We Need a Big War

I sometimes think America needs a big war.

Before anyone gets too excited, I’m not advocating for another war. I’ve spent enough of my life in the military to know that war is not something to wish for. I’ve seen what it demands of people, the sacrifices it requires, and the toll it takes on those who serve and their families. There is nothing romantic about sending Americans off to fight and die.

But I’ve also noticed something about this country, and frankly, it bothers me. We Americans seem to be at our best when something terrible happens to us. When we’re attacked, when we’re threatened, or when some enormous disaster strikes, we suddenly remember that we’re all Americans. The political arguments become less important. The differences that seemed so monumental the day before suddenly don’t matter nearly as much. We look out for one another. We help strangers. We pull together.

And then, eventually, we go right back to fighting among ourselves.

Consider what happened after Pearl Harbor on Dec. 7, 1941. Before the Japanese attack, Americans were deeply divided over whether the United States should enter the war already raging in Europe and Asia. There were strong opinions on both sides, and the disagreements were bitter. Then Japanese aircraft attacked the American Pacific Fleet, killing thousands of Americans, and the national conversation changed almost overnight.

America mobilized on a scale that is difficult to comprehend today. Millions entered military service. Factories were converted to wartime production. Families endured rationing, shortages, and separations. Ordinary people made extraordinary sacrifices because they believed they were contributing to something larger than themselves.

The country wasn’t suddenly free of disagreement, prejudice, or political conflict. Far from it. But Americans had a common purpose, and that purpose was powerful enough to overcome many of the divisions that had previously occupied their attention.

We saw something similar after Sept. 11, 2001.

Those of us old enough to remember that day probably remember the days that followed just as clearly. American flags appeared everywhere. People lined up to donate blood. Strangers helped strangers. Churches filled. Americans who had spent the previous months arguing over politics suddenly found themselves standing together in grief, anger, and determination.

For a brief period, we seemed to remember something important. We weren’t Republicans or Democrats first. We weren’t conservatives or liberals first. We were Americans, and somebody had attacked our country.

I remember the feeling of those days. There was sorrow and anger, certainly, but there was also an extraordinary sense of national solidarity. You could feel it. People seemed to treat each other differently. We understood that whatever our disagreements might be, we had something fundamental in common.

In fact, I was at one of my daughter’s cross-country meets after civilian aircraft had been grounded for quite some time. Then there was a rumble overhead, and people stopped, looked up, and cheered. It was a lone C-130, probably at 10,000 feet, just cruising along doing nothing special. People rarely look up and cheer over a C-130 outside of an air show.

In any case, the unity didn’t last.

As the immediate danger receded and life returned to something resembling normal, the old divisions returned. Political arguments resurfaced. The unity gradually faded, and we went back to the familiar business of blaming one another for everything wrong with the country.

In some ways, we became even more divided.

Why does it take a catastrophe to remind us that we belong to the same country?

It doesn’t even have to be a war. We’ve seen Americans pull together after hurricanes, tornadoes, floods, and other natural disasters. When entire communities are devastated, ordinary people show up with chainsaws, generators, food, water, clothing, and whatever else they can provide. Many of them have no connection to the people they’re helping. They don’t ask how someone voted before pulling them out of the wreckage. They don’t demand to know someone’s political philosophy before offering them a hot meal or a place to sleep.

They see another human being who needs help, and they help.

That’s the America I wish we could see more often.

Disasters also change how we look at politicians. During normal times, Americans seem almost obsessed with politicians. We hang on their every word, defend their statements, condemn their opponents, and spend countless hours arguing about what they say. But when disaster strikes and those same politicians show up for their obligatory television appearances, their carefully prepared expressions of sympathy and promises of assistance often seem strangely unimportant.

The people standing in the wreckage aren’t particularly interested in another speech. They want the firefighters, rescue workers, utility crews, and volunteers who are actually doing something. The politicians haven’t necessarily become less important, but their words and motives have. When something genuinely important is happening, we suddenly recognize the difference between talking about problems and solving them. It’s unfortunate that we so quickly forget that distinction once the emergency is over.

I’ve spent much of my adult life around military people, and one of the things I always appreciated about the military was the way a common mission could bring together people from completely different backgrounds. We didn’t all agree on politics, religion, or social issues. Some of us probably wouldn’t have chosen to spend five minutes together under other circumstances. But when there was a job to be done, particularly when things became difficult, those differences generally became secondary.

The aircraft didn’t care who you voted for. The mission didn’t care what part of the country you came from. If something broke, we worked together to fix it. If someone needed help, we helped. We certainly argued, complained, and occasionally drove one another crazy, but we understood that the mission was bigger than any one of us. Ultimately, we didn’t stomp off and take our toys home.

That doesn’t mean military life was some perfect example of human harmony. Anyone who has served knows better. But there is something to be said for having a shared purpose that matters more than our individual disagreements.

I sometimes wonder whether Americans have forgotten how to live with people they disagree with. We have become remarkably good at identifying everything that separates us and increasingly unwilling to acknowledge what connects us.

We divide ourselves by politics, geography, race, religion, income, education, and just about anything else we can think of. We attach labels to people and then make assumptions about everything they believe. Instead of discussing disagreements, we question motives. Instead of acknowledging that reasonable people can reach different conclusions, we increasingly treat disagreement itself as evidence of bad character.

Social media certainly hasn’t helped. It gives everyone a platform, rewards outrage, and makes it remarkably easy to surround ourselves with people who already agree with us. Someone says something stupid, someone else responds with something even more stupid, and before long thousands of people who have never met are screaming at one another over an issue that may have absolutely no effect on their lives.

Meanwhile, most of us probably want many of the same basic things. We want our families to be safe. We want our children and grandchildren to have opportunities. We want to live in reasonably peaceful communities, earn a living, enjoy our lives, and believe that the country we’re leaving behind will be a decent place for the next generation.

We may disagree passionately about how to accomplish those things, and those disagreements can be legitimate and important. Unity doesn’t require everyone to think alike, and it shouldn’t. Americans have always argued about politics, policy, and the direction of the country. That’s part of living in a free society.

But there is a difference between disagreement and contempt. There is a difference between debating what is best for America and treating half of America as the enemy.

And perhaps that’s why a national tragedy has such a dramatic effect on us. It forces us to reconsider our priorities. When buildings are burning, people are dying, or communities are being destroyed, most of the things we were arguing about yesterday suddenly seem rather insignificant. We remember that the person across the street isn’t primarily a political opponent. He’s our neighbor. The stranger standing beside us isn’t a collection of labels. She’s another American.

The tragedy doesn’t create that connection. It reminds us that it was there all along.

Of course, even in our worst moments, Americans have never been completely united. Pearl Harbor didn’t eliminate prejudice or political disagreements. Sept. 11 didn’t end mistrust, and some Americans experienced hostility and suspicion precisely because of who they were. Natural disasters can bring out selfishness and opportunism alongside extraordinary generosity. We shouldn’t romanticize those periods or pretend that everyone behaved honorably.

But neither should we overlook the genuine compassion, cooperation, and willingness to sacrifice that emerged from them. Those qualities are real, and they exist in ordinary Americans whether we’re facing a catastrophe or not.

The frustrating thing is that we don’t seem nearly as interested in exercising them when life is going reasonably well.

I don’t believe Americans are fundamentally incapable of getting along. I think we’ve become accustomed to division. We’ve allowed ourselves to believe that every disagreement is an existential struggle and every political contest is a battle between good and evil. We have become so focused on winning arguments that we sometimes forget we’re supposed to be living together when the argument is over.

A national emergency strips away much of that nonsense, at least temporarily. It gives us something more important to think about than ourselves.

But why should we need a foreign enemy to accomplish that? Why should it take thousands of deaths, destroyed cities, or devastated communities before we’re willing to set aside our differences and recognize our common humanity?

Surely we can find a common purpose without having to bury thousands of our fellow citizens.

Perhaps the saddest part is that we already know how to do it. We’ve demonstrated that ability repeatedly throughout our history. We know how to cooperate. We know how to sacrifice. We know how to look beyond our personal interests when something truly important is at stake.

What we seem to lack is the determination to do those things without an emergency forcing us. Perhaps our lives are just too easy.

I don’t expect America to become some utopian society where everyone holds hands, agrees on everything, and sings patriotic songs together. That’s neither realistic nor particularly desirable. Disagreement is healthy. Debate is necessary. And a country as large and diverse as ours will always contain competing interests and strongly held beliefs.

But we ought to be able to disagree without despising one another. We ought to be able to recognize that loving this country doesn’t require everyone to share our particular vision of it. And we ought to be able to show our fellow Americans the same basic decency during an ordinary Tuesday that we’re so quick to demonstrate when tragedy strikes.

So no, I don’t really think America needs a big war. I don’t want another Pearl Harbor, another Sept. 11, or a natural disaster so enormous that the entire country has to mobilize in response.

What I want is the America that sometimes emerges in the aftermath of those terrible events. The America where neighbors help neighbors, strangers look out for strangers, and people recognize that the things they share are at least as important as the things that divide them.

I want us to remember that feeling without having to experience the suffering that produced it.

Because if it takes another national tragedy to bring us together, then perhaps the real tragedy is that we couldn’t figure out how to do it on our own.

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Dave Chamberlin runs a consulting and training company and brings more than 40 years of civilian and military aviation experience to his work. He retired as a Chief Master Sergeant after 38 years as an aircraft crew chief in the U.S. Air Force and Air National Guard, and has also worked in technical, instructor, consultant, and leadership roles. He holds an FAA Airframe and Powerplant license and a master’s degree in aeronautical science, and his writing often focuses on military issues, especially those affecting aircraft maintenance personnel.

As the Voice of the Veteran Community, The Havok Journal seeks to publish a variety of perspectives on a number of sensitive subjects. Unless specifically noted otherwise, nothing we publish is an official point of view of The Havok Journal or any part of the U.S. government.