“Over There”, written by George M. Cohan upon America’s entry into World War I. It’s an old-fashioned song, written during an old-fashioned war – a reflection of the kind of patriotism that fell out of favor a long time ago. America didn’t used to feel guilty about feeling this way. There are so many lessons to be learned in these two minutes and twenty seconds…
For example, the electrical generator quits very early in the song. It’s an unexpected, un-planned for setback. Yet Cagney improvises, in the best tradition of the United States military. Paraphrasing (and I forget who actually said it) but the military adage is that every tactical plan has value until the moment of first contact. What makes the American soldier different – what makes the American soldier victorious – is that he is taught to think on his own. He is taught, in the words of Clint Eastwood’s fictional Gunnery Sergeant Tom Highway, to “improvise, adapt and overcome”. This is the spirit of the American soldier. This is, in a larger sense, the spirit of America.
The climax of Cohan’s stirring chorus sends its own message as well:
We’ll be over, we’re coming over.
And we won’t be back till it’s over over there!
This too is the spirit of an America that we are in danger of losing forever. Too many Americans today would hear those words, and much of the rest of Cohan’s anthem (e.g., “The Yanks are coming, the Yanks are coming!”) and dismiss it all as uber-patriotic, imperialist arrogance. Is there any doubt that the current tenant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW would choke on these words? To this President, and for far too many Americans today, the spirit of Over There is about America flexing its muscles – imposing its will on an innocent world.
1917 America would not have made that mistake. Our hastily trained volunteer army was not expected – by most of the old world anyway – to present much of a threat to the veteran legions of Kaiser Wilhelm II. We hoped, and we even prayed, that our boys could help defend the liberal, western European democracies that were tottering on the edge of defeat, but we didn’t know that our troops could actually do that. Black Jack Pershing had other ideas, but he hardly represented the majority opinion.
“Over There” was, accordingly, not a national boast. It was something quite the opposite, a bugle call for courage – a rallying cry, more for the citizens that would remain behind than for the troops headed toward the trenches – one that asked Americans to believe that our soldiers could accomplish great things, and demanding that all of us give them whatever support they needed to do so.
The jingoistic, celebratory “Over There” spirit has fallen entirely out of favor in a cynical, modern-day America. I don’t suppose that spirit was ever an important part of the character of the soldiers who faced the grim work of defending our shores. But, I think it was – for us fortunate civilians who continue to benefit from their courage and dedication – a largely harmless subterfuge that accomplished a greater purpose. It made it easy to support the troops with a full, joyous and grateful heart. It was a part of recognizing something greater and higher than our own fearful existence. Sousa and Cohan may not reflect the reality of war, but they helped us stand firmly behind those whom we asked to endure that reality.
Given the support they need, given our backing, our fighting men and women have proven – time and time again – that they can get it “over”, over there. Let us pray, and let us resolve, that we will not betray them ever again. For those who have been over there, let us remain eternally grateful. And for those who are still over there, let us tolerate nothing less than our full, unyielding and unwavering support.
I’m reading some material sent to me by Lt. Col. David Grossman, an expert on the physiological and psychological effects of combat. One thing he mentions is the importance of soldiers being able to get together and *talk* about the battle after it’s over. In the process of talking, their memory of the experience is re-shaped, and they find a form of narrative that helps them to handle the awful facts. He says recent military doctrines have prevented soldiers from getting the opportunity to do that, resulting in greater psychological damage.
I suspect that presenting a heroic picture to the civilian population, so that the soldiers feel admired and honored when they come home, also has a practical benefit in helping our defenders handle their experiences.
My old man hangs out at the local VA and that’s what goes on there; therapy. It’s probably impossible for folks who haven’t been in war to understand war. So, as Floyd wrote, the guys who have been there get together under the guise of throwing back some cheap beers. They talk about the wars they were in, and what they did, and they talk about their kids and grandkids and how much the Bears suck and the fish they caught last weekend, or their most recent score on the golf course. A guess a psychologist might call it therapy, but I think these guys just call it men doing what men do.
How have “recent military doctrines have prevented soldiers from getting the opportunity to do that”?
What military doctrines?
Just curious.
Yeah Lars… I’ve met Grossman a couple of times. Veterans often get more out of a gaggle of vets a few beers and some pizza and shooting the shit for a few hours than they do from psychology.
Grossman’s “On Killing” should be required reading.
I forget the details of the one reference I’ve seen so far. I’ve got a lot of reading yet to do. But if I recall correctly (I’m not at all sure I do), he says that the idea of airlifting the men in and then airlifting them out again after a fire fight interferes with the traditional, and more natural, order of things. Don’t have the book I’m thinking of with me at the moment.
OK, I think I found a reference, and my memory was incorrect. What Grossman is saying is that in old warfare there was time for rest. If battles lasted several days, they at least stopped at night. The men had time to debrief, and the memories they synthesized in those debriefings were often very different from the actual events.
In modern warfare, a battle can go on for days. “On any given day in World War II, thousands of psychiatric casualties were in camps close to the front lines… Worst of all were those rare situations in which soldiers were trapped in continuous combat for 60 to 90 days…. Fighting all day and all night for months on end is a twentieth century phenomenon…. On the beaches of Normandy in World War II, for example, there were no rear lines, and for two months there was no way to escape the horror of continuous fighting…. It was learned then that after 60 days and nights of constant combat, 98 percent of soldiers became psychiatric casualties.
“What about the other two percent? They were aggressive sociopaths.”