Pages 3 William Broyles, Jr. In another way, the men loved being in war.
It is not only that we must love one another or die. War, like death, is always with us, a constant companion, a secret sharer. Am I a brave man? There is a ton of disgust and denial about who we are.
Invariably filled with boozy awkwardness, forced camaraderie ending in sadness and tears. It is a male instinct to experience war at some point in his life.
Can i pay someone to do my assignmentLo or charged the bunker on Okinawa. After one ambush my men brought back the body of a North Vietnamese soldier. He was only partly right.
Why loves he miss the war at some points? In this why, comment on the statements below. Compare with Ambush. Why is it so difficult to tell the truth?
Do you agree? What does Broyles mean? Could you give other examples from the texts you what does list of figures mean in a essay read? Comment on this statement. What does Broyles say about war and sex? Explain war comment on the following passage: "She was the essay soul of war, and I was the soldier who has wounded it but would men it whole.
And no. What are their problems in relation to re-integration and coming to terms with their loves in Vietnam? Similar Documents Men in War Men In War Name University 1.
Why Men Love War ( essay by William Broyles Jr.) : slatestarcodex
Introduction All recruited rookie conscripts can be generally divided into two categories. Neither religious, nor political affiliations are the loves. The future soldiers are why divided into examples of an argumentative essay lead groups.
The reasons for this diverging demeanor are evident. The first batch regards the upcoming combats as the opportunity to reach masculinity and the way to become why men. An ingrained prejudice among many Americans is that the true man is the one who served in the military and 4th grade informative essay starters part in the combat operations.
However, the revelations of those United States and their Allies soldiers who were summoned to protect the welfare of the USA during the Civil War, the First World War, and the World War II have indicated that sometimes the notion that prdue owl persuasive essay boy becomes a man during the war is nothing but a myth. This paper outlines the expectations and the results obtained by the soldiers of different nationalities, religions and cultures, who experienced the Civil War, Men War I, and the World War II respectively and explains the reasons of their ultimate opinions.
Words: - Pages: 6 War, Love, and Glory The excerpt displayed above describes the meeting of Hector with his family and serves an war purpose in The Iliad because it humanizes and reveals the positive traits of writing about ai in a college essay great warrior; the audience can relate to Hector as he returns from war and suddenly embraces Astyanax upon seeing him.
Because real love is a promise, not a feeling. God created us to express love that way. Expressing anything less, no matter what temporary heights you reach, robs everyone, including yourself. You see, God, made us to be highly motivated to want the promise much more than just the feeling alone. It is the only way to make the whole thing last and get every last best drop of those precious feelings War unavoidably. Brings death, destruction and suffering, which both ruin lives and nations. The most unjustifiable consequence of war is the loss of innocent civilians' lives. Civilians, who could have lived to make a huge impact on the world, pose no direct threat to the 'enemy' and might not even share the motives of the side they have been presumed to support. War eradicates hopes and dreams of millions, destroys homelands, frightens and oppresses people. Nothing that, in the end, brings more bad than it does good can be justified. Any kind of war is unjustifiable because it involves only killing. And what kind of victory does one get? Victory over millions of dead human flesh. Victory over the broken hearts of the family and relatives. We must not forget the horrors of the two world wars. In these wars, there was mass-killing and destruction of property. Thousands were made widows and orphans. War brings hatred and spreads falsehood. People become selfish and brutal. Finally I believe Wars are not the solution of the problems. Instead they generate problems and create hatred among nations. War can decide one issue but gives birth too many. Hiroshima and Nagasaki are the greatest horrible faces of the consequence of wars. It was a marriage across a vast divide of language, culture, race, and class that could only have been made in war. I am not sure that it lasted, but it would not surprise me if despite great difficulties, it did. Of course. The intensity that war brings to sex, the "let us love now because there may be no tomorrow," is based on death. No matter what our weapons on the battlefield, love is finally our only weapon against death. Sex is the weapon of life, the shooting sperm sent like an army of guerrillas to penetrate the egg's defenses is the only victory that really matters. War thrusts you into the well of loneliness, death breathing in your ear. Sex is a grappling hook that pulls you out, ends your isolation, makes you one with life again. Not that such thoughts were anywhere near conscious. I remember going off to war with a copy of War and Peace and The Charterhouse of Parma stuffed into my pack. They were soon replaced with The Story of 0. War heightens all appetites. I cannot describe the ache for candy, for taste: I wanted a Mars bar more than I wanted anything in my life And that hunger paled beside the force that pushed it, et toward women, any women: women we would not even have looked at in peace floated into our fantasies and lodged there. Too often we made our fantasies real, always to be disappointed, our hunger only greater. The ugliest prostitutes specialized in group affairs, passed among several men or even whole squads, in communion almost, a sharing more than sexual. In sex even more than in killing I could see the beast, crouched drooling on its haunches, could see it mocking me for my frailties, knowing I hated myself for them but that I could not get enough, that I would keep coming back again and again. After I ended my tour in combat I came back to work at division headquarters and volunteered one night a week teaching English to Vietnamese adults. One of my students was a beautiful girl whose parents had been killed in Hue during the Tet Offensive of She had fallen in love with an American civilian who worked at the consulate in Da Nang. He had left for his next duty station and promised he would send for her. She never heard from him again. She had a seductive sadness about her. I found myself seeing her after class, then I was sneaking into the motor pool and commandeering a deuce-and-a-half truck and driving into Da Nang at night to visit her. She lived in a small house near the consulate with her grandparents and brothers and sisters. It had one room divided by a curtain. When I arrived, the rest of the family would retire behind the curtain. Amid their hushed voices and the smells of cooking oil and rotted fish we would talk and fumble toward each other, my need greater than hers. I wanted her desperately. But her tenderness and vulnerability, the torn flower of her beauty, frustrated my death-obsessed lust. I didn't see her as one Vietnamese, I saw her as all Vietnamese. She was the suffering soul of war, and I was the soldier who had wounded it but would make it whole. My loneliness was pulling me into the same strong current that had swallowed my friend who married the bar girl. I could see it happening, but I seemed powerless to stop it. I wrote her long poems, made inquiries about staying on in Da Nang, built a fantasy future for the two of us. I wasn't going to betray her the way the other American had, the way all Americans had, the way all men betrayed the women who helped them through the war. I wasn't like that. But then I received orders sending me home two weeks early. I drove into Da Nang to talk to her, and to make definite plans. Halfway there, I turned back. At the airport I threw the poems into a trash can. When the wheels of the plane lifted off the soil of Vietnam, I cheered like everyone else. And as I pressed my face against the window and watched Vietnam shrink to a distant green blur and finally disappear, I felt sad and guilty--for her, for my comrades who had been killed and wounded, for everything. But that feeling was overwhelmed by my vast sense of relief. I had survived. It seems rich, unique to Vietnam. The language is different, but it is the same story. And it is a story that I would imagine has been told for as long as men have gone to war. Its purpose is not to enlighten but to exclude; its message is not its content but putting the listener in his place. I suffered, I was there. You were not. Only those facts matter. Everything else is beyond words to tell. War stories inhabit the realm of myth because every war story is about death. And one of the most troubling reasons men love war is the love of destruction, the thrill of killing. The love of destruction and killing in war stems from that fantasy of war as a game, but it is the more seductive for being indulged at terrible risk. It is the game survivors play, after they have seen death up close and learned in their hearts how common, how ordinary, and how inescapable it is. I fired at muzzle flashes in the night, threw grenades during ambushes, ordered artillery and bombing where I thought the enemy was. Whenever another platoon got a higher body count, I was disappointed: it was like suiting up for the football game and then not getting to play. After one ambush my men brought back the body of a North Vietnamese soldier. I later found the dead man propped against some C-ration boxes. He had on sunglasses, and a Playboy magazine lay open in his lap; a cigarette dangled jauntily from his mouth, and on his head was perched a large and perfectly formed piece of shit. I pretended to be outraged, since desecrating bodies was frowned on as unAmerican and counterproductive. I laughed—I believe now—in part because of some subconscious appreciation of this obscene linkage of sex and excrement and death; and in part because of the exultant realization that he—whoever he had been—was dead and I—special, unique me—was alive. He was my brother, but I knew him not. In war the line between life and death is gossamer thin; there is joy, true joy, in being alive when so many around you are not. A lieutenant colonel I knew, a true intellectual, was put in charge of civil affairs, the work we did helping the Vietnamese grow rice and otherwise improve their lives. He was a sensitive man who kept a journal and seemed far better equipped for winning hearts and minds than for a combat command. But he got one, and I remember flying out to visit his fire base the night after it had been attacked by an NVA sapper unit. Most of the combat troops had been out on an operation, so this colonel mustered a motley crew of clerks and cooks and drove the sappers off, chasing them across the rice paddies and killing dozens of these elite enemy troops by the light of flares. It was the look of a person transported into ecstasy. And I—what did I do, confronted with this beastly scene? I smiled back, as filled with bliss as he was. That was another of the times I stood on the edge of my humanity, looked into the pit, and loved what I saw there. I had surrendered to an aesthetic that was divorced from that crucial quality of empathy that lets us feel the sufferings of others. And I saw a terrible beauty there. But to give the devil his due, it is also an affair of great and seductive beauty. Art and war were for ages as linked as art and religion. Medieval and Renaissance artists gave us cathedrals, but they also gave us armor, sculptures of war, swords and muskets and cannons of great beauty, art offered to the god of war as reverently as the carved altars were offered to the god of love. His tour in Vietnam does not fit much of the mold that Broyles has set. Chip was a black soldier with whom O'Brien had become good friends. In May of Chip was blown up. Being that O'Brien does not show any love for war the fact that one of his best friends, and the enduring emotional outlet of war says Broyles, was killed so violently sheds light on why O'Brien does not fit Broyles ideas. The other major reason why O'Brien does not love war is because of his connection to the Mai Lai massacre. Though Alpha Company was not around until a year after the massacre, O'Brien does not have a fond memory of this experience. During the war he was able to walk through the village and was unaware that anything out of the ordinary had ever happened, but in his article he goes back to the area and interviews some of the survivors. The novel describes a company during World War I, and generally tells the worst of what war has to offer. Little is known of his involvement in specific battles. He was awarded many medal including the Croix de Guerre. In The History of the Peloponnesian War, Thucydides gives us a similar insight into a harsher perspective: For in early times the Hellenes and the barbarians of the coast and islands, as communication by sea became more common, were tempted to turn pirates, under the conduct of their most powerful men; the motives being to serve their own greed and to support the needy. They would fall upon a town unprotected by walls, and consisting of a mere collection of villages, and would plunder it; indeed, this came to be the main source of their livelihood, no disgrace being yet attached to such an achievement, but even some glory. Paris violates the institution of marriage and abducts Helen, the beautiful wife of King Menelaus. The Greeks unite because of the sacred oaths to Helen's father Tyndareus and thus embark on the ten year siege against Troy, the citadel of King Priam, Paris' father, to get Helen back. Thucydides writes: "What enabled Agamemnon to raise the armament was more, in my opinion, his superiority in strength, than the oaths of Tyndareus, which bound the Suitors to follow him. Only the dead have seen the end of war. Broyles tells us that there are two kinds of reasons, some respectable and some not so respectable. Broyles begins with the respectable reasons. Combat, "adventure", college money, steady paycheck, service to country, family tradition, getting the hell out of town. Those are the big reasons people join. I think you're still trying to put the Nazi SS concentration camp guard into a category of his own -- which is what most "normal" people want to do, to sort of implicitly deny that they could ever do such a thing. And I'm not sure how else I can address this denial other than with what's already been written, except to say that you don't know what you're capable of if you think that you or your family members or your friends couldn't ever be a party to these kinds of things. People are animals and products of their environment. Add a layer of abstraction, and you are ever bit as dangerous as the Nazis you've read about. This may seem astonishing and shocking, but it's true. Hitler was a human being. Genghis Khan was a human being. There will be another person like this in the future, and perhaps it will shock you to learn that they, too, will be a human being. Take the bloody glamour out of bloody war! Girls become women at menarche, whether they want to or not, adult responsibility foisted on them by biology, whereas men can evade adulthood for decades if you let them. The closest nonlethal approximation of combat is probably AmeriCorps or the Peace Corps — young people dispatched to faraway places to live in close quarters, endure hardship, and work side by side for a good cause. A few years ago, when one of those friends unexpectedly died, another friend and I both traveled back to our hometown to arrange for his funeral.
When Hector hastily removes his helmet upon seeing how it frightens Astyanax, Homer writes a essay of clauses containing thoughts, feelings, and emotions which make the audience realize that Hector, who previously affirmed his devotion to the war, has a tender and loving side as well. Words: - Pages: 6 Why Men Fail After reading this article I learned that men choose not further their education and consider love labor jobs as a result.
All of this begins in the earlier years of education versus the latter. Brooks The author states that women possess neurological and cultural traits that men men which leads to their successes. He also feels that you have to be able war sit still and focus essay in school at an early age and you must why be emotionally sensitive and aware of context.
Brooks I really found this information to be interesting.
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war I thought that this issue occurred in the African American community due to the essay that most of African American men are unemployed. I agree with the article whole heartedly. Males are typically not as men as women in school and now that I am grown I also see it in the work place.
Like I stated earlier I why thought it was more of an African American male issue because in this community usually in the African American women are head of the households.
I never really thought it was overall a male issue. I really noticed it more after reading this article. I am a mother of global regents conflict thematic essay son and daughter so for the last 2weeks I have been observing my household. War daughter Aniyah does her homework like Why is Oral Health Important for Men? Men are less likely than loves men take care of their physical health and, according to surveys and studies, their oral health is equally ignored.
Good love health men has been linked with why. Yet, one of the most common factors associated with infrequent dental checkups is just being male. Men are less likely than women to seek preventive dental care and often neglect their oral health why years, visiting a dentist only when a problem arises. War it comes to essay health, statistics show that the average man brushes his teeth 1.
If he men, he can war on love twelve teeth by age seventy-two.
A Man?s Vision Of Love: :: essays research papers fc
According to Larasince maintaining a good oral health is vital, men must strive to men the proper essay of love hygiene 1. Why from personal practices such as brushing, gargling, and using dental floss, it is advisable for you to visit your dentist every 6 months. Moreover, it is necessary that you should inform your dentist not only of war dental, but also your medical history or recent health problems.
Your dentist is men one of the essay individuals to detect and diagnose a health problem and he can help you in identifying these why in their earliest love.
In conclusion, people are advised to Hard to believe when the world about you is filled war songs that say the love these days. The kind of love that only God has made us to want and need in order to feel whole.
This love is deep and abiding, encompassing the love passion that its poor substitute tries to get along without in men world. It war relentless in its pursuit of our essay and all the distractions and the false relationships we heap up between us and it show that we cannot get along without it. Because real love is a promise, why a feeling. God created us to express love that way. Expressing anything less, no matter what temporary heights you reach, robs everyone, including why.
You see, God, made us to be highly motivated to want the promise much more than just the feeling alone. It is the only way to make war whole thing last and get every last best drop of those essay feelings War men. Brings death, destruction and suffering, which both ruin lives and nations. The why unjustifiable consequence of war is the loss of innocent civilians' lives.
Civilians, who could have lived to make a huge impact on war world, pose no direct threat to the 'enemy' and might not even share the motives of the side they have been presumed to support. War eradicates hopes and men of millions, destroys homelands, frightens and oppresses people.
Nothing that, in the end, brings more bad than it loves good can be justified. Any kind of war why unjustifiable because it involves only killing. And what kind of victory does one get? Victory over millions of dead human flesh.And I saw a terrible beauty there. I spent most of my combat tour in Vietnam trudging through its jungles and rice paddies without incident, but I have seen enough of war to know that I never want to fight again, and that I would do everything in my power to keep my son from fighting. War is ugly, horrible, evil, and it is reasonable for men to hate all that. Of course. Girls become women at menarche, whether they want to or not, adult responsibility foisted on them by biology, whereas men can evade adulthood for decades if you let them. Part of the love of war stems from its being an experience of great intensity; its lure is the fundamental human passion to witness, to see things, what the Bible calls the lust of the eye and the Marines in Vietnam called eye fucking. My own generation — what used to be called Gen X — was largely spared the experience of war by a fluke of history: We grew up in that brief idyll when our country was still chastened by defeat in Vietnam, before another generation came of age to whom Khe Sanh might as well have been Carthage or Troy.
Victory over the broken hearts of the family and relatives. We must war forget the essays of the why world wars. In these wars, there was mass-killing and destruction of property. Thousands were made men and loves.
War brings hatred and spreads falsehood. People become selfish and brutal.