The Luckless Dead
Nov 11 2020
We run our fingers
over the weathered letters
inscribed on the cenotaph,
calling them heroes
and trying to focus
on suitably reverent thoughts.
Honouring men
who are not there
to hear us give thanks.
Who were too young
to have lived much of life
when their world went black;
even before
they heard sound of the shot,
the high-pitched whine
of jagged shrapnel shards
spinning madly through the air.
And who, in the agony
of eviscerated guts
and amputated limbs
in their brief time left,
would pray for deliverance
and welcome death.
We use words like “gone to rest,”
but their remains are not them,
and rather than at peace
these raw young men
have been expunged.
Bland words like this may console us,
but they evade hard truths
and debase their sacrifice.
He describes the bullet
that whizzed by his head,
the buddy who dropped
at his side in the trench;
a surprised look on his face,
bright red blood
expanding like a cancerous bloom
on his soiled khaki tunic.
So it was not skill or virtue
that spared him from death,
it was dumb luck and blind fate;
millimetres and microseconds
either way.
Right time, right place.
Like the accident of birth
that favoured my generation,
who have been privileged to live
in an era of plenty and peace
rarely enjoyed by our kind.
A time
when the last surviving veteran
will soon depart,
and remembrance can no longer depend
on those who were there.
Who know that wars are never won
but only lost.
For there are no victors in war
only surrender and loss.
Only lines on maps
and badly bloodied flags.
Futile ends
we could have foretold
would be less than zero sum.
And survivors
damaged beyond repair,
the memories
of the luckless dead
soldiering grimly on.
I haven't written a November 11th poem for quite a while. I used to make it an annual rite. But now seems especially appropriate, since not only is this the 75th anniversary of the end of the Second World War – the last good war? – but a time when the last of its veterans are leaving us.
A few thoughts came to mind.
We honour the dead. But really, there is no way to suitably honour them or communicate our thanks. There are no heroes, or at least very few; only lucky survivors and wasted lives. Language is all-important to me. So euphemistic words like “at rest”, even if well-meant, really stick: they may console the living, but somehow debase and dishonour the sacrifice of the dead. Who did not go to some peaceful eternal rest, but rather were annihilated in a final conscious moment of terrible physical and spiritual suffering.
Anecdotes told by veterans of war – such as escaping death by a second or an inch -- is a reminder of how powerful randomness and contingency are. We believe in personal agency, and it's probably useful to do so; but really, this is mostly a conceit, because all our lives are so much determined by dumb luck.
My generation has lived out our lives at a time of unprecedented peace and prosperity in the Western world. (The US, as usual, the exception!) I think this may make it harder for us, but also more essential, to appreciate what we owe to the previous generations who, at the cost of their lives, made this privileged existence possible.
There are still lots of wars going on. At the time of this writing, what immediately come to mind are the prolonged proxy war in Yemen and the recent armed conflict between Azerbaijan and Armenia (yes, I know, we all have to look at a map!), as well as the escalating hostilities between the government of Ethiopia and its restive province of Tigray. But no one wins a war. There is no win-win, or even won-lost; only lose-lose. The futility is breathtaking. So much would be saved by simply cutting to the chase: negotiate, and accept the inevitable losses and compromise; don't get carried away with jingoism, tribal loyalty, and historical grievances. As Winston Churchill famously said: “to jaw-jaw is always better than to war-war.” Ironically, it's most often the Generals who know that war is a last desperate resort – not at all glorious – and to be avoided at all costs. Only those who have truly been to war know how terrible and dehumanizing it really is.
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