The following remarks have been evoked by Adam Henry Hughes' groundbreaking essay "Hiding the body bags: the nation-state, killing and death (directly below)."

The idea of the "scapegoat mechanism," popularized by Rene Girard, refers simply to a group of people outside the center or mainstream of society--upon which scorn may be heaped and who is "blamed" for unfortunate occurrences within the society. A scapegoat may be punished--often killed--for the misfortunes he brings about. 

From the earliest days of my research, it became evident that the scapegoat mechanism hid another, far more disturbing mechanism revolving around the sacrifice of one's own soldiers. Societies kill (sacrifice) their soldier in battle and then hide the body bags so we won't have to be reminded of the ugliness of the fate of the soldier; his wounded, distorted body.

Yet the term scapegoat somehow does not apply to the sacrificial death of a soldier. A scapegoat is usually a member of an "inferior," outsider group--viewed contemptuously. We don't think of soldiers as scapegoats. Rather, they are honored for the deaths they suffer on behalf of their societies; the fact that the soldier has "given" his life.

Societies kill their own soldiers and then hide their bodies so we don't need to be reminded of the deaths they have suffered on behalf  of society. We don't want to see the soldiers wounded, distorted body (the title of Henry's paper is "Hiding the Body Bags").

Hughes: "The decapitated, mutilated, incinerated, eviscerated bodies of soldiers and civilians must be censored, and the true reality excluded from national debate and official remembrance."

"We must not see the broken and mutilated bodies—the final state of the human being once steel, bomb, bullet or blade meets flesh."

The reality of the soldier's body must be hidden. Unlike the scapegoat, however, who is vilified, we "honor" the soldier as one who has "died for his country." 

Richard Koenigsberg
____________________________________________________________________

Dr. Adam Hughes Henry is a Visiting Fellow of the School of Culture, History and Language, Australian National University. He teaches History and Int'l. Studies at the University of Canberra. ABSTRACT: Despite the fact that graphic images of war are easily located and displayed—and are legitimate historic artifacts—real death and killing must be erased from official war remembrance. Death becomes a passive event visited on soldiers by an unknown, alien force; the daily acts of deliberate killing soldiers carry out are best left to implication. The reality of war requires intellectual and cultural sanitization. Citizens must be shielded from the consequences of the activity—often waged on their behalf by some authority or government. In many cases, citizens prefer to be shielded from this burden.

Hiding the Body Bags: The Nation-State, Killing and Death

Adam Henry Hughes

During a lecture, the famous news correspondent Robert Fisk told a story of the reaction of a Reuter’s news agency (London) to receiving graphic pictures of civilian death and destruction caused in Iraq by British forces. Reuter’s called the pictures “obscene” and therefore not fit to be shown back home.(1)

We learn about the abstract war, the war of nationalist or ideological sacrifice and endurance, the achievement of some military objective or another; the war that is remembered in one national cemetery or memorial museum. But we must not see the broken and mutilated bodies—the final state of the human being once steel, bomb, bullet or blade meets flesh.(2)

Just imagine any national war memorial in Australia, UK or US that dared to prioritize visual displays (historic or artistic) highlighting the sheer carnage of war—not only on soldiers, but on the civilian population who suffer death, atrocity and deprivation?

How long would this be tolerated by the political and cultural gatekeepers of the nation-state? In the name of ‘respect’—or for the mental well-being of the potential visitor—the museum would be forced to close such a display.(3) An accurate focus on the horrific results of warfare might overwhelm standard narratives of nationalist sacrifice, brotherly comradery, and courage.

Despite the fact that graphic images of war are easily located and displayed—and are legitimate historic artifacts—real death and killing must be erased from official war remembrance. Death becomes a passive event visited on soldiers by an unknown, alien force; the daily acts of deliberate killing soldiers carry out are best left to implication.

There can be exceptions. The sacrifice of “our” soldiers can sometimes be shown, but in the controlled and sanitized manner of a ritual military funeral remembrance—with flag draped coffins, proud comrades, grieving families, and pontificating politicians. Any unfortunate loss of “innocent” (civilians) must be set against the more important picture of our losses and our noble mission.

The development of “total war” strategies—particularly the routine use of airpower against civilian targets by the most powerful nation states—has set the precedent. This has blurred the line between combatant and non-combatant (aka the ordinary civilian citizen). Indeed, massive and indiscriminate fire power has obliterated this demarcation.

These casualties can be rationalized away by the doctrine of military/political necessity—“unfortunate accidents” that are to be expected as a matter of course. The decapitated, mutilated, incinerated, eviscerated bodies of soldiers and civilians must be censored, and the true reality excluded from national debate and official remembrance.

When the true horror of war is revealed in brief flickers of information, it might come with a “distress warning”—to be censored in some “sensible manner” so as not to cause anxiety. Does this type of sensitivity enable political and military elites to continue to engage in wars?

The reality of war requires intellectual and cultural sanitization. Citizens must be shielded from the consequences of the activity—often waged on their behalf by some authority or government. In many cases, citizens prefer to be shielded from this burden. Citizens also must “kneel” before official acts of memorialization and ceremony enshrined on their behalf by their political rulers. These are the pillars of society that routinely send soldiers to war—and who use their sacrifices to bolster themselves politically.(4)

In the years since the end of the First World War, April 25th 1915 (ANZAC Day) has developed into a celebration of European Australian nationhood with distinctly jingoistic and celebratory overtones. To criticize the obsession with Gallipoli would be considered an attack on the brave men in uniform “who died for our freedoms,” i.e. an attack on Australia itself.

Every year the official ceremony in Gallipoli itself, ANZAC COVE, is rife with politicians and dignitaries from Australia and New Zealand and thousands of young Aussies and Kiwi’s—who “hajj” to the most sacred place(5) wrapped in their flags, soaking in the atmosphere.

In actuality, Australian forces participated in an invasion of Turkey (a country that posed no threat to Australia). The campaign itself was often ineptly planned and executed by the Allied commanders. Officers ordered their men into wasteful battles; the shooting of prisoners is documented; and the entire campaign ended with inglorious defeat for the Allies. All this is “true”.

Yet according to the official nationalist narrative, this was the birthplace of the nation. Nothing from the 19th Century, to the Federation of the Australian Colonies in 1901, or anything before 1914 matters—only the bravery and courage of military sacrifice at Gallipoli.

What did this carnage really symbolize? What exactly did these Australians kill and die for? The basis of Australian participation in the war (membership and kinship of the British Empire) no longer matters to mainstream Australian society: Gallipoli is the “birthplace” of the nation. We must “remember those” who fought and died there—but not the context, the politics, nor the human carnage.

To appreciate the glorification of Gallipoli, we (as citizens) must not see (or ask) about the twisted and broken bodies, the soldiers who died screaming in agony, or those who came back psychologically damaged from the “glories” of Gallipoli. We must simply “remember them”.

To be granted access by the Republic of Turkey to the “sacred place”—for the purposes of this ritual—we must turn away from the realities of even more horrid violence and killing. The Australian government officially tows the Turkish line that the massive slaughter of the Armenians of the Ottoman Empire by the Young Turks was not a “genocide”—the anniversary date of the Armenian Genocide is April 26, 1915, just a day after ANZAC DAY. (6)

To celebrate its “birth,” the nation state must turn away from the political context and daily reality of killing and dying at Gallipoli—for the benefit of the accepted nationalist ritual of sacrifice. But we also must ignore the genocide of over a million Armenians; to do otherwise would deny the Australian nation state its ritual ‘hajj’ to the sacred sands of Gallipoli.