STAY-AT-HOME WAR VETS

Video Games That Bring Afghanistan Home – NYTimes

This is Razor, over, I’ve switched off my phone and locked my door so as to avoid any uninvited interruptions, over. For the next 6-8 hours, until I pass out from exhaustion or until I run out of food and soda or until I get Carpal Tunnel, I will be engaging the evil freedom-hating scum who seek the destruction of America and its righteous values, because they hate life. After impolitely turning down my mom’s offer of more dessert, I slide into the “War-Recliner” and I am suddenly immersed in patriotism and fully prepared to do battle with the help of cutting-edge technology, otherwise known as the Playstation 3 Home Entertainment System. I am dropped just outside Najaf where I will be charged with wiping out the endlessly re-generated Iraqi insurgents. I am armed with my friendly M-16 equipped with the trusty ACOG scope, an M1911 pistol, 2 frag grenades, 2 flash grenades, 2 M18A1 Claymores, an RPG-7 to wreak haphazard havoc and a butcher knife, all of which do not slow me down in the least. I advance with caution, crouching or in prone position, but before long my advanced ADD beckons me to make a run for it. I locate an enemy wandering aimlessly, line up my visor with his free-world hating face and BOOM! Head shot! I just acquired 100 points for my country. With the help of my bluetooth headset, I let the inanimate opponent know just how superior I am to him and just how inferior he is to me. I take a swig of “Sunny D”, adjust my headset and I am back on the prowl. I detect a terrorist through the second-floor window of an abandoned house. He sees me. I recalibrate my index finger around the L2 button and take 3 bullets to the heart for my foolishness…grenades are thrown with the R2 button. I intercept a communiqué from the enemy labeling me a ‘fag’ and sounding oddly British for an Iraqi. I re-materialize on the battlefield without a scratch, because I have been sent here by God. 563 kills and 345 deaths later, it is time to return to the barracks. I have done my part for my country today in resisting the hate-mongers and spreading the virtues of the West, enough for the time being at least. I must get my soldier’s rest. Besides, I get cranky if I haven’t had my 10 hours of sleep.

Video games have always been a popular target for criticism, mostly from stay-at-home moms and conservatives with too much time on their hands. The exclusion of video games in the determination of an art form based apparently solely on the audience it targets seems flimsy in its hypothesis. With technological advancements though does come a more arresting plateau of realism, and subsequently, the violent actions one “partakes” in hold more weight in today’s games. In the capitalistic corners of the world however, as the video game industry has ballooned to the point that some analysts have actually labeled it “recession-proof”, whatever is profitable supersedes all moral and ethical ambiguities. Whether video games offer a more inclusive experience and therefore a conceivably more troubling one than that of a movie is debatable, but like explicit content on a music record or offensive material in a book it really just depends on the audience and one simply cannot censor creativity based solely on the potential sensitivity of some. The vast majority have the ability to discern the imaginary from reality, even though one cannot negate our influenceable nature to the characters we encounter on paper or on the silver screen.

The scapegoat for much controversy has been the war genre of video games, supposedly because it aims to reproduce historical events over the course of which actual soldiers gave their lives. Apart from the obvious susceptibility toward the subject of the families who have lost relatives in the conflicts, it is a tasteless feature of the genre that, from the comfort of their homes, stoners and children alike are virtually re-enacting the contemporary actions of their country, razing the homes of civilians in precarious situations thousands of miles away. The Iraq War being conspicuously illegal as well as unfounded, “Operation Iraqi Freedom: The Game” probably is just salt in the wound. It is a fiscally sound industry, however, so maybe Nintendo will replace Halliburton for the next war and send the US to spread democracy in Iran in order to release the hotly anticipated “Ahmadinejad Strikes Back”.

Note-worthy: “During one of the game’s levels, as the Rangers approach the Shah-i-Kot Valley in a helicopter, one of them describes the flight’s “main course” as “all-you-can-eat Taliban” and adds, “Hope you like foreign foods.””

ET PUIS JE FUME

The retiring type – The Economist

The early morning breeze would send a chill down your spine, if the latter wasn’t already being snuggled by a fellow traveler’s bulging gut, and the inability to pinpoint who’s hand has been firmly clamped to your ass over the course of this excruciating ordeal only has you hoping it doesn’t belong to the aforementioned man/woman sporting the bountiful midsection. It is earliest morning, and all have scurried to the train stations in hopes of getting a head start on the rest of the population only to realize they didn’t have a monopoly on that idea. Far from it actually, any ill-advised, brusque movement like the re-coiffing of one’s hair on this train platform would have the unfortunate domino-effect consequence of sending another commuter tumbling onto the tracks. It is that time of the year again in France, that which brings people closer together than any other, when public-sector breadwinners unite to voice their displeasure/get a day off work. As the early-bird railway patrons despondently await the unlikely train that might decide to travel their way, and suicidal fantasizing escalates, some wonder why they didn’t stay home while others speculate as to why they still live here. But, just as knees begin to buckle and nicotine levels in the blood start to dangerously dwindle, an osmotic sound. The rails jitter, and in the foggy distance, a pair of headlights, and, admittedly foreseeable, a train. Feet begin to shuffle, eyes cast suspicious looks onto hopeful neighbors equally eager to seize their hard-earned ticket on the capital-bound transport and out of this smothering human quagmire. As the train finally commences its screeching deceleration, those fortunate/unfortunate enough to be on the edge of the platform begin to push back, threatening those behind them who would dare push forward. The train comes to a grinding halt, and its doors open, exposing only the harsh reality of cars already overflowing with people, little keen on ceding their spots. Both sides stare at each other, envy on one hand, pity on the other.

It was once again a commuter’s worst nightmare in France as union members all over the country reaffirmed their unyielding commitment to idleness. The disturbance surfaced when President Sarkozy announced his plans to raise the minimum age of retirement from 60 to 62, in order to alleviate stress on the pension system. After all, in a country where asking “what you can do for your country” rarely comes to mind, the phrase “love it or leave it” is rarely uttered, lest a mass exodus expeditiously take the road to El Dorado. Of course, one has to empathize with the average 59-year old Joe who already had his eyes set on the perfect retirement haven. It is the French way to demonstrate one’s disapproval with the system, and although such manifestations impede on the rest of the population functioning normally, not to mention much of it is political opportunism from the left, the sneering international press should understand that many simply want their destiny in their own hands. In the end though, the French never really wanted to go to war, and now, they are not really impassioned with working either. Perhaps the French are onto something. After all, if one is meant to fight for his right to work, then shouldn’t they be able to take a stand for their right to smoke a cigarette, sip on a glass of Château Latour and just take it easy?

Note-worthy: “Train drivers, teachers, post-office staff, air-traffic controllers, and other mostly public-sector workers, some wheeling children’s buggies, others banging festive drums, took part.”

CHARLIE DON’T SURF

‘The Tillman Story’ – Pat Tillman, Hero and Victim – NYTimes

There is a distinction to be made. In an epoch in which our leaders have led us astray, sending our youth to illegitimate wars where purpose can only be found in staying alive, there is a discernment to be made between wars and the people who are sent to wage them. It is a nuance often dismissed both domestically and abroad in the midst of anti-American war sentiments, an issue pertinent today in the case of the Iraq War. It was also a burden shouldered by returnees in unpopular, lamentable conflicts like the Vietnam War and the First Indochina War, where soldiers had fought in punitive conditions for a government which did not apparently value their lives enough to send them to a justified armed conflict motivated by well-intentioned virtuous ideologies, only to return home the subject of contempt and scorn by their fellow countrymen, who deemed them perpetrators of superfluous cruelty in a seemingly socio-politically unrelated world. Yet it is a frivolous rationale to condemn human beings, dropped in erratic, perilous terrain, for choices made by their superiors, elected by the people for their mental acumen and thus their decision-making prowess, or, even worse, to somehow approve of American casualties. It is equally frustrating to witness leaders send kids to a front line where they won’t be able to fight for a better world, because that battle is not in Iraq. Of course, it begs the question if it is at all conceivable to fight for a better world.

Putting any kind of assessment of its quality aside, “The Tillman Story” demonstrates how one soldier, Pat Tillman, decided to enlist shortly after the events of September 11th to “fight the good fight”, only to be betrayed by his superiors stretching all the way to the top of the political spectrum. Over the course of the documentary, righteous humility and a broad-minded tolerance of cultural and religious diversity are qualities used to define  Mr. Tillman, depicted as a soldier highly disillusioned with the legitimacy of the Iraq War, all the more disturbing when his face is dishonestly used post-mortem to evoke a modern-day Stakhanov of sorts, further impressing upon the apathetic manner in which the powers-that-be see their troops, essentially like pawns to a chess board. In what may seem like a self-evident truth, the stark reality of teenagers being cast in mature roles of realpolitik necessitating educated nerves and astute minds is one of absolute absurdity and is essentially a fictitious one. Many of these recruits aren’t old enough to grasp whether or not they are fighting for the right reasons, and some are too young to care. Or in the case of Pat Tillman, they could become victims of this unscrupulous system and have their identities violated and legacy defiled  long after having pulled their last trigger.

Note-worthy: “This war is so fucking illegal.”

– Pat Tillman’s first reaction upon arrival in Iraq, as told by squad mate Jason Parsons

 

I love the smell of napalm in the morning