The Silent Slain

A Poem for Memorial Day

We too, we too, descending once again
The hills of our own land, we too have heard
Far off -- Ah, que ce cor a longue haleine --
The horn of Roland in the passages of Spain,
the first, the second blast, the failing third,
And with the third turned back and climbed once more
The steep road southward, and heard faint the sound
Of swords, of horses, the disastrous war,
And crossed the dark defile at last, and found
At Roncevaux upon the darkening plain
The dead against the dead and on the silent ground
The silent slain --
—Archibald MacLeish

The worst wars somehow bring the best poetry. World War I, that meaningless slaughter, produced a generation of brilliant British poets…whom I usually quote this time of year. But Archibald MacLeish, an American who later became the Librarian of Congress was there, too.

People often ask me about my obsession with the military. A raw zygote of a Republican once huffed, “Why are so many of you anti-war liberals so taken with the military?”

Good question, actually.

In my case, it is equal parts guilt and admiration. Guilt that I didn’t serve—that I allowed others, poorer, less privileged than me, carry the weight in Vietnam, that arrogant obscenity of a war. This lead me to write two books about veterans. The first, Payback, was about five Marines who served together in Vietnam, lost track of each other and then reunited. The second, Charlie Mike, was about a very different generation of troops—those who volunteered, all of them volunteered, to serve after the terrorist attacks on September 11, 2001. Their patriotism was “rewarded” by wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, induced by a coterie of ideologues who hadn’t themselves served, who had no idea what war was, what they sending these kids into.

I remember during the worst days of Iraq, I interviewed an American General—you’ve seen him on television—and he said, “If you ever get to interview Donald Rumsfeld—and you won’t because he knows who you are [meaning: he knows your sources come from the uniformed military]—you should ask him two questions and see which gets an enthusiastic response. Question one: What should be our force posture toward China in ten years? Question two: Based on after-action reports from the past month, what tactical changes should we make in Iraq?

The General began to weep, out of total frustration: “I guarantee he’ll be more interested in China than the kids we have downrange right now.”

Later, thanks to David Petraeus and his outlaw gang of military intellectuals who were writing a counter-insurgency manual at Fort Leavenworth, I found myself embedded in Iraq and Afghanistan. Rumsfeld had thought he was sending Petraeus to the outer darkness, to the Army’s think tank at Leavenworth, but Petraeus took the opportunity to retrain the U.S. Army. (Yes, yes, Marine Bros, you had the same ideas—earlier, perhaps.)

Petraeus taught the Army to govern, to do community policing in small towns, to win over the people with public works projects and protection from the bad guys, to knock on doors, in his famous phrase, rather than knocking them down. It worked in Iraq; not so much in Afghanistan.

But it worked in a larger way, too. At one point, after watching a young American Captain do his job—and win over the population—in the Afghan village of Sanjaray, I called General P and said, “You realize that your counter-insurgency training is going to create the next great generation of American politicians?”

I still believe that. The veterans of Iraq and Afghanistan know an important thing: they know that politics is not showbiz. They know the damage that an actual bullet can do to the human body. They have held fallen comrades in their arms. They know that this most significant decision that a politician can make should not be influenced by polls or appearances, or by advice from theorists who’ve never been to war. There are extremists and violence-lovers among them, but most veterans I know are members of the Sanity Caucus. As David French writes, beautifully, in The New York Times today, the experience of combat creates a sad maturity, a premature old age—a time when you are young and friends are dying, a political sobriety that stands witness against the showboats and the silly.

They understand that service is a requirement of citizenship. They understand that community emerges from shared sacrifice. They know that these values have to be central to a healthy Republic. And so, I’ve involved myself in raising funds for a bipartisan caucus of Post 9/11 veterans in the House of Representatives called For Country. They can receive campaign funds from our PAC, which is called With Honor, only if they sign a pledge to work together as part of the caucus. I’ve donated some of the money from paid subscriptions to Sanity Clause to this group. You might consider a direct contribution. We have 30 members and are hoping for more in 2024.

These are very impressive people. They don’t agree on most, or even many, things in this time of acrid partisanship. But they know they have to talk to each other. At times, like the recent defense appropriation for Ukraine and Israel, they have been a powerful leadership force. They are brothers and sisters who understand the most important thing about politics: That the decisions they make can save or cost real lives. That the bonds of patriotism and service count more than any given issue.

And so, I want to take the opportunity this Memorial Day to celebrate Rye Barcott, a Marine who, with David Gergen, co-founded With Honor. For Rye, doing good is a reflex. When he was a student at the University of North Carolina, he founded a charity that started soccer leagues and built a health clinic in Kibera, the worst slum in Kenya. Carolina for Kibera still thrives—and Rye and his wife Tracey were invited to the White House dinner for the President of Kenya last week.

But I know Rye more for his patient, steady work for With Honor—and for his unfailing good humor and wisdom, creating a sanity zone, and a sense of community, for our veterans who feel the need to Charlie Mike—that is, in military radio jargon, to continue the mission of public service—and to do so honorably, in a time when honor is scorned more often than it is prized. Thanks, Rye!

Here is the pledge that every recipient of campaign funds from With Honor must sign:

Integrity

• I will be honest

• I will use the power of my office only for the service of my constituents and my country

Civility

• I will work to bring civility to Congress

• I will participate in a cross-partisan veterans caucus

Courage

• I will meet with a Member from an opposing party one-on-one at least once a month

• I will join with colleagues on both sides of the aisle on at least one piece of substanial legislation each year, and co-sponsor additional pieces.

This is an effort that deserves to recognized and supported this Memorial Day Weekend.

And if you support the mission of Sanity Clause, you can do this: