Honoring the Fallen
People understand this war better than the poiticians, to wit:
Ohio remembers--and understands--its Marines.
BY DANIEL HENNINGER
Friday, August 12, 2005 12:01 a.m.
BROOK PARK, Ohio--Over the weekend of Aug. 6, a steady line of cars and motorcycles pulled off Smith Road here to visit the fence that stands in front of the U.S. Marine Corps Reserve Center. The small brick building beyond the fence is the headquarters for Third Battalion, 25th Regiment--"the 325th." The fence had become a spontaneous memorial tribute to 19 Marines from the 325th, most of them from Ohio, who were killed near the Euphrates River in western Iraq last week. Across the weekend, planes were landing with the returning bodies at Hopkins Airport in Cleveland.
The politics of the Iraq war wasn't much on view amid the memorial fence's American flags, flowers, football jerseys, photographs, poems and Marine memorabilia. But someone had decided to put down on the ground an article published just three weeks ago in the News-Herald, a nearby newspaper. "All I can ask," wrote Marine Cpl. Jacob Arnett, who is still on duty in Iraq, "is that the American people be given more than the bombings and daily death toll, because we are giving much more than that for Iraq."
A recurring question raised about the American military these days is whether our current "professional" army of volunteers, like those from the 325th, is somehow estranged from the general population. The Pentagon, for its part, wants no part of the army that served in Vietnam, drafted out of the general population. It prefers the dedication and commitment of soldiers who have volunteered.
For all that, I think Cpl. Arnett raises an important question, one with implications that will extend beyond this time in Iraq. He had written in the News-Herald that "we are giving much more" in Iraq than the news of combat deaths and bombings would suggest. The "much more" to his mind includes the millions who voted in Iraq's first real election, the Shia and Kurds who no longer have to fear death from Saddam's regime, and the memory left behind of American Marines protecting the families and neighborhoods of Iraqis who are trying to rebuild their country.
The question is whether back home it is possible for people who, unlike in any previous war, absorb real-time after-battle accounts in the papers and on television of mainly violence and death. Does the "we are giving much more" part get overwhelmed and over time, washed out? Opinion polls, whatever their value, suggest that in Iraq the "much more" is indeed getting washed away beneath daily, graphic, meticulously reported accounts of combat death.
The ebb of martial emotion is of course not new. In his biography of George Washington, Joseph Ellis writes: "During the Valley Forge encampment the officers of the Continental Army . . . based on their revolutionary credentials as the ultimate repository of commitment to the cause of American independence . . . were the 'band of brothers' that sustained the virtuous ideal amidst an increasingly corrupt and disinterested civilian society."
In "Lincoln," David Herbert Donald describes the passage of public sentiment during the Civil War from enthusiasm to condemnation: "Many Northerners were euphoric at the outbreak of war, confident that the Union with its vast natural resources, its enormous superiority in manufactures, its 300% advantage in railroad mileage was bound to prevail. . . . Seward thought the war would be over in 90 days. . . . The New York Times predicted victory in 30 days." We know what happened. And the mood changed. Ohio Rep. Clement L. Vallandigham took to the House floor and "denounced Lincoln's effort to restore the Union by war as an 'utter, disastrous, and most bloody failure.' The President, Vallandigham said, had made the United States into 'one of the worst despotisms on earth.' "
Sounds familiar, at least if one lives among the intellectual combatants whose battleground in our day extends from Washington to Manhattan. The view from Brook Park, over the past weekend, was not so complicated.
Brook Park abuts the west side of Cleveland. Its largest employer is Ford Motor's Engine Plant No. 1. Its small, square houses are called "ranches and splits." Brook Park, in every respect, is an average place. But on Monday evening, for the Marines' memorial service, it was a cut above.
Several thousand people showed up at the International Exposition Center, a vast, girder-filled former tank plant. On the way in, someone had placed three boxes of tissues on a table. They weren't needed.
In recent years, the outward expression of tragic sorrow in America has manifest itself as tears and inconsolable grief. We have become a people of extreme sentiment. But not that night in Brook Park. The grief at this too localized loss for Ohio was real enough, especially for the families, but the theme at the IX Center, and at the Marines' memorial fence, had two parts: pride and, most of all, gratitude.
Both the memorial-fence poets and some of the speakers in the big hall drew a straight line between the Marines' service and sacrifice in Iraq and the way we are able to live back home. "For more than 200 years," said Brook Park Mayor Mark J. Elliott, "Americans have put their lives on the line to protect our freedom." Someone said the Pledge of Allegiance, which in this version was "under God." They listened to some other speeches by public figures, played "Taps" and walked out.
I don't think what I saw in Brook Park adds up to a people who are for or against this war. But I do think it reflects a deeper understanding at home than is evident in our politics, of what those 19 Marines were doing in Iraq.
Mr. Henninger is deputy editor of The Wall Street Journal's editorial page. His column appears Fridays in the Journal and on OpinionJournal.com.
Ohio remembers--and understands--its Marines.
BY DANIEL HENNINGER
Friday, August 12, 2005 12:01 a.m.
BROOK PARK, Ohio--Over the weekend of Aug. 6, a steady line of cars and motorcycles pulled off Smith Road here to visit the fence that stands in front of the U.S. Marine Corps Reserve Center. The small brick building beyond the fence is the headquarters for Third Battalion, 25th Regiment--"the 325th." The fence had become a spontaneous memorial tribute to 19 Marines from the 325th, most of them from Ohio, who were killed near the Euphrates River in western Iraq last week. Across the weekend, planes were landing with the returning bodies at Hopkins Airport in Cleveland.
The politics of the Iraq war wasn't much on view amid the memorial fence's American flags, flowers, football jerseys, photographs, poems and Marine memorabilia. But someone had decided to put down on the ground an article published just three weeks ago in the News-Herald, a nearby newspaper. "All I can ask," wrote Marine Cpl. Jacob Arnett, who is still on duty in Iraq, "is that the American people be given more than the bombings and daily death toll, because we are giving much more than that for Iraq."
A recurring question raised about the American military these days is whether our current "professional" army of volunteers, like those from the 325th, is somehow estranged from the general population. The Pentagon, for its part, wants no part of the army that served in Vietnam, drafted out of the general population. It prefers the dedication and commitment of soldiers who have volunteered.
For all that, I think Cpl. Arnett raises an important question, one with implications that will extend beyond this time in Iraq. He had written in the News-Herald that "we are giving much more" in Iraq than the news of combat deaths and bombings would suggest. The "much more" to his mind includes the millions who voted in Iraq's first real election, the Shia and Kurds who no longer have to fear death from Saddam's regime, and the memory left behind of American Marines protecting the families and neighborhoods of Iraqis who are trying to rebuild their country.
The question is whether back home it is possible for people who, unlike in any previous war, absorb real-time after-battle accounts in the papers and on television of mainly violence and death. Does the "we are giving much more" part get overwhelmed and over time, washed out? Opinion polls, whatever their value, suggest that in Iraq the "much more" is indeed getting washed away beneath daily, graphic, meticulously reported accounts of combat death.
The ebb of martial emotion is of course not new. In his biography of George Washington, Joseph Ellis writes: "During the Valley Forge encampment the officers of the Continental Army . . . based on their revolutionary credentials as the ultimate repository of commitment to the cause of American independence . . . were the 'band of brothers' that sustained the virtuous ideal amidst an increasingly corrupt and disinterested civilian society."
In "Lincoln," David Herbert Donald describes the passage of public sentiment during the Civil War from enthusiasm to condemnation: "Many Northerners were euphoric at the outbreak of war, confident that the Union with its vast natural resources, its enormous superiority in manufactures, its 300% advantage in railroad mileage was bound to prevail. . . . Seward thought the war would be over in 90 days. . . . The New York Times predicted victory in 30 days." We know what happened. And the mood changed. Ohio Rep. Clement L. Vallandigham took to the House floor and "denounced Lincoln's effort to restore the Union by war as an 'utter, disastrous, and most bloody failure.' The President, Vallandigham said, had made the United States into 'one of the worst despotisms on earth.' "
Sounds familiar, at least if one lives among the intellectual combatants whose battleground in our day extends from Washington to Manhattan. The view from Brook Park, over the past weekend, was not so complicated.
Brook Park abuts the west side of Cleveland. Its largest employer is Ford Motor's Engine Plant No. 1. Its small, square houses are called "ranches and splits." Brook Park, in every respect, is an average place. But on Monday evening, for the Marines' memorial service, it was a cut above.
Several thousand people showed up at the International Exposition Center, a vast, girder-filled former tank plant. On the way in, someone had placed three boxes of tissues on a table. They weren't needed.
In recent years, the outward expression of tragic sorrow in America has manifest itself as tears and inconsolable grief. We have become a people of extreme sentiment. But not that night in Brook Park. The grief at this too localized loss for Ohio was real enough, especially for the families, but the theme at the IX Center, and at the Marines' memorial fence, had two parts: pride and, most of all, gratitude.
Both the memorial-fence poets and some of the speakers in the big hall drew a straight line between the Marines' service and sacrifice in Iraq and the way we are able to live back home. "For more than 200 years," said Brook Park Mayor Mark J. Elliott, "Americans have put their lives on the line to protect our freedom." Someone said the Pledge of Allegiance, which in this version was "under God." They listened to some other speeches by public figures, played "Taps" and walked out.
I don't think what I saw in Brook Park adds up to a people who are for or against this war. But I do think it reflects a deeper understanding at home than is evident in our politics, of what those 19 Marines were doing in Iraq.
Mr. Henninger is deputy editor of The Wall Street Journal's editorial page. His column appears Fridays in the Journal and on OpinionJournal.com.
posted by Rope Burns at 8/12/2005 07:29:00 AM
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