One of our rhetorical tics, so common and so universal as to be unremarkable, is the shared assertion by liberals and conservatives alike that our soldiers are our heroes. We may disagree about foreign policy, but soldiers are the bravest and the greatest. That mainstream politicians should make this claim – Obama and Bush, McCain and Kerry – should provoke little surprise, but it flourishes as a trope among the anti-war left as well. Political strategies reverberate through time as we refight our last discursive war.

In the heated years of the War in Vietnam there was a palpable anger by opponents of that war that was directed against members of the military who bombed the killing fields of Cambodia, Hanoi, and Hue. While accounts of soldiers being spat upon were more apocryphal than real, used by pro-war forces to attack their opponents. According to sociologist Jerry Lembcke in his book The Spitting Image the story was an urban legend, but it is true that many who opposed the war considered soldiers to be oppressors, or in the extreme, murderers. This was a symbolic battle in which the anti-war forces were routed, and such language was used to delegitimize principled opposition to the war and to separate the young college marchers from the working class soldiers who were doing the bidding of presidents and generals. In the time of a national draft, college students were excused from service, making the class divide evident. (For the record, I admit to cowardice, fearing snipers, fragging, and reveille. I was a chicken dove).

After the war, war critics learned a lesson. No longer would the men with guns be held responsible for the bullets. All blame was to be placed upon government and none on the soldiers, even though the draft had been abolished, and the military became all-volunteer (and the working class and minority population continued to increase in the ranks).

By the time that American adventures in the Gulf and in Afghanistan became part of our political taken-for-granted, so did the rhetoric of soldier-as-hero. Perhaps these rhetorical choices were strategic, but they also served to give our military a moral pass.

When Barack Obama was a candidate he assured voters that he would conclude this national nightmare. Yes, politics involves bluster and blarney, but bringing the troops home in an orderly process seemed a firm commitment, a project for his first term. I trusted that this hope and change was not merely a discursive sop to those who found long-term and bloody American intervention intolerable. Here was a war that seemed hopeless in year one and now in year eleven it seems no more hopeful. To be sure it is a low-grade debacle, but a debacle none-the-less. If, as some have suggested, we invaded Afghanistan to put the fear of God into the hearts of Pakistanis, the strategy has been charmingly ineffective. It seems abundantly clear that our choice is to determine when we will declare the war lost, and when Americans and Afghans will no longer die at each others hands.

Wars cannot be conducted without the connivance of soldiers. Soldiers are the pawns that permit State policy. I recognize that in parlous economic times there are many strategic reasons for desiring the benefits of a military life. And spittle is not political philosophy. But choice is always tethered to responsibility. Members of the military are accepting and even benefiting from a misguided and destructive policy. The nation of Afghanistan deserves self-determination free from our boots on the ground. And the absence of complaint among the all-volunteer military underlines the complicity of our soldiers.

So I do reject the choices of the members of the military whose presence and obedience makes possible the fantasias of foreign policy strategists. They have moral responsibility for their decisions. But the responsibility is not theirs alone, but ours. That we have been unable, unwilling, or unconcerned to stop an unending war against a nation that did not attack us is a mark of shame. It reveals the American public as timid and craven.

Are soldiers responsible for their actions? Surely. Should soldiers be hated? Not until the rest of us are willing to hold a mirror to our own acquiescence in a system that reveals in our political priorities that War and Peace matters far less than Standard and Poors.

Many in the military fear that “putting their skin in the game” will be forgotten, and some have taken steps to keep memories of their fallen comrades alive. These may be found in an old form of art, the tattoo, specifically the memorial tattoo.

Mary Beth Heffernan, a photographer and associate professor of sculpture and photography at Occidental College, documented U. S. Marine memorial tattoos on film and incorporated them into a gallery exhibit, “The Soldier’s Skin: An Endless Edition.” The exhibit was shown at the Pasadena City College Art Gallery between October 10 and November 17, 2007, which was organized in conjunction with the citywide Pasadena Festival of Art and Ideas. Marines may be a specialized form of soldier, but most Marines prefer to be thought of as Marines rather than soldiers, as referenced in the exhibit’s title. The endless edition refers to Heffernan displaying her photolithographs arranged in stacks on a floor. To me, it brings tombstones to mind. Heffernan encourages viewers to take home copies from the stack, free of charge and reflect on them.

This image of a tattoo on the back of U. S. Marine, Joshua Hall. was photographed by Heffernan on February 3, 2006. It was reproduced as a 24” x 27” poster in unlimited quantity for the show in 2007. Memorialized on dog tags, along with his grandfather and uncle who died in war, are other fallen Marine brothers in arms.

Other Heffernan images may be found on the following links:  http://www.latimes.com/entertainment/news/la-et-1027-heffernan-pg,0,5619148.photogallery?coll=la-tot-entertainment; and http://www.artscenecal.com/ArticlesFile/Archive/Articles2007/Articles1007/MBHeffernanA.html.

The cover of Heffernan’s exhibit catalog features a young girl holding a 19” x 27” poster showing the tattoo on the front of Owen McNamara’s body, taken on February 6, 2006. During his second tour in Iraq, McNamara was twenty years old. While attending a promotion ceremony, ten of his fellow Marines were killed at a booby-trapped patrol base. The tattoo which covers most of his upper torso has inscribed, “In Memory of Our Fallen Brothers,” positioned above a helmet carrying his unit’s identification, sitting on top of a rifle with its bayonet stuck into the ground dated, “Dec. 1, 2005,” flanked by two dog tags bearing “Never” “Forget.” Empty boots are arranged at the base with five shell casings on either side with the last names of his fallen brothers floating above each of the casings. McNamara was wounded on his first tour in Iraq, and he has a tattoo on his arm to capture this memory.

Even though Heffernan focused on the particular, the images tell us much more about war and the current need of Marines to honor the fallen and preserve their memories in a society that prefers to ignore their sacrifices. For some Marines, Heffernan notes, tattoos are rites of passage and much more. Marines are aware of their mortality and some design tattoos in advance that their friends will have inscribed if they are killed.

Heffernan offers some other thoughts on the Marine memorial tattoos. She sees them as a type of ritual wounding. Pain, healing, and inscription are seen as part of the memorial. It allows for a type of communion with fallen brothers through their own suffering, during the creation of the tattoo. Sometimes the pain goes on for hours. As the body heals and the expression is made, Heffernan notes, the trauma associated with them hardens and closes. Summing up, Heffernan states,

Most of all, the memorial is an attempt to assign stable meaning to an event that is beyond representation: death that is random, violent, disorienting, unfathomably gruesome. The active duty marine who memorializes his brother’s death shimmers in an uneasy present between the threat of his own death and his buddy’s past life. By scripting his mourning onto the surface of his body, the marine permanently flags his own trauma and loss; the soldier’s skin becomes a site of mourning the past and warning the future.

Heffernan has been interested in skin as the site that separates the self from the other, and nature from culture. She spent three months in 2006 researching the project in tattoo parlors located in Twentynine Palms, a small town in southeastern California, near a Marine base. Some of the Marines she witnessed have served multiple tours in combat.

Why do many Marines feel the need to memorialize their fallen comrades on their skin? The answer to this question may be found in the essence of the phrase, “skin in the game,” and in a desire to not have these “skins” forgotten. In a sense, the skin of these Marines allows for the preservation of personal, interpersonal and collective memories. The skins capture life and death, the memories of them, and they tell a political story for those who are inclined not to forget.

In recent posts, Jeff and Elzbieta have each commented on how revealing back stage moments can destroy understanding and meaningful action.  I agree.

However, I also believe revealing the back stage is sometimes crucial for widening understanding and establishing the grounds for critique.  An interesting example is the documentary Restrepo, winner of the Grand Jury Prize-Documentary at the 2010 Sundance Film Festival, produced, directed and filmed by Sebastian Junger and Tim Hetherington

From the director:

The war in Afghanistan has become highly politicized, but soldiers rarely take part in that discussion. Our intention was to capture the experience of combat, boredom and fear through the eyes of the soldiers themselves. Their lives were our lives: we did not sit down with their families, we did not interview Afghans, we did not explore geopolitical debates. Soldiers are living and fighting and dying at remote outposts in Afghanistan in conditions that few Americans back home can imagine. Their experiences are important to understand, regardless of one’s political beliefs. Beliefs are a way to avoid looking at reality. This is reality.

Restrepo is the name of a now abandoned U. S. Army outpost located in the six-mile-long Korengal Valley in the eastern province of Kunar, Afghanistan near the Pakistan border. The outpost was known as one of the most dangerous Army postings in the world.

Restrepo portrays the back stage and the front stage. Moments of human frailty, the boredom of a stranded soldier, the pain of a war wound are the back stage truths of military life, normally shielded from view. The well-publicized front stage: awards ceremonies, dedications to fallen soldiers, moments of valor. Understanding both parts of a soldier’s life is crucial to understanding their experience.

The back stage in this documentary (as opposed to the Wikileaks situation) was obtained with the explicit consent of the U. S. government. In fact, few limitations were placed on the project by the US military, and most concerned security and privacy. The filmmakers were sensitive to the way they depicted the wounded and dead–but they still did it. Restrepo is a dual-sided coin.

Anyone who has an interest in understanding the Afghanistan War [link ] in its most elementary form, especially the day after the release of the White House report on Afghan war strategy [link], should see Restrepo. The documentary is not overtly political, but allows the actions and words of members of an infantry platoon to make its points. Its access to the military’s backstage provides a rare insight.