Looking back at Winter

I’m as punctual as ever, it seems.

This was not an easy quarter for me, unfortunately. I’ve had quite a few problems that interfered with my academics, which meant that I wasn’t able to enjoy this quarter as much as I wanted to. A shame, too. This should have been the most interesting quarter for me. We looked at classic films and modern media in wartime, analyzing their effect on American culture as a whole. Torture as entertainment was never really something I’ve considered before. Before, I always just thought of it as a convenient plot device and nothing more, though now I wonder what my nonchalance towards torture says about me. We see torture all the time in media, yet we never really seem to give it any thought. Likely it’s due to the sheer prevalence that we see it as normal in everyday life. This is a new era, after all. The enemy uses civilians and innocents as human shields so why wouldn’t we fight as dirty as them? It only makes sense right? Or… perhaps not. Perhaps “fighting dirty” is something that should never be condoned, even if our enemies are the vilest excuses for human beings ever birthed. Even though torture is almost never seen as a purely heroic act, just the mere fact that the media is over saturated with such scenes is causing a bit of a problem. If we’re going to be constantly using torture as plot devices, we need to approach the subject with all the gravity and seriousness it deserves.

Crafting the Modern Badass

“Don’t you morons get it? If you think your government sponsored brutality intimidates me, you clearly don’t know anything about Dragovich. I have nothing to gain by talking to you.”

Dr. Daniel Clarke is remarkably calm as the stony faced CIA agent Jason Hudson forces him into the chair. He smashes the only window in the dirty apartment; no one would miss it, and places one of the broken shards into Clarke’s mouth. The doctor’s eyes flash wide with terror for a brief moment before Agent Hudson rams his fist into his mouth, mutilating his gums and tongue.

The mere thought of placing a sharp object inside of someone’s mouth and proceeding to smash their head in order to blend their mouth into a fine mush is one that would make even the most hardened men wince out of empathy. In any TV show, Jason Hudson would be a sociopath on par with the likes of Dexter Morgan. But he’s not a TV character; he’s a grade-A video game protagonist.

Jason Hudson hard at work.

Torture sequences like this one seen in Call of Duty: Black Ops are becoming more and more prevalent in modern shooters nowadays. As cinema moved towards gritty anti-heroes for protagonists, so did video games.

These torture sequences allow modern protagonists to demonstrate their resolve for completing their mission and look badass while doing so. The player, naturally, feels badass in the process. Who wouldn’t? You get to stare your enemy in the face and put the fear of God into him before you tear the plot right out of him. You feel powerful as you drive a knife through his hand. You feel like a badass when you knock his teeth in. Most importantly, however, you don’t feel wrong.

Most action-y video games are a power trip in some way. You face forces stronger than you and you come out on top usually with a combination of skill, cunning, and extremely large guns. There is no problem with this whatsoever. There IS a problem with a growing trend of torture sequences in which the player is the torturer rather than the other way around like it used to be. Sure, it’s still the same power trip, but there’s one massive change that people tend to miss when they step into the shoes of the torturer: this time, the enemy is helpless. The game encourages the same catharsis you feel for besting a worthy opponent from beating on someone who is completely at your mercy. Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3 ends a climactic and frenzied firefight with the brutal interrogation of a Somali warlord. The player and company flood the room with toxic gas and offer a gas mask to the cowering warlord only if he offers valuable information. You can feel nothing but satisfaction at holding a once-powerful man at your mercy despite committing what could be construed as a war crime all for the next bit of plot.

The perfect way to end any firefight.

That’s the biggest problem with this trend. Most shooters with a torture scenario don’t give it the attention it deserves. Games that throw in the torture sequence as a simple plot device are associating the harm of the helpless with the valorous acts of combat all because the way they handle it is lazy at best. They don’t have the time nor interest in making torture a moral quandary for the player, so they just allow him to beat the plot out of the unlucky minion and call it a day. The torture is portrayed as brutally effective all because the developers didn’t want to make the scene too long.  This lack of care is encouraging the association of torture and badassery. I’m not saying that this will subliminally encourage players to engage in acts of wanton cruelty in real life because that would be incredibly flawed and flat out dumb. What I am saying is that this will contribute to torture being viewed as not only necessary but a righteous act, and that’s the last thing we need.

Of course, there are games that handle the subject with great care and attention, and I applaud them for that. Funny enough, Grand Theft Auto V has one such example. The game makes it extremely clear that torture is doing absolutely nothing for information gathering purposes. Whatever information the victim gives up goes unnoticed through the psychotic glee the player character feels at being able to torture him for… said information. It doesn’t make the player feel like a badass, it makes them feel like a monster.

More psychopath than badass.

Presenting the subject in a way that will make the player think is the perfect antidote to this problem, but unfortunately not every game has the patience or time to do that. We don’t need to avoid the subject of torture. In fact that’s the last thing we need to do. What we need to do is talk about it more, and actually talk about it. Not as a hokey plot device but with all the seriousness the subject demands.

A Literal Propaganda War

To wage a war without the support of the people is folly. While the subjects of the king may not serve in his army, they do make up his infrastructure. What point is there in waging war if there is nothing worth fighting for in the first place? If a king feels that he must wage war to save his dying nation, then he has likely already lost both the war and his country. The answer to this predicament of keeping the people is obviously propaganda, but to what extent does propaganda have an effect? How far can a propaganda campaign reach?

The usual message of propaganda, especially in times of war, is solidarity. The people must stand as one against the enemy, whether that enemy is the line of soldiers in a far off campaign or the hunger and despair that gnaw at the edges of every citizens’ belly. North Korea is particularly infamous for their massive propaganda campaigns including (though definitely not limited to) posters such as this.

This particular poster has an image of Kim Il-Sung shining over the unified flags of North Korea. His subjects, the almighty soldier, the tireless businessman, the stalwart worker, and the unwavering nurse all look to him in awe and admiration. The message is clear, North Korea must stand alone and adhere to the principles of juche (meaning self reliance) to ascend to greatness under the leadership of Kim Il-Sung. North Korea has become a symbol of mind over matter. Their relentless propaganda campaigns obviously attempt to make up for their failing infrastructure by forcing their citizens to be happy. Even then, their efforts are failing, fooling no one but possibly themselves.

This is but a small portion of North Korea’s propaganda that almost defines the nation. They have erected an entire city (Kijong-dong) on their side of the DMZ. The city is marvelous for North Korean standards, featuring lush hillsides, sprawling communities, and a massive flagpole bearing North Korea’s colors.

The catch? It’s completely empty.  Nobody is there save the soldiers in charge of manning artillery positions along the border. Loudspeakers broadcast propaganda across the DMZ every day in the hopes of encouraging South Koreans to defect to the north. North Korea is going above and beyond the call to merge their historia with their res gestae. Breaking down the cult of personality that holds the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea is a goal worth chasing, so I’ll be back for this topic one way or another.

Cultures and Meaning

War is an integral part of human life. It claims lives just as it forges them. It gives way to the rise of nations just as it ruins others. How do we tend to create meaning out of such a gaping wound in life? What trends are there in attempting to decipher conflict?

A common interpretation of conflict is glory. The glorious contest between soldiers has been prized as the ultimate symbol of strength by many writers. Homer exulted in the deeds of heroes clashing against heroes, felling men and gods alike with their mighty deeds. The Iliad is an excellent example of the meaning that a culture that views war so highly would produce. To them, war is the crucible in which true heroes and paragons of strength are forged.

Another common meaning gained from war is sacrifice. Cultures that tend more towards the theme of sacrifice tend not to prize war so highly. Rather than focusing on the great deeds and conquests of heroes, they focus more on their courage to sacrifice so much for the greater good. Rather than becoming heroes through the trials of war, they become heroes in spite of it. These figures refuse to back down or show weakness in the face of the horrors of war.

It seems that depending on the culture’s view on war differing meanings will be wrought. War is ultimately defined by the humans that wage it. Whether it gives meaning through heroic triumph or courageous martyrdom, war will be a part of humanity until our dying breath.

War in the Hearts of our Countrymen.

The methods and discipline of fighting a war are well documented throughout history. The art of war has been constantly refined and honed throughout the ages to become a well oiled machine. Bronze and ironworking enabled us to cut down our opponents faster. Machinery and physics allowed us to topple city walls with ease. Industrialization and combustion gave way to mechanized warfare. Radar and mobile tactics revolutionized contemporary warfare as we knew it. These advances, however, are tools of a “hot” war. As activists and revolutionaries across history have realized, there is more than one way wage war. These brave men and women do not wage war against nations or borders, but rather on cultures and ideologies. Their weapons are words, their arsenals stocked with the strongest rhetoric they can muster. But surely there is an overlap between the methods of a metaphorical war and a conventional war. In what ways do the strategies and tactics overlap between the two? How have they diverged?

The purpose of both kinds of wars is to effect change through force. In a way, great writers and activists such as Frederick Douglass are like the leaders of armies. They alone cannot change a society similarly to how a general is powerless without his men. Their armies are the masses of supporters who follow them. Every person they persuade is a battle won, every time they suffer censorship is a battle lost. Like the art of contemporary killing, technology has radically changed the style of metaphorical warfare, though in a different direction. While modern warfare seems to have focused on striking from the shadows with metal predators, activism seems to have adopted a form of blitzkrieg with the rise of social media. A message can be sent to the world and galvanize entire nations in the blink of an eye. Overnight, entire movements can spring up around the globe ranging from political protests to cries for change. The power to speak to the entire world has changed activism forever. No longer do they need to lurk in the darkness, holding meetings beyond the watchful eyes of slave owners. Activism has changed. It’ll be interesting to see its roots from the Abolitionist movement this quarter.

War.

And so, another theater of war has ended, another campaign at a close. This theater did not span nations or territories, however, but rather epics and dramas and poems. We’ve braved the clashes of heroes in the Trojan War, the horrors of the Thirty Years’ War, stumbled our way through Machiavelli’s political intrigues, and it comes to this point. Looking back at endless battlefields we have covered, I can only ask one thing: why? Why war? It’s obvious that something so soul crushing merits some study, but why should we continually analyze war and its constituent parts over and over and over again? Why devote our lives to that which has taken so many?

Will I be cynical and claim that war is no transient phase but a fundamental process of life? No. I believe that war can be beaten. Not the mere act of winning wars, but achieving victory over war itself. Slowly but surely, humanity will finally be able to transcend this hellish spectre that has followed us ever since our first steps on Earth. We are not the savages we used to be. We’ve shown that we’re able to put our differences aside for the greater good time and time again. And that’s what gives me hope: we’re improving. We aren’t stuck fighting the same tired old battles again and again, we’re constantly trying to improve ourselves and get away from war entirely. Machiavelli and Sun Tzu, both renowned experts on the art of war, constantly advise against war if it can be helped. War does not have to be the end all, be all for humanity.

That being said, I’m not saying that war’s time with humanity will be short lived and brief. It has been a struggle reaching this point, and the future holds greater obstacles still. Our progress in freeing ourselves from the ways of bloodshed has been agonizingly slow. War is very much still ingrained in our culture, our thinking, and our blood. Our studies of war are somewhat ironic, in a way. We study war for the dual purpose of avoiding it in the future while becoming ruthlessly effective at it. We derive new meanings and expressions for human suffering and loss just as we devise cunning new stratagems and deadly weapons from war.

The only way that we can truly beat war is to study it, but our goal is moving away from us just as much as we are chasing it. As we discover more and more about war, it changes and the cycle will continue. It’s an odd thing, this little self sustaining military cultural complex. We must continue our studies of war, lest we be left behind and swallowed by the howling dark.

The Age of Control

Looking back on our studies of war, it is obvious something has changed. The Trojan War was a grand melee fought entirely up close and personal with the exception of maybe three archers mentioned in the entire epic. No mention of any other warriors other than the spearmen of the Greeks and Trojans to be found on the battlefield, just spears after spears. The Thirty Years’ War was one of (if not the) most devastating conflict that Europe has ever seen. Entire cities were wiped out and entire nations were ravaged. These wars were fought over land, resources, and belief, no different from wars today. Yet something seems different. Following the Second World War, we’ve seen a marked decline in “traditional” warfare. No longer are the battle lines clear cut, with an enemy soldier clearly uniformed and marked. Enemies were enemies. Civilians were civilians. Now enemy soldiers dress as civilians, using them as their camouflage . Battles are no longer massive bloody affairs but an endless series of proxy battles, mere skirmishes compared to the great and terrible battles that previously defined war. Why? Why is it that in a world with superpowers sporting fantastical armaments up to and including laser cannons and railguns battles have become smaller and smaller? By examining history, we can see wars shift radically in terms of scope. We went from the entirety of the Pacific and Europe as theaters of war to fighting in either small nations such as Iraq or Afghanistan or extremely wide and vague areas such as the Middle East. The Cold War and the nuclear arms race fueled the terror of mutually assured destruction, creating a global environment where we can only hint at how much power our nations truly wield in the hopes of avoiding global catastrophe. We restrict ourselves to smaller nations and small “conflicts” in favor of large scale alliances and wars. It’s funny. Fueled by our fear of nuclear war ending all life on the planet, we have created a state of everlasting war entirely under the control of Earth’s superpowers. Everything is under control right now it seems and war is becoming more mechanical, more routine. The age of control is upon us.

Resistance is Not Futile

Brecht’s Mother Courage is a prime piece of pedagogical theater. The drama is designed entirely around the concept of teaching audiences concepts that they could apply to the world outside the theater house for the (alleged) betterment of the world. Take, for example, the penultimate scene of the farmhouse in chapter eleven. Brecht uses this scene to make a point about acting alone versus acting as a group. The farmers’ boy bravely stands up against the mercenaries in a heroic display that would normally be the climax of any third-rate story, but instead gets him unceremoniously marched off stage and presumably disposed of once he outlives his usefulness. It is obvious that, as a communist sympathizer, Brecht is trying to make a statement on the futility of trying to act as a singular hero to the people, some magnanimous figure that the people can all rally (or hide) behind. He would obviously rather that the people rise up as one to topple the oppressors and create a Marxist utopia or something, right? Maybe throw in a neat metaphor about one finger being useless but a fist being everything? Then why does the next part of the scene not involve the grief stricken farmers and Mother Courage and Kattrin all overwhelming the soldiers with nothing more than their bravery? Brecht is actually trying to make a different point here. Rather than going for the obvious lesson of group effort versus lone wolves, he goes for the lesson of effort regardless of circumstances. Despite acting alone and dying a horrid death, her efforts still made a difference. Where the farmers and Mother Courage did nothing but dither away and look after themselves, Kattrin took it upon herself to act. Brecht is saying that while group effort is preferable to individual heroism, simple acts of resistance even if you stand on the ashes of your failed predecessors is always preferable to doing nothing. After all, a fist is just a group of fingers working together, right?

The Relevance of the Thirty Years’ War

The Thirty Years’ War had a massive effect on European history, shaping the political climate of the continent to this very day. Despite this massive influence, the Thirty Years’ War is relatively obscure compared to other such wars among the general public. Many people would be able to recognize the Defense of Stalingrad or the Battle of Antietam (though that may just be my bias as an American student) but would cock their heads quizzically at the mention of Magdeburg. Still, there are those who still keep the war alive through fiction. Even now, there are still authors writing novels set during the war. It’s been a long time since 1648. How has the world’s memory of the war changed since then? It seems to me that we’ve began to move away from looking at the war as a war between ancient kings and more towards a historical precedent on war.

Even in modern day, the world cannot escape the shadow of the Thirty Years’ War. The causes of the war have reappeared time and time again throughout history; something that has not escaped the watchful eyes of scholars and historians. Bertold Brecht, for example, draws comparisons between the outbreak of the war with the rise of Nazi Germany and its subsequent fall through his play Mother Courage and her Children. Through the power of drama, he tries to get his audience (preferably German) to think on their role in perpetuating an ultimately hopeless and all-consuming war by having them watch the titular character feed the Thirty Years’ War herself despite losing everything in the end anyways. It is haunting to see the war return so easily with a different name. As time goes on, the Thirty Years’ War is becoming less a piece of history and more an increasingly relevant lesson in history that keeps getting ignored.

What makes the war such an apt comparison to most modern conflict is that it provides a clear template of the causes and effects of war that happen time and time again. There is documentation from 1622 on the inflation that happened during and after the war, something that Germany experienced from the end of the First World War well into the Depression. He writes on the overabundance of currency flooding the market, driving the prices even higher and starving out the local peasantry. The causes of the war, such as a clash of ideals or religion, are also just as relevant in today’s world. The Middle East’s sands run red with blood for the same reason that Europe’s soil did in 1918. The Thirty Years’ War keeps coming back, sometimes in bits and pieces and sometimes as a whole. It appears that those who have studied history are still doomed to witness history repeat itself yet again.

Citations:

Volume 1. From the Reformation to the Thirty Years War, 1500-1648 A Swabian Cobbler-Farmer Survives the Thirty Years War – Hans Heberle (1597-1677) (n.d.): n. pag. Web.

Brecht, Bertolt. Mother Courage and her Children. Trans. Tony Kushner. London: Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, 2009. Print.

Pattons and Agamemnons

The men of the Iliad are certainly no cowards (with one glaring exception). Time after time, they gladly rush ahead into battle. Clashing with each other, they spill each others’ blood so freely that the very sand they fight on stains red with death. Oddly enough, they tend to shy away in fear from one omnipresent champion that looms over all others: responsibility. The heroes of the Iliad, Greek and Trojan alike, tend to fly in the face of responsibility.  To their credit, being the rational adults that they are, they do accept the responsibility of their actions eventually. Of course, this is usually after their actions have terrible consequences such as Patroclus dying or the Greeks being slaughtered wholesale.

Take, for example, Agamemnon refusing to take responsibility for his tyrannical action of taking Achillies’ “prize”. Note how he refuses to see his part in the plague, instead claiming that Calchas’ prophecies (which are correct in this case) are always against Agamemnon and are never true (1. 124-6). Like a child, he demands retribution in return for being forced to take actions to clean up his mess: Achilles’ prized Briseis. This, of course, sets off the entire conflict within the Greek armies that persists for the entire poem. If Agamemnon wasn’t so fearful of looking weak in front of his subordinates, he would have simply given up Chryseis without asking for any recompense and thereby taking responsibility for his actions. But alas, he didn’t, and the war grew ever longer and bloodier as a result.

Such a display would have modern militaries balking and wincing at the sight. So why the difference? What separates Patton or Rommel from Agamemnon? Discipline. The Greeks and Trojans are not soldiers, they are warriors. They may take pride in crushing their enemies, seeing the driven before them, et cetera, but they are still citizen warriors. They all have farms to tend to back home in Sparta or Ithica. Unlike the professional soldiers of modern times, warriors of Ancient Greece were men pulled from the crowds of farmers in times of war. While not having a standing army meant that the men could tend to their farms to keep the city fed and growing, it also meant that they were not constantly being trained or maintained. This brings about a lack of discipline that is needed to keep armies from turning on each other for petty slights such as a disputed slave-girl.

The benefits of having a professionally organized army such as the Roman legions are a debate for another day, but the weaknesses of not having such an army are especially present within The Iliad. As we try and dissect the thoughts of these raging warriors seething with bloodlust and testosterone alike, we must remember that they are not soldiers, not truly. They are warriors, and that makes all the difference in the world.

Citations:

“Greek Warriors.” Ancient. N.p., n.d. Web. 16 Oct. 2014.

Homer. The Iliad. Trans. Robert Fagles. New York: Penguin Books, 1990. Print