The American Spectator

Special Report

The View From Mt. Suribachi

By Yale Kramer on 10.25.06 @ 12:08AM

(Page 4 of 4)

The movie exaggerates, too, the confusion about the identity of the low man on the right in the iconic picture. The matter was investigated and within a year the right Marine was acknowledged publicly as the correct figure in the great photo.

In Eastwood's movie this understandable confusion is transformed into a high level government conspiracy. The government is seen to be suppressing the truth in order to keep the public from finding out that a mistake was made. The powerful, soulless government lies to the public and covers up its lies, just as it does today.

BUT PERHAPS THE MOST ANACHRONISTIC aspect of the film is Eastwood's view of heroes and heroism. If he could, Eastwood would eliminate the horrors of Iwo Jima, but if we cannot eliminate war and its horrors we should eliminate heroes and heroism. And we should get rid of the celebration of heroes. Over and over this theme is repeated -- "everyone who went to Iwo was a hero"; or "the only heroes are the ones still there."

The modern, politically correct view is not only that "war is hell," but that "war is unnecessary." And if there was no hero worship war would not be encouraged. Furthermore, heroism is a form of elitism and robs people of a sense equality; no one should be morally ranked.

In 1945 there was no shame involved in getting medals and being a hero. There was also no shame in not being a hero. All that is required of any soldier is that he do his duty. All that is required of any man is that he make some contribution to the protection of his home and children.

All wars and especially all savage battles like Iwo evoke much survivor guilt and feelings that one has betrayed those who died in battle. In addition to the legitimate grief in the loss of a loved comrade, there is a sentimental reaction in those survivors who are singled out for their valor -- "I do not deserve this honor, I let my buddy down. I would gladly give up this honor in return for the life of my friend."

The fact is that there are wars, there have always been wars, there will always be wars -- small and large, between neighbors, brothers, clans, tribes, towns, cities, states, nations, religions, classes, races, in short wherever there are differences to be found between people. Those differences will, sooner or later, lead to fighting. Xenophobia and aggression seem to be hard-wired into man's nature.

The utopian notion that man can be taught to live peacefully with his fellow man inexorably drives those who are drunk with great wealth and power to believe that they can eliminate differences between men by giving everyone the same equal share.

What is hard to accept among those who value political correctness is that there are differences of degree in every living thing. In stature, intelligence, skills, in everything, even courage. They all were heroes on Iwo, those men who fought there, but some were more heroic than others. The case of the surviving flag-raisers suggests that this is so.

Neither Rene Gagnon nor Doc Bradley wanted to kill people when they joined the service. Rene joined because he wanted to be a hero, or be thought a hero by the girls, and he thought that the Marine uniform was the most heroic looking -- a girl getter. Doc Bradley specifically joined the Navy because he did not want to be on the front line as his father was in the First World War. He hoped to become a pharmacist's mate aboard ship, which was consonant with his peaceable nature and his wish to help people.

Bradley was surprised when he was chosen to be trained as a medical corpsman serving with the Marines. Throughout his service Bradley was admired, liked, and respected by all the men around him. He may have hated being in the battle of Iwo Jima, but his fear and hatred were set aside in the service of doing his job no matter what.

In the midst of the carnage, Doc Bradley ran through the chaos, doing what he could....He watched a Marine blunder into a cross fire of machine-gun bursts and slump to the ground. Doc did not hesitate...[he] sprinted through thirty yards of saturating cross fire -- mortars and machine guns -- to the wounded boy's side. As bullets whined and pinged around him, Doc found the Marine losing blood at a life-threatening rate. Moving him was out of the question until the flow was stanched. The Japanese gunfire danced all around him, but Doc focused his mind on his training. He tied a plasma bottle to the kid's rifle and jammed it bayonet-first into the ground. He moved his own body between the boy and the sheets of gunfire. Then, his upper body still erect and fully exposed, he administered first aid.

His buddies watching him from their shell holes were certain that he would be cut down at any moment. But Doc Bradley stayed where he was until he thought it was safe to move the boy. Then he raised a hand, signaling his comrades not to help, but to stay low. And then my father stood up into the merciless firestorm and pulled the wounded Marine back across thirty yards to safety by himself. His attention did not flicker until the Marine was safely evacuated.

This action -- so heroic that two sergeants and Captain Severance came forward to report it -- earned him his Navy Cross, an honor he never mentioned to our family. It was one of the bravest things my father ever did, and it happened on one of the most valorous days in the history of a Corps known for valor.

Not much is made of John Bradley's Navy Cross, or the heroic actions that earned it, in Clint Eastwood's movie. In fact, much more is made of Ira Hayes' self-destructive behavior and nervous breakdown because it suits modern sensibilities to celebrate Ira's victimhood than to celebrate John Bradley's heroism.

Unlike John Bradley, Rene Gagnon wanted to be a hero, to win the love of his girl by impressing her with his bravery -- a common adolescent fantasy. He wanted to get something out of being a hero. And here is how he behaved under fire:

Rene Gagnon fired his rifle for the first time on March 12.

He and a buddy had wandered into a cave, assuming it was empty -- a mistake that had cost many Marines their lives. The two boys found themselves facing a lone Japanese soldier with his rifle aimed at them. As he told his son, Rene Jr., many years later, the New Hampshire mill kid had a blinding thought in the split second that followed: "We all have mothers. We're all human. Why does this have to be?"

Rene had his own rifle but he hesitated. He hoped, against all reason, that the Japanese would lay down his weapon. Instead, the enemy soldier fired. Rene's buddy dropped dead. In the next second it would be Rene's turn. He squeezed the trigger, and the Japanese crumbled. Rene stood in the cave, trembling. This was what the battle had come down to. To his son, he later recalled thinking: "Why did I have to do this? Looking down a barrel into someone's eyeballs and having to kill him. There's no glory in it."

There seems to be no recognition that he had put his own anxieties and scruples above the life of his buddy.

I will leave it to the reader to decide whether there are degrees of valor and whether it is nobler to celebrate these degrees or to ignore them as Eastwood believes.

Letter to the Editor

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