or woman.

Night falls; the traveler must pass down village streets, between the houses with yellow- lit windows, and on out into the darkness of the fields. Each alone, they go west or north, towards the mountains. They go on. They leave Omelas, they walk ahead into the darkness, and they do not come back. The place they go towards is a place even less imaginable to most of us than the city of happiness. I cannot describe it at all. It is possible that it does not exist. But they seem to know where they are going, the ones who walk away from Omelas.

Discussion Points & Questions

1. It is not uncommon for the government and politicians to employ a utilitarian type of argument of saying that certain things are necessary for “the collective greater good”. Do you think that this argument is reasonable?
2. What about the cost of the greater good? As in the case of the Omelas, is it acceptable to torture and harm a child so that all others may be happy? At what point is it necessary to draw the line?
3. Does wartime rhetoric and the quest for national security make people accept or overlook things that they would normally condemn?
4. Can something be considered torture and inhumane in one case, but not in another? How does rhetoric influence this perception?
5. Considering the argument that a culture's morals are created/constructed and not inherent, how do you think rhetoric and communication have worked to create the way we view war?
6. As the image shows, drone attacks could not be further from the romantic notion of the scrappy, brave and determined patriots who fought against the British army and by pure passion and a stroke of luck won their freedom and their country. How has this narrative progressed beyond its times? As transparency of the government's actions during war increases with the advent of technology, do you think this narrative will be retired to a relic, or will it continue to be recycled? What does this say about the power of rhetoric and propaganda?

Reality, Ratings, and the Resulting Decline

Things used to be so simple. There were movies, celebrities, television sitcoms, news programs, and newspapers and then there was real life. Everything stayed in it’s own separate category. The closest thing we got to the gray area was Seinfeld, a show about real people doing nothing. Now, in the year 2010, the lines are not nearly as distinct. Television sitcoms have been replaced by reality shows, making celebrities out of regular people. Online media has completely eclipsed printed newspapers, which are now solely being used to supply children with materials for paper maiche projects. The advance of technology like blogs and youtube has given voices, often times strident and yelling ones, to the American public, which once again makes celebrities out of American people. Perhaps the most drastic change in the new world can be seen with the news. Now, news programs prefer to feature entertainment fluff pieces (such as what happened when the reality show celebrity when clubbing last night) over actual news stories, and are much less strict when it comes to hiring requirements for their reporters. In fact, a background in entertainment is actually preferred over a background in journalism. (Glenn Beck might not have graduated from college but he hosted a successful radio show as a shock jock!) Is it any surprise that news programs are also trying to make their “reporters” celebrities? (Exhibit A: Anderson Cooper a.k.a The Silver Fox). News programs and their viewers no longer value accuracy and integrity, virtues that were long ago replaced by the ability to talk fast and make salacious remarks. Fox News was among the first news organizations to recognize and adhere to the new rules set forth by the evolution of mass media. It’s because of this that they are currently crushing other news outlets like CNN in the ratings war, making it only a matter of time before CNN must fold and wave whatever last piece of journalistic integrity in the air like a white flag. It is the inevitable outcome. This is evident when looking at Glenn Beck's viewership numbers in comparison to those of other news programs. For example, the week of October 2^nd 2009 at the 5 p.m. time slot ranged from approximately 2,550,00 to 2,950,000 viewers per day. This was about twice as much as the viewership of CNN Situation Room, MSNBC Hardball, and Headline News all combined. We have sent a clear message to those that control the media outlets that we care less about news and more about noise. As CNN begins it’s downward climb in terms of quality of content and no doubt it’s upward slope of ratings, one by one all the other reputable news organizations will succumb as well. The lines between news and entertainment, celebrity and reality, have been erased. Being able to rant on our blogs, post videos of our opinions, and see our twitter comments on the televison news scroll might contribute to the allusion that we are actually benefiting from the phenomenon, but that is not the case. These examples of technology has not led to more transparency. In fact, it has done just the opposite. It has lowered the bar of what is now news worthy and what kind of work is acceptable.It has diverted the media from doing its job of policing and reporting on the government/politics and instead caused them to focus solely on ratings. If the American public doesn’t care if Glenn Beck is presenting news sources with legitimate journalistic integrity and accuracy, why should they care (or even notice) if the government is also devoid of the same virtues? By telling the media to focus on entertainment instead of doing their job, the American people are essentially forfeiting their own rights and encouraging deceit. It is impossible not to see the danger of living a world where the government is unchecked by the media and not held accountable for their actions. And all because the American public would rather see Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck yell and fist pump.

The Narrative of Terrorism

On the heels of the murder-suicide of Andrew Stack, the tax protestor who flew a plane into the Internal Revenue Service building on February 18^th, newly elected Tea Party hero Scott Brown offered his opinion of the event. During the interview with Fox News reporter Neil Cavuto the senator appeared to be empathetic to Scott’s motives. He cites the incident as an example of the frustration that many Americans are feeling with the government and says that it is obvious the government needs to do better. Essentially, Brown trivializes the event to the point where it is comparable to the annoyance an American feels for having to serve on jury duty, or wait in a long line with the DMV.

However the annoyance or frustration that most people feel does not cause them to fly a plane into a building with the intention of killing themselves and others. As it turns out, Scott Brown is not alone in his perception of the event. Many other politicians have expressed similar sentiments, including Representative Steve King, a Republican of Iowa, who even rationalized Stack’s crime. “It’s sad the incident in Texas happened, but by the same token, it’s an agency that is unnecessary. And when the day comes when that is over and we abolish the I.R.S., it’s going to be a happy day for America.”

This cavalier attitude and response to the event greatly astonishes me for several reasons. For one, had Andrew Stack been of Middle Eastern descent I have no doubts that the media and the government immediately would have jumped on the terrorist bandwagon. There would have been finger pointing and accusations like “fanatic”, “evil” and “deranged”, and all the other usual favorites used to describe terrorists. Whether or not Stack could actually be considered a terrorist is irrelevant for the same reasons that if a Middle Eastern man committed the same act he would automatically be considered a terrorist. My point is that while what Stack did does not fit the technical definition of terrorism, neither have the acts committed by other people we consider to be terrorists-but that hasn’t stopped us. Therefore, the only reason why they are labeled as terrorists and Stack was not is because their ethnicity or nationality fits our cultural definition of a terrorist. The narrative that the government, with the help of the media, has constructed, packaged and sold to the public is that terrorists are all foreign and evil lunatics who hate America. Surely, Stack’s actions as well as his rambling suicide note could be considered crazy and evil. He certainly had a political motive and were intended to hurt people and generate fear. But because he is missing the most important point on the terrorist checklist he does not fit with the way in which the American public views terrorists. So instead, he is painted as just a misguided and frustrated average Joe, someone who warrants empathy and understanding. He is someone that everyone can relate to. Politicians are clamoring to sympathize with Stack and to use the entire event to blame the government. It is astonishing how much the perception of the act is dependent upon one little variable. In this case, Brown, King and other politicians are shifting the blame from Stack and to the government, saying “we need to do things better.” It is interesting to consider the position America would be in today if we had looked at actual terrorist attacks in the same light. In cases that are actually determined to be terrorism, as opposed to Stack flying a plane into a government building, it seems ridiculous to suggest that the American people should try to understand the terrorists perspective, or to look at it as evidence that the government is doing something wrong and that is why the attack occurred in the first place. These suggestions are laughable when framed from the perspective of terrorism, and yet astonishingly enough they are the very same suggestions being put forth now.

Fashion & War

Typically, the themes of a fashion season are only recognized and observed by the fashion industry’s insiders or those with a true passion for fashion. Yet, even the people who do not attend the fall or spring runway shows and who are not slaves to Vogue would be blind not to notice the military trend’s domination of both the runways this year. Designers such as Jean Paul Gaultier, Balmain, MaxMara, Philip Lim and Marc Jacobs were just a few who featured the modern military trend in their collections. To someone not well versed in fashion, these names are meaningless. However there is very much meaning in the fact that all of these high fashion elite designers choose to incorporate this trend into their collections. The significance of this is that for the next year, or even the next few years, the majority of people in America will be outfitted in military inspired garb. That is because it is these meaningless names that dictate what the American public wears. The particular military jacket with the sequeined epaulets that appeared in Rag & Bone’s spring show may not turn up on a man in Missispi, or a woman in Arkansas, but it is far more likely than not that some article of clothing inspired by this trend will. That is because it is unavoidable. Once the top of the food chain in fashion latches on to a trend, every other designer follows suit until the trend trickles all the way down to such mass market retail stores like the Gap, or J Crew. Along the way, many trends are diluted and somewhat distorted, so the man in Mississippi or the woman in Arksansas might not even realize that the new plum colored shirt they just bought is a remanent of the color pattern from a runway show a year ago. As an aspiring fashionista, I can say that the military trend is unique in this aspect. Unlike many other fashion fads, the military trend has been replicated in the mainstream fashion world in a version that bears a striking resemblance to the original. That is to say, it is apparent that the mainstream military clothing this year is a more accurate reflection than it is an inspiration. There are several reasons why this could have happened, but the one I suspect to be most relevant is because unlike other fashion trends as of late, such as the French Riviera or Prairie Chic, the military trend is a concept accessible to all. There is no need to alter, tailor, or dilute a trend that can be understood by all audiences. While the appeal of the elegance of the prarie could easily be lost on people and therefore need to undergo alterations for the average buyers, the appeal of the military and of war is something universally understood. The American public is well versed in the romanticized view of war that has consistently been presented to every generation. Even if the person lived under a rock for the past 20 years, he/she would still look at red blazer with shiny brass buttons and describe it as distinguished and strong. The military/war evokes this type of reaction in practically all Americans. As someone who had always appreciated fashion as way to express herself or to admire beautiful things, I never realized that I was not recognizing fashion’s entire potential and meaning. It turns out that fashion is also a fantastic platform for viewing the effects of arguably the most successful and popular propaganda campaign of all time.