Breathing In History
Patterico brings us another great GI writer. Here are Teflon Don’s thoughts on breathing the dust-laden air of Iraq.
This region is steeped in history. We walk on it; we breathe it in. Eons of history surround us, infiltrate us, and turn to dust beneath our feet. The ashes of countless cultures, civilizations, and rulers dreams lie under the earth. With each breath, I inhale a few molecules of the dying gasp of Cyrus II, the Persian “Constantine of the East”. In the howling wind I can almost hear the cries of a countless multitude dying on killing grounds that bridge across the ages. The same wind carries the red dust that might yet hold a few drops of blood from the battle at Carrhae- the first, crushing defeat for Rome’s red blooded legions. Under my heel, a speck grinds into dust: the last grain of sand that remains of the Hanging Gardens at Babylon that are now known only in legend. Some of the world’s oldest religions tell us that somewhere in this ancient Cradle of life, God himself breathed on this dust, and it became man, the father of us all. Whatever path we take here, we walk on history.
You literally breathe it and taste it constantly there, and I had the same thoughts, because it tastes exactly like the ashes of death and history and reminds you constantly that you are being absorbed by that history. Don stole a march on me with this one, and he did it beautifully.
You breathe a lot of other things in Iraq. Recent death. Sewage. Some people used say the United States had poisoned the entire nation of Iraq with depleted uranium, and I used to tell people they’d have to live on top of it for days and snort it up their noses for it to have any negative effect. Then, guess what, I got to live on top of it for three days, an area that had been heavily worked over by A-10s, where the air was sickly sweet with recent death.
Regarding romanticizing history and Iraq, a nod of respect to anyone who is over there or has been. But I don’t know how you take the romance out of history or Iraq, as terrible as both can be. In “Dispatches,” Herr recounts how multiply-wounded war junkie and photog Tim Page, in a wheelchair, with a steel plate in his head, was asked to cooperate on a gritty book that proposed to take the romance out of war. Page got PO’d, and said something to the effect of: “Take the romance out of war? How do you take the romance out of war? Why would you want to take the romance out of war?”
Anyone who has been anywhere near a war can point to situations that sucked the romance right out it. And yet, there it always is.
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Posted by Jules Crittenden at 11:16 am on Sunday, January 14, 2007
3 Responses to “Breathing In History”
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January 14th, 2007 at 12:11 pm
Romanticize Iraq all you want, I know that when you were tasting not history, but moondust, along with grit in your eyes and tainting your food, or turning into gelatinous slipery mud that threatened to both upend you and steal your boots, history was the last thing on your mind.
History may be all around you, but aside of my memories of being on Sinjar Mountain and looking down on green fields far below, I haven’t seen a damn thing here to make me think Iraq was pretty. If there is any beauty in this forsaken place, it’s in the Iraqi people themselves.
January 14th, 2007 at 2:55 pm
Romanticize Iraq all you want
What piece did you read? Certainly not the one Jules linked.
January 14th, 2007 at 4:13 pm
I don’t think the guy was “romanticizing” history, just pointing out the true awesomeness of being in a place where so much of historical significance has occurred.