This Republic of Something

Back in 2017, I submitted a photo and personal story to the National Museum of the Army. The museum was still being built, and they were gathering exhibition material from the larger Army community for various permanent and special exhibits. What I sent in was for the exhibit "Growing Up Army," focused on the children of Army families. I wrote about postcards and adventure. My dad sent me my first postcard in 1987. He was on TDY (temporary duty travel) in Puerto Rico. In the postcard, he described going to the beach when they had downtime, and seeing and catching fish. He signed off with "Be good," something my dad has written on every postcard he's sent me since. It's a thing; he says it to me on the phone before we hang up and when I leave after a visit. I guess my dad always knew I was the "troublemaker" of the family (a rather tame troublemaker, but still). I also sent in copies of a couple of pictures of me, my brother, and dad at an Army field day at Ft. McCoy in Wisconsin (at least I think that's where it's at). I'm a very little girl, sitting inside a very large Army vehicle, smiling like it's the best day ever (because it probably was at the time). It's adorable.

I have no idea if my submitted materials will be in the exhibit. The National Museum of the Army was supposed to open in June, but of course, that's been put on hold right now. My dad is a volunteer at the museum, because of course he is, and he's hopeful that they'll open soon. I'm guessing sometime in 2021, but who knows when anything is going to happen anymore. 

My dad was in the Army for 30 years. We moved all around the US, and he had an amazing career. He worked at the Pentagon, ran logistics for units during the first Gulf War, commanded a base through its closure, and served as Deputy Chief for the Pacific Command. He was/is respected by his colleagues, and probably did a lot of stuff I'll never really know about. When we lived in Hawaii, I was taking classes in the political science graduate program at the University of Hawaii, and I'll never forget the time my dad agreed to come to one of my classes to discuss modern warfare. He had read the book we were discussing in his own graduate program, and was well versed in a few of the other books we had on our syllabus for the semester. I think my classmates thought they were getting some uneducated "grunt," but instead got to debate with someone who knew a lot more than they did. One of my classmates argued that all military operations should be unclassified. My dad explained, and I can't remember his exact words, why that was a terrible idea and more specifically, why none of us really want to know that sort of information. We think we do, but we don't. I think about a lot. 

When you grow up in the military, patriotism is a very interesting point of discussion. I think a lot of people have this set idea of what a military family is and should be like; very "rally round the flag" kind of stuff. That's not my experience. My dad has never told me to think a certain way or believe a certain thing because of his career. Did he instill a love of country and service and respect in us? Yes, but he didn't do in a way that was absolute. My parents have always encouraged me and my brother to question authority and injustice. They wanted us to form our own opinions, even, and especially if those opinions were different from their's. I wouldn't be the delightful feminist/activist you all know and love if they hadn't been supportive and encouraging. We don't agree on everything. They push me, I push them. 

Growing up in a military family is weird. My family is the least military military family I know, but there's still stuff that doesn't make sense to people from outside. I've been to way more airshows and patriotic programs than I care to admit (some good, most very bad). I've seen the extraordinary sense of duty of of my father and his colleagues in action. I've heard people say hateful, ugly things about the military for no reason. I remember my dad telling us about changing clothes before flying because he and his unit didn't want to be harassed (in 1989). I spent the first Gulf War worrying my dad was going to die in Iraq. (His larger unit went in country, but he did not. I didn't understand the difference at that time.) While I appreciate the fact that everyone "loves" the troops now, I question how we got to this point. When did y'all just decide that recognizing those in the military at sporting events was a thing? 

But I digress.

Where am I going with this? 

I'm struggling with the idea of celebrating July 4th this year. Normally, I love the 4th. Fun fact: it's my third favorite holiday. Military celebrations of July 4th are always the best; this is one of the "traditional" things I loved about being a "child of." The 4th was special always so special. One of my favorite memories from my dad's time at the Pentagon was being able to sit on the Pentagon lawn to watch the fireworks from DC. We hung out with his co-workers and their families, had a nice picnic, and watch the fireworks. It was so beautiful and patriotic and so very American. The civics nerd in me just loved it. 

But this year, it seems like an odd flex to celebrate the "birth of American independence," while also thinking about the fact that 130,000 Americans have died from COVID-19. That's a hard number to come to terms with. I've been thinking a lot lately about the book This Republic of Suffering by Drew Gilpin Faust. Gilpin Faust is a historian, and the first female President of Harvard University. A lot of her work focuses on the impact the Civil War had on society, often looking at the experience of women during and after the war. In This Republic of Suffering, she details the way in which mourning customs and processing death had to change because of the devastating loss of life during the Civil War, and the way in which soldiers died. Often, a body wasn't recovered, and this completely shattered the rituals associated with the concept of "the Good Death;" the idea that someone is prepared to die. How can someone prepare to die on the battlefield at Gettysburg or in the prison camp at Andersonville? Families had to adjust to this way of mourning, often with nothing to mourn at all. Scarcity of things like fabric also subverted how women moved through the stages of mourning if they lost a husband or other family member. 

I read the book not too long after it was released in 2008. I can see it on my bookshelf when I sit at my desk for work. I keep coming back to the idea that we're in another period of time where we're forced to rethink how we approach death and mourning. People are watching their loved ones die on iPads. Funerals are on hold, or reduced to quick ceremonies that don't allow family and friends to adequately grieve together, often an essential part of healing. In New Orleans, for example, jazz funerals and second lines aren't allowed because of the restrictions on crowds. Cultural practices like this are essential for grieving, but currently cant't take place because we physically can't be together. Maybe I've been spending too much time alone these days, but I can't help think about this and contrast it with the many celebrations that will take place this weekend. While I understand the power and necessity of normal rituals, (I went to the post-Katrina Mardi Gras, I get it), this feels so different.

I think it's gross that a fireworks display is going to take place at Mt. Rushmore. This is incredibly dangerous from an environmental standpoint. The area near Mt. Rushmore is highly susceptible to fires. That's one of the reasons fireworks have been banned from the park for the last decade. It's also in violation of the Fort Laramie Treaty of 1868 that designates the area as part of the Sioux Reservation. Mt. Rushmore is on stolen land, but of course, we don't want to talk about that. People coming to this event/rally don't have to social distance or wear masks. What could possibly go wrong? Literally everything. 

I don't know, y'all. How do we reconcile reality with the need for normalcy? How do we celebrate the "birth of American independence" when police are still violently assaulting peaceful protesters and people just out living their lives? How do some continue to ignore racism in our daily lives when a new video pops up every day of some white woman (white women - what the fuck are you doing?) threatening grocery store employees or brandishing weapons at a Black woman and her daughter in a parking lot? How are we okay with obvious shows of pandering patriotism like the event at Mt. Rushmore when the 45 hasn't said anything about Russian bounties on American soldiers? How do we celebrate when so many have been lost? 

I don't have any answers for you. I'm not going to tell you how to spend your weekend or celebrate this July 4th. By the time I hit publish on this post, most of my friends will have watched Hamilton on Disney+ for the 400th time. At least they're staying inside. 

It would be nice if we all took a few minutes this July 4th and reflected on what we have lost as a nation, if we collectively grieved and mourned for those lost to this horrible pandemic. I don't expect our sham president to ask for silence or to even acknowledge this at his rally, so we'll have to do it ourselves. So maybe tomorrow, before you set out to do whatever it is you're going to do, take a few minutes to recognize what we've lost. Write something, draw or paint, pray, listen to music, light a candle. Maybe do a primal scream. I don't know your life. Then, take some time to think about how you want to enter the second half of the dumpster fire year of 2020. 

Maybe if we all take a little time to do these two things we can refocus what it actually means to celebrate the birth of American independence. We can recommit to what it means to be revolutionary. This country was formed by revolutionary acts and thinking. We have the responsibility to be revolutionary again, in the way we act and vote, and in the way we treat one another with respect, dignity and kindness, rather than with hate and division. 

Stay safe. Wear your mask. Wash your hands. Be nice to one another. Vote. Black Lives Matter.