Why we
must remember the contradictions at the heart of the identity and story of perhaps
our most famous contemporary soldier.
Pat
Tillman was opposed, in his
political and personal opinions, to both the concept of the “War on Terror”
and the particular wars (especially the Iraq War) that it precipated. And yet
he volunteered
to serve, leaving behind (tragically, forever) a successful and lucrative
career in the NFL. For those of us American
Studiers who likewise opposed and continue to oppose this sweeping post-9/11 set
of foreign and domestic policies, and yet who recognize the individual, familial,
and communal sacrifices entailed in wartime military service, Tillman’s story
is both strikingly representative and yet extremely complex. Does his political
opposition render his own sacrifice more genuine and impressive? Ironic and
even more tragic? Courageous? Ridiculous?
Pat Tillman
was, according to his own words but even more fully to the testimony of his
parents and family after his death, an atheist.
In an era when a
striking strain of fundamentalist Christianity has become at times virtually
synonymous with the U.S. military—and I’m familiar with the cliché that “there
are no atheists in foxholes,” but this zealous missionary fervor is nonetheless
at least somewhat new to our military’s overt identity and community—Tillman’s
overt lack of religious faith was even more significantly at odds with his
public image than were his political opinions. For those of us American
Studiers who would like atheist Americans to be more widely acknowledged and
accepted in our national conversations, Tillman’s perspective could be an
important element in that work; but it’s also a deeply private element, one
revealed in large part only because of his death and the subsequent narratives
about it. So how we discuss his religious perspective without further
dishonoring or even abusing his memory?
Pat
Tillman was apparently, as a
grudgingly slow and secretive military investigation was eventually forced
to reveal, killed
by friendly fire. Of all the complex sides to Tillman’s story, this is
without a doubt the most difficult and yet perhaps the most important with
which we must grapple. Or is it totally unimportant? Does the tragedy, the
sacrifice, the familial loss, change at all if Tillman were killed by Taliban
fighters, or by local Afghan insurgents? Obviously Tillman’s family deserves to
know the truth about what happened, or at least to learn as much as it is
possible for them to know (and certainly as much as the military knows)—but do
the rest of us? Is that another invasion of his and their privacy? Can we use
this information critically, or analytically, or will it just become another
chip in various arguments and debates? Can we, that is, remember Tillman, and
every side of his story, or will we always already be making him into an icon
and an idol, for one purpose or another?
Damned if
I know. But on this Memorial Day week, seems like we should try, doesn’t it?
More tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What
do you think?
5/29 Memory Day nominee: Patrick Henry,
whose genuine
courage and radicalism
were instrumental in starting the American Revolution, whose war-time
governorships of Virginia helped it succeed, and whose opposition to the Constitutional
convention makes clear just how much diversity of opinion the
founding era and community included.
Thanks for reminding us of this admirable man. War brings so much ancillary anguish and long-term wreckage that it should always, always be an absolute last resort.
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