Student looks at 'Hollywood Wars'

History is nothing but perspective. Good guys, bad guys, winners, losers, victory, defeat, heroes, villains — the black and white dichotomy of war is something that never can be universally decided upon and continues to this day in such contemporary sound bytes as "with us or against us" and "good and evil."

During the Revolutionary War, the colonial perspective was an epic struggle for freedom from tyranny; to the British, it was an attempt to quell a massive rebellion. There are those who view American involvement in the Vietnam War as an effort to stop the red plague of communism and those who view it as an attempt to force a way of life upon a non-democratic society. We describe the fundamental Islamic terrorists as "the evil ones," yet their supporters burn straw effigies of our presidents and claim that we invaded their holy lands. So who's right?

The complexities continue in theaters around the country with the release of "Black Hawk Down," a critically lauded film that is probably on a lot of people's "to see" lists and is, in this columnist's opinion, a brutal and poetic tribute to the United States Armed Forces. The film is a recreation of the events of October 1993, when 19 American servicemen and hundreds of Somalis were killed in a horrific street battle during a mission to capture members of Somali warlord Mohammad Farrah Aidid's inner circle. After a half hour of exposition, the remainder of "Black Hawk Down" is an in-your-face travel brochure of modern war, a collage of explosions, severed limbs, bullet shells, smoke, fire, cries for help and cover, and what I thought of as the inevitable "tribal bellows" of the citizens of Mogadishu ("The Mog") as they attack our forces in frightening masses, armed with a cornucopia of firearms that would make Charlton Heston blush. The thought that came to mind as I watched Somali after Somali ("skinnies" as the soldiers call them) fall to the ground — in one piece or a hundred pieces — was "cannon fodder."

In her review of the film for Entertainment Weekly, Lisa Schwarzbaum described Ken Nolan's screenplay as treating the Somalis as a "black enemy" that "remains virtually faceless." The criticism is that while Mark Bowden's book (which the movie is based on) expanded on the motives and machinations of the Somalis, there is no such explanation in the film, unless you count the declaration by a sunglass wearing, cigar-smoking, Aidid-loyal prisoner that "this is our war."

Now, I'm not going to scream "racism!" as some would be inclined to do. My father (a Sudanese immigrant) once told me that everyone makes generalizations and stereotypes to some degree, but one has to go out of his or her way to be a racist. Racism is not a two-hour film but a way of life. Obviously, the Somali citizens were attacking our soldiers, who had no choice but to defend themselves. My argument is not the racism some claim to be integral to the portrayal of Somalis in "Black Hawk Down," but something less controversial and at the same time more meaningful.

When we sit through war movies like "Black Hawk Down" and its gritty, groundbreaking predecessor, "Saving Private Ryan," and we watch American soldiers mowing down the opposition like blades of grass, be they terrorists, British soldiers, Nazis, Italian Fascists, Vietcong or what have you, how are we supposed to feel? When American soldiers rip apart a platoon of the Enemy and we cheer or whisper "yes" under our breaths, should we feel inhumane? Once the cathartic experience of the film is over, and we leave the movie theaters, drained of emotion, do we ever stop and think about the perspectives of history? Surely the Somalis involved in the events of "Black Hawk Down" or the Nazis in "Saving Private Ryan" had families, personalities, reasons for picking up weapons and joining the riot/war/cause. In contemporary war films, films that have turned us from possible new recruits into probable draft dodgers with their unflinching violence, every effort is made to illustrate the individual characteristics of the American troops caught in conflict. When it comes to the opposition, however, these moving illustrations are often times curiously absent. At least in "Saving Private Ryan," Steven Spielberg made some effort at characterization with the captured Nazi who pleads for his life by pathetically mentioning Steamboat Willie. In "Black Hawk Down," we sympathize with the other side only as victims who mourn over their dead fathers or cradle their dead children in their arms and wander aimlessly through a convoy of U.S. vehicles. For an artistic director like Ridley Scott, it would take no more than a few minutes to effectively illustrate the reasons behind the Somali anger and why they ended up dragging the bodies of U.S. troops through the streets. If America were invaded by outside forces that it despised, would some of us not resort to the same violent xenophobia the Somali's exhibited during the events of "Black Hawk Down"? Let's be honest, now. To describe the Somalis in "Black Hawk Down" and American opposition in real life as brutal and base villains is to be ignorant of the fact that they, like us, are human beings directed by personal and political motives.

As an avid movie fan and an appreciator of the artistry and good old-fashioned thrills of "Black Hawk Down," I would never be so bold as to demand the removal of the film from movie theaters. All I'm saying is that it's wise to think of these biases in post-movie discussions. Once Vietnam releases its own version of "Platoon" or Somalia its own "Black Hawk Down" (if they haven't already), let's not be surprised if America is depicted in a less than glamorous light than the patriotic, wholesome-as-apple-pie war movie zeitgeist would have us believe.

Zak Salih is a senior writer and a sophomore SMAD and English major.