What's THIS For...?!

November 11, 2006

SAT 11 NOV 2006

11/11: Six hours of senseless human violence By Dominik

There is a Killing Joke poster from their early days for their first single, "Wardance," that appropriately sums up the inspiration/meaning behind the band's name. It's also an appropriate statement about World War I and governments fighting wars with young men as cannon fodder in general. The poster features Fred Astaire dancing over the corpse-laden trench of a battlefield: Mass pop culture at home, futile slaughter for secret-powers' means abroad.

World War I, which essentially started 64 years before the day I was born, was ended 69 years ago today, November 11, 1918. Later anointed Armistice Day. Later anointed Veterans' Day. Later anointed "BUY A BUNCH OF SHIT AT OUR 36-HOUR SALE!!!" Day.

WW I: No wonder T.S. Eliot is a Bit of a Downer
The saddest thing, among many sad things throughout the ridiculous four-year war (and the equally ridiculous yet considerably longer history of humankind), is that although the Armistice was officially signed at 5:00 a.m. on 11/11/18, the Armistice called for the war to actually end at 11:00 a.m. (the fabled "11th hour" of the 11th day of the 11th month...). In the meantime -- six hours -- between signing and official arbitrary ending, fighting and brutal carnage continued, causing 3,200 casualties among U.S. troops alone.

That's right. Although everyone knew the war was over -- and in fact everyone knew for some 72 hours that the Germans were willing to accept any terms for peace -- somehow fighting continued until 11:00 that morning.

The Career Officer's 'Dilemma,' the Politician's Toy
Now, what would you do, if you were a commander in the grotesque trenches of WWI, and you knew this absurd slaughter-of-a-generation was finally going to come to an end. Would you try to exact a final bit of vengeance against the enemy by hurling more ammo at them--and assure more young boys of a path to their graves? Or would you be looking for one last chance at field medals and career advancement--and assure more young boys of a path to their graves? Or would you thank your lucky stars that you and your surviving men will make it out alive, and call it a day?

It's amazing that during the first winter of this war, both sides stopped the absurd politicians' game--er, war--on Christmas to share some yuletide greetings and play a game of soccer in the "no man's land" between the trenches. Yet on the last day, after the Armistice was signed, they couldn't stop the game--er, senseless brutality--to thank each others' lucky stars they made it through alive.

Like John Kerry's brutal question during Vietnam, "How do you ask a man to be the last man to die for a mistake?" this begged the question, How do you ask a man (or 10,000 of them) to be the last ones to die or be maimed by a diplomatic technicality?

I can't think of a more telling demonstration of the human capacity for darkness and selfishness in the name of petty personal gain. This is the kind of stuff that fascinates me about the human condition. And this is the kind of stuff that sends chills down my spine at night.

It could be my comfortable middle-class upbringing by two college professors (one who is liberal, sure, but the other is decidedly not so), but I cannot identify with this instinct for greed. And I hope I never do.