As one drives through the countless villages dotting the English and the French countryside, one becomes aware of a number of war memorials raised to pay homage to locals – often young and inexperienced men – who died in combat during the Great War (1914 – 1918).
Out of 10,458 civil parishes in the UK, only 53 villages didn’t suffer any losses during the Great War. In France, out of the 37,963 communes (as per 1921 borders), only one has a similar distinction. These localities have been labelled the “Thankful Villages”.
The final death toll of the Great War is estimated to be in the region of 16 million; 5.7 million soldiers for the Allies, four million soldiers for the central powers and 6.8 million civilian deaths. An additional 21 million people were wounded.
Death is the most harrowing result of war; no matter how noble the cause and regardless of how the events are romanticised and embellished, the loss of so many individuals is nothing but a tragic and sad reality. These individuals were far removed from the great halls of power where decisions were taken and strategies were planned.
In the collective imagination, their death has been shaped by two polarising views. The leading war poet, Wilfred Owen, describes the victims of conflict as “doomed youth” who “die as cattle”. By contrast, Rupert Brooke eulogises the soldier who loses his life in battle. His grave becomes a “corner of a foreign field that is forever England”. Owen is contemptuous of such patriotism. He dismisses Horace’s famous line “Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori” as an “old lie”.
On November 11, 1919, a year after all fighting ceased, King George V and French president Raymond Poincaré jointly observed a minute of silence to remember those who died during World War I. Remembrance Day became an annual commemorative event to mark the end of war and pay tribute to those who died in combat. Its character is inspired by religious rituals and, yet, it remains very secular in nature.
The horrors of war also remind us of the frailty of peace
In his latest book, The edge of words, Rowan Williams writes that ritual is repetitive, transformative and publicly theatrical: “it traces the same pattern of performance in different enactments over time; it makes ordinary physical stuff (including words and gestures) carry meanings that are not intrinsic to themselves; it involves us in performance that is about more than what happens to be in our individual minds.”
He makes a specific reference to Remembrance Day commemorations. These serve to “juxtapose our current lives with the record and collective memory of major international conflicts, so that issues around our corporate identity, vision and well-being are configured differently.”
Ritual and remembrance thus become an intrinsic part of collective identity and an effective way of holding the present into account against a backdrop of events which already took place.
These annual commemorations have left a lasting effect on our collective identity. They serve as a reminder of the bravery of those who serve loyally in the armed forces. They also recognise the horrors of war and conflict and the scarring effect such events can have on a generation.
There is widespread admiration for the work of the armed forces, especially those on peace-keeping missions. There is a greater appreciation of the fact that they lie at the mercy of decision-makers. Many carry out their duties with honour and distinction.
When members of the Westboro Baptist Church in Topeka (Kansas) began picketing the funeral services of men and women who died in combat, a group known as the Patriotic Guard Riders was formed to organise a counter-protest. This group shielded the grieving family and honoured the fallen soldiers.
Regardless of the divisions between ‘doves’ and ‘hawks’ - the former try to resolve conflict without the threat of force while the latter advocate a more aggressive tone in foreign politics – there seems to be a genuine respect for the armed services. In this case, public anger is often directed towards those who formulate policies rather than those who implement such policies.
On the other hand, opposition and aversion to military conflict has also become part of a collective identity, part of what makes someone a seemingly good international citizen.
Activists have long argued that war should be subject to the same rigorous checks and balances one finds in strong democracies. This argument has some merit when one recognises the enormity of what lies at stake.
Military action which is not backed by a UN resolution is often deemed to be illegitimate. This standpoint aims to ensure that military conflict is only taken into consideration after all other avenues have been exhausted.
While such views are laudable, care must be taken to ensure that decision-makers do not retreat into a position of blind pacifism or naïve isolationism.
These commemorations also raise some other concerns. The horrors of war also remind us of the frailty of peace. The political settlement achieved after such protracted conflicts is usually an unsuitable compromise which may have repercussions long after the warring factions have retreated.
A century after that bloody war, the legacy of that compromise can still be acutely felt. Perhaps, this and other forms of compromise, do not do justice to all those who bravely fought for the ideals they held so dear.
andre.deb@gmail.com