UNKNOWN SOLDIERS
Helen Benedict, author of "The Lonely soldier: The Private War of Women Serving in Iraq", wrote an essay in the New York Times describing an incident she witnessed recently, when a soldier walked into a bar in the East Village. The young man had entered a hip, literary bar for a cold beer, only to be ignored by everyone in it:
He said something to the bartender, downed a beer, hitched his huge Army backpack farther up his shoulder, sent a shy grin out to the room and left. Nobody looked at him; nobody grinned back—I glanced around to check. It was as if an unwelcome ghost had entered the room, a harbinger of bad news we didn’t want to acknowledge.
Here we were, a room full of writers, students and other privileged Manhattan types. And there was he, a young soldier reminding us that we are indeed at war, but that it’s not being fought by the likes of us.
She went on to say that it's "only too easy to live in New York, particularly Manhattan, and almost never see a uniformed soldier, let alone talk to one." (Ogling sailors during Fleet Week doesn't count.)
It's an apt point. We may keep up to date with the news in Iraq and Afghanistan, but our exposure to actual soldiers is often limited to an occasional glimpse on television, some fiction (albeit, good fiction) and human-interest stories in magazines like People (which we tend to skip to get back to the fun stuff about celebrities).
Unlike during the Vietnam war, when returning soldiers were scorned and occasionally spit upon by righteous objectors, soldiers in Iraq and Afghanistan have maintained a level of public support. Yet it's tricky to resolve an antipathy for the war and a respect for those who are fighting it. I tend to feel a bit nauseated when I see macho TV advertisements to enlist, but then again I know so little about those who actually join up.
With trademark elegance, Michelle Obama is figuring out this balance. She has begun shining "her spotlight on military families":
on her first solo out-of-town trip as first lady, Michelle Obama went to Fort Bragg Military base in North Carolina, where she was greeted by cheers from soldiers. She talked with soldiers, posed for pictures and gave hugs, according to a pool report, before meeting for a private lunch with 20 family members and five volunteers who help provide support for soldiers and their families.
The tour at Fort Bragg, her office said, is part of her campaign as first lady to meet military spouses and learn about support services that are available to military families.
Aside from being a worthwhile project while she settles into her role as first lady, her move seems like a cunning way to get more yuppie coastal types to pay closer attention to soldiers and their families (especially if she bares her arms in the photos).
Hard economic times, together with a new GI Bill that grants further tuition benefits, could lead to more city slickers donning uniforms. Benedict ends her essay by thinking ahead:
I wonder what we New Yorkers will do. Will we continue to ignore them in disapproval or fear? Or will we be willing to greet them and listen to the surprising things they have to say?
Me too.
"The Lonely soldier: The Private War of Women Serving in Iraq" is out this month.
~Ariel Ramchandani
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Although I'm from Middle
April 17, 2009 - 22:47 — Corbin (not verified)Although I'm from Middle America ("Soldier Central" in military recruiters' vernacular), it wasn't until a couple of weeks ago that I first hung out with a GI in NYC. A high school friend visiting the City to see his brother and relax on pre-deployment leave contacted me out of the blue.
Maybe it was the house party we met up at or maybe it was the late, liquored hour but his experience in New York was quite different from the one described by Helen Benedict: all eyes were on this soldier. I was trying to do some catching up and get in some good reminiscing and the eavesdropping partygoers kept interjecting. They asked about his three years in Iraq with the Marines, his expectations for his first tour in Afghanistan and, most shockingly in chic Manhattan, to try his chewing tobacco. My friend is a college dropout and we were at a party near the lofty heights of Columbia University's ivory towers and yet he was warmly welcomed.
I'd like to think that New York City--in spite of its size, stratification, and segregated diversity--is united by the shared values of compassion and curiosity. As the wars drag on, it doesn't matter to me whether this impulse expresses itself via well-considered op-eds or adventurous first chews so long as my fellow New Yorkers spit in their cups and not on our soldiers--our real American heroes.