Armistice Day Centennial

On November 11th, 1918, the most deadly, most massive, most mechanized, most extended period of carnage heretofore known to humankind finally sputtered to a very temporary end. Tens of millions of men mowed each other down systematically with rapid-fire weapons of all kinds, which all the main warring parties had been investing in in an ongoing arms race for years. The war was one that was waiting to happen, a reckoning of the great powers of the day for the spoils. The spoils being colonial domination of much of the globe.

To win this “victory,” all sides essentially sacrificed an entire generation of men. Along with them, millions more people, especially children and the elderly, died of disease, malnutrition, and lack of medical care. Those who emerged “victorious” from this war of attrition – Britain and France, in particular – set about dividing up the defeated Ottoman Empire into new nations with borders purposefully designed to undermine any possibility of national cohesion, purposefully designed to encourage sectarian conflict, making sure there would always be a powerful ethnic minority backed by a foreign power that could theoretically then control the rest of the population on their behalf.

But if you return to the seats of empire, to the cities of Paris, London, or New York, you'll find among the spoils of empire enjoyed by the bankers, arms dealers and stockbrokers a massive underclass that has been an almost constant feature of these imperial capitals for centuries. The ruined, broken, discarded servants of empire. The shell-shocked, conscripted killers for 20th-century colonialism, asking passersby for spare change.

When Johnny Came Marching Home

He got off the plane and looked at no one
He walked down the tarmac in the direction of nowhere
He followed the sun as it was setting
Glad to be done with all the bloodletting
There were no banners for the proud and the few
Just workers in airports that do what they do
Fuel up the planes, unload the bags
Along with the coffins all covered in flags
When Johnny came marching home

The town he was from was a dead little place
So he looked for a job somewhere off-base
In this city of pawn shops and hotels and bars
Gas stations, strip clubs, highways and cars
He went to a dive, ordered a beer
Said turn the music up loud so it's all that I hear
Try to rewind, turn back the years
Stop the explosions between my ears 

When Johnny came marching home

The jobs were all shit and the beer it was cheap
And besides there was no other way he could sleep
Still the screams and the guns would wake him at night
And he was always on edge and ready to fight
And when he closed his eyes he would just see the face
Of a someone he killed in some far-away place
Over and over, the white of her eye
And her final and terrible terrified cry 

When Johnny came marching home

After just a short time his health fell apart
With an ache in the joints and such a thump in the heart
And the doctor just told him it's all in his head
But he couldn't stop drinking or get out of bed
And with no place to go but the wrong way
It was a shock to his ears when he heard himself say
Over and over to anyone within range
Hey mister, can you spare some change

When Johnny came marching home