Teachers will go to specific military bases to talk about writing and to read from their own works. One teacher is Bobbie Ann Mason, whose first novel is about a young girl who searches for knowledge about her father, who died in Vietnam before she was born. She writes with poetry and powerful poignancy, as in this scene at the Vietnam Memorial in Washington: "At the bottom of the wall is a granite trough, and on the edge of it the sunlight reflects the names just above, in mirror writing, upside down. Flower arrangements are scattered at the base. A little kid says, 'look Daddy, the flowers are dying.' The man snaps, 'Some are and some aren't.'"
Another teacher will be Victor Davis Hanson, author of "The Soul of Battle: From Ancient Times to the present Day," in which he asks:
"What then is the soul of battle? A rare thing indeed that arises only when free men march unabashedly toward the heartland of their enemy in hopes of saving the doomed, when their vast armies are aimed at salvation and liberation, not conquest and enslavement."
War reflects on a society and defines what that society regards as worth fighting for. Letters written home by Union and Confederate soldiers in the Civil War, like letters from the battlefields of the world wars, testify to the respect and honor of their causes. Contemporary experiences are more mixed. The recent Democratic National Convention in Boston tinselized war, with the nominee boasting ostentatiously of his heroics, illustrated with home movies he shot himself four decades ago. Eloquent it was not.
The men from Afghanistan and Iraq who struggle now to write down their combat experiences can add depth to authenticity. They have a wonderful opportunity to tell it like they see it, unadorned by political pretension. They've earned it, and we're eager to hear their voices.