Will Real Wars Come Back?

Have you noticed that our thinking about war has gotten softer? These days, our wars tend to earn euphemisms such as: border skirmish, police action, regime change, nation building, civil uprising, popular revolution and gorilla opposition. Similarly, killing becomes targeting, eliminating, taking out, and collateral damage. 

Obviously, the idea of war is becoming too repulsive to be named for what it is without shame. Anymore, you don’t often see Group A attacking Group B with the intent of killing or enslaving everyone in their path and taking all of their land and property. Yeah, “real war” used to really mean something.

It used to be that horsemen pounded off the barren steppes to pillage great swathes of quiet villages. European colonizers often summarily claimed whatever they "discovered," demanding its resources for themselves, and usually were more than rude to its current inhabitants. 

From a Distance

From a distance, all you hear is the persistent drone, barely audible, like somebody else’s mosquito. I guess that’s why they call them drones. They can linger up there for days, watching and waiting, probably relieving each other like on-duty patrol cops — like slow-motion tag-team wrestling — like owls, waiting for a mouse to make a careless move.

From a distance, the sound recedes into the background cacophony of fans running, children playing, dogs barking, and the shrill horns of motor scooters in traffic. It blends into the sound of life that reassures grandmothers that all is well when they wake momentarily from their afternoon nap. It is the sound of sudden and inescapable death — the thunderbolt of foreign gods thrown from heaven in retribution for unknown sins.

From a distance, remote operators watch, and guide, and drink Coca Cola, and decide who will live and who will die and when. You cannot know the faces of these nameless watchers. You cannot invite them to your daughter’s wedding or your uncle’s funeral.

Short Story: From a Distance

From a distance, all you hear is the persistent drone, barely audible, like somebody else’s mosquito. I guess that’s why they call them drones. They can linger up there for days, watching and waiting, probably relieving each other like on-duty patrol cops — like slow-motion tag-team wrestling — like owls, waiting for a mouse to make a careless move.

From a distance, the sound recedes into the background cacophony of fans running, children playing, dogs barking, and thin shrill horns of motor scooters in traffic. It blends into the sound of life that comforts grandmothers that all is well when they wake momentarily from their afternoon nap. It is the sound of sudden and inescapable death — the thunderbolt of foreign gods thrown from heaven in retribution for unknown sins.

From a distance, remote operators watch, and guide, and drink Coca Cola, and decide who will live and who will die and when. You cannot know the faces of these nameless watchers. You cannot invite them to your daughter’s wedding or your uncle’s funeral. You cannot explain that you are loaning your shovel to a neighbor down the street and helping him plant a shade tree by the curb. You cannot explain or negotiate or fall on your knees to beg for understanding or plead for mercy.

Essay: Targeted drone killing

A new technology, which reduces the incidence of occupation forces and civilian casualties, extends into a gap in the continuum between law enforcement and war.

This was first published in the Dayton Review on February 20, 2013. It is scheduled for publication in Chum for Thought: Blood in the Water (2014).

Targeted drone killing

We don’t seem to have a problem with missile-armed drones here in central Iowa, but there are those among us who are worried about black helicopters coming for them in the night. However, people in villages in other places watch armed drones circling overhead every day. Somebody (and anyone else near them) is probably going to get blown to bits pretty soon. There is no safe place to hide and there is no safe place for your children to play. That has got to get on your nerves.

The rise of global terrorism has required governments to develop new policies and procedures. This is unlike any war that has ever been and it’s not easy to wrap our minds around how things are having to change. Lethal actions are no longer taken exclusively against nation states, but against widely dispersed and diverse groups and individuals.

Terrorist groups often gravitate to parts of the world that have inadequate rule of law, such as effective law enforcement and extradition treaties. Still, they may pose real dangers to the security of the United States, its citizens, and to others that have the support of the United States. Further, available technology has the capacity to multiply the massive damage that even a small terrorist organization can produce.

Historically, military responses have required

Essay: Moral dilemmas of World War II

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Moral dilemmas of World War II

From the book: Chum for Thought: Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters by David Satterlee

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Read or download this essay as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKc0VhTnU5azlZeDQ/edit?usp=sharing

Chum For Thought:
Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters

Moral dilemmas of World War II

World War II had an entirely different character than The Great War. Advancing technology continued to increase the destructive power of armies and their ability to project that power, often in sudden and unexpected ways. World War II became alarmingly dangerous. The determination to definitively end this war posed a great many strategic and morally equivocal choices.

World War I followed centuries of colonialism and national consolidation. At that point, a bunch of bully-boys were ready and anxious to play king-of-the-mountain. Some of them played very rough and everybody got hurt. For the most part, they came away determined to play nicer in the future. Most of the world believed that they had learned the lessons of full-out nationalism.

As things worked out, social conventions (and faltering economics) had developed to the point that colonies could attempt (and usually gain) independence. World War II played out the end to large-scale overt military conquest when a pair of hard-core bad boys

Essay: The thing about “Real War” – victors and vanquished

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The thing about “Real War” – victors and vanquished

From the book: Chum for Thought: Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters by David Satterlee

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Read or download this essay as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKLUY4TElYdW9IRzA/edit?usp=sharing

#military #power

Chum For Thought:
Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters

The thing about “Real War” – victors and vanquished

Very few people now alive have had the experience of what I think of as “Real War.” Oh, we still use the word “war,” but it doesn’t seem to carry the same sense of dramatic finality that it formerly did. War, and our thinking about war, has gotten soft. Our changing values affect the way we respond to the victors and victims of war.

These days, our wars tend to earn euphemisms such as: border skirmish, police action, regime change, nation building, civil uprising, popular revolution, government standoff, and gorilla opposition. Similarly, killing becomes: targeting, eliminating, taking out, and collateral damage because the idea is too repulsive to be named as what it is without shame. We rarely see Group A attacking Group B with the intent of killing or enslaving everyone and taking all of their land and property. 

And, of course, Real War only begets more war. Yeah, Real War used to really mean something.

The incomprehensible and unconscionable violence of World War II so scared the crap out of

Essay: The myth of Truman as a simple man

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The myth of Truman as a simple man

From the book: Chum for Thought: Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters by David Satterlee

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Read or download this essay as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKdnRLNWpJd3F2SFE/edit?usp=sharing


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Chum For Thought:
Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters

The myth of Truman as a simple man

This morning, one of our neighbors dropped off a clipping about Harry Truman. We had been discussing presidents after my column mentioning FDR. The piece was complimentary and praised President Truman especially for his modesty and humility after retiring back to his home in Independence, Missouri.

I have to tell you that I have a soft spot for Harry and Bess. I was raised across the river from Independence in Liberty, Missouri. How about those city names for symbolism? (Then again, Peculiar and Normal are city names in Missouri. Go figure.) Kansas City still embraces “Give ‘em Hell Harry” as a beloved native son.

Anyway, the clipping mentioned his few personal assets including Bess’ house, an Army pension, and a special allowance granted by Congress. He did not “enjoy” Secret Service protection after leaving the White House. Harry declined corporate positions saying, “You don’t want me. You want the office of the President, and that doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to the American people and it’s not for sale.”

Of course, this would be a great place to take a pot shot at

Story: Tribal Family Values

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Tribal Family Values

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

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Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

The historical setting for this story springs from reading the book: 1421: The Year China Discovered America. It also reflects research about tribalism, authoritarianism, and fundamentalism, which I describe in my book of essays: Chum For Thought: Throwing Ideas into Dangerous Waters. I think, when you read the last line, you will agree that the conclusion should have been obvious all along. After all, what's a tribe to do?

Tribal Family Values

Captain Chan Huy Gan stood before his assembled crew and spoke to them with conviction and urgency:

“It has been a full season since our sea-barge and its company of four hundred ran aground on this shore. There is no doubt that we shall not see our former homes and families again without being discovered by another expedition, and we know that no other such expedition was planned to explore these unknown far reaches. Therefore, our ship’s governing council, with the consensus agreement of our accompanying Scholars, has determined that we must put all consideration of return behind us. We must commit ourselves to permanent residence in this place. Further, we must commit, not only to our continuing security, but to extending our prosperity and our progeny for all time henceforth in this land.

“We have met with hostility from the native peoples. But our fortifications hold strong and they will be further strengthened and expanded. You have submitted well in transforming from a ship’s crew to a community of farmers, herdsmen, craftsmen, and guardians. Many of you have been humbled to

Poem: Thank you for your hospitality

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Thank you for your hospitality

from the book: Life Will Get You in the End:
Short stories by David Satterlee

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Read or download this story as a PDF file at: https://docs.google.com/file/d/0B4eNv8KtePyKNjg3al9rVUNHcUU/edit?usp=sharing

Life Will Get You in the End:
Short Stories by David Satterlee

A poem of the “police action” in Vietnam. Also a disturbing piece. Note: contains violence and some profanity. This is mean stuff for grownups. Even the ending line of every stanza shatters the cadence and rhyme of what came before. 

No, I didn’t serve in Vietnam, but people I knew did. Many of my readers will not remember what a dark, angry, and desperate time that was — for both sides. This came out of a dark place that surprised me too. [Note: contains profanity]

Thank you for your hospitality

A poem of the “police action” in Vietnam.

by David Satterlee

No, I didn’t serve in Vietnam, but people I knew did. Many of my readers will not remember what a dark, angry, and desperate time that was — for both sides. This came out of a dark place that surprised me too. [Note: contains profanity]

Nothing so rapturous, so beauteous, and grand
As napalm applied to a section of land.
Earth dances and sways and it bucks where you stand;
Consuming at once, in cataclysmic orgasm, every foe, every friend, every frond, every f-ing leach.

Don’t know when to duck; there’s never alarm.
Shot at by snipers. Pinned down near some farm.
I cradled a buddy as he died with no arm.
He gave as a gift the last whisper of breath from his lips.
I would have liked to shake his hand.

Pacify, pacify, pacify thou.
We’re torching your