On the
more and less meaningful, complex, and valuable ways in which we remember wars.
Michael
Kammen, whose Mystic Chords of Memory: The Transformation of
Tradition in American Culture (1991) changed my life when I read it in college
and remains one of the best American Studies books I’ve ever read (and is just one
of many great
books he’s written), has persuasively argued that we need at
least two distinct concepts for public memory: remembrance, which would
describe genuine attempts to remember the past in all its complexity; and
commemoration, which would categorize those efforts that are more simplifying
and mythologizing, and usually more tied to present concerns than to the past
itself. Kammen goes into much more detail and nuance than that, as would I, but
ultimately I do think there’s significant value to separating out such
thoroughly distinct kinds of public (and at least potentially, for that matter,
private) memory and history.
There are many applications for that
two-part concept, but in following up on an
earlier post on the Tuskegee Airmen, it seems to me that our memories of
war are particularly ripe for this kind of analysis. I’m thinking especially
about cultural memories, stories and representations of war in popular
culture—like Lucas’s Red Tails, and
like so, so many other war films, TV shows, novels, and more. I would argue
that many, if not the vast majority, of those cultural representations are
commemorative (which doesn’t have to mean celebratory); that whether the
cultural sources seek to celebrate wartime heroism (as does Lucas’ film) to
attack the brutalities and horrors of war (as does for example Stanley Kubrick’s Full Metal Jacket), or to stake out any position in between,
they almost always create simplified and even mythologized depictions of war in
service of their agendas and goals. They might incidentally introduce
complexities and even contradictions (an ironic critique of American racism
within the celebratory Red Tails; a
positive depiction of soldierly comraderie in the cynical world of Jacket), but to my mind their overall
construction of war is far closer to commemoration than to remembrance.
We do have models in our popular
culture for remembering rather than commemorating war, though. One such model
is when a talented artist builds on but deepens and amplifies his or her
personal experiences of war and creates a complex and powerful text as a
result—Kurt
Vonnegut’s Slaughterhouse Five is one
such text, as are the best novels by Tim
O’Brien. Just as important, however, are those models that don’t depend
on personal experience (at least not of the artist him or herself), and for
that I would highlight two complementary films from one of my Memory Day
nominees: Clint Eastwood’s Flags
of Our Fathers and Letters from Iwo Jima. If we
try to consider what a battle like Iwo Jima, or a war like World War II, would
look like and mean for those fighting it on both sides, it seems to me that
we’re a long way toward remembering war in all its complexities. And it doesn’t
hurt that Flags itself focuses
directly on the most destructive effects of an emphasis on commemoration, in
that case in the post-war
lives of the Iwo Jima flag raisers.
Commemoration has its value, as Kammen
certainly acknowledges. But you know me well enough to know that I greatly
prefer remembrance—even more so when it comes to a complex, dark, and crucial
historical theme like war. Next Pacific-inspired post tomorrow,
Ben
PS. What
do you think? Thoughts on these issues, on Iwo Jima, on Eastwood’s films, or on
any related themes for the weekend post?
12/3 Memory Day nominee: Gilbert
Stuart, who painted
some of America’s first and most
memorable portraits, and whose images
continue to influence
how we remember
the Revolutionary era.
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