In the Social Contract,
Thomas Hobbes argues that men in the “State of Nature” make the ‘rational
decision’ to form states to protect themselves and their rights. Essentially,
states exist to facilitate the prevalence of peace and >>avoid
conflicts<<. However, historically nationalism (in terms of the formation
of nation-states) has caused more wars than it has prevented.
The First World War fought by all the major European powers
against each other lasted approximately four years and resulted in a total of
37 million casualties. ‘What were these people fighting for?’ one may ask. The
answer is nationalism. Each nation wanted to mark its territory or to extend
its borders and in that process, humans, animals, land, the environment, all
suffered terribly. Battle grounds are now graveyards for the fallen (in some
places) and they stretch as far back as the eye can see. Every year, at the 11th
hour of the 11th day of the 11th month, people celebrate as
if it’s enough to remember all those that lost parts of their bodies, their
senses, their lives and their families; as if that will somehow compensate for
their suffering. To this day, children are told to fight for their country,
their nation. War, they are told, is good. Patriotism, they are told is good.
But what none of us understands is what it is like when you come face to face
with war and with death. Let the following poem about World War 1 by Wilfred Owen (soldier) paint
the picture for you.
Dulce et Decorum Est, by
Wilfred Owen
Bent
double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas!
GAS! Quick, boys! - An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime ...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under I green sea, I saw him drowning.
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime ...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under I green sea, I saw him drowning.
In
all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If
in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori*
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old lie: Dulce et decorum est Pro patria mori*
*(It is sweet and right to die for your country)
Trench warfare, poison gas, shells, mud.
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