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/.