Right now, it’s difficult to not view a lot of art through the prism of the January 6, 2021 terrorist attack where The White House was under siege by a group of unpatriotic psychopaths. There were pipe bombs, property damage, political figures targeted with death threats. So much happened that would peak anyone’s anxiety. In fact, it’s raised one particular conversation, especially in relation to 2020’s various Black Lives Matter protests. Why was a peaceful protest teargassed by police when this one, featuring casualties and law enforcement bludgeoned with various objects, was allowed to run mostly rampant?
I can’t answer all of these questions, but it did raise a compelling counterargument. Did those who opposed Black Lives Matter really do so because they believed that Blue Lives Matter more? With intent to murder senators on the Senate floor, it’s hard to believe that they’re really as supportive of the law and order moniker these terrorists’ leader spouted publicly. Their lack of either suggests that the truth is much different. They only liked police because they could serve as middlemen, protecting America from having any cultural advancement in civil rights. When it turned on them, they weren’t afraid to assault a cop.
This really raises the question about what these law enforcement groups really stand for in the big picture. Who are they protecting? Some would go so far as to say that defunding the police and putting it into more sustainable programs is the best call. Who are they really protecting when Elijah McClain’s peaceful candlelit vigil gets raided while this country’s most symbolic values are destroyed by a jackass in offensive and stereotypical Native American garb? These are questions that activists will be able to answer more than me, but it did get me thinking about a novel that explored this from a global standpoint. If the police are problematic figures stateside, then what are soldiers shipped internationally?
To be upfront, this is an issue that I’ve struggled with finding a convenient answer for. My family has a few veterans in it going back to World War I. I have personally known marines that are decent human beings. As much as I dislike the uncomfortable excess of American pride, I recognize what value it is to support the troops. The closest I’ve gotten to an answer came from Ben Brainard in a Tik Tok Q&A where he suggested that it’s okay to support the troops, but not the organization. Some individuals simply need that order in their lives and buy into the promises – especially in a Post-9/11 world – that what they’re doing is right. I don’t fault these people because they’re young and sometimes naïve.
Which makes Ben Fountain’s “Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk” a particularly fascinating read. Even if this feels more like a commentary on The George W. Bush Administration, there is something recognizable about the characters here. It is in the fact that they’re very casual, cracking those juvenile jokes about how Billy is going to be played by Hillary Swank in a movie. It reflects a youthful antagonism that has no choice but to become stunted when joining the military, where humor is used as escapism from any bad day. Sure, it backfires in various forms of violence and abuse, but some are just dumb teenagers who still find a sexy lady the greatest thing in the world.
What I think is most brilliant about Fountain’s novel is how one day in the life of these soldiers ends up conveying the real divide between the wants and needs of the different perspectives. For starters, they’re there as a form of tribute for the banner “Support Our Troops” that gets splayed all over conservative media. The idea that they get to be paraded on a stage during halftime is somehow the ultimate sign of patriotism. They’ll stand and cheer, Destiny’s Child playing behind them, but do they really care about these men’s lives?
From afar, the titular scene shows how skewed the vision is. Everyone’s just watching them on the field, believing that everything is fine. However, Fountain paints their internal monologues with such vibrant detail that it parallels the struggles of war and bad cases of PTSD. They’re told to stand in certain spots, looking at the cheering crowd. But it’s difficult. The music is loud, the field covered in triggering movement. Even the use of fireworks and lights overwhelms every person on that field, and they have no choice but to keep moving forward. Like they did at war, they’re just obeying orders for fear of letting down the world. At this moment, Fountain’s book transcends satire and gets to the bigger point on how The War on Terrorism hurts the ones with the most to lose.
After all, this is just another stop on their tour. There are talks that they’re being shipped back out in the days to come. Any view of normal life is fleeting, where they’re often more praised or their medals of honor than their own personality. They’re just young men, trying to make sense of the world and overcome developing PTSD. Some take it easier than others while others hide their anxiety behind crass humor. There are even points where Billy is seen centering in on himself, repeating phrases at random. Is he tuning out the world or is it a reminder of what they want to hear? Whatever it is, Billy is trying to get through this without a mental breakdown.
Of course, the halftime moment is the biggest set-piece by default. However, there are so many small things that get discussed throughout the novel that comment on how soldiers are seen from an outsider’s perspective. A visit to the football team’s gift shop reflects an economic disparity, where the price of a jacket is such an overbearing detail. Even if some of these soldiers believe that they’ll find economic stability later in life, it asks why they don’t have more of a chance to afford these luxuries, especially if their sacrifices are making any difference for those clapping fans.
There’s a comparison to football players and CTC scans, where combatting overwhelming forces is just another obstacle. There’s also the reality that Billy’s story captures the attention of a Hollywood exec who wants to make a film out of his story. The negotiations around this convey how little their story matters in favor of something marketable. Suddenly the joke of Swank playing a man no longer seems like the most absurd thing in the story. The broad details will be in there, but there’s no guarantee that the authenticity and dedication to details will. It only promotes an idea that makes people feel patriotic, join the military, and keep the cycle alive.
As Brainard mentioned, supporting the troops is not the issue. However, Fountain posits that everyone in that stadium is supporting the IDEA of troops, of protecting them from a mystic boogeyman. They will shake hands, snap pictures, but what are they doing to support them? Mind you, support by the end of the novel is more than morale-boosting. It’s a story of economics, understanding their story, and not bastardizing details. It’s about listening and trying to understand the trauma that exists inside their soul. You may never go to war or see half of the horrifying images they have, but are you supporting them as they cope with these struggles that the country places them in?
Billy and his fellow soldiers aren’t bad kids. They did something that has become second-nature in America. It’s so implicated in society that high schools even have J.R.O.T.C. programs for those wanting to train. Even with 9/11 marking this nationwide paranoia that the country isn’t safe only backs up the theory that every man must protect their homeland. But what all is this for? For as messy as Fountain’s novel is, I think he gets to the heart of how difficult it is to be a patriot in the 21st century, where the idea of freedom is sometimes better than confronting those who perceptively make it happen. Billy is just a figurehead to them, not a man they can hang out with and have a good time.
More than anything, I think of “Billy Lynn’s Long Halftime Walk” in relation to the past week because I think it raises interesting questions about what it means to love The U.S.A. and stand for what’s right. Is there value in being complicit to violence, putting those at risk that you’ve spent your life praising as heroes of law and order? Like in the novel, it feels like these protective forces were convenient symbols that were used until they outstayed their welcome. A lot of January 6 is sickening, but hopefully, it raises questions and productive answers to being a patriot, of doing what’s right for the country.
Sometimes it’s about not just clapping for the things that symbolically protect you. It’s important to notice the humanity of your fellow man, to understand why they joined the military in the first place. Fountain’s willingness to paint these characters as problematic and annoying only helps to reflect how young they are, how they’re struggling to understand their place in the world. They aren’t some mystical form of bravery like Sergeant York (1941). They’re just kids trying to figure out what they want to do in the world. Sometimes they need guidance more than encouragement, or someone to listen to what they want to achieve in the world.
Instead, Fountain ends the novel by having them bussed out to the next operation. This was just another stop on their mission. What should’ve been this amazing achievement was more recognized by how much fear it instilled in the characters. It was trauma as entertainment, and there’s nothing quite as poignant in explaining the many divides between perception and reality. Unfortunately, the Ang Lee movie doesn’t capture it as well as Fountain’s prose, but it still does plenty to ask for a deeper empathy, of understanding what makes this country great. It demystifies so much of the narrative this country has built about itself and realize that being supportive has multiple layers. It’s important to go beyond the surface level and recognize the humanity inside.
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