By the time you read this, Memorial Day will have come and gone. The summer season officially has been launched. But with upward of 200,000 Americans serving in combat zones in Iraq and Afghanistan and countless thousands having either returned or preparing to deploy, this year's Memorial Day deserves more than the placing of wreaths in a late spring interregnum. American attitudes toward the soldiers who wage our wars have undergone a profound change since the days of Vietnam, when GIs who served faced widespread public antipathy. In today's atmosphere, the political ramifications of the conflicts scrupulously are set aside when the issue is the valor and sacrifice of the men and women sent to battle. Today's wars do not have the scale of World War II, or even of Korea or Vietnam. In Afghanistan, the 1,000th death recently was recorded, nearly nine years after the United States troops moved in to oust the Taliban and chase al Qaeda. In Iraq, the number killed in action is about 4,500. This is war, one death at a time.
Earlier this year, in the column "Images of War and Warriors," I wrote about the success of The Hurt Locker, which went on to dominate the Oscars and set a benchmark for the best of today's war movies, where violence isn't meant to be gratuitous entertainment, but rather a depiction of the harrowing and too often pointless smaller battles for a street corner or hillock that bears little on policies and politics. The faceless suicide bomber slaughtering civilians has emerged as a dominant symbol of these latter-day wars. And yet, there is in each combat soldier's experience a powerful tale of the impact on a young life of seeing mayhem and feeling the terror of being under attack. Recently, NPR did a powerful five-part series on the problems faced by returning veterans. According to the report, "the number of outstanding claims at the Veterans Administration for service-related disabilities--amputations, injured limbs, PTSD, brain trauma--hovers around 500,000. Nearly 40 percent of those have been waiting on a decision for more than four months. And to make matters worse, another 100,000 claims are waiting for a decision at the Board of Veterans Appeals."
The magnitude of war's indelible effects on single soldiers in the midst of wide scale combat was at the core of HBO's recently concluded ten-part series, The Pacific, which is still available on demand and will certainly soon be released as a DVD. It was the work of the Steven Spielberg-Tom Hanks production team that in 2001 made Band of Brothers, which portrayed the better-known European war theater. Each of the Pacific episodes opened with terse commentary on the indescribable hardships of the battles at Guadalcanal, Peleliu, Cape Gloucester, and Okinawa by surviving Marine veterans, sturdy men in their eighties who, decades later, see no glory in what they endured. What made the series so memorable was the relentless misery in each conquest. By focusing on three enlisted men, two of whom wrote memoirs that drive the narrative, this epic, massively expensive television event still managed to make a point that is central to a true sense of war: every soldier is in a struggle of their own, one that doesn't end for most when they return home, even when bodies are intact, the soul is bent.