Memorial Day 2014

Remembering my uncle, who fought in the Pacific in World War II.

Remember my father, in the American Red Cross for something like 30 years -- almost entirely with the U.S. military -- including the Philippines, Korea, Japan, Vietnam, and Germany

Remembering all the people I knew while living on airbases -- that would be about 13 years of my life -- in the U.S., Japan and Germany; plus 2 years living a few blocks from an airbase -- including Col. Morgan, who went missing over Vietnam.

Remembering my mother who bore this all and put up with years of my father being away, while she cared for 3 children.

Thinking of my sisters -- the 3 of us were profoundly affected by our connections with the military.

And thinking of our responsibility, as members of a republic, to use our military wisely and not send people to kill or be killed for questionable motives.

Inside and Outside

Here’s another interesting fact about military bases, such as the ones I grew up on:  they’re a finite size and enclosed.  That gives them something in common with a ghetto.

I’ve already described how my family could buy most of what they needed “on base.”  We could buy food, other products, and entertainment on base, much of it within walking distance.

From the age of six to the age of fifteen—with a year and a half or so gap—I lived on air force bases, although my father was a civilian.

When I was a teenager living on base—this was in Japan—I would take long walks every day after school.  Some of these walks would take me along the southwest boundaries of the base.  I would look at the fence that ran around the base and think about how I was inside the base and the area on the other side of the fence was outside.  There wasn’t really anything to see; most of that area was dense tree and shrubbery.

It wasn’t that I particularly thought of the “outside” as being somehow threatening compared to the “inside.”  Or that I thought the people “inside” were better than the people “outside.”  I just was aware of the division.  Perhaps if I had been older, and actually a member of the military, I would have thought so.

One gets used to how one is raised.  When I lived with the military (but still a civilian) in Germany, it felt very odd at first.  Although my family lived with the U.S. Army, in our own “American” area, we were not sealed off by a fence.  My mother and I never did learn why that was.  The “campus” where I spent my first two years of college—in Munich, Germany—had once been a German military establishment—a caserne—but had been taken over by the U. S. after World War II.  It could have easily been sealed off (and probably once was).  At home with my parents in Nuremberg, it felt odd to not be “protected” by a fence around our American area.  In Munich it didn’t feel so odd—being a college campus, it seemed set off anyway.

I think I have carried this notion of being “sealed off” with me since my childhood.  One of the results of being separated is that you can easily ignore what is “outside” the base perimeter.  However, if you become aware of this tendency, you can overcome it—although you then become aware of how the people around you limit themselves.  

Perhaps that is what happened to me.

Where Did I Come From?

I’ve often wondered—and more lately—what has made me the person I am.  After all, in some ways I’m pretty conventional, but in others—boy, am I “out on the edge!”

I’m sure that some of it has to do with growing up with the (U.S.) military.  I did go to kindergarten in a civilian setting: in Ferndale, Pennsylvania (a suburb of Johnstown), along with my cousin.  My grandmother and my aunt and uncles lived nearby.  But—I lived with only my mother, not my father.  My father was working in Japan.

This is the earliest time I remember—a time without a father, at least physically.  I knew I had a father; he just wasn’t there.  I knew where he was; it was just “somewhere else.”  I remember his visit one year over Christmas.  He came to be with my mother and my two sisters.

Then my father was back “for good,” and for five years we all lived on an Air Force base in Virginia.  I had been born in Virginia (on an Army base) but remembered nothing about it.  My father had left for Korea, probably when I was two, in the aftermath of the Korean War.

Why the switch from Army to Air Force?  My father was not actually in the military.  He worked for the Red Cross, which has a division that supports the military; that is, it provides humanitarian assistance for military personnel.

Up until the age of eleven, I lived in a rather artificial environment.  I walked down the street a few blocks to the base elementary school.  When I wanted to go to a movie, I walked a little further down the street.  When I wanted to go swimming in the summer, I walked a block to the Officers Club.   We bought some of our food at the base commissary, additional food at a supermarket off base.  We bought other stuff at the Base Exchange (“BX”).  “Off-base” was a bit of a drive; we could walk to everything on-base.

The church we attended offered a generic Protestant service designed not to offend any of the Protestants in the military.  There was also a Catholic service and a Jewish service.  I’m not sure how the Mormons and more “fringe” Protestants felt about the Protestant service.  Eventually, after several years just attending Sunday School, I went with my mother to Sunday services (I don’t think my father ever attended).  I don’t recall the services being at all “evangelical”—although I remember a few hymns such as “The Old Rugged Cross” and “Stand Up, Stand Up For Jesus.”

But how is it that, in time, I became a Unitarian Universalist Pagan; and realized that I was bisexual and polyamorous?

Anthems - Japan - Afterword

After my last post, a friend wrote me to point out that the Japanese don’t officially have a national anthem.  Nor do they have an army, or navy, or nuclear weapons; they have a “self-defense force.”  I lived on an airbase in Japan.  I knew about the Japan Self-Defense Forces.
 

And (my friend went on), produce from the Fukushima area is safe.  The government says it is, so it must be.

Well, according to Wikipedia (that source of all alleged truth), the anthem was officially proclaimed the national anthem by the 1999 Act on National Flag and Anthem.  I went back to check, on the chance that perhaps it had been proclaimed something else, maybe the Official National Patriotic Song or Tune.  But of course Wikipedia can be wrong.

I won’t say anything about nuclear weapons or Fukushima (“Fortunate Island?”); I’m not up on that.

But the comment on the “self-defense force” (and yes, the comment on Fukushima, obliquely) reminded me of the fabled indirectness (“obliqueness?!”) often attributed to the Japanese; and curiously, that reminded me of the British.

I intended, at the time, to say something about what seems to me the indirectness of the Japanese anthem.  Paradoxical, since I claimed the words were so to the point.  And yet…whereas other anthems might go on at length about the glories of their countries (not mentioning any names, but pick any one that describes, at length, vast geography or glorious history), the Japanese anthem is perhaps the shortest in its lyrics.  May your reign endure a thousand, eight thousand generations; till the pebbles grow into boulders lush with moss.  It is direct, but to me seems to understate, imply.  Perhaps that’s just my aesthetic viewpoint.

I wanted to go on and say something about indirectness in the Japanese language; but, of course, as soon as I decided to do that, I realized, alas, that I could not think of an example.  My humble inadequacy!

Still, thinking of the Japanese and the British, who I’ve often thought of together (both imperial island nations, on uneasy terms with the Powers of the Mainland)…  I’m told that Gilbert and Sullivan’s The Mikado was a great hit in Japan (which I can’t quite imagine).  Queen Victoria allegedly was delighted to hear that Gilbert had decided to lampoon another country besides England.  Yes…

Anglo-American writer Christopher Isherwood describes an English friend who had to bring home news of a relative’s death and begins by saying, “There’s been a small accident,” then continues on with, “No, he was injured I’m afraid…slightly…well, a bit more seriously, actually;”  continuing on in that vein before finally admitting to the poor man’s demise.  Indirectness…

Thinking of imperial powers…and of our own fabled Pentagon chiefs who think up clinical terms like “collateral damage”…one must of course remember that indirectness can be either polite or…deceitful.

Meanwhile, I still like the Japanese anthem, whether it’s “official” or “national” or an “anthem!”

Anthems (12) – Japan

But before we get to the Mother-Of-All-Anthems (“God Save The”…um…whatever), a word about another of my favorite anthems.
 

I heard this anthem almost as early as I heard “The Star-Spangled Banner.”  When I was twelve, my mother and I traveled to a U.S. airbase in Japan to spend three years with my father, who worked for the American Red Cross serving the U.S. military.  Soon I was watching sumo wrestling festivals when I got home from school in the afternoons.  And I was won over to this anthem which is somber, solemn, gripping, imposing…unforgettable.

It’s short, and its words are simple; yet it’s controversial because of its association with the Imperial throne and the Emperor.  But it’s a beautiful anthem, and I love it.  It always calms and centers and grounds me, and makes me focus and reflect, even though I understand nothing of the words.  What Japanese I know provides no help at understanding.

“May your reign continue for a thousand, eight thousand generations; until the pebbles grow into boulders lush with moss.”

A miracle of brevity—straight to the point.  This says it all; and directly from Nature.

If I had written it, I might have only changed one thing:  “Your reign” into something more generic:  “This land.”  “This kingdom.”  “This tribe.”  “This realm.”

No—I take that back.  My ideal anthem would say something like:  “May this land promote justice and peace among peoples, and last a thousand years.”  Simply lasting a long time doesn’t make you admirable; you have to offer something worthy to humanity; although, really:  To endure a thousand years as a culture, it seems you must have had something worthy to begin with.