"And the ladies, they’ll all come out," How the war came to Main Street and enlisted us all, some thoughts

June 20, 2022 0 Comments

Author’s program note. I was restless that night and I also did what I almost never do, which is to turn on the TV to entertain myself. This, however, was not destined to happen. In fact, there was to be no light or joy at all for that day and the excruciatingly long day to come…

I saw the feature that so often distinguishes the nightly news, the crime scene video feed, the scene is usually somewhere in the center of town that no sane person would go to, much less in the dark of the night. The sirens sounded. Intense reds and blues pierced the night. The police blustered, made the kind of unyielding gestures that seem so officious and ridiculous, but which we card-carrying members of the middle class are glad to be on our side at times like this.

Yes, it was the usual late-night distraction that would be buried on page 8 or so of the next day’s paper. Nothing to do with me… not even the caption at the bottom of the screen: “MIT Security Officer Murdered.” But from then on, through the long night and the long day that followed, everything was direct, personal, everything to do with me.

The reporter noted that the crime scene was Vassar Street, Cambridge, while the video on screen showed a large fortress-like structure that was a building well known to me. The surplus of my pack rat life is stored there…copies of my books and articles, my father’s letters from the Pacific front in World War II, both sides of voluminous correspondence when my mother and I were away. solving the difficult moments. in a relationship in which loving each other did not prevent us from saying the sharpest, often hurtful words, her in her coppery hand, mine rushed and unreadable.

Those things and so many others were the crucial artifacts of life, things to be boxed up now, to be considered in spare time, someday, I promise… Everything was in the building behind the reporter. Life was about to change forever when the total war of our time swept over me, imperious, without thinking about who I was, what I had been doing, no matter how important. My wishes, wishes, priorities counted for nothing… and neither did yours.

“When Johnny comes marching home.”

The lyrics for “When Johnny Comes Marching Home” were written by Irish-American bandleader Patrick Gilmore. The first sheet music publication by him was deposited in the Library of Congress in 1863, with the words and music credited to “Louis Lambert”, a pseudonym Gilmore inexplicably used instead of his own name. Copyright was retained by the publisher, Henry Tolman & Co., of Boston.

Determining who really composed music is much more complicated. There is, for example, a melodic resemblance to an earlier drinking song titled “Johnny Fill Up the Bowl”. Someone named J. Durnal took credit for its arrangement, though not for its composition. This, in turn, bore a clear melodic resemblance to a Robert Burns tune, “John Anderson, my Jo”, which dated back to a 1630 tune titled “The Three Ravens”,… which dated back to… .but you get the picture.

What is important is how popular it became with both Confederate and Union troops. And it’s no wonder…it’s a great marching song…the music urges tired feet to go further and never falter…while the lyrics remind them of the delights of home, soon to be able to savor and enjoy, just one more battle…just one. Before proceeding, go to any search engine where you will find several fine versions. Listen carefully to lyrics that are now ironic and as far away as ancient Troy.

“The men will cheer and the children will scream.”

This is how wars were waged in those times… and, until the other day, in ours. We knew who the enemy was. We knew where he was. We knew what he was fighting for and we knew he had a martial code of honor that would (at least occasionally) make him think twice about doing the unspeakable. Undoubtedly, it was a code that was respected more often in case of non -compliance … but existed, even if only in one or another Geneva convention.

This is how our beloved troops dressed in battle uniform, aware of the last kiss to their girlfriend or wife; estos retuvieron la lágrima que seguramente caerá cuando esté solo dentro de unos minutos cuando el amado se haya ido, tal vez para siempre. The parents hugged the children who would not recognize when they returned; They grow so fast.

This was the war we knew… applause as we depart, sure victory for our cause was always correct and our recourse to war always reluctantly and unwillingly… then loud, sustained, enthusiastic applause as Johnny marches into House.

Now, that kind of antediluvian warfare is just a thing of memory, likeness, and wishful thinking…because now we don’t go to war with all the trappings, flags waving, music raucous, fit for the high affairs of the Great Republic. Actually no. For now we do not go and return from the war. That war comes to us and confuses our lives more than even the greatest of battles…because all of us are fully engaged in this new kind of unlimited, undeclared war with no rules or procedures of any kind, war in which the first victim may well be an 8 year old boy, his life shattered and blown to pieces by malefactors whose movements are secret, stealthy and murderous, completely meaningless, the honor and respect that soldiers in the other wars can give their worthy opponents.

But this new kind of warfare is Totally Different, Insidious, Taking Prosaic Objects and Situations, Turning Them into the Weapons of Fear, Anxiety and Random Death. This is a world where evil can lurk behind young and youthful faces and behavior. Where there are no military helmets, but baseball caps, worn backwards in approved teen chic. This is a world where the element of deadly surprise always belongs to the attackers, and thus can be brought to bear with ruthless precision and razor-sharp precision.

This is a world where the supplies for bombs made to maim, dismember, and destroy are no further than your local hardware store, because amidst the crayons, sprays, paints, and screws are the essential tools of ruthless catastrophe and reverberating fear. that paralyzes A great city, and makes millions more around the world wonder if this could happen to them, knowing full well in their anxious hearts that these purveyors of death might already be about their cruel and selfish work; Perhaps the sullen young man who frowned when he greeted Teday… Worse yet, perhaps the handsome young man who smiled, offered a friendly joke, or was friendly. He will see, the agent of mass pain and suffering can wear the kindest faces.

These are the aspects of our new kind of war, war, here now, here for the rest of our turbulent and restless lives.

“Stay in your house. Don’t open the door.”

I have never received a call like this before, but I am sure I will receive others like this in the years to come. He had decided to go out and see what he could see. But I never got the chance because the Cambridge Police Department called to tell me to stay home and make sure I didn’t let any strangers in. They called this blockade; turned me, and hundreds of thousands of others, into a legion of internees…

And so, all, surrounded as we are by a large number of communications devices, we use them to feed our anxiety and disbelief. In the shooting line we were, we listened carefully to each piece of often inaccurate, incomplete and alarming details. Like any good journalist, we sifted, revised, made deductions, heard more guesses and “facts” that may soon be discovered… veering first way, then another as events unfolded; Por atención y incrédulo que tanto estaba sucediendo, tan cerca, tan inaccesible, en mi ciudad, en mi vecindario y en mi propia puerta.

It was surreal, unforgettable, fascinating, terrifying, the new reality of our challenged, nervous and insecure times. And it can all take place anywhere and at any time against any of the peoples of this Earth, people whose race, creed, color, or disposition is judged unsuitable by some “superior” group whose first goal is to kill the very idea of ​​diversity. Because in a world that must necessarily value, fight and appreciate diversity; They like only one truth, their own, and as such they are willing to go to any extreme, destabilize any society, hire any barbarity to ensure their path. These are the absolutists of world politics…the stately thugs who hold the rest of us and everything we value at risk…offer hatred, violence, an agenda of unmitigated evil and unrelenting malice.

Against such a litany of horrors, all good people on this planet must stand united by our creed, tolerance for all, acceptance, humanity, diversity, inclusion and love always, because without love there can be no lasting peace. .. and lasting peace. it’s what we strive for. This path, the path of unity and community, is the only path. Otherwise, random death and amazing response apparatus will be our portion… Thus, to save our freedom we are forced to give up our freedom, losers no matter what. We are already on this dangerous path, rightly apprehensive and full of grave forebodings and growing alarm.

“And that each one does some part/to fill the warrior’s heart with joy/and we will all feel happy/when Johnny returns home.”

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