Echoes of Conflict – The Allure and Abyss of War

Maybe it doesn’t have to be, but maybe the reality is that though we think concepts like feudalism died, we find ourselves in a new version of it. Our banner lord Amazon calls us up from the fields to push back the invaders – the enemy, Nvidia, is raising the price on processors for the …

A clash of swords, the sound of guns, boots slopping through the mud, the trickle of rain on a jungle leaf, the thrum of a diesel engine, the howl of the shamal, the smell of cordite, sweat, and fear – how is it that war, with all its disgusting depravity, captures the minds of the young and old with its black hole-like event horizon? How is it that we haven’t moved into an age of enlightenment where war is no more, and we live in peace with our fellow man? We have the tools, we have the technology, and we could reach nearly every human on earth if we wanted to, but we still haven’t been able to overcome that last leg of the greedy and needy feeling of ownership – this is my patch of dirt, and I will defend it to my last breath.

We say: my great-grandfather died for this dirt, my grandfather died for this dirt, my father died for this dirt, I would die for this dirt, but I hope my son never has to die for this dirt. Instead of questioning why your family died for that dirt and trying to make the world a place where your son doesn’t have to die for the same patch of dirt that claimed your clan, you stick to your foot in that dirt and hope that your stand will be that last stand. However, with history as a prologue, your son and maybe even his son will sadly die for that same patch of dirt. Watching the new horrors of drone warfare beamed directly to my phone from the battlefields of Ukraine in 1080p; it’s evident that as I watch a soldier beg for his life while being chased down by the high-pitched hum of a $10 drone, there’s a real chance you and your son die for that dirt without ever seeing who valued you, and your divine spark, so little.

It will always be this way. Maybe it doesn’t have to be, but maybe the reality is that though we think concepts like feudalism died, we find ourselves in a new version of it. Our banner lord Amazon calls us up from the fields to push back the invaders – the enemy, Nvidia, is raising the price on processors for the new data center – sally forth, seize the day, and thank the lord for another beautiful day tending the land and two-day delivery. Looking back, maybe developing nuclear weapons was the best thing we could’ve done for humanity – mutually assured destruction made it so our appetites for ending others had to be tempered by the fear that they could end us – after all, an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind. Human ingenuity knows no bounds. We have to bloodlet a little – those people who have the same attributes as us, but in a different shade, need to be stopped before they do x or y or z to you and me – think of the children, but not their children.

Humans are wonderful beings. Though we can empathize nine times out of ten, that tenth time, we are far better at another ability, rationalization. The rationalization that though that person may appear like us, may have a beautiful family, may have similar hopes and dreams to me, they come from a different patch of dirt, making them less than me. We must be able to rationalize that; we must have strength in numbers, we need the echo chamber, and we need to know that we alone don’t have these dark thoughts. We can overlook that the person fighting beside us may look like the enemy – they are draped in the same cloth as me, and that makes them friends, not enemies.

But as we pivot into remote-controlled warfare, the ethical landscape shifts beneath our feet. Consider the drone operator: sitting in a climate-controlled room, far removed from the chaos of the battlefield, watching the world through a screen. Their job is to decide who lives and dies, with the press of a button unleashing death from above. The emotional and psychological detachment is staggering. This operator doesn’t see the fear in the eyes of their target, doesn’t hear the cries of pain and loss – or they do, but a lifetime of Call of Duty had deadened the concept of real life – the act of killing can become as sterile as deleting an email.

Here, the teachings of Jean-Paul Sartre come to mind – Sartre posited that individuals are condemned to be free and burdened with the responsibility of their choices and actions. For the drone operator, this freedom is both a shield and a sword. They are shielded from the immediate horror of their actions, yet the weight of their decisions may haunt them in ways unseen. The screen (or even their youth) that separates them from their targets does not absolve them of their humanity, but it may be the thing that provides that pivotal extra layer of psychic disconnect from their actions.

This detachment creates a dangerous potential for moral disengagement. When killing becomes a task performed from the comfort of an office chair, the moral gravity of taking a life can be easily forgotten. The philosopher, Hannah Arendt’s concept of the “banality of evil”, comes into sharp focus here. Arendt argued that ordinary people can commit atrocious acts simply by following orders, detached from the human consequences of their actions – we also see that as part of the Milgram Experiment, where people delivered levels of electric shock to another person when ordered to. There was a definite willingness to, under orders, provide fatal levels of shock to people – drone warfare risks normalizing this detachment, making the extraordinary act of killing alarmingly mundane.

Moreover, the implications for international law and the rules of engagement are profound—for example, can a combatant surrender to a drone? Drones operate in a grey zone, often outside the traditional boundaries of war. Their anonymity and ease of deployment can lead to an escalation in conflicts, as nations may resort to drone strikes without fully considering the repercussions. This new era of warfare challenges us to rethink the frameworks that have guided us through centuries of conflict.

Yet, in this bleak analysis, there is a glimmer of hope. Awareness and discourse can spark change. By confronting these ethical dilemmas head-on, we can strive to create a framework that upholds the sanctity of human life, even in the most technologically advanced theaters of war. Granted, that seems like an oxymoron, but the call for empathy, ethical reasoning, and moral accountability is louder than ever.

Ultimately, our technological advancements must be matched by our moral and ethical progress. As we navigate the complexities of drone warfare, we must remember that each action taken from a distance still reverberates in the heart of humanity. The challenge is not just to wield our power responsibly but to ensure that in doing so, we do not lose sight of our shared human essence.

These are the concepts we have wrestled with since Cain killed Abel. We are beautiful because we are flawed. We can descend to darkness, but we can also elevate to greatness—that is the blessing and the curse of humanity. We are depraved, but in that depravity, there is a cyclical nature to the beast. It was the Alan Moore character, Dr. Manhattan, who said it best: “Without condoning or condemning, I understand.”

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