Memorial or Exploitation?

In the winter of 2004, I started to write a review of Black Hawk Down. I mean, how could I not? Ewan McGregor, Josh Hartnett, Eric Bana — lots o' studliness, lots o' action, adventure up the wazoo and I'd even read the book. Good grief, this movie was positively begging for my tender lovin' typing skills.

I was three paragraphs in and nary a typo to be seen, when the doorbell rang. It was a new friend of mine who I'd met via my interest in greyhounds. She'd heard from a mutual acquaintance that I was a writer, and wanted to know if I could help her put together the story of her recently deceased, but very much beloved dog. Her greyhound was not just a pet, she assured me, but had literally saved her from the debilitating depression she'd suffered when her son had been killed.

"He died in Somalia," she said, and added hesitantly and unhappily, "They made a movie about it."

To say that the wind went out of my sails would be like saying the Titanic nudged elbows with a snow-cone. The coincidence and timing of that visit was... Man, I can't even describe it. As she stood in my living room chatting with me, the review was dialed up the computer screen, the book was on my desk and the DVD case was sitting out in clear sight by the television. Without any malice aforethought, I suddenly felt like I'd just been caught spitting on a grave. When my friend left, I shut the computer down without saving a thing.

Helicopter "Super Six-Four" heading out over Mogadishu on October 3, 1993

Since then, I occasionally considered making another, more sober and respectful, attempt at Black Hawk Down, but couldn't help cringing every time the thought entered my mind. Trust me when I say that it takes a lot, a whole heckuva lot, to deter me when it comes to writing. Even at MRFH, I've never shied away from investing something of myself emotionally if I saw a need. Hey, they're my emotions and I can invest them wherever I like.

But this... this is something else entirely. This isn't about my emotional investment. It's about a friend, it's about respect, and ultimately about respecting a lot of other people whose lives were changed for the worse when those men were killed. I don't have personal knowledge of any of the others, but I saw my friend's face. I don't need to ask her how she felt about her son's death or its portrayal in thousands of movie theaters worldwide. To believe that she's the only one harboring negative emotions over Black Hawk Down would be foolish in the extreme; and just because I've never met any of the others, does not invalidate their feelings. There's only one way I can possibly square this with my conscience.

I won't review Black Hawk Down. Not ever.

What I'm left with are questions. Is it proper, or even moral, to re-enact events like those in Mogadishu in an ultimate quest for box office dollars? Is it proper, or even moral, to pay money to see them?

Don't try to tell me that Ridley Scott or any of the actors donated their paychecks to the widows and orphans of those fallen soldiers. The production of Black Hawk Down was not an act of altruism in any sense, no matter that the United States Army including the Rangers and Delta teams endorsed it. There's also no point in trying to convince me that the average Joe-Moviegoers watched it because they wanted to understand what happened and honor the soldiers who fell. I know I didn't. My first paragraph here is enough to indict and convict. You don't munch on popcorn at a memorial service.

The only known photograph taken by American forces from the ground during the battle.

I don't make it a habit to dwell on uncomfortable subjects in my own head. I am a longtime practitioner of the "don't look at the scary monster and it will go away" method of crisis and sanity management. Maybe that's why I've put off this very article for almost two years. In fact, I didn't realize just how much my perspective had shifted until my folks came to visit over the summer and Dad offered to go see United 93 with me. He was sure that I'd want to watch it, but I had to disappoint him by declining. Why? Because the very thought of plunking down six bucks to watch a re-enactment of innocent peoples' last hours makes me feel dirty. Heaven forbid that I ever meet a surviving relative of a 9/11 victim and be in a position to know that their tragedy ever served as my entertainment.

But maybe that's just me.

It's not my place to either suggest or endorse a boycott of movies like Black Hawk Down or those spawned in the aftermath of 9/11. While I'd like to think that the subsequent tanking of United 93 at the box office is based on an outbreak of good taste and awakened moral fibre, I'm definitely not arrogant enough to insist that my opinion is the end-all and be-all on this subject. It's just an opinion, a matter for consideration.

Nor am I suggesting that there's no place for revisiting events of this nature. I'm a total History Channel junkie, and my current idea of quality time is reading different accounts of the American Civil War. (I have a feeling that if I hadn't been totally traumatized by having to write essays about things like the Teapot Dome Scandal and the XYZ Affair in high school, I might have gone on to study history in a seriously academic way.) It is important that we not forget our past — and more important that we try to learn from it. Easier said than done, I know. But how this is done, I think, is important — particularly within a culture that is unquestionably focused on the sheer entertainment value of practically everything we watch on television or in theaters.

I did watch the French made documentary of the events of 9/11 in New York City, when it first aired on television. Although I never want to see it again, I believe that it stands as one of the most important collections of footage ever shot. Maybe the difference in my mind is that the documentary in question was not made intentionally, nor was it a re-enactment. It was just a matter of the film-makers being with a squad of New York City firefighters when it all happened. No profit or agenda in mind. The horror of that day was immediate, unscripted, raw and real. It was not irreverent. It was not fun to watch. It was sickening and I defy any rational person who has seen that to tell me that they got any jollies whatsoever out of viewing it.

I don't think you can say that about Black Hawk Down.

I don't have all the answers. I don't even have all the questions. I'm not out to change the world or change your mind, or God forbid, to change history. I just thought it might be a good idea to tell you this:

Busch

Staff Sgt. Daniel Busch was killed in action on October 3, 1993 in Mogadishu, Somalia. His family misses him very much.

Are you entertained?