Last week, while on a bicycle trip across Western Maryland, our group stopped for a four-hour bike tour of the Antietam battlefield. I remembered from my high school American history course that the September 17,1862 battle was one of the bloodiest of the Civil War. What I learned as we crisscrossed the three-mile expanse of beautiful rolling farmland is that the five separate battles took 4000 lives (including 6 generals) and caused 18,000 casualties (many of whom died later from the wounds). It was – and continues to be — the bloodiest single day in American history. As we cycled from hilltop to creek bed and heard about artillery positions, troop movements, the defense of Burnside Bridge, and stories of heroism and tragedy, three separate but related words swirled around in my head and constricted my stomach: the courage of the soldiers on both sides to face each other, sensing that one out of every four of the 100,000 engaged in battle would be killed or wounded; the chaos which intensified as officers were killed, troop movements were thwarted, communication was sketchy or simply wrong; and the carnage of so many of their fellow soldiers being cut down like stalks of corn.
A year and a half into the civil war, both sides of the conflict recognized the physical, emotional, military cost of the war which threatened to drain the spirit of both the north and the south.This was in sharp contrast to the opening skirmishes of the war. When the war began on April 12, 1861 at Fort Sumter, thousands of spectators gathered on the ramparts overlooking the garrison and cheered and drank cocktails as Confederate soldiers fired on it. Three months later, on July 21, at Bull Run, dignitaries and senators came out from Washington to cheer on the Union soldiers as if the battle was a sporting event. “That is splendid; is that not first rate,” one onlooker remarked as the Union forces took control. But the “picnic battle” eventually turned into the “Great Skedaddle” as Confederate reinforcements arrived and scattered the Union forces in retreat, which then created chaos as soldiers and spectators sought access to the only escape route.
I am writing this post the morning after the UFC championship on the White House South Lawn, celebrating President Trumps’ 80th birthday and ostensibly serving as the first official celebration of the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence. 4300 spectators gathered under the 92 foot “Claw” to cheer on seven separate bouts of gladiators fighting with fists and feet. Several thousands more gathered nearby at an outdoor watch party to witness the carnage, which thankfully was confined to the cage where the contestants sought to “beat each other to a pulp”. There was some courage on display, I suppose, but to my mind it was limited to the fighters who sought to pound their opponents into oblivion.
And there was corruption, beginning with the fact that the South lawn – long used for military ceremonies, state occasions and the annual Easter Egg roll — became a marketplace. The cost of the $62 million dollar event was covered (by how much, no official statement has been made) by the many advertisements that were affixed to the cage and the steps of the arena, by ticket sales, and pay-per-view subscriptions. The Claw became an expensive venue for entertainment.
Violent entertainment.
The juxtaposition between my experience of visiting the Antietam battlefield and my reading the accounts of the UFC bouts could not be more jarring. The entertainment dimension of the opening salvos of the Civil War quickly gave way to endless waves of grief, misery, and brokenness. Yet through it all there was honor. It was reported that as the defeated Union soldiers marched out of Fort Sumter as prisoners of war, a line of Confederate soldiers stood silently along the route, their caps removed in a kind of salute to their defeated enemies.Some of the fighting at Antietam devolved into hand-to-hand combat, but there weren’t reports of abuse. Military code and discipline were honored.
There was an almost total absence of honor at the UFC championship. There was spectacle, to be sure, and dramatic entertainment, as displays of caged violence grow in popularity. But the spectacle, and the crowd’s excitement, does not translate to honor. Instead, honor was mocked, if not desecrated., as was the White House complex itself.
It has often been said that the Civil War was a battle for the national soul. I absorbed the intensity and tragedy of that War as we traversed the battlefield in punishing heat. The silence of the landscape spoke to the courage, chaos and carnage of Antietam. In contrast, for me and for so many others, the noise, drama, corruption and spectacle of the UFC event served up a middle finger to the national soul as it stomped on American dignity.
The two experiences – at opposite ends of the Potomac River — convey to me that the battle for the national soul is ongoing. Which means we need to continue to do what we can in order to both honor and heal that national soul – with courage coupled with commitment, compassion and a purpose. To fight the chaos and corruption. To stand in the face of verbal and physical threats of carnage — with non-violence joined with hope.
