thedrifter
10-10-08, 05:37 AM
Review: 'The Forever War' is a graphic, kinetic, clear-eyed account of combat in Iraq
By Chris Hedges
Philadelphia Inquirer
Article Launched: 10/10/2008 12:01:00 AM PDT
Dexter Filkins' book "The Forever War," his account of the conflicts he covered as a reporter in Iraq and Afghanistan, is a kaleidoscope of images and intensity, bizarre encounters, electrifying vignettes, graphic depictions of mayhem and death — as well as fleeting moments of humanity in countries convulsed by violence. It is not a linear narrative. It is written in finely honed bursts of vibrant color that capture the peculiar culture of the war and echo the Vietnam classic "Dispatches" by Michael Herr.
Martin Luther once said that our greatest sin is our greatest strength. This would be true of "The Forever War." Its very power is its weakness. It is a raw and riveting account of violence: the violence done by occupation forces to Iraqis, and the violence meted out in return. But it fails to examine the slow drip of repression, the tiny and huge indignities of occupation that push Iraqis to become human bombs or descend into the murky underworld of insurgent groups.
Filkins begins by plunging us into the fighting in the assault on Fallujah by First Battalion, Eighth Marines. He works his way down deserted streets, ducking and scampering to avoid bursts of fire, and by the time he is done, we have an intimate picture of the waste and brutality of industrial slaughter. This terse and dramatic opening sets the tone: This is an account of ceaseless and futile destruction.
"Anything the Americans tried there turned to dust," he writes of the occupation. "The Americans repaired a brick factory and the insurgents blew it up. The Americans painted a school and the insurgents shot the teachers. The Americans threw candy to the kids and the kids called it poison." Filkins' book, like "Dispatches," is designed to take us on a ride. It is a ride into the heart-thumping world of utter destruction and combat, although shorn, because we are not there, of its visceral fear and terror, the awful stench of cordite and bodily decay, and deafening noise.
Filkins effectively re-creates the zip and adrenaline rush of battle, which has a pornographic allure, especially when viewed from the confines of Western privilege and comfort. We readers will not, like Filkins or those he writes about, pay the heavy personal or emotional cost. The last sentence of the book alludes to Filkins' own failed marriage: "I lost the person I care about most. The war didn't get her; it got me." At least he left intact. Many of those he writes about did not.
The biggest problem with this otherwise vivid book is the same as with Herr's "Dispatches": It is written out of a moral void. It refrains from judgment, and thus is war porn. We come to identify with the soldiers and Marines patrolling the alleys of Fallujah or Samarra; we admire their heroism and their courage. But we feel little for those they exterminate. Those killed are shadows.
This is especially evident in Filkins' portrayal of the 2004 siege of Fallujah by the Marines, a siege that left hundreds of civilians dead. The siege saw city residents digging mass graves in gardens and soccer fields for the mounting number of victims. Filkins presents the siege and the war through the narrow lens of the Marines who do the killing. He is aware of the occupation's impact, writing that "the Americans were making enemies faster than they could kill them," but his focus on the organized violence of the American forces around him keeps him from looking outward.
Col. Nathan Sassaman, a former quarterback at West Point — Filkins calls him "the most impressive American field commander in Iraq" — rises Kurtz-like from the pages of the book. Sassaman, beloved by his troops, swings between love and hatred of the Iraqis whose lives he controls. He struggles to build relationships with some, while ruthlessly crushing those who continue to resist, often condoning among his troops unorthodox forms of punishment and reprisal. Unable finally to quell the insurgents around the Tigris River, Sassaman tersely tells Filkins, "'We are going to inflict extreme violence.'" Sassaman's soldiers, by the end of his stint in Iraq, earn a deserved reputation for excessive force. They tell Filkins at one point that if he were not present, they would beat their Iraqi detainee. Sassaman, because of this abuse of Iraqis, is finally driven from the military after receiving a formal reprimand. Filkins finds him at home months later, contemplating a career as a football coach.
Filkins never dissects the terrible algebra of the occupation, the lies used to justify it, the disproportionate violence used to sustain it, the gross injustice unleashed by the United States on the Iraqi people. But to be fair, this is not the book's goal. This is a book that is experiential rather than analytical. And his honesty in portraying the war implicitly exposes the hollowness of the platitudes used in Washington to defend it. As he tells it, the insurgents, along with the terrified 19-year-old machine gunners from Ohio or Georgia laying down withering fire, appear in the gruesome maw of violence to deserve one another. War is hell. Enjoy it.
Chris Hedges, a former Pulitzer Prize-winning war correspondent for the New York Times, is author of, among other titles, "Collateral Damage: America's War Against Iraqi Civilians" and "War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning."
Ellie
By Chris Hedges
Philadelphia Inquirer
Article Launched: 10/10/2008 12:01:00 AM PDT
Dexter Filkins' book "The Forever War," his account of the conflicts he covered as a reporter in Iraq and Afghanistan, is a kaleidoscope of images and intensity, bizarre encounters, electrifying vignettes, graphic depictions of mayhem and death — as well as fleeting moments of humanity in countries convulsed by violence. It is not a linear narrative. It is written in finely honed bursts of vibrant color that capture the peculiar culture of the war and echo the Vietnam classic "Dispatches" by Michael Herr.
Martin Luther once said that our greatest sin is our greatest strength. This would be true of "The Forever War." Its very power is its weakness. It is a raw and riveting account of violence: the violence done by occupation forces to Iraqis, and the violence meted out in return. But it fails to examine the slow drip of repression, the tiny and huge indignities of occupation that push Iraqis to become human bombs or descend into the murky underworld of insurgent groups.
Filkins begins by plunging us into the fighting in the assault on Fallujah by First Battalion, Eighth Marines. He works his way down deserted streets, ducking and scampering to avoid bursts of fire, and by the time he is done, we have an intimate picture of the waste and brutality of industrial slaughter. This terse and dramatic opening sets the tone: This is an account of ceaseless and futile destruction.
"Anything the Americans tried there turned to dust," he writes of the occupation. "The Americans repaired a brick factory and the insurgents blew it up. The Americans painted a school and the insurgents shot the teachers. The Americans threw candy to the kids and the kids called it poison." Filkins' book, like "Dispatches," is designed to take us on a ride. It is a ride into the heart-thumping world of utter destruction and combat, although shorn, because we are not there, of its visceral fear and terror, the awful stench of cordite and bodily decay, and deafening noise.
Filkins effectively re-creates the zip and adrenaline rush of battle, which has a pornographic allure, especially when viewed from the confines of Western privilege and comfort. We readers will not, like Filkins or those he writes about, pay the heavy personal or emotional cost. The last sentence of the book alludes to Filkins' own failed marriage: "I lost the person I care about most. The war didn't get her; it got me." At least he left intact. Many of those he writes about did not.
The biggest problem with this otherwise vivid book is the same as with Herr's "Dispatches": It is written out of a moral void. It refrains from judgment, and thus is war porn. We come to identify with the soldiers and Marines patrolling the alleys of Fallujah or Samarra; we admire their heroism and their courage. But we feel little for those they exterminate. Those killed are shadows.
This is especially evident in Filkins' portrayal of the 2004 siege of Fallujah by the Marines, a siege that left hundreds of civilians dead. The siege saw city residents digging mass graves in gardens and soccer fields for the mounting number of victims. Filkins presents the siege and the war through the narrow lens of the Marines who do the killing. He is aware of the occupation's impact, writing that "the Americans were making enemies faster than they could kill them," but his focus on the organized violence of the American forces around him keeps him from looking outward.
Col. Nathan Sassaman, a former quarterback at West Point — Filkins calls him "the most impressive American field commander in Iraq" — rises Kurtz-like from the pages of the book. Sassaman, beloved by his troops, swings between love and hatred of the Iraqis whose lives he controls. He struggles to build relationships with some, while ruthlessly crushing those who continue to resist, often condoning among his troops unorthodox forms of punishment and reprisal. Unable finally to quell the insurgents around the Tigris River, Sassaman tersely tells Filkins, "'We are going to inflict extreme violence.'" Sassaman's soldiers, by the end of his stint in Iraq, earn a deserved reputation for excessive force. They tell Filkins at one point that if he were not present, they would beat their Iraqi detainee. Sassaman, because of this abuse of Iraqis, is finally driven from the military after receiving a formal reprimand. Filkins finds him at home months later, contemplating a career as a football coach.
Filkins never dissects the terrible algebra of the occupation, the lies used to justify it, the disproportionate violence used to sustain it, the gross injustice unleashed by the United States on the Iraqi people. But to be fair, this is not the book's goal. This is a book that is experiential rather than analytical. And his honesty in portraying the war implicitly exposes the hollowness of the platitudes used in Washington to defend it. As he tells it, the insurgents, along with the terrified 19-year-old machine gunners from Ohio or Georgia laying down withering fire, appear in the gruesome maw of violence to deserve one another. War is hell. Enjoy it.
Chris Hedges, a former Pulitzer Prize-winning war correspondent for the New York Times, is author of, among other titles, "Collateral Damage: America's War Against Iraqi Civilians" and "War Is a Force That Gives Us Meaning."
Ellie