America's Modern Iliads

Written For:

International Organizations and Humanitarian Law

Dr. Max Hilaire

The Washington Center

October 4, 2018

When Homer wrote the Iliad, he could not have known that it would remain a staple for students throughout Western classrooms in survey of Western literature courses. Perhaps he would not object – until he discovered how the Iliad is perceived: a glorious account of a glorious war with glorious warriors. Glory and war are commonly seen as intrinsic to each other throughout the Iliad, and yet when it is read carefully and critically, it is seen for what it is: a literary memorial. Caroline Alexander, who translated the Iliad in 2015, explains that,

“…when one reads the entirety of the epic, it is unambiguously clear at every turn that the poem is evoking the blighting effect of this war on every single participant in it. Old men, civilians, children, captive women or wives, as well as the warriors, like Achilles—they all decry it. Every adjective evokes the destruction and tragedy of war. It’s literally a war of tears” (Worrall 2016).

The view of war expressed by Homer and Caroline Alexander reflect my own – that war is a plague on society, dressed up and celebrated by the victors while simultaneously eating their hearts and souls. In his book Anarchy and Apocalypse, Ron Osborn argues that war has a logic of its own and that, once begun, is more difficult to halt than to continue (2010). It disguises itself as active and preemptive, but in reality is passive and reactionary (Osborn 2010). Furthermore, war not only destroys the people who lose, but it destroys the people who win, as evidenced by the prevalence of PTSD and subsequent suicide among soldiers, whether from the winning or losing sides (McKelvey 2008). There is no reason to celebrate war.

While my opinion is generally unpopular in the West, it is seen by some as downright treasonous in the United States of America. Coming from Canada, with its history of ‘peacekeeping’ missions (the implications of which are too complex to explore here), I knew that I would view war differently from my American friends. My Homeric interpretation of US foreign policy means that I oppose many of the actions taken by my southern neighbour. It also then affects how I view their history and current attitudes – and their war memorials. Numerous and popular, these memorials stud the country like gemstones in the rejected monarch’s crown, and I have joined the crowds to ‘pay respects’ at many. Two in particular stand out to me, each for a different and important reason. 

The Marine Corps Memorial, located in Arlington, Virginia, depicts a famous moment from World War II, but is dedicated to all the Marines who have given their lives in service of the United States of America. Modeled after a famous photograph taken on the Japanese-held island of Iwo Jima by Associated Press photographer Joe Rosenthal on February 23, 1945, the massive bronze and granite statue stands approximately 23.77 meters (78 feet) tall (“History of the Marine Corps War Memorial”). Larger than life, it towers over any human standing in its shadow – whether marine or civilian. As the rippling flag blocks out the sun for a moment, I have the fleeting thought that the accomplishments of these men are to be ranked among the gods – they are immortal and holy. Surely, in the shadow of this immense homage to freedom, you could not criticize how that freedom was attained.

That is the precise issue – the means of gaining freedom is never questioned when memorials create heroes of mythic proportions out of regular men. (And yes, men, because the memorial has yet to include the women who have served in the Marines and still stubbornly reads, "In honor and in memory of the men of the United States Marine Corps who have given their lives to their country since November 10, 1775” (“History of the Marine Corps War Memorial", emphasis added).) The size alone of the memorial is imposing and authoritarian. The flag of the USA, piercing – no, penetrating – the sky, is reflected in the distant phallic Washington Memorial. Instead of barbed wire and shrapnel surrounding the soldiers’ feet, there are neatly crafted stones, as though they are raising the flag atop a particularly difficult peak in the Rockies, and not atop a battle ground. But as I stare at this gargantuan mass of metal and rock, what screams out at me is what is not there – the bodies. 20,000 American men were wounded in the battle for Iwo Jima. 7,000 American men were killed. 17,784 Japanese men were killed. It was one of the bloodiest battles in Marine Corps history (“The Battle for Iwo Jima”), and not a drop of blood is seen. Three of the six men seen raising the flag did not leave Iwo Jima alive, but the massive, shining effigy loudly whispers that their lives were a fair trade for the proud, picturesque moment and the achingly patriotic story. “War is monstrously beautiful,” it screams. “Just look at these heroes, frozen in bronze, worshipped for their feats of strength.” It forgets to scream that those heroes died along with 60,000,000 other humans.

Less than an hour down the road is another memorial. It’s also in Arlington, Virginia and you can walk to it from the Marine memorial, yet it feels like stepping into a different country. The National 9/11 Pentagon Memorial sits quietly on the lawn of the Pentagon itself, still in the flight path of airplanes coming and going from Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. The sound of their engines jolts the memory of every visitor, as if those visitors could forget. The memorial is a park without grass, a grid of metal stripping the stony ground. Along those stripes are cantilever benches – one for each (innocent) death – arranged by the age of the individuals. The benches are suspended above pools of water and Crape Myrtle trees cast shadows that dance with the liquid reflections, like shadows and reflections of the human lives that ended there. It is a sombre place, individualistic and inclusive simultaneously. Spreading across the small field, the space unobtrusively communicates the enormity of the tragedy; it is the gaps that create a sense of awe, rather than the enormity of a fabricated metal statue. There is no proud American flag. There is no invasive statue. There is no celebration. This memorial haunts. It hurts. It weeps and bleeds. The silence closes around you, forbidding you to speak and yet inviting you to communicate with your fellow humans gathered beside you, beneath you. The memorial asks you to reflect on, rather than admire, the series of tragedies that lead to its construction.

The memorial also dares you – dares you to brush aside the reality of war. It does not scream or whisper, but speaks loudly and clearly. “War is hell. It is pain and horror and death. It does not care if you are a child, a lover, a parent, a friend – it kills without discrimination, without mercy. It destroys. And it destroys people with other people. It turns bodies and minds into bombs and mines, and humans become weapons of mass destruction as easily as they become dust after death.” The National 9/11 Pentagon Memorial is a physical manifestation of a modern Iliad, complete with dead babies, women and old men.

Each memorial I have visited is unique and shares a slightly different narrative of war with those who visit, but the National 9/11 Pentagon Memorial resonated with me like no other memorial ever has. It was a visual representation of the despair I feel as wars continue to needlessly take life across the globe. I do not deny that there are moments of heroism and humanism in war, but highlighting those moments in ignorance of the overarching horror allows the nightmare to persist through generations. We must demand a change in how America views war. We must face the consequences of American foreign policy and realize that, while Japan was the ‘enemy’, only 1.2% of Japanese troops survived the battle for Iwo Jima. We must recognize that while 2,996 people died on 9/11 (Plumer 2013), 173,000 Afghan and Pakistani men, women and children have died in the ensuing war and 183,000 more have been seriously wounded (Crawford 2016). Are these 356,000 lives a fair exchange for ‘our people’? Is one American life worth 119 Arab lives? 

As I stood in the darkness at the Pentagon Memorial, surrounded by name-bearing benches, hearing the roar of airplane engines and watching the lights from the pools of water reflect on my friend’s living face, I realized that the memorials of America tend to answer, “Yes, it is all worth it for America – the Land of the Free, the Home of the Brave.” But the myrtles at the Pentagon whisper, “Is it?” and my heart replies, “Never.”

Works Cited

“Battle for Iwo Jima.” The National WWII Museum: New Orleans, July 2017, https://www.nationalww2museum.org/sites/default/files/2017-07/iwo-jima-fact-sheet.pdf. Accessed 2 Oct 2018.

“History of the Marine Corps War Memorial.” National Park Service, 27 Nov. 2017, https://www.nps.gov/gwmp/learn/historyculture/usmcwarmemorial.htm. Accessed 2 Oct 2018.

“Research Starters: Worldwide Deaths in World War II.” The National World War II Museum: New Orleans, https://www.nationalww2museum.org/students-teachers/student-resources/research-starters/research-starters-worldwide-deaths-world-war, Accessed 2 Oct 2018.

Crawford, Neta C. “Update on the Human Cost of War for Afghanistan and Pakistan, 2001 to mid-2016.” Brown University, Watson Institute of International and Public Affairs, Costs of War, August 2016, https://watson.brown.edu/costsofwar/files/cow/imce/papers/2016/War%20in%20Afghanistan%20and%20Pakistan%20UPDATE_FINAL_corrected%20date.pdf.

McKelvey, Tara. “Combat Fatigue.” The American Prospect: Special Report, July/August 2008.

Osborn, Ronald. Anarchy and Apocalypse: Essays on Faith, Violence and Theodicy. Cascade Books, 2010.

Plumer, Brad. “Nine Facts about Terrorism in the United States since 9/11.” The Washington Post, 11 Sept 2013, https://www.washingtonpost.com/news/wonk/wp/2013/09/11/nine-facts-about-terrorism-in-the-united-states-since-911/?utm_term=.7654df877ebb. 

Worrall, Simon. “War is Unavoidable—and Other Hard Lessons from Homer’s Iliad.” National Geographic, 10 Jan 2016, https://news.nationalgeographic.com/2016/01/160110-homer-iliad-ancient-world-alexander-ngbooktalk/.

Chandeliers

There are days when I feel like one of the chandeliers in the Ritz-Carlton and it was such a painfully beautiful experience when I finally saw them. Hanging high above me, suspended from the ceiling on delicate gold chains that were probably hardware store iron in reality. Every crystal was sending fractals of light in every direction and the mirrors covering the walls created infinity. The effect was dazzling. The scarlet carpet, mahogany walls, white table clothes and gilded chairs - rich in the warm 'candlelight'  of those untouchable chandeliers.

Untouchable. Unreachable. Alone. Chandeliers must be the loneliest things in the Ritz-Carlton. Everything else is touched and loved and broken and repaired and those chandeliers just hang high above it all, watching. Maybe long ago they were essential, casting the only light like gemstone constellations but now they're lucky if they get dusted once a year. And when they are touched, they're taken all apart. Their pieces are scattered about a work table and each is cleaned and polished and then, if they're lucky, each piece goes back where it came from and they are hoisted back up to the ceiling to be stared at. Guests step into the foyer or the ballroom and gaze up at them for a few seconds in wonder, until they start to look the same as every other chandelier they've ever seen. Then chandeliers become part of the backdrop, part of the scenery, at best a distraction. And all this time the chandeliers dangle from their chains, shining and shining and shining.

Have you ever seen a chandelier fall? It doesn't happen often but when it does, they absolutely shatter. It's a disaster - bent, scratched metal and cracked glass stones. You never find all the pieces either, no matter how hard you look for them. There will always be at least one little diamond that disappeared in the chaos. So the pieces are replaced with crystals from other, older chandeliers, never quite belonging, but filling the gap adequately. Sometimes, the gaps are just left there, empty.

So when I stepped into the ballroom of the Ritz-Carlton and saw all those chandeliers, hanging together but hanging alone, reflected in the mirrors until there were hundreds of thousands of stone lights, I knew that I was a chandelier. Because chandeliers are beautiful, but chandeliers are dead.

Schadenfreude

I watched the murder of a bird the other day and it frightened me. I was leaving the mall after a haircut and as I walked back to my car I noticed two little songbirds, no bigger than my palm, light brown, completely average. They darted about in the air together and twittered at one another as the blinding sun made me squint. That's probably why I didn't see the car coming. So, when I heard the pop, I figured it was a pebble being flung by a tire on the SUV. No one stopped walking, including myself, until I began to cross the road and saw the bird.

It lay dead, freshly smeared across the pavement. Bits of feathers fluttered in the breeze like flakes of ash in the night air. The legs were twisted at obscene angles. One eye lay on the pavement, the other bulged from its socket. The breast and abdomen of the tiny bird were torn open and the reddest blood I have ever seen painted a short streak up the black asphalt.

I almost laughed. The odds of that little bird darting in front of that SUV, at that moment, hitting the tire at exactly the right angle to be spread like a plated sauce in Hell's Kitchen were incredible. The mangled body was fascinating to me and I stooped down to examine it further, noting every detail eagerly. I very nearly took out my phone to send a Snapchat of the tiny remains, but I was stopped by a noise.

The other bird began to chirp. Hesitantly at first, then louder and more insistent, it called and called, searching for its mate. I looked toward the overgrown bush in front of the Starbucks, then down at the dead bird at my feet, and I became terribly afraid of myself.

It's OK That Life is Impossible

I'm so sick of trying to do it all - it's impossible! The expectations for what I should be able to accomplish in a day... school, work, socialization, spiritual reflection and sleeping and eating? Not happening. I know I'm not the only one that never seems to have enough time. I became incredibly angry one night and started listing out all the things I am expected to do or need to do. It was eye opening and, admittedly, relieving. I thought maybe some other time-starved university students might want to know that life is, mathematically, actually impossible.

Time in the Week

There are 24 hours in a day and 7 days in a week. This means that there are 168 hours in each week. 168 hours to accomplish absolutely everything that we have to do, in addition to everything we are expected to do and everything we want to do. In this post, I will be using the general time recommendations for activities, unless stated otherwise. Also, since I go to a Seventh-Day Adventist University, I will be using their expectations for my spiritual life, whether or not I still chose to follow them.

Time Remaining: 168 hours

Sleep

We are supposed to get around 8 hours of sleep each night in order to function properly. If you actually aim for that, then a third of your time is already used up. But missing sleep affects your productivity in all other areas of life, so can you really afford to skimp?

Time Remaining: 112 hours

Food

We have to eat or we'll die - simple as that. We are also not supposed to eat fast food or eat on the go. It's healthiest to sit down for each meal - helps with digestion and psyche. So, let's estimate that you need 30 minutes for breakfast and an hour for both lunch and supper. This estimate includes preparing the food, eating it, and cleaning up afterwards. This comes out to 2.5 hours a day and 17.5 hours a week.

Time Remaining: 94.5 hours

Getting Ready

I'm a girl (that shouldn't be a surprise to most - but it might be!) and to be presentable in our society, I need around an hour per morning to get ready: shower, get dressed, do my hair, do my makeup, pack my bag, etc. That seems like a long time, I know. I am physically capable of getting ready in fifteen minutes, but I'll show up in jeans, a t-shirt and tennis shoes, with my hair in a pony tail and no makeup on. That's not really acceptable for a work environment, whether we want it to be or not. So, 7 hours a week goes to preparing to face the world.

Time Remaining: 87.5 hours

Class

At Burman, a 'regular' class load is five classes, each of which meet for 2.5 hours a week doesn't seem like much, until you realize that you are spending 12.5 hours just in the classroom. The thing is, skipping class is highly discouraged, especially as you enter into higher level courses more specific to your degree. Sure, you can read the textbook and maybe pass the exam, but will that really equip you for a prosperous career? Probably not - therefore, go to class.

Time Remaining: 75 hours

Homework

In University 101, I learned that it was recommended to spend 2 hours on homework for every 1 hour you spend in class. First off, you spend way more time on homework that just two hours. But, let's be hopeful and only plan in 25 hours a week for homework.

Time Remaining: 50 hours

Sabbath

Since I go to an Adventist university, I am encouraged to follow the Biblical command that the entire seventh day of the week be kept holy. Tradition (as opposed to actual Biblical teaching) dictates that I go to church in the morning and then spend the afternoon in prayer, Bible study, fellowship or some combination of that. Sounds great!

Time Remaining: 32 hours

Spiritual Reflection

Ellen White, in the Ministry of Healing recommends at least one hour a day be spent in spiritual meditation and communion with God. Since we're already spending 24 hours on Sabbath with God, we’ll just require 6 additional hours throughout the week.

Time Remaining: 28 hours

Work

Let’s not forget that this life requires money. We’ve got groceries, medical expenses, school expenses, the rent/mortgage, clothing, transportation and just other every day costs. If we’re going to survive, we need a job. But, as we can already see, we don’t have time to work a full-time job, so we’ll say half-time and hope that we can afford to eat this week.

Time Remaining: 8 hours

Exercise

To stay healthy, we need to be exercising for at least 90 minutes a day. Since we may not be able to afford the medical bills from an illness, exercise is important. Plus, we want to be capable humans, and maybe we want to look good too. But we can’t exercise on Sabbath, so we’ll plan in 1.5 hours for 6 days.

Time Remaining: -1 hours

Housework and Errands

Now let’s address the menial labour required of everyone. You have to grocery shop, you have to vacuum and mop, dust, clean the bathroom, do laundry, empty the litter box, take out the trash and recycling, mow the lawn or shovel the driveway, tidy your room, open the mail, pay the bills, drop off or pickup items, answer the phone or call someone, go to doctor’s appointments, etc. Let’s say you only spend an hour a day on these essentials, Sunday through Friday.

Time Remaining: -7 hours

As you can see, we’re out of time – in fact, we’re in debt. I haven’t even addressed the issue of transportation – depending on where you live, you have to spend time getting to work, or school, or back home. What about relaxation and time to yourself? What about your hobbies? What about a social life? You’ll notice that I couldn’t include any time spent with family and friends, let alone focused time on a significant other. And all these calculations assume that at no point are you stuck in traffic, or class goes late, or someone stops you to ask a question, or you spill water on the hardwood floor and have to clean it up…

My point wasn’t to complain, believe it or not. Life will always be this hard – there will always be something that you need to do and can’t. And true, there are techniques to give yourself more time - like studying while eating, or socializing at church - but there will never be enough time in the day for everything.

The point is that it’s ok that you’re not enough.

It’s ok that you’ve only slept four hours today.

It’s ok that you ate fast food.

It’s ok that you’re in sweatpants.

It’s ok that you skipped class.

It’s ok that your assignment is late.

It’s ok that you didn’t go to church.

It’s ok that you fell asleep during prayer.

It’s ok that you’re in debt.

It’s ok that you didn’t work out.

It’s ok that your house is a mess.

It’s ok that you haven’t seen your friends in two weeks.

It's ok that you have anxiety from trying to handle it all.

It's ok that you're depressed from failing every day.

It’s ok that life is impossible.