Analysis
An in-depth analysis to topic pertaining to the general idea of this blog. This section will be updated regularly and as time allows me.
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The American Civil Rights icon Malcolm X once famously remarked that, “if you don’t stand up for something, you will fall for anything,” and in the weary years of the 60s and 70s during the peak of the Vietnam War, many American youth found themselves in the struggle between their moral convictions and a duty to serve their country. It has often been argued that duty to country is supreme and the highest manifestations to love for one’s country and frequently we hear the oft-repeated patriotic cry, “my country right or wrong.” However, too often in life, it is hard to translate emotional cries of patriotism and duty to country into action. The novel If I die in a combat zone, Box me up and Ship me home by Tim O’Brien is one man’s story of deep personal conflict between duty to one’s country and the overarching sentiments against injustice, war and immorality.
Time O’Brien has been raised in a small town Minnesota in the city of Worthington to parents who served in the Pacific theatre against “tyrants of the 1940s,” (11) and sees his birth merely as a replacement for the ones who died in the World Wars of the 20th century and specifically of the Second World War. Raised in a life typical of small towns across this nation,
O’Brien grew up loving baseball but never excelled at it and when he realized that he “couldn’t hit a baseball, and was too small for football,” (14) he picked up books and started reading classical philosophers such as Plato and Aristotle and eventually drew more interest in politics. However, despite being a son of a small town with strong moral values and religious groundings, O’Brien shows signs of a contrarian and unlike other youth of his age, begins to question common wisdom and when he can’t find the answer to whether there was a God ultimately declares that “maybe I am an atheist.” (15)
The French existentialist Jean-Paul Sartre once wrote about what he called the “God-shaped hole in human consciousness, where the divine had all but disappeared, leaving an emptiness behind,” and consequently made that argument that materialism leading individuality which ultimately leads to the “death of God.” One of the earliest realizations for society’s hypocrisy for young O’Brien was the lack of interest shown to those who finish school and are left to strike out on their own. This seems to have sharply shaped young O’Brien’s world-view. He begins to question more and draws the conclusion that war can never be justified. He writes:
“I was persuaded then, and I am persuaded now, that the war was wrong. And since it was wrong and since people were dying as a result of it, it was evil.” (18)
He continues to question whether a change of government can truly better the lives of the Vietnamese people and draws the conclusion that the war was “wrongly conceived and poorly justified.” In his parent’s basement he writes on a cardboard of his intention of not being part of the Vietnamese War and why the draft was evil and even criticizes his own home-town as evil for its “lethargic acceptance” of the draft. In his attempt to defend his refusal to fight the war, O’Brien even reverses our own common-wisdom of war and victory when he asserts that “no war is worth losing your life for…the issue isn’t a moral one. It’s a matter of efficiency: What is the most efficient way to stay alive when your nation is at war?”
O’Brien finds an able ally in his friend Eric who furthers his skepticism of the war and the two engage in many discussions on contemporary issues and especially on war. Eric argues that the Vietnamese War was “without just reason, that life ought not to be fortified unless there certain and fundamental principles are at stake, and unless those principles stand in certain danger.” (36)
In many ways, reading O’Brien’s narrative of his experience in the Vietnam War and of the Vietnam War are peculiarly similar to Bob Dylan’s Masters of War and as I read the book, I couldn’t help but draw similarities between the two. Dylan sings about his frustrations about those “who play with (his) world/like it is your little toy,” and O’Brien sees the whole war as a conspiracy. Furthermore, Dylan’s outcry against “(Those) that build the big guns/ (Those) that build the death planes/ (Those) that builds all the bombs/ (Those) that hide behind walls” can be justified and vindicated by some of the recent study that has come out about the war and those excruciating years. James Dickerson in his book North to Canada that the American Armament Industry made 3.2 million USD for every American Soldier killed, excluding the billions of money that were made from the increased spike in the manufacture of airplanes, tanks and ships during those years. Accordingly, the life of the American Soldier was reduced simply as a product that maintained the business of the “death merchants,” and those who profit from war.
The Vietnam War tested the moral convictions of many troopers. This was compounded by the use of weapons of war that caused maximum civilian causalities and specifically of the Agent Orange which Christopher Hitchens calls a “hectic madness,” and continues to write that “the key constituent of Agent Orange is dioxin: a horrifying chemical that makes total war not just on vegetation but also on the roots and essences of life itself.” In total 12 million gallons of Agent Orange were sprayed in Vietnam to a catastrophic human and environmental consequences. In towns like Ben Tre with a population of 140,000, it is estimated that 58, 000 are victims with Agent Orange and to this day, children born in these areas are still born deformed and carry the perpetual mark of Agent Orange. At least 1 million Vietnamese are today affected by Agent Orange. This, not the reduction of the Vietnamese population by several millions, is the true tragedy of the Vietnamese War.
These devastation of lives greatly bothers O’Brien who wants to “live chastened by a desire to be good,” nonetheless; this was also conflicted by O’Brien’s desire to be a “hero.” (56) O’Brien asserts that a “man cannot be fully a man until he acts in the pursuit of goodness,” and the Vietnam War was certainly in “pursuit of goodness.” The Army Chaplin debates O’Brien about the war and accuses him of “reading too many books, the wrong ones,” and pleads him to have “some faith and some discipline.” (57) The Chaplin ultimately concludes that “faith is an ancient Christian principle,” and in this at least, he joins a legion of men who are allegedly “men of god” who have manipulated the religion to further political wars. But as Dylan has famously and fittingly sung, in the end, we all have to decide “Whether Judas Iscariot had God on his side”
Thousands of American youth fled this country during the draft years and most made it to Canada and Sweden. “Canadian files show that 191,522 Americans emigrated between 1965-1973.” Furthermore, close to 700,000 men who were drafted into induction deserted. Others used education or religion to avoid the draft. Former president Bill Clinton being an example. In fact, a memorial was erected for the draft dodgers in Canada for the American youth who ran away from the war.
In the end though, O’Brien does decide to join the Army and take part of the war since he doesn’t want to disappoint his family and town and this clearly shows the deep personal conflicts that have plagued him. The constant inner battles he faced between what he thought to be right one hand and the social, patriotic expectations on the other illustrate the age-old psychological battles that every soldier faces. O’Brien’s tale can be appreciated because of his honesty and sincere attempt to balance delicate elements of nature and his desire to seek the truth.
Perhaps, it would be pertinent to finish this entry with Bob Dylan’s Masters of War which captures the essence of this very fine American novel.
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Between tradition and social expectations
America was established as democracy’s home and a shelter for the downtrodden. Consequently, millions of people from every corner of the world have through the years made their journey by sea, on road and recently by air to find either opportunity and/or seek asylum from the oppressive regimes in their home countries. In this, America, despite all its flows and injustices has been welcoming and fulfilled many of the dreams of those who came to its shores. It has often been said about migrants reaching the shores of this country that arrival in America is akin to resetting and restarting one’s life. However, for some, the more one runs from the horrors and mistakes of the past, the more one ends up going back to those horrors and mistakes. The story Seventeen Syllables by Hisaye Yamamoto is a fascinating read on the family secrets of one Japanese-American family and the thin thread of sudden tragic turns of fate that connects their present to their past.
The writer and social commentator Christopher Hitchens once wrote about retrospect as “being the very department where love lets you down the most,” and one is reminded of the deep wisdom this statement carries as Rosie’s mother reveals to her daughter of why she had married her father. The very question, “Do you know why I married your father?” (355) carries a tone of guilt and suspense and one can understand Rosie’s keen anticipation as her mother breaks years of family secrets and divulges into the very origins of the Haysashi family. The circumstances Tome Hayashi finds herself is really not unique nor is it isolated as similar theme can be found throughout Asia and the rest of the developing world where marriage is decided not by the genuineness or deepness of love but rather by one’s income and family status. Tome Hayashi’s humble origins and her father’s drunkard and gambling tendencies ended any hopes she might have had of marrying her true love: a son of a wealthy man in her village. In this at least, Tome Hayashi’s marriage to Rosie’s father was one of convenience and we are in fact told that the fundamental reason of the marriage was to save Tome Hayashi from committing suicide.
Tome Hayashi was successful in hiding her past from her daughter and leading a parallel life as a writer of Haiku poetry for a Japanese newspaper called the Mainichi. This offered her as an escape from her past and paradoxically also as a connection to memories long gone and removed. Her writings of Haiku is interesting in the very least because the seventeen syllabus that is central to Haiku poetry is also strangely the age of her son from the previous union with her former lover. Subsequently, the three colored cat serves simply not as means of good luck but also as a constant reminder.
A surprising revelation is the ease and calmness that Tome recites to Rosie, years of family secrecy without pausing or even “groping for words nor untoward passion.”(356) One would have expected Tome to feel a sense of guilt or disappointment or in the very least an emotional reaction to her troubled past. That she recites her narrative with such straightforwardness and calmness shows how deeply she has accepted her fate and despite her efforts to connect to her past, the overwhelming forces of tradition and social expectations have forced her to accept her fate.
Rosie’s life as a child born in the United States to Japanese-American parents unsurprisingly shows the cultural divide that exists between the two generations of Hayashi family. Unlike her mother who was denied to marry her true love based on social expectations, Rosie falls in love with Jesus Carrasco, the Mexican who worked in her parent’s fields. The romantic bond Rosie develops with Jesus is in a very sharp contrast to the cultural expectation that her parents were accustomed to. Unlike her mother who is fluent and writes in Japanese, for Rosie “Japanese had to be searched for and examined, and even then put forth tentatively (probably to meet with laughter).” (348) The same tale is true to many Somali families and indeed of many other families of different ethnic backgrounds.
It is often said that, “in matters of love, at least, the more things change, the more they stay the same,” and in some ways, Tome’s own life parallels Rosie’s. Tome Hayashi’s husband is described as “a young man of simple mind…but of a kind heart.” (356) This also shows similarities to what we perceive of Jesus who despite the hardships he faces, offers a tender heart and love to Rosie. In the story, we read that Jesus brings the youth out of Rosie and we are told of how much she enjoyed racing him.
The British Prime Minister and celebrated statesman Winston Churchill once remarked that, “sometimes the truth is so precious it must be accompanied by a body of lies.” I was taken back by Tome Hayashi’s request of her daughter “promise me you will never marry,” I found this demand to be both unreasonable and extraordinary. There is nothing much in the story that tells us about a broken love or marriage between Tome Hayashi and her husband, by all accounts, her husband had been able to provide for her and taken care of his family and there is not a single instance that would lead us to believe that anything wrong would have come from her husband’s side. In fact, we are told that her husband “was never told why his unseen betrothed was so eager to hasten the day of meeting,” (356) so I was surprised that she would make this request to her daughter.
Tome Hayashi’s past has sharp influences on her later life and also that of her daughter and family. The crush of her love and the refusal of her marriage to her one true love shaped how she perceived love and society at large. That the underlying reason for the refusal of her marriage was not based on the genuineness of her love or how she really felt about but rather based on materialistic reasoning such as the her social status and family income seems to have forced her to lose trust in society. Subsequently, the materialistic underpinning of the refusal of her marriage to her one true love also redefines our usual understanding of Japanese and also Eastern society’s un-materialistic nature. Tome Hayashi, consequently, deserves our sympathy as a victim of society. The story The Seventeen Syllabus is a fascinating read on how social expectations have stark influence on the lives of people and what consequences can come about when society is allowed to set the rules for others
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An Analysis of the poem “To The Mercy-Killers”
Dudley Randall’s poem To the Mercy Killers tackles one of the most controversial issues in America today: euthanasia. No other issue has divided and caused much division and divergence in thought and views in this county as mercy killing and has through the years along with abortion become the defining topic of politics in America. Mercy killing and in fact the very question of what defines life has becoming a moral dilemma and a divisive factor in our society. Dudley Randall’s To the Mercy Killers is a moving appeal against the practice of mercy killing and the tormenting affect it has on its victims.
The poem was written in 1973 by the African-American poet and librarian Dudley Randall and has since become one of the most effective poetical pieces against mercy killing. The opening of the poem is characterized by a curious ironic choice of words such as “if ever mercy move you murder me/I pray you, kindly killers, let me live.”(1-2) These ironic choices of words are then repeated throughout the poem to an agonizing affect. The speaker in the poem begs for a chance to be allowed to live pleading that, “even though I turn a traitor to myself as beg to die, do not accomplice me.” (9-10) This line skillfully captures the utter hopelessness and misery faced by victims of mercy killings and the carefully chosen word “traitor,” adds to the overall theme of despondency of the poem. Any-one who has come across a person in a vegetative state and the terrible tribulations they go through knows the horrific look on their faces and the “beg to die,” facade they wear, a façade because that might not be how they really feel like deep down in their hearts and hence the statement “do not accomplice me,” shows what Dudley Randall views as the true sentiment of the victim.
Widely publicized stories in the popular media have recently brought the issue of vegetative state and mercy killing to the forefronts of our national discussions. The excruciating ordeals that Terri Schiavo and Karen Ann Quinlan faced have highlighted the moral and medical dilemmas faced not only by the victims of this practice but also the divisive influence it has within their families.
The most noticeable feature of mercy killing is its multi-dimensional nature and its ability to be debated from religious, moral, medical, traditional and legal angles. This has had both negative and positive influence in coming to an acceptable conclusion and consensus on this issue; negative because it has complicated and allowed the controversy to drag on endlessly and positive because it has enriched the public discourse and energized our society.
If curious ironic choices of words are the underlying fundamentals of this poem, then its appealing and evocative nature are what truly makes this poem powerful. A prevailing argument used by the pro-mercy killing camp is the utilitarianism approach. This argument states that it is the maximizing conception of the action which defines an action as moral or otherwise and consequently makes the case that “what is good or useful is what produces the greatest satisfaction for the greatest number of people.”
Accordingly, mercy killing is justified on these grounds because it helps end the financial and psychological pain it afflicts on the families of the victims and is seen as a quick and humane end to a tormenting agony. Furthermore, the very question of life is argued about. An established counter-argument by the proponents of mercy killing is the very question of life. A question that is almost always asked is if being sustained through an artificial means such as machines to prolong the life of a person in a vegetative state actually constitutes to life. Dudley Randall adds his own take on this issue when he pleads that we should “never conspire with death to set me free,” (3) and proclaims his preference to a life of pain sustained through an artificial means (“but let me know such life as pain can give). (4)
As a supporter of mercy killings, I have my own objections to Dudley Randall’s argument that a life of pain sustained through an artificial means can truly be called a life because it ignores the other side of the issue: namely the instances where the victims wish to end their dependence on machines to sustain and prolong their painful life. Should these people be forced to go through the pain and anguish that those who are against mercy killing support? I think a person’s life is intrinsically sacred and their desires should be respected. If a victim or their loved one feels that their life can no longer be considered a life, then it makes no sense to go against their wishes. Anna Quindlen who wrote an opinion piece for the Newsweek magazine entitled, The Culture of Each Life, whereby she says, “There are those of us who believe that under certain conditions the cruelest thing you can do to people you love is to force them to live. There are those of us who define living not by whether the heart beats and the lungs lift but whether the spirit is there, whether the music box plays.”
There is a litany of literature that chronicles the pain patients of vegetative state go through, and the utter horror they experience and hence it would be incorrect to debate the misery they go through as a result of being forced to live a life prolonged through machinery and artificial means. Subsequently, the arguments put forth by the Pope John Paul II that “No living human being ever descends to the status of a “vegetable” or an animal. Even our brothers and sisters who find themselves in the clinical condition of a ‘vegetative state’ retain their human dignity in all its fullness,” fails to make the needed argument because of its lack of tackling the main issue at hand. Victims who have to endure a life sustained through artificial means are routinely tortured as a result of their body being forced to function through machines and other artificial means.
Dudley Randall seems to appropriately paint the sadistic picture that victims of vegetative state face. I was particularly moved by the closing lines of the poem, “even though I seem not a human, a mute shelf/of glucose, bottled blood, machinery/ to swell the lung and pump the heart-even so, /do put out my life.”(11-15) Dudley accepts the sad transformation of the patient of a vegetative state and likens them to a“mute shelf…bottled blood” but despite the appropriate paintings of the demoralizing situations such patients face, there is really no tangible reason offered why a victim or their families shouldn’t have the right to choose their own course of action.
Dudley Randall ends his poem with a plea that we all take for granted but one that is inaccessible to patients who are under a vegetative state. The ending words, “let me still glow,” (15) keeps with the overall ironic word choice of the poem and its contradictory nature. A reader will be very justified in asking how a person who has been forced to live through such a throbbing ordeal and even called a “clot, an aching clench, a stub, a stump, a butt….screaming pain, a putrefying stench,” (5-7) would want to “still glow,” (15) and runs to contrary to what one would expect. However, it can also be read as the ultimate manifestation of hope and can even be called resilience because the speaker in the face of stark adversary continues to stay course and perseveres.
The poet Dudley Randall wrote his poem To the Mercy Killers in 1973 and despite the maturity of medical technology and the variations in the arguments of both camps, his poem is still as relevant today as it was when it was first written and if longevity and relevancy are the two criteria that a poet’s worth are measured, then Dudley Randall’s To the Mercy Killers has truly passed these yardsticks.
