Trenches and Intersections
Veterans are Refugees and Refugees are Veterans
Every month on the 11th, I focus on veterans and the military family.
Why the 11th? Because Veterans Day is on November 11.
A single day is not nearly adequate to honor veterans. Once a month is better. Daily, hourly is best.
This month, two things are on my mind: trench warfare and the intersection of soldiers and refugees.
Several weeks ago, this picture, from the front page of the NYT on 20 January 2022 stopped me in my tracks: a soldier walking a trench on the front lines. That photograph provoked a visceral response in me. It moved me to reflection, and I posted some of those reflections on Instagram. The world has changed since then. Ukraine is no longer preparing for invasion. It is invaded. And the soldiers in the trenches are no longer patrolling and monitoring. They are in combat. A new cohort of veterans and refugees is being painfully forged on the streets in - and in the trenches around - the villages and towns and cities of Ukraine.
A few years ago I spent a few hours in a trench. I visited the Trench of Death in Diksmuide, Belgium.
These trenches from World War I are safeguarded so we may visit and reflect on the horrors of war. I sought out this visit. It took some effort. But I really wanted to see the trenches first hand. And I’m glad I did. It was a profoundly sobering experience for me.
I am not a soldier. I have not lived the experience of war. Walking in the Trench of Death allowed me a moment of walking in the shoes of soldiers.
Trenches are terrible places.
They are below grade. They fill with water. They fill with waste - spilled fuel, spilled explosives, human waste, and wasted humans. This horrific mix does not drain. It grows ever more fetid and foul. In winter it freezes, melts to slush, refreezes. In summer, mosquitos, lice and flies breed in it. Soldiers wade through this fetid, foul, filth while on patrol, crouch in it to eat their rations, reach into it's depth to retrieve items that drop from their hands. They slosh their way through it on their rounds in boots that will never dry and on feet that are wet and raw in saturated socks.
And in their wet socks, these soldiers step out onto streets to shepherd fleeing civilians on their frantic journey towards safety.
Intersections are terrible places, too.
The intersections where defending soldiers and fleeing civilians meet are not places where well maintained roads cross paths and travelers navigate four-way intersections equipped with traffic lights. It is a place of cratered pavement, missing street signs, tangled roads and confusing traffic circles. It is a place where missiles whistle and fall and explode into shrapnel. It is a place where snipers set their scopes and send bullets on their lethal trajectory.
Defending soldiers and fleeing civilians enter this savage space together. Some do not survive it. Those who do emerge from it have new titles: “veterans” and “refugees.” And in the chaos, those titles become somewhat interchangeable. Having survived war, the refugees become veterans. In the aftermath of war, the defending soldiers often become refugees.
When I see a photo of a soldier walking the front line trenches in 2022, I feel anguish. Anguish that humanity is repeating a horror that should not be repeated. That the great-grandchildren of those who fought and died and survived the trenches of WWI are having to repeat the very experience that their great-grandparents fought to protect them from.
I’ve seen plenty of movies that depict trench warfare. I’ve read plenty of memoirs, historical fiction, and first hand accounts of trench warfare. I’ve visited war memorials and the sites of battles, military museums and cemeteries. You probably have, too. Each of these interactions requires us to spend time wrestling with the concepts of right and wrong, moral fiber, courage, aggression, hate, forgiveness, responsibility, gratitude.
In this grappling, we replace the drift toward complacency with intentional actions to lessen the activity of evil and increase the activity of good. We work the mental muscles that are needed for the hard work of mediating and moderating. A vague idea of working toward peace becomes the League of Nations, which becomes the United Nations. Individuals like Libby Hoffman gain traction and increase action, and programs like Catalyst for Peace are born. War and violence begin to fade and peaceful co-existence becomes ascendent. The cratered holes in our shared social fabric are mended through accountability and forgiveness. As those holes are mended, humanity becomes whole. The paradigm begins to shift.
Trench warfare gets significant screen time in the film “Tolkien”. J.R.R. Tolkien served in the trenches during WWI, and his experiences there were the crucible in which the Middle Earth trilogy was born. That movie exposed me to ideas and experiences that cut deep and forced me to think deep. Some of that thinking is articulated in this essay. (As an aside, I will say that I have not read the trilogy and I am not a Tolkien scholar. However, Tolkien’s war experience and the impact it had on his writing is well documented. Tolkien’s grandson, Simon, has written on this as have many others.)
Tolkien’s writing is more moving than mine. But both of our voices are important. And yours is, too. Every thinker who grapples with troubling issues is doing important work. This work contributes to the paradigm shift that is underway, ushering it onward. And when the paradigm shift is complete, the next set of great-grandchildren will be spared the horror of trench warfare. Instead, they will tackle the next vexing problem. And in this way, humankind moves forward.
While that work, that grappling, is happening, in the moment called “now”, let’s take better care of those who are veterans and refugees of war - the defending soldiers and the trapped or fleeing civilians.
Hundreds of thousands of people across the world are clambering across bombed out bridges, struggling across fierce waterways, limping across mountains and deserts. Thousands and thousands of them live among us.
We are, understandably, roused to thought and moved to action - to donate, to volunteer, to rally - by the stories and images of those who are fleeing from or on the battlefield in Ukraine. Let’s be roused and moved, too, by the vast numbers of people who are seeking refuge from war in Syria. In Venezuela. Afghanistan. South Sudan. Myanmar. Let’s be roused and moved by the millions upon millions of people - moms and dads, tiny toddlers, tired teens, exhausted elders - who are internally displaced. Let’s pay attention to their intelligence, their bravery and courage, their dignity, their stamina. The bravery of soldiers who defend homelands. The courage of civilians who carry a single bag of belongings as they head out into the world and begin the grueling work of building new lives in new homelands.
These civilian refugees displaced by conflict are veterans of war. They, too, have lived through assault.
The military veterans who defended them are among their ranks. They, too, are refugees of war.
As we donate and volunteer and rally on their behalf, let’s also think and thank and befriend.
The next time we see a person who has served, let’s say “thank you” with a renewed understanding of what they have done - and in what conditions. The next time we see a person who has fled their homeland and joined our community, let’s welcome them with renewed comprehension of what they have endured - and of what they contribute. Let’s let our daily actions flow out of an ever greater understanding of the grim realities of war, of service, of displacement. Our gratitude to veterans will be more genuine. Our welcome to refugees will be more heartfelt.
And in doing this, we are increasing the activity of good. We are helping to shift the paradigm. For Ukraine. For Syria, Venezuela, Afghanistan, South Sudan, Myanmar. For everyone.
Kind regards,
