I am currently reading a Turkish book (English translation) ‘The Long White Cloud’ sent to me by a flickr and blog friend, Senay, from Istanbul. It is the story of the Battle of Gallipoli, where 130,000 young men died.
It has many letters from the two main soldiers on either side of the conflict. They are filled with small remembrances of home, anecdotes of the front, admiration for their fellow soldiers and respect for their enemy. there is more anger at the incompetence of their own leaders than hatred for the enemy.
How similar are the millions of letters sent home over the centuries from soldiers. They don’t talk about wanting to kill. They talk about appreciation for the love of their family, the love of their community. They want life to be normal again. The romance is a myth, the glory disappears as their friends die and they are left with a terrible mission. They must kill people. A lot of people.
Remembering who died is important. Remembering what it is we made them do in our name is important. We are making them kill people. Even if it is a valid war, we always must remember we are asking our children to kill people, and often not the right people.
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