The experiences of American soldiers deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan, sometimes over and over again, are central to this story, including consideration of the lasting impact of their time abroad. American culture is already rife with conversations about post-traumatic stress, veterans’ services, and treatments following deployments. Unfortunately, the voice of the veterans themselves is seldom heard with clarity in these conversations.
The Unknowns is a great book on the topic that surrounds the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier from the First World War. It’s also a good single volume work on the American Expeditionary Force’s involvement and experiences in the First World War. This book will resonate in military affairs and veteran organization. Finally, this book is a great read for anyone interested in the United States Marine Corps involvement in the First World War.
Retire the Colors is a reference to the command given at the end of a service or ceremony directing the color guard to retrieve the national and unit colors and remove them from the ceremony. Rendering honors and retiring the colors marks the official end of the ceremony, and frequently, the transition to the informal social activities afterward. The reference is appropriate for this anthology of stories dealing with transition between military service and the civilian world.
The pieces in this volume are staccato in pace, including powerful imagery and flashbacks, and representing a fleeting moment in time, a feeling, a picture, or an idea, rather than a traditional narrative arc that we have come to expect in war writing. Incoming is a volume about individual moments and battles rather than war. In this lies its power and impact.
This novel shows us all the scars, reminds us of the broken parts within each of us, and the fragile world on which we try to ground ourselves. It is a reminder that whenever we return, we listen for the call of our name, for some hint that we matter, an echo of who we were, always and forever searching for ourselves across the years in a place we’ve lost along the way.
Now comes Thank You for Being Expendable: And Other Experiences, a collection of occasional essays that date back as far as 9/11 — Buzzell was on the ground in New York City to watch the Twin Towers fall — and as recent as a 2015 review of American Sniper. Many chapters date from the years Buzzell bounced around the country researching Lost in America. Once more we see Buzzell enchanted by aspects of American culture untouched by prosperity and respectability.
Colby Buzzell’s anthology of short stories, Thank You For Being Expendable, is the punk rock alternative to Service Academy and/or Ivy League-educated military officer GWOT-memoirs. Buzzell is a hard drinking, chain smoking, enlisted Stryker Combat Brigade infantryman who not only fought in Mosul during one the deadliest years of Operation Iraqi Freedom but also witnessed firsthand the events of 9/11 in New York City.
Most vets appreciate being thanked for their service, but if it happens on Memorial Day, there are many that will tell you to be thankful instead for those that never made it home. Memorial Day, celebrated at the end of May every year, is meant to remember them, our comrades-in-arms, that gave the ultimate sacrifice. After 20 years in uniform, Memorial Day means more to me (and many veterans like me) than it might to other Americans.
Author's Note: This post flows from thoughts during Anzac Day and from reading James Brown’s book Anzac’s Long Shadow.
Today is Anzac Day, the day of the ‘exceptional digger’ and time to reflect on wars past. It is a curious day for those of us with recent operational experience as our part in Anzac Day commemorations is yet to be precisely defined.
Contemporary veterans are a diverse group with no ingrained stereotype. Some are still serving military members and will march in today’s Anzac parades with their units. Others have transitioned to civilian life and may march under an ex-services banner. Some will opt to stand undetected on the sidelines while others who hold painful memories of war may wish the day was not filled with military reminders. So how does the stereotype of ‘Anzac’ and ‘veteran’ compare alongside the mould of our most recent veterans this Anzac Day?
Anzacs and veterans
The image conjured when I think of Anzac is that of rugged men muddied in trenches. They stare out at you from history books with toughness, resilience and bashful courage. Their knowing eyes defy their youthful faces. Anzac is the image of our past and provides the foundation for our present.
The image of a veteran, to me, has always been my grandfathers. Both served in World War II, one Army and the other Air Force. Their tales from Papua New Guinea, Britain and Burma were lost with their passing some years ago as neither shared their war stories when alive. As they reached the end of their lives their decrepit features mirrored those often flashed up on screens during Anzac Day — that of aged men with worn medals clanking across their now deflated chests. This vision of veteran is often shown with the dichotomy of youth; an iconic visual of the veteran’s actions and sacrifice as legacy to future generations. Their youthful faces passed onto the next generation but without the toughened glare of war.
I only had one fleeting moment of conversation with each of my grandfathers about their roles in World War II. War was rarely discussed. The first was with my grandfather who served in Papua New Guinea. I was 20 years old and had just completed Exercise Shaggy Ridge (a sleep and food deprivation training exercise) as a cadet at the Royal Military College Duntroon. I was proud I had completed the arduous activity when others hadn’t. My grandfather paused in his response to my story, “Shaggy Ridge, yes, I patrolled in that area. I was so bloody scared of heights that I was more afraid to look down than I was of the Japs”. This ephemeral exchange of stories with a World War II veteran forever put my Army warries back in the box.
The second exchange was with my grandfather who served in the Air Force. I was about to deploy on my second tour of Afghanistan and was visiting him during pre-deployment leave. I chatted about my first deployment to Afghanistan and explained how my second deployment would be similar. During the conversation my grandfather disappeared. A couple of hours later he re-emerged holding two photographs. The first was a photograph of him in Afghanistan, taken while he was transitioning from Britain, where he had been a Night Intruder, to the campaign in Burma. “Afghanistan’s pretty rough, don’t trust the locals in a card game, they slit a chap’s throat when he didn’t pay his debt”. Handy advice. The second was a photograph of his Flight taken in Britain. For all bar two, the word ‘dead’ or ‘maimed’ was bluntly stated as he pointed at their youthful faces. I’m grateful one of the two was a younger image of my grandfather. With the words “war’s not the same anymore”, he disappeared again. This grandfather never attended Anzac Day.
I will never know the rest of my grandfathers’ stories but they will always be my image of a veteran and what I personally remember each Anzac Day. I cannot change my own stereotype image of Anzac and veteran. The textbook definition of a veteran may be simple but having a sense of being a modern veteran is a little more complicated when analysed against the past and ingrained stereotypes. The word veteran may never sit comfortably with me when pointed in my direction.
Who we are and who we are not
This morning the song ‘And the band played Waltzing Matilda’ rang out at my Regiment’s Dawn Service. Images of frail aged men once again flashed up on an overhead screen as the song struck the words:
“But the band plays Waltzing Matilda, and the old men still answer the call. But as year follows year, more old men disappear. Someday no one will march there at all.”
But there will be someone. They are the contemporary veterans.
My thoughts coincide with reading James Brown’s book Anzac’s Long Shadow. Brown, a contemporary veteran himself, has eloquently captured the thoughts of many of us who are struggling to define ourselves against the Anzac stereotype.
Against another era of veteran, contemporary veterans do not face the Vietnam veteran’s adversity of returning to a nation that scorned their deeds. Our return has the support of the broader Australian community. We also have a blank canvas for our image. Brown points out that little is known in the general Australian community about the role of Australian Defence Force personnel in recent conflicts including East Timor, Iraq, Afghanistan and Solomon Islands.
Indeed serving personnel sometimes have misconceptions of veterans. During Anzac Day in 2011 I overheard an Australian Army soldier question why a member of the Royal Australian Navy was wearing an Afghanistan Campaign Medal. The tone suggested unworthiness of the honour; Afghanistan after all is a land-locked country. I was affronted by this comment as I had deployed to Afghanistan with Navy personnel who were Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technicians and Airforce personnel who were Joint Terminal Attack Controllers. If you know what these roles are, you will know how much admiration I have for their courageous service and contribution to the survivability of our team. As I explained to the soldier — even though medals look the same, each medal comes with its own story. Every contemporary veteran’s contribution should be valued without judgement.
Similar stories are also presenting. Women are often judged to have only completed sedentary roles in Afghanistan and Iraq when there are many examples of the opposite. I have had young sappers tell me they have attended RSLs (Returned & Services Leagues) on Anzac Day and been told to move their medals to their right side as ‘don’t you know, medals awarded to a family member go on the right side of your chest’. Someone needs to remind these self-appointed hall monitors that the sentiment of the song ‘I was only 19’ applies not only to wars of bygone eras but also to our most recent conflicts. Having to justify your medal and convince people of the violence you faced in conflict because of your gender, age, service or corps is something I hope is a passing fad. This is a dangerous form of stereotyping that may become ingrained if our stories are not shared.
I don’t have a definition for the contemporary veteran or what mould we are made from. The lack of a stereotype may be our defining feature in the end. What I do know is that we own the image of the contemporary veteran because we are the contemporary veteran. We should not sit passively by and let others define who we are or who we are not. If we don’t own the image of the modern-day veteran then someone else will define it for us. This is clearly evident in the United States where tragic events inflicted by one have led to the stereotyping of many (see here, here and here). Brown calls for proactive participation of serving members in intellectual debate and the “fluid exchange of ideas and the honest and intelligent study of the past”. Reflecting on our own contribution to the past and its meaning to our future may be a good place to start.
I caveat this call for action. There is no romanticised version of war, and men and women sign up to protect the general community and their loved ones from the horrors of war. It is difficult to share the horrors with people outside the military fold when it is those people who you served to keep the horrors from. Some contemporary veterans might not be ready to share. Like my grandfathers, the time may never come when the stories flow in general conversation. It is in this space that the voice of other veterans becomes ever more important.
To me the words veteran and Anzac conjure images of courageous men. Those men who returned home are now wearied by age and those who did not return home are forever suspended in youth. It is the spirit of Anzac and actions of veterans past that found the human qualities of the contemporary veteran — qualities of mateship, resilience and courage. They give meaning to our present and a reassurance in our human spirit for the adversities of the future. With this foundation and remembrance it is time for contemporary veterans to define our own image.
Major Clare O’Neill served in Afghanistan in 2006 and 2008. She is currently an Officer Commanding at the 3rd Combat Engineer Regiment, Australian Army.
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 Brown, James, Anzac’s long shadow: the cost of our national obsession, Redback, Collingwood, 2014, p. 96.
 Exercise Shaggy Ridge is named after operations in the forenamed area in Papua New Guinea in World War II, seehttp://www.awm.gov.au/units/event_347.asp
 Bogle, Eric, And the Band Played Waltzing Matilda, Larrikin Music Pty Limited, Sydney.
 Brown, p. 105.
Originally published at groundedcuriosity.com.