This afternoon, I came across George Orwell’s “Revenge is Sour” in a collection of his essays. Originally published in the Tribune in November 1945, it speaks to the emptiness of revenge and — more topically for today — to the disconnect between civilians and soldiers in war. Below is the final paragraph:
The Belgian averted his face as we went past. When we were well over the bridge he confided to me that this was the first time he had seen a dead man. I suppose he was thirty five years old, and for four years he had been doing war propaganda over the radio. For several days after this, his attitude was quite different from what it had been earlier. He looked with disgust at the bomb-wrecked town and the humiliation the Germans were undergoing, and even on one occasion intervened to prevent a particularly bad bit of looting. When he left, he gave the residue of the coffee we had brought with us to the Germans on whom we were billeted. A week earlier he would probably have been scandalized at the idea of giving coffee to a ‘Boche’. But his feelings, he told me, had undergone a change at the sight of ce pauvre mort beside the bridge: it had suddenly brought home to him the meaning of war. And yet, if we had happened to enter the town by another route, he might have been spared the experience of seeing one corpse out of the—perhaps—twenty million that the war has produced.
That dead German soldier could just as well be a dead American soldier from Iraq or Afghanistan, whom the vast majority of us will never see because of our military’s demographics.
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