Lost: The American Character - Reward Offered

Fellow citizens, we have lost something we were once very proud of. I know when we lost it but I don’t know where we misplaced it. I have looked all over for it and, for the life of me, I can’t find hide nor hair of it. The thing that is missing is not something we can do without either. It’s not a nicknack that we had on the mantle or something we hid away in the hall closet. We purchased it at a dear price. We paid for it with the blood, souls and lives of our best and brightest. Over two centuries, it was an integral part of our American character and our spirit. With its loss, we are a "smaller" people. We stand less tall and walk with a bit of a stoop. Our shoulders noticeably sag and we hold our heads less high. We look more often at the ground and not so much at the sky. We are less a country for the loss of it. We have lost - or had stolen - our American resolve. To develop this proof, perhaps it might be useful to review how we came to acquire this national treasure and, then, try to pinpoint when and how we lost it. With this exercise, we might begin to recognize - faint as its image might be today - what we have truly squandered.

Let’s start at the beginning.

When those "damned colonials" got all rowdy in King George’s face, the prevailing opinion in Great Britain was: "we’ll just show up with our fleet in New York harbor and those foolish rebels will run away into the forest." To the great embarrassment of King and Country, it didn’t quite happen like that. The "uprising" lasted 8 years, claimed thousands of lives, destroyed most of what there was of the colonial possessions but ended with victory for the irascible, irrepressible colonists. The militia (one could hardly call them an "army") lost almost every battle - except for Saratoga near the beginning and Yorktown at the end - but won the war. Thus began the myth of American resolve and determination.

Great Britain would give it another go with us with 1812 when we grew a little too big for our knickers. We invaded Canada and got our hats handed to us. The British than came very near to retrieving their lost honor. They invaded Baltimore, burned our capital to the ground and sent First Lady Dolly Madison skedaddling from the White House with only a portrait of George Washington tucked under her arm and the clothes on her back, for Heaven’s Sake!), the new United States was ultimately rescued from the woodshed by, in order of importance:

- A surprisingly good negotiating team in Ghent, Belgium headed by future President John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay

- A lackluster British effort since they were not that hot for another war with America; seems they had their hands full with a little fellow in a funny hat who liked to be called "Emperor of France"

- Andrew Jackson and his ragtag bunch of pirates, former slave and Cajuns who defended New Orleans

Not to take anything away from the heroic stand at New Orleans, the Treaty of Ghent had already been signed (December 24, 1814) ending the rock throwing, town burning and allowing Dolly to rehang George’s picture. The only reason "Old Hickory" got his payback against the Brits was that no one on either side knew the war was actually already over. The word didn’t reach Jackson until early February of 1815 and, by then, he was marching toward Florida to kick sand in Spain’s face for good measure. Still, the Battle of New Orleans served to make a point: the British always exercised restraint thereafter when dealing with their former subjects. They even stuck to a treaty which, in and of itself, was distinctly un-British. But I stray from the point. Though the initiators of a war we had no reason (other than ill-conceived bravado) to fight and being entirely unprepared to prosecute said war, we stuck it out anyway. We accomplished whatever it was we sought by declaring the war in the first place and could claim final victory.

Afterwards, we gained a grudging respect after these early skirmishes from the dominant European powers. No one really made a run at us until we picked another fight in one of the great mismatches (even worse than Ali-Liston II) of all time: the so-called Mexican-American War. This was, as I see it, akin to two young bulls deciding who was going to run their side of the coral and, of course, attend to the heifers therein. Mexico had just kicked Spain’s butt in an 11 year war that ended in 1821.Tthey, understandably, were feeling pretty frisky about themselves. Americans - being Americans - were always feeling frisky especially when war and a land grab were involved. We had already stolen Texas from Mexico without so much as a single U.S. soldier firing a shot in anger. Heck, we kicked Santa Ana’s "army’ with a bunch of drunks and Indian fighters. Thus, when these two adolescent nations decided it was about time they decided who was going to be the "Big Dog" in the New World, on paper, it should have been a barn-burner. Well, like Sam Houston vs. Santa Ana a few years earlier, it wasn’t much of a fight. A lot of recent graduates from the new West Point Academy (Robert E. Lee, Ulysses S. Grant, Stonewall Jackson, William Sheridan, et al) got a chance to warm up for a much bigger dance in their near future but, suffice it to say, we rambled all over Mexico and ended up getting Texas and California and pretty much everything else we wanted.

After defeating all comers and with our population and military capabilities growing by leaps and bounds, we finally decided that the only decent opponent we could call out and have any chance at a fair fight would be to stage a fight twixt and between one half of the country and the other half. And so we did. If there was ever any doubt that Americans would persevere until the last drop of blood was spilled and the fat lady sang herself hoarse, the Civil War should have proved proof of that that to anyone with sense enough to boil water. Heck, we slugged it out - father against son, brother against brother - for 4 gruesome years. We ended up murdering about half-a-million of our fellow citizens and destroying half the country’s crops and industries but we finished deciding the matter at hand. That, gentle reader, truly defines bullheadedness.

After that monumental slobber-knocker, we took a 50 year break from butt-kicking. We decided it was time for a much-deserved rest. We did do a little rough-riding down among the Spanish folks in Cuba and the Philippines but all that really accomplished was to give us a fair-to-middlin’ future President and a reason to justify building a decent navy. We enjoyed an suitable little rest afterwards while we continued to grow fat and satisfied. The rest of the world, we figured, felt just as highly of our hard-earned reputation for "stick-to-it-tiveness" as we did.

But, with the dawn of the 20^th century, we were faced with new challenges. We were not directly threatened - who, after all, would dare? - but our erstwhile European friends were engaged in a continental war. Most Americans didn’t have a clue as to what started this dust-up but, apparently, someone shot a Prince. The Prince’s country (Austrio-Hungary) declared war on the assassin’s country (Serbia). Then, the allies of the assassin’s country (Russia) declared war on the Prince’s country and the allies of the Prince’s country (Germany) declared war on...well, you get the picture. Pretty soon, everyone is Europe was hunkering down in trenches along the Western Front. [This hell was made almost romantic (it was anything but!) by Earnest Hemingway and if anyone could make war seem romantic it would have to be an American.]

Fortunately for America, at the outset of the World War I, Teddy Roosevelt was out and Woodrow Wilson was in the White House. Teddy would have had us riding over to Europe on horseback - possibly by the Arctic Passage - with revolvers blazing. Once there, he would have staged his own version of Buffalo Bill’s Wild West Show all over the Huns and the horses they rode in on. Fortunately, Wilson was, well, not Teddy Roosevelt. He didn’t relish war in the least, much less a World War. Wilson once declared famously that "America was too proud to fight." Yes, he said it: too proud to fight. After all, he had campaigned for reelection in 1916 under the motto "He kept us out of war." Apparently, after he was inaugurated in 1917 he quickly went to work to make America "too proud NOT to fight."

It was early in his new term that he jump-started his diabolical plan into high gear. Even before all of the "He kept us out of war" buttons had been hidden way, he called on Congress to declare war on Germany. Ignoring military affairs, he focused on diplomacy (as if that ever works!) and centralizing federal government powers. He instituted the first effective (Lincoln’s try at a forcing folks to fight in a war was decidedly ineffectual) draft in 1917, raised billions through Liberty loans, imposed an income tax, set up the War Industries Board, promoted labor union growth, supervised agriculture and food production through the Lever Act, took over control of the railroads, and suppressed anti-war movements. In other words, he established the first of many subsequent absolute dictatorships. And you folks thought this American thing was a democracy, didn’t you?

But, once again, America prevailed and ended the "War to End All Wars" in short order. Our men folk went "Over there, Over There" and the women folk kept the home fires burning and the chickens and children fed. We reaffirmed that, when it came to settling a good old-fashioned alley fight - foreign or domestic - we are a fine bunch of rowdies to have on your side. In the chorus to the aforementioned "Over There" are these lyrics:

If that doesn’t celebrate that we were the ultimate "finishers," I don’t know what does. More importantly, that was precisely the prevailing national consciousness of the first half of the 20^th century. We knew - to the marrow of our bones - that whatever the world may dare to start in their little sandboxes, if need be, we would settle it - once and for all.

A quarter-century or so later, there was another catfight in Europe. This time, an out of work paper-hanger with a funny mustache was declaring that his country had racial and ancestral rights to pretty much all of Europe and, By God and the bones of Richard Wagner, he was going to see to it that they took control of it! Hitler extended Germany almost from Moscow to the English Channel and had the whole continent down on its knees. He took a particular dislike to folks of Hebrew descent. Then, he made his biggest mistake. He apparently didn’t learn his history very well or hear the words to "Over There." After he talked his Japanese buddies into bombing Pearl Harbor (another really big mistake), he and Emperor Hirohito went and declared war on the best damned "finishers" war had ever known - the good old U.S.A. Slow out of the gate, we nevertheless staged a day-night doubleheader. We kicked Germany’s butt and then - with the help of the best little show-stopper ever created - we dropped the mushroom hammer on Japan - twice! Game over. Box Score: America 2, Germany/Japan 0.

After the champaign party in the dugout, we became very, very satisfied with our place - front and center - on the world stage. We were firmly convinced that "Wars ‘R Us" and we (despite President Eisenhower’s prescient warnings of the evils of the "military-industrial complex") gleefully fed billions of dollars into the national pastime: making war. We were ready, willing and (we thought) more than able to stomp about the globe like Gulliver among the Lilliputians. We, after all, had the best fighting men in the world and we were not afraid to use them if given half a good reason. Sometimes, if you just ticked us off, we would even use them with a shade less than half a good reason. After all, when you find something you are really good at, you run with it. The French did it with wine, the Swiss did it with hiding money in banks, the English did it with cricket and the Spanish did it with torturing bulls. We decided to make war our gross national product, all boxed up and ready for export. Just add warm bodies and stir.

Then, something strange occurred. Just when we thought we had this war thing figured out, the rest of the world went and changed the rules. Instead of facing our gallant killing machines, new enemies cropped up and started fighting dirty. They realized they had no chance mano a mano so they went all "guerilla"on us. North Korea, Viet Nam, Serbia, Somalia and, currently, Iraq are all examples of this new kind of "unconventional" war. Sadly, the American military planners (is that an oxymoron?) have never quite figured out this particular form of mayhem and madness. We still march out in the open expecting our enemies to shoot it out with us at high noon "like men." It didn’t work in Viet Nam or anything since.

Another problem is that we have assumed a "more civilized" and peaceful national demeanor. We have regressed back to the times of Napoleon and Wellington. We have been led to believe that, if war is to be fought at all, then it should be done in a "sensitive and compassionate" way. In this vein, we have developed complex "Rules of Engagement" (ROE) that dictate when and under what conditions (who’s nearby, what buildings might be damaged or farm animals killed, will it interrupt prayers, are there any news cameras filming and such) we can actually shoot at somebody. If a hostile approaches a soldier, he must be warned to "Stop!" in 4 different local dialects, with two sets of international hand signals, and three U.N.-approved hand-held signs warning of impending danger. If said approaching beastie has not stopped after following this protocol, the soldier may then (and only then) assume a posture to protect his person and discharge his weapon. However, he must still wait for command authority in order to fire his weapon. Of course, prior to that command ever reaches the combatant, the hapless G.I. is either:

(A) blown up by an improvised explosive device strapped to the hostile’s chest, or

( shot in the head by a sniper who was using said beastie as a distraction or

(C) the soldier sees the baby goat said beastie is carrying under his arm and shoulders his weapon.

And we wonder why there is now a epidemic of "post-traumatic stress disorder" in U.S. troops. Who wouldn’t be totally FUBAR with this level of micromanagement. We have infused our once-proud penchant for finishing what anyone starts with the smelly muck and choking sludge we fondly embrace as "political correctness." There is no longer anything resembling "all out war" which America made famous in the first half of the 20^th century. We fight wars like we stage political debates: passion and conviction has been displaced by cordiality and protocols. And, my friends, that is no way to fight a war.

And, then, there is the palpable loss of commitment and backbone of the American public. We have absolutely lost any pride in our strength, particularly our military prowess, and have abandoned any confidence we once cherished as world-class "finishers." We have lost the stomach for war. It was ripped from us by the subversive forces operating during the Viet Nam conflict and we have never regained our sure footing. I don’t think we ever shall.

To our credit, though, we have abandoned the hateful, spiteful way we treated our soldiers during the Viet Nam war and have, at least, directed our spineless disdain for any form of armed conflict to its rightful source: the national government. May we never - ever - direct even the slightest hint of public disapproval at the men and women who try and die in the execution of these farces that masquerade as "modern warfare." The troops are to be honored, respected and admired. Not because they are fighting "President Whatever’s War" but because they are serving their country and we, the people, to the full measure of their devotion. If our government insists on hamstringing them in their performance of their objectives, the inevitable and predictable failures that follow (and their blood) is at our feet and at the feet of our elected officials. Here and only here should lay the blame for the calamities of our recent attempts to "play nice" while waging "war." If we ever degenerate again to punishing and faulting the citizen soldiers for our governmental follies, woe be to this country’s future.

But, regardless of blame and the forces constantly at work that ensure our future failures in battle, we have lost something that once gave us a bit of a swagger and more than a small measure of pride. We were once the greatest "finishers" the world had ever seen. We were once the people who, when we started something, we finished it, usually with a flourish. We didn’t doubt that we could or even question whether we should - we just stuck to it and completed the job. Big or small, aggressor or victim, directly against us or against our allies - it never mattered. We finished and won far more than we lost. Then, like the good sports we have always been, we picked up the defeated foe, dusted him off and rebuilt his country for him - on our dime.

Dead and buried, like the President who spoke them are these once noble sentiments:

"Let every nation know, whether it wishes us well or ill, that we shall pay any price, bear any burden, meet any hardship, support any friend, oppose any foe, to assure the survival and the success of liberty."

The jaunty, fixed-jawed and steely-eyed America who - once upon a time - completed any job no matter how hard and no matter what the sacrifice, is dead. We know it and, sadly for us, so do our enemies.