Thank you, Sharon. This article was posted earlier and I commented on it, then I got a reply that misinterpreted what I was saying. That might have been my fault for not being clear enough.
I was in the middle of replying to that reply to clarify, starting to panic that people would misunderstand what I was saying and think I was critiquing the article and people in the military (the complete OPPOSITE, I love this article and have a deep respect for people who serve!), but then the article disappeared. I wonder if people still might have misunderstood my perspective.
My original comment was critiquing a traditional "Hollywood" narrative about service (the narrative that people often make the decision to serve out of pure principle and love of country, divorced from their economic circumstances). I believe that the recruitment system often exploits people's economic vulnerabilities. I was welcoming how this historical analysis shows our history of exploiting poor people and immigrants to serve in the military goes way back. So here's my original comment, edited for clarity.
The reality, as you point out, is that it's often reluctant young people without many other options trying to figure out how to start their adult lives. That doesn't make their sacrifice any less meaningful - if anything, it makes it more profound because they gave their lives even when the system they were protecting didn't respect them back. Even if they had to swim Boston Harbor to get what was promised to them.
This brings back so many memories of my own high school classmates, including two of my foster brothers, who made the decision to enlist. Neither of them seemingly did it out of burning love for America. My brothers specifically hated the government after everything they'd seen in the foster care system before joining our family. Their father was an undocumented Mexican immigrant who was murdered by a stranger before they were old enough to know who he was. Their mother wasn't fit to care for them due to drug addiction. They shuffled from family to family until they ended up with us right on the cusp of becoming teenagers. But they didn't think college was for them, and the school counselors would basically nudge them toward the military with the argument "what else are you going to do?" Military recruiters would show up on campus like they had the answer for teenage boredom, more than any realistic descriptions of what the choice to serve would look like.
The older of the two, who was my age, seemed to embrace the forced discipline of military service, which was ironic given how much he'd fought against any authority figures during our childhood. He would even point that irony out on his home visits, but the difference for him was that he was allowed to carry a gun when he listened to these guys. For a few years he'd come home on leave, full of stories about the good times he was having, but gradually the visits became less frequent and the contact dropped off. When he did show up, it would be unplanned. He’d throw his drink and duck under the table when someone popped a cork. Fireworks made him hate the Fourth of July. He'd wake up screaming from nightmares. It was clear he was dealing with serious PTSD, but he didn't want anyone to mention PTSD around him. All I know now is that he was dishonorably discharged for some reason, moved to Washington state, got married, and posts online almost exclusively about his cat who seems to mean more to him than anything else in the world. My attempts to reach out usually get a "hey bud how's it going" and then silence.
My other foster brother enlisted after literally running away from our house in the middle of the night. He'd been fighting with my parents who told him that on his eighteenth birthday he needed to get a part-time job in town. He ended up punching all the picture frames in the house, leaving smears of blood down the stairs and out the front door. He finished high school living in his friend's basement. That was his state of mind when he decided to join the military. But what he told me later, laughing over a beer at the bar where he now works, was that a few weeks into basic training he lied and said he was gay so they would kick him out. I had just recently come out as gay myself, and we both cracked up about the full-circle moment. He's married now (to a woman), works at a restaurant, and seems to be doing alright.
I realize my brothers' stories aren't typical, but they mirror what I saw with other kids from my graduating class who enlisted in 2003, who immediately got shuffled off to the other side of the world. They weren't the ones volunteering their time after school to help their communities. They were more likely to be into violent video games, blasting country music with lyrics about America putting “a boot up your ass" from their elevated pickup trucks, generally not the friendliest bunch. That's not to say everyone who enlists fits that description, but it was definitely a pattern I noticed. It's more of an observation that our military recruitment system relies heavily on the vulnerabilities of people who don't have much economic power to fill their ranks.
When Memorial Day comes around, people tend to honor fallen soldiers with a stereotypical caricature of who they were and why they served, giving empty platitudes before enjoying a three-day weekend. I really appreciate you telling this history that presents the decision to serve as what it often actually is: not much of a decision at all.
Thank you for sharing your families experience. Opportunity does play into recruits decision making. I’m certain that there are as many beliefs and motivations as there are families and individual recruits. As a military brat who moved 15 times during childhood, I discouraged a military lifestyle. While recognizing that each person will have their own military career experience, I was acutely aware of the downside for family members who had no choice but to live as social collateral. I also was tuned into the possibility of war in the Middle East just as my own son would be of age to participate.
My son wanted nothing more than to serve his country. Raised in Texas, the lore preprogrammed patriotism and American exceptionalism. To a suburban young man in North Texas, the Army was an ironic rebellion against expectations of college and corporate life. He joined the Army, went to basic training and while there 911 happened. As a cloistered novice, these young soldiers-in-training knew nothing of the details although immediately tanks rolled through Fort Knox. They were lined up at the pay phone and instructed to call home to reassure loved ones that they were okay. Reality of pending war matched all those previous terrible warnings. It was December before they graduated and would read a newspaper article detailing the attack and further events.
Fighting in Fallujah as infantry and later as an Apache pilot in Afghanistan, my son lost friends and found many others. His years as a pilot were informed by his knowledge of ground fighters who needed air support and didn’t receive it. He carries deep pain and deep love for his soldiers and their families. He carries his PTSD it in a knowledge hard earned by realizing that we as a nation are neither as exceptionally motivated nor lead as he learned in AP US History.
He honors his men annually by saluting those lost both on Memorial Day and on the dates of their deaths. Some continue to die and his veteran circle is getting smaller. He honors those living friends with the constant contact that I know is rare among men. These soldiers will always be a part of his life. The mental health care they provide to each other is priceless to us and to our country. They replace their previous experience memories together with new memories together, happy ones and healthy ones. They will never forget their disillusionment nor their losses.
My son believes he will be okay, but he greatly fears our country will not. We all hope in a future for our country that will include a democracy that embraces those who built it and those who assisted our country during armed conflicts at grave risk to themselves and their families. Immigrants from Iraq or Afghanistan might look like a foreigner to the casual American eye, but to my son they look like a translator, a negotiator and a hero.
Thank you Sharon for highlighting that our nation of immigrants has always relied on immigrants to build and defend this country. America was built on the backs, and of the blood, of its immigrants - both documented and undocumented. I will always think of my grandfather on Memorial Day and acknowledge him and all the other soldiers who gave their lives in service to our nation. However, this is also a sad reminder that our country has always provided a get-out-of-service-free card to the wealthy, while exploiting America's poorest and most vulnerable. :(
TY for sharing. I would like to offer another version. I live in Murphysboro, a small town in southern Illinois, and our claim to fame is that our county is the birthplace of General John A Logan, the founder of Memorial Day. Kind of a big deal around here as you can imagine. If you click this link https://armyhistory.org/general-john-a-logan-memorial-day-founder/ you can read about it. Or this link https://loganmuseum.org/memorial-day/ takes you to the Gen John A Logan Museum website that also explains why we think this. The museum is located in Murphysboro. Enjoy.
When I read this I immediately thought of Charleston's history with Memorial Day as well. I had never heard of General Logan or Illinois' history with the holiday. So many facets to history, I'm always learning something new! https://time.com/5836444/black-memorial-day/
Interesting story! I’m unclear what happened after he jumped overboard, though. Did Joseph travel to New York and enlist directly? And then receive his bonus?
Thank you, Sharon, for sharing this information. Thank you for all that you do for keeping us informed.
I’m really surprised that there aren’t more likes or comments on today’s post. It’s unusual. I’m guessing that others have already started their Memorial Day weekend. I’m going to chalk it up to that because this post was really interesting.
Love this accounting Sharon... thank you! Recently however I'd read (The Humanity Archive Jermaine Fowler) that the "first Memorial Day" was when a number of formerly enslaved Black people dug up, and properly buried, Union soldiers that had been put into a mass grave in the South. They then held a ceremony over the new graves. Can you check on how these two stories are related? Thank you for your research and your amazing heart and brilliance!
Thank you, Sharon. This article was posted earlier and I commented on it, then I got a reply that misinterpreted what I was saying. That might have been my fault for not being clear enough.
I was in the middle of replying to that reply to clarify, starting to panic that people would misunderstand what I was saying and think I was critiquing the article and people in the military (the complete OPPOSITE, I love this article and have a deep respect for people who serve!), but then the article disappeared. I wonder if people still might have misunderstood my perspective.
My original comment was critiquing a traditional "Hollywood" narrative about service (the narrative that people often make the decision to serve out of pure principle and love of country, divorced from their economic circumstances). I believe that the recruitment system often exploits people's economic vulnerabilities. I was welcoming how this historical analysis shows our history of exploiting poor people and immigrants to serve in the military goes way back. So here's my original comment, edited for clarity.
The reality, as you point out, is that it's often reluctant young people without many other options trying to figure out how to start their adult lives. That doesn't make their sacrifice any less meaningful - if anything, it makes it more profound because they gave their lives even when the system they were protecting didn't respect them back. Even if they had to swim Boston Harbor to get what was promised to them.
This brings back so many memories of my own high school classmates, including two of my foster brothers, who made the decision to enlist. Neither of them seemingly did it out of burning love for America. My brothers specifically hated the government after everything they'd seen in the foster care system before joining our family. Their father was an undocumented Mexican immigrant who was murdered by a stranger before they were old enough to know who he was. Their mother wasn't fit to care for them due to drug addiction. They shuffled from family to family until they ended up with us right on the cusp of becoming teenagers. But they didn't think college was for them, and the school counselors would basically nudge them toward the military with the argument "what else are you going to do?" Military recruiters would show up on campus like they had the answer for teenage boredom, more than any realistic descriptions of what the choice to serve would look like.
The older of the two, who was my age, seemed to embrace the forced discipline of military service, which was ironic given how much he'd fought against any authority figures during our childhood. He would even point that irony out on his home visits, but the difference for him was that he was allowed to carry a gun when he listened to these guys. For a few years he'd come home on leave, full of stories about the good times he was having, but gradually the visits became less frequent and the contact dropped off. When he did show up, it would be unplanned. He’d throw his drink and duck under the table when someone popped a cork. Fireworks made him hate the Fourth of July. He'd wake up screaming from nightmares. It was clear he was dealing with serious PTSD, but he didn't want anyone to mention PTSD around him. All I know now is that he was dishonorably discharged for some reason, moved to Washington state, got married, and posts online almost exclusively about his cat who seems to mean more to him than anything else in the world. My attempts to reach out usually get a "hey bud how's it going" and then silence.
My other foster brother enlisted after literally running away from our house in the middle of the night. He'd been fighting with my parents who told him that on his eighteenth birthday he needed to get a part-time job in town. He ended up punching all the picture frames in the house, leaving smears of blood down the stairs and out the front door. He finished high school living in his friend's basement. That was his state of mind when he decided to join the military. But what he told me later, laughing over a beer at the bar where he now works, was that a few weeks into basic training he lied and said he was gay so they would kick him out. I had just recently come out as gay myself, and we both cracked up about the full-circle moment. He's married now (to a woman), works at a restaurant, and seems to be doing alright.
I realize my brothers' stories aren't typical, but they mirror what I saw with other kids from my graduating class who enlisted in 2003, who immediately got shuffled off to the other side of the world. They weren't the ones volunteering their time after school to help their communities. They were more likely to be into violent video games, blasting country music with lyrics about America putting “a boot up your ass" from their elevated pickup trucks, generally not the friendliest bunch. That's not to say everyone who enlists fits that description, but it was definitely a pattern I noticed. It's more of an observation that our military recruitment system relies heavily on the vulnerabilities of people who don't have much economic power to fill their ranks.
When Memorial Day comes around, people tend to honor fallen soldiers with a stereotypical caricature of who they were and why they served, giving empty platitudes before enjoying a three-day weekend. I really appreciate you telling this history that presents the decision to serve as what it often actually is: not much of a decision at all.
Thank you for sharing your families experience. Opportunity does play into recruits decision making. I’m certain that there are as many beliefs and motivations as there are families and individual recruits. As a military brat who moved 15 times during childhood, I discouraged a military lifestyle. While recognizing that each person will have their own military career experience, I was acutely aware of the downside for family members who had no choice but to live as social collateral. I also was tuned into the possibility of war in the Middle East just as my own son would be of age to participate.
My son wanted nothing more than to serve his country. Raised in Texas, the lore preprogrammed patriotism and American exceptionalism. To a suburban young man in North Texas, the Army was an ironic rebellion against expectations of college and corporate life. He joined the Army, went to basic training and while there 911 happened. As a cloistered novice, these young soldiers-in-training knew nothing of the details although immediately tanks rolled through Fort Knox. They were lined up at the pay phone and instructed to call home to reassure loved ones that they were okay. Reality of pending war matched all those previous terrible warnings. It was December before they graduated and would read a newspaper article detailing the attack and further events.
Fighting in Fallujah as infantry and later as an Apache pilot in Afghanistan, my son lost friends and found many others. His years as a pilot were informed by his knowledge of ground fighters who needed air support and didn’t receive it. He carries deep pain and deep love for his soldiers and their families. He carries his PTSD it in a knowledge hard earned by realizing that we as a nation are neither as exceptionally motivated nor lead as he learned in AP US History.
He honors his men annually by saluting those lost both on Memorial Day and on the dates of their deaths. Some continue to die and his veteran circle is getting smaller. He honors those living friends with the constant contact that I know is rare among men. These soldiers will always be a part of his life. The mental health care they provide to each other is priceless to us and to our country. They replace their previous experience memories together with new memories together, happy ones and healthy ones. They will never forget their disillusionment nor their losses.
My son believes he will be okay, but he greatly fears our country will not. We all hope in a future for our country that will include a democracy that embraces those who built it and those who assisted our country during armed conflicts at grave risk to themselves and their families. Immigrants from Iraq or Afghanistan might look like a foreigner to the casual American eye, but to my son they look like a translator, a negotiator and a hero.
Thank you, Pam, for sharing your son’s story. Being a friend is being a hero. I’m so grateful for people like him.
Thank you Sharon for highlighting that our nation of immigrants has always relied on immigrants to build and defend this country. America was built on the backs, and of the blood, of its immigrants - both documented and undocumented. I will always think of my grandfather on Memorial Day and acknowledge him and all the other soldiers who gave their lives in service to our nation. However, this is also a sad reminder that our country has always provided a get-out-of-service-free card to the wealthy, while exploiting America's poorest and most vulnerable. :(
I've always understood that the 1st Memorial Day was held by formerly enslaved people in Charleston. Pretty sure this is a fact?
TY for sharing. I would like to offer another version. I live in Murphysboro, a small town in southern Illinois, and our claim to fame is that our county is the birthplace of General John A Logan, the founder of Memorial Day. Kind of a big deal around here as you can imagine. If you click this link https://armyhistory.org/general-john-a-logan-memorial-day-founder/ you can read about it. Or this link https://loganmuseum.org/memorial-day/ takes you to the Gen John A Logan Museum website that also explains why we think this. The museum is located in Murphysboro. Enjoy.
When I read this I immediately thought of Charleston's history with Memorial Day as well. I had never heard of General Logan or Illinois' history with the holiday. So many facets to history, I'm always learning something new! https://time.com/5836444/black-memorial-day/
Yes, I always thought Charleston was the first! Formerly enslaved marched around, I think, Hampton.
Interesting story! I’m unclear what happened after he jumped overboard, though. Did Joseph travel to New York and enlist directly? And then receive his bonus?
I didn’t know this! Super interesting. Our immigrant country has had so many different contributions that have made us great.
Thank you. Always learning from Sharon.
Thanks for sharing!
I love this reminder- we are all immigrants unless we are indigenous people
Thank you, Sharon, for sharing this information. Thank you for all that you do for keeping us informed.
I’m really surprised that there aren’t more likes or comments on today’s post. It’s unusual. I’m guessing that others have already started their Memorial Day weekend. I’m going to chalk it up to that because this post was really interesting.
Love this accounting Sharon... thank you! Recently however I'd read (The Humanity Archive Jermaine Fowler) that the "first Memorial Day" was when a number of formerly enslaved Black people dug up, and properly buried, Union soldiers that had been put into a mass grave in the South. They then held a ceremony over the new graves. Can you check on how these two stories are related? Thank you for your research and your amazing heart and brilliance!
Hi Linda, please check Amber’s post above. She has a link from Time about that. It was in Charleston, SC…my hometown.
Pulitzer and his association with the Statue of Liberty is still one of my fave nonfiction children's books.