Monday, April 28, 2014

A Cultural Tragedy

"We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
   Loved and were loved, and now we lie
         In Flanders fields."  

~ Lt Col. John McCrae


  The Great War was a tragedy unlike any other. It was tragic because it could have easily been prevented at any point in the five weeks leading up to the war if reason and prudence had halted the avalanche of events. It is tragic because it destroyed a culture of general peace and prosperity, ruined and ended the lives of millions Tragic because it left a legacy of political and racial hatred that could only be consummated in a second war. 
   Nearly every community, church, and cathedral in France and England have a war memorial inscribed with the names of those that did not return.  The acres of graveyards in France and Britain bear solemn testimony to this. This "lost generation" of young men would leave 630,000 war widows in France alone and deprive a generation of young women the opportunity for marriage. By wars end, there would be 45 men for every 55 women, on average, in the general population.
    France and Belgium would build monuments and graveyards to their own and England's brave boys, and ploughmen in Northern France would always stop in reverence when they came across "English dead". England was granted sepulture perpetuelle for their cemeteries, which would become a chain of permanent graveyards along what had been the Western Front.
      Germany was not allowed to mourn her dead in such a way. The battlefields to the east were forbidden to them by the Bolshevik revolution. To the west, Germany was awarded no such courtesy.  No graveyards were dedicated to their eternal rest; France and Belguim would only reluctantly allow Germany to retrieve and bury bodies, which were usually interred in mass graves out of site. Their war memorials were relegated to churches and cathedrals, often integrating Hans Holbein's The Body of the Dead Christ in the Tomb. 

Holbein's Body of the Dead Christ

Mathis Grunewald's Lamentation and Entombment of Christ was also often used for German war memorials.

 Indeed, for nearly 100 years, Germany has not been permitted grief over its loss. Britain, France, and most of the rest of Europe have forgotten that despite the crimes committed by Germans in both wars, they were people as well. They "loved and were loved" the same as all people, and German mothers, wives, daughters and sisters lost sons, husbands, fathers, and brothers.  Even Germans themselves did not allow their fellow countrymen to mourn.  In 1924, the Germans attempted a national memorial to the dead as other countries had. Its dedication caused a outpouring of political protest.  The dedication speech by President Fredrich Ebert, who had lost two sons in the war, was thankfully heard out, but the two minutes of silence that followed was interrupted by the shouting of pro- and anti- war protests, which then descended into a riot that lasted all day.
     The greatest number of counted dead did not belong to Germany, the winner of that macabre contest is Serbia, the country where Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated and which started  the whole thing. Serbia's population before the war was 5 million, 15% of this was lost to war and disease, compared to 5-10% of France, Britain, and Germany. Fifteen percent! If any country has a Lost Generation, it would be Serbia.
     Historians will argue that the First World War had less of an effect than the Second. In part, that is true. Certainly there was less material damage, the rural fields where battles were soon returned to farms and pastureland. There was no bombing of cities like in Germany and Britain. Civilian populations were largely shielded from the worst and carried on with life as usual. And, save for the Armenian Christians of the Ottoman empire, no populations were forced to relocate or subjected to genocide. The effect that the First War had on the culture, however, was far greater than anything else, and far greater than the its successor.  The rational and generous culture of the European culture was permanently damaged, and through it  human culture as a whole was damaged. Pre-War Europe was defined by constitutionalism, rule of law, and representative government. Post-War Europe relinquished confidence in these and gave rise to totalitarianism, which had cropped up nearly everywhere by the time the War was only fifteen years gone. Totalitarianism really was just a continuation of the war, because it is war by other means. War by menace and deprivation of rights, rather than war by guns and battlefields.
   The Second War was really the latent infection of the culture damage coming to a head. Commanders in the Second World War were the junior officers of the First, who had marched of to war confident they would be victorious "before the leaves fall".  The Second War was worse than the first, because the world had already been broken. 

Saturday, April 19, 2014

It's only a court martial....not man-eating lions.

"This Englishman, Patterson, is most brave, 
and is indeed the very essence of valor;
Lions do not fear lions, yet one glance from
 Patterosn Sahib cowed the bravest of them" 
~Roshan mistari, son of Kadur mistari Bakhsh, native of the village of Chanjalat *

  I have been watching The Story of the Jews with Simon Schama, a five part documentary series on the history of, well, Jews, from creation to the modern day. I am enjoying it immensely. If you have not seen this series, find a way to do so. Simon Schama is a wonderful historian, I have all three of his History of Britain books, (well thumbed) and have seen the television series based on those books about 10 times. The Story of the Jews equals if not surpasses the History of Britain.

  In the final episode, Schama is discussing Zionism and the founding of Israel as a state after the Second World War and the Holocaust.  That brought to my mind a man that I much admire who was a staunch Zionist even though he was not Jewish, he was Irish. He was Lieutenant-Colonel John Henry Patterson, D.S.O.

   Patterson is probably best well known for his involvement with two man-eating lions in 1898 while trying to build a railroad bridge across the Tsavo river in what is now Kenya (back then it was the British East Africa Protectorate). Because the lions were eating the workforce, it was up to Col. Patterson to eliminate the problem.  After much travail and more success than failure, the lions were finally shot and made into rugs. Yes, Patterson actually made lion rugs out of them and used them as such before donating them to the Field Museum in Chicago.

   That is only part of this man's story, however. After the bridge was finished, Patterson got involved in the Boer War where he served with the 20th Battalion, Imperial Yeomanry. His Boer War service earned the Distinguished Service Order. In the First World War, Patterson was commander of the Zion Mule Corps and the 38th Battalion of the Royal Fusiliers, also known as the Jewish Legion of the British Army. Though he was a Protestant, Patterson became heavily involved in Zionism at this time. He and his Jewish Legion served with distinction in the Gallipoli and Palestine campaigns.

He constantly dealt with antisemitism from his superiors and subordinates, and threatened several times to resign his commission to bring attention to the mistreatment of his men. One story in particular is of note. After a battle at Meggido (yes, that Meggido, better known as Armageddon) Patterson's brigade was being inspected by a brigadier who was famous for his hatred of Jews. Finally finding what he was looking for, a small infraction such as an unpolished button or an untied shoelace, the brigadier picked up the private by his lapels and screamed "You dirty little Jew!" in his face.   Patterson instantly gave the order to fix bayonets, and an about face. The offensive officer found himself in the midst of a hollow square formation, facing a wall of steel. Patterson then demanded an apology from the brigadier, who quickly apologized and then left.

   The man certainly had nerve. Patterson Sahib is most brave indeed.  Although somehow a court-martial doesn't seem that intimidating once you have faced man-eating lions. This story may be apocryphal, I have not been able to validate it yet. But I hope to find it in one of the two books Patterson wrote about these campaigns.  He retired from the army in 1920 after 35 years of service, still with the rank Lieutenant-Colonel. Certainly it is true that Patterson sacrificed any chances of promotion because of his insistence that his men be treated fairly.  

  After retirement, Patterson continued to support Zionism. He was a promoter of a Jewish army to fight the Nazis and stop the Holocaust as well as a member of The Emergency Committee to Save the Jewish People of Europe. He was close friends with Benzion Netanyahu (father of the current Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu) and godfather and namesake of Benzion's son Yonatan (i.e. "John") Netanyahu.

  John Henry Patterson went the way of all flesh on June 18, 1947, in Bel Air, California, less than a year before Israel became a state. It was his wish that he and his wife, who were cremated, be buried in Israel. As of this writing, this has not yet happened, but Patterson's grandson Alan Patterson, the Jewish American Society for Historic Preservation, and several other organizations are working to honor his request.

  Lt.Col. Patterson was certainly not one to let personal ambition get in the way of doing what was right. And we may liken him to Tennyson's Sir Galahad "My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure."


*This is part of a Hindustani poem, really more of a psalm that was written by Roshan, a railroad worker in East Africa praising Col. Patterson for killing the lions.

 

 

Saturday, April 12, 2014

One Hundred Years of War

APRIL is the cruellest month, breeding  
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing           
Memory and desire, stirring       
Dull roots with spring rain.          
Winter kept us warm, covering          
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding               
A little life with dried tubers.

T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land. 1922




 Friends, family, distant, relations, coworkers, former classmates and anyone reading this.


   One hundred years ago, the world ended. In August, 1914 Western Civilization came to the beginning of its end.  Nearly 100 years of (relative) peace ended in a four year orgy of destruction, and nothing has been quite the same since the nightmare ended.  This is The Great War, later to be called the First World War, to distinguish it from its sequel ,its child, its result, the Second World War.

  Some historians will argue with you that the First World War actually began in 1754 with what Americans and British call the French and Indian War and the rest of Europe refer to as the Seven Years War. This is partly true, in the sense that the French and Indian War covered at least two continents, but once France and England had a prolonged scuffle over who owned what land in the New World, everyone carried on as before. The Great war was different, it is the first of the wars that broke the world.

   2014 also marks 100 years since the the most successful failure in exploration and discovery occurred. On the cusp of this great war in August 1914 Sir Ernest Shackleton and his companions set out on the Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition. Their mission was to be first men to cross the continent of Antarctica.  They ended up getting stuck in pack ice for two years and having to row back to civilization in a life boat. The miraculous thing was, all of them survived. The whole endeavor was so remarkable that T.S. Eliot even makes a veiled reference to Shackleton's Expedition in his seminal poem The Waste Land. This small group of men were probably the last tiny capsule of innocence, locked away in the fastness of polar ice and unaware of the crisis through which the world they knew was passing.

  I plan to take a journey through these two events. Show their causes, their effects, and get intimately involved with the people who lived through it. My guidebooks are The First World War by John Keegan, and South, by Ernest Shackleton.  Please follow me, friends, for however long it takes to walk this road.

 I cannot say how long it will take or how frequently I will write. But I will say I plan to at least write something when I come to the end of each chapter.  Another post should follow in a few days.