The War Tapes

There’s a movie playing at the Sunshine Theater on Houston Street right now that will never make its way to a mainstream audience. It premiered at the Tribeca Film Festival this year, was purchased and assigned a small, limited release.

It’s called “The War Tapes” and it follows three New England National Guardsmen on their trip to Iraq. The chosen three, each distinctly different in cinematic ways, were given tiny cameras and asked to record their experiences. Many times, they turn the camera on themselves, providing commentary on certain situations.

For me, the movie became a very strong taste of what a tour of duty on the front lines of Iraq must be like. It was like a shot in the arm, a rude reminder that the war in Iraq is not over¾far from it.

I sat transfixed by the shaky hand-held footage and the explosions. The light flickered off my face. And I remember thinking how strange it was to be watching this movie in the theater, when the actual news is filled with celebrity gossip and weather reports.

The recent ascent of documentary films as a way for people to get news is an interesting response to the mainstream media as well as a throwback to the days of filmstrips and serials.

The war in Iraq wages on. People my age are fighting there. The coverage is mediocre at best and if one wanted to, one could completely ignore it and go on living a very normal life.

When I left the theater, I had an image in my head of myself in army garb. I was crouched against a slight incline, grasping a machine gun like it was going to save my life. Bullets whizzed past my head; my only thought was that I didn’t want to be there. The image was so crisp and clear that it was frightening.

Seeing the movie reminded me that I hadn’t even thought about the war in Iraq for weeks, months even. My days go on exactly the same way they did when we weren’t at war. I think that’s the way it is for most people.

And that’s the way our society likes it. We don’t want to know what’s actually going on. We are satisfied with fluff news and meaningless details. Even when I try to stay informed I don’t do anything about it or pay any real attention to it. I end up feeling that just being informed is enough.

“At least I know what’s going on,” I say to myself.

Unlike the generation that ended the Vietnam War, my generation doesn’t believe that we can make a difference. We are quietly waiting in the wings for someone to drag us onto stage before we sing and dance our songs and dances. We are wasted potential. We are concerned with money, looking hip and iPods.

On a regular day, the war doesn’t even cross our minds. It’s not an easy situation to make up one’s mind about. And there is no clear-cut solution. What’s the answer now that we are in Iraq? We can’t just leave.

At one point in “The War Tapes,” the soldiers talk about how much money Haliburton is making. They say that the corporation is making money on everything. They feed the soldiers, they transport their food, they transport the oil, and they open up small shops to sell things to the soldiers.

It confuses me that Dick Cheney’s old company can profit on something that he himself is so close to. It should be like a contest or a raffle where employees and their families are disqualified.

Thinking about the money makes me sick. I want to be outraged and I want to really care. So much that I would be willing to stop and put my dreams on halt and say, “This is wrong, I should do something about it.”

But then in my head I remember I only get one shot at being young and starting a career. My life is much more important than a war thousands of miles away. Right?

I don’t have a clear answer or even a clear idea of what to do next. But after seeing that movie, and the image of myself in the middle of the battlefield, there wasn’t anything else I could conceivably write about. All I know how to do is to continue thinking about it and raising questions.