Commentary; Posted: 7/3/02

Duty through the eyes of a young American

Brian Brenberg
Guest Columnist

Half a century ago, six Marines stood at the foot of a mountain. Transplanted to a tiny island in the South Pacific, these young men were but a fraction of the thousands dutifully answering their countryís call to serve the cause of freedom in WW II.

Many came from the finest military academies the world has known. Far more hailed from family farms, mills, docks, and rail yards; the backbone of the finest country the world has ever known. Some were trained to save lives, others to end lives. Some were trained to operate the machinery of battle, others to direct its use.

Great was the diversity of their intellect, abilities, and backgrounds. Even greater was their concerted effort. Amidst the impossible onslaught of a fierce and determined enemy, these soldiers captured a beach, scaled a mountain, and finally conquered an island that would prove pivotal in the South Pacific campaign.

The trek up Mount Suribachi by those six Marines some 50 years ago was a small tactical, but hugely symbolic victory that would forever remain etched in the minds of our countrymen. Every one of us here today has seen the photograph of those six Marines raising the American flag at Iwo Jima.

We have marveled at the courageous determination exerted in hoisting that flag. We have come to understand how that moment frozen in time was preceded by three days of equally courageous and determined fighting, and in many ways overshadows the 30 following days it took to claim victory.

Half a century later, most young Americans find themselves in a markedly different situation. At 22, my days are spent in a lecture hall debating and dissecting business ethics, political theory, and religious doctrine. My WW II counterpart, on the other hand, was learning first-hand about the brutal business of war brought on by the perverse politics of fascism. And I can only imagine the practical meaning religion takes on as one burrows into a trench under the cover of night, silently awaiting the peril of daybreak.

I ask myself, ìHow is it that one generation can be expected to sacrifice so much-their childhood, their education, their careers, their families, their lives?î

I want to know the fear of sitting on a transport as it approaches what is certain to be my final destination. I want to feel the sting of the salty water in my wounds and the weight of my exhausted muscles clawing their way across rocky, bullet riddled soil. I want to know the anguish of sleepless nights waiting in anticipation of the fighting sure to erupt at daybreak. I want to know these burdens because they did. I want to justify my being here, in their presence, in this world forged with their blood.

But I do not want war, and I do not want to feel the fear, the pain, and the anguish they felt. They took up these burdens hoping that you and I would not have to. I think many of us today, in some way or another, have dealt with these conflicting emotions. Our bestsellers and academy award winners have tried to satiate our hunger to become a part of the reality our parents and grandparents knew.

We say, ìGive it to me straight, all three hours, all 500 pages, all the special effects you can muster to make this scene, this feeling as real as possible.î And we put in the time, read the books, watch the movies, visit the memorials. But when we put the book back on the bookshelf or press the eject button, we know that it is, and ever will be, their heartache, their triumph, their reality.

What, then, is our reality? Or put another way, as we look at ourselves in relation to the landscape of this world, where are we standing at this very moment?

Looking back, it must have been clear to those six Marines standing at the foot of Mount Suribachi. They were in a foreign land, isolated from the comfort and familiarity of their home, their culture, their day-to-day life. They faced a declared, uniformed enemy prepared to inflict immediate physical harm. And as they gazed upon that towering mass of rock, there was no mistaking where the road to victory lay.

I donít think our roles are as clearly laid out as theirs were.

Like them, weíve witnessed a horrific attack on our people, our soil and our livelihood. However, the majority of us will not be asked to take up arms, and we may never encounter those who perpetrate such destruction. Chances are they will remain for most of us an anonymous, distant threat buried below the radar screen of work, children, and marriage.

But are those terrorists any less a part of our reality because they are hidden? Is our duty to defend freedom diminished because we are not on the front line? I think not.

Four years ago our parents packed us up and dropped us off at an unfamiliar place, sort of like those Marines hopping off that transport into the Pacific waters. We looked at the road ahead, and were met with the sight of what seemed insurmountable obstacles.

Not cement pillboxes or artillery shells, mind you, but philosophy, theology, the ups and downs of living with someone who sees the world through a different set of lenses, expectations for a major, for grades, for a career, and the responsibility of work and grown-up relationships, having a good time and having too much of a good time.

Somehow we made it through those obstacles to reach this point, probably a little wiser, a little more mature. And we ought to take pride in our accomplishment.

But our journey does not end here. In fact, these last four years have shed only the first rays of light on the individual paths we will take over the course of our lives. Some of us will travel the road of education weíve begun in the Twin Cities, others the road of science paved at Owens Hall. Those of us who ride our bikes across Summit Avenue may one day find ourselves riding the bulls and bears of a more famous street. Each additional step, every new role we assume in life affords us an ever-greater opportunity to shape the fabric of our society.

Herein lies our duty. Herein lies the task for our generation, a generation whose heroism will not be defined on a foreign battlefield, but whose indelible mark will be etched on the social and moral fabric of our own country, the vitality of which our world looks to for guidance and leadership in times such as these.

In college we are supplied with the needle of theory and knowledge, and in our educational and career and social pursuits we acquire the thread of experience. In bright, bold letters we must stitch the emblems of capitalism and democracy using the thread of equal representation, speech, assembly, religion and property.

In our careers we must understand that the effectiveness of one needle stroke depends upon another; our businesses and our religious institutions have evidenced how ethical shortcuts can ultimately cause the entire garment to unravel. At home we must recognize that strong families are not patchwork in a quilt of social programs, but in fact strong families are the yarn of which all social progress is made.

Those who seek to destroy our people and our livelihood do so out of a hatred for this intricate weave of rights, freedoms, and understandings they have never known, or have long since destroyed in their own society. I am convinced that our unique and varied learning experiences at St. Thomas supply us for the task of reaching these people. The question is, ìWhen the world looks at the fabric of our society, what will they see?î

Will they encounter the fabric of a nation unwavering in its defense of the truths upon which it was established? I believe we must strive for this. Will we overcome the hatred and violence of terror by holding fast to this banner of freedom and individual liberty? I believe it is the only way.

This is not the book or movie of an old and great generation. We cannot skip to the ending nor turn down the volume. This is us, literally, standing at the foot of a mountain, brought here by a determined effort over the past several years. As we say our farewells and pose for the camera this event will become just one moment frozen in time, as it was for the Marines atop Suribachi. They went on to fulfill their duty, and so will we, because in our hands we hold their flag: the flag of our fathers, our mothers, our grandparents and all who came before them. Its fabric the sacrifice of past generations, the hope of future generations. We cling to it now, raise it before us and brace for the climb.

It is our reality. It is our duty. Thank you, and God bless.

Writer Brian Brenberg is a Forest Lake High School graduate. The words here are from his commencement address this spring at St. Thomas University.,

Top of Page