Bastogne: Let Us Remember, So That We May Not
Repeat
The siege
of Bastogne. The Battle of the Bulge. Dunkirk. Normandy. Stalingrad. The
terrible march of armies across Europe towards Berlin.
We
remember these battles not to glorify war, but to remember what war does to
human beings.
The
television series Band of Brothers (2001) brought many of these events
painfully close to us. The episode on Bastogne, in particular, leaves behind
something more profound than the memory of military strategy or battlefield
victory.
It leaves
us with the wounded.
In the
frozen winter of Bastogne, soldiers of the Easy Company 506th
regiment of 101st Airborne Division endured hunger, cold, bombardment and
unimaginable injuries. Among the people caring for them is a nurse who seems to
possess an extraordinary touch of grace. Her touch calms even the most severely
wounded soldiers. She herself does not understand it until a young doctor tells
her that his friend’s grandmother possessed the same spiritual gift—the ability
to bring peace and healing through her touch.
Yet both
the doctor and the nurse have become emotionally numb. The sheer number of
dead, mutilated and dying soldiers has overwhelmed their hearts.
That is
perhaps one of the most terrible wounds of war: sometimes the living are
wounded so deeply that they can no longer feel.
The
German forces demanded the surrender of Bastogne. The American commander,
General McAuliffe, famously replied with a single word: “Nuts!” The
siege continued, and the town came under devastating bombardment.
Then
comes one of the most heartbreaking moments of the story.
The young
doctor returns from the front with wounded soldiers to the makeshift hospital
established in the church. But the street has been destroyed by bombing. The
hospital has disappeared beneath the ruins.
Among the
debris, he finds a small piece of the nurse's headscarf. That tiny fragment
says more about war than all the maps, arrows and military statistics ever
could. A life has disappeared. A person who brought comfort to the dying has
herself become one of the countless casualties of war.
And this
is why we must remember. We remember Bastogne, not because war is glorious, but
because war is terrible. We remember Dunkirk and Normandy. We remember
Stalingrad and the long Soviet march to Berlin. We remember the millions who
died on every side; not merely as soldiers belonging to armies, but as fathers,
mothers, sons, daughters, husbands, wives and friends.
History
must not become a collection of heroic battles that teaches us to admire war. It
must become a warning.
War is
not the answer.
We are not politicians, nor do we claim to understand the calculations of
those who lead nations. We are simply people who have seen enough of history to
know what war can do to the human heart. We remember Bastogne, Stalingrad,
Normandy and Berlin not to celebrate the battles, but to remember the countless
human beings who disappeared into them.
October is the month of Mary. And the call of the white-robed patriarch is a
call to pray for peace and for the end of war. May that prayer rise from
churches, homes and streets across the world. May it be heard by those who have
the power to stop wars. And, above all, may it be heard by the Creator. We, the
ordinary people of the world, do not have much. Our families, our little homes,
our friendships, our work, our faith, our laughter and our peace are precious
to us. Peace and joy are almost everything we have. Let us not lose
them.
And may the God who created us all teach us to choose life over destruction,
reconciliation over hatred, and peace over war.
Let
us remember, let us pray, and let us hope.
