Quitting the Battlefield

Spain retreats from the War on Terror

by Vincent Fiore
04/01/04

"Maybe the Socialist will get our troops out of Iraq and Al-Qaida will forget about Spain so we will be less frightened." This from a citizen of Spain who switched his vote from the center-right government of Jose Maria Anzar to that of Jose Luis Rodriguez Zapatero, now Prime Minister-elect and leader of Spain’s ruling Socialist Party. Suffering under the carnage of Basque or ETA terrorists since they adopted a policy of armed struggle in 1968, which included the assassination of the Prime Minister Admiral Luis Carrero Blanco in 1973, terrorism is nothing new to Spain. By opting to vote for the party of “least resistance,” the people of Spain have assured themselves of more to come. In one day, Spain has gone from the freedom of a proud people, to the slavish embrace of fear.

It is an exercise in futility and trepidation that Spain has demonstrated to the world, at a time when the world needs more committed leadership. To be frank, I experienced a visceral reaction to the news, and could not help but lead with my heart when I should have been thinking with my head. When I first read the above quote, something inside of me recalled an infamous scene from another war in another time. In 1970, 20th Century Fox released the critically acclaimed motion picture "Patton," starring Oscar-winner George C. Scott, whose unstoppable brilliance and volatility in the role triumphantly resurrected the U.S. Army's greatest general.

The scene develops from the brutal fighting been waged in August 1943 for the Italian town of Messina. Upon visiting an army field hospital, Patton comes upon a soldier sobbing uncontrollably. Upon asking the soldier, “What's the matter with you?” the soldier sobs: "I… I guess I just can't take it sir." Taken aback by the soldier’s answer, the general asks in disbelief: "What did you say?" The soldier, sobbing all the worse, spills out: "It's my nerves, Sir. I… just can't stand the shelling anymore.”

At this point, there are a number of ways a leader of men can act. He can quell the man's sobbing and cradle him in the arms of understanding, whispering soothing banalities in his ear to mitigate his pain. Or a leader of men can choose to lead another way, through the strength of his belief that eventually peace comes through strength, and the fear of joining the battle must be put aside for the larger fear of losing it.

Patton says: “Your nerves? Why hell, you’re just a goddamned coward.”

While “Patton” was only a movie and George C. Scott only an actor, the similarities to Spain’s pending decision to leave Iraq on June 30 recalled that scene to mind. While the comparison will seem tenuous to some, it felt germane and genuine to me. Though a microcosm of today’s global war on terrorism, one general and one coward were easily adaptable to represent what I see as a lack of courage on the part of Spain, her government and people both.

So much has been said of the Socialist Party victory and the perceived politicking of the incumbent popular party. It is eerily similar in some respects to President Bush’s problems of late when his campaign ran a few commercials depicting scenes from 9/11. Prime Minister Anzar’s early insistence that the bombing that left over 200 dead and 1500 wounded was possibly the work of ETA terrorist was handled clumsily, and viewed as an attempt to derive maximum advantage in an election that some say was too close to call. But before the bombings, Anzar’s party was ahead by 5%, even with 90% of the populace against his policy of standing with Bush in Iraq. The theory posited by the talking heads that say the electorate turned him out in regard to that policy does not stand.

Instead, it was a hyperventilating fear of what tomorrow brings. By casting the vote for contrived “neutrality,” meaning “we won’t hurt you as long as you don’t hurt us,” Spain seeks a bastardized peace with global terrorists. Hoping to be left alone, like much of Europe has hoped (and been), it is a provisional mentality, and a selfish one at that.

Now “Old Europe” sees cause to act together since Spain has experienced its own 9/11. Principally, France and Germany have called for a European collectivity and consciousness in regard to the attack. It is a call of unity --- together, yet apart from the “superpower across the sea.” With the ascension of Prime Minister-elect Zapatero, “Old Europe” welcomes a wayward son home, and retreats into its policy of pacifist disengagement that has only become more pronounced since the end of WWII.

One grows weary of hearing “Bush should have done this" or “This is a blow to Bush because he…” when the facts bear out the reality of it all. Much to the shame of most of the civilized world, Bush has done the work of a Superman in this time of war. And though it is not often stated, these times --- and this war --- should be viewed as WWIII.

The terrorist are fighting and killing all over the world, but a majority of their victims, and dare I say future victims, are quitting the battle. No, the Socialist Party did not win the election in Spain. The Terrorist Party did. This is not “an exercise in healthy democracy” as the New York Times foolishly stated, or even the partisanly bleated “major blow to the Bush administration” as the Times never tires of saying. It is fear, and it reeks.

With the wounded and dying in the background, Patton slaps the sobbing soldier twice on his helmeted head with his gloves, frustration evident as he surreptitiously chokes out, “Shut up.” Seemingly turning to the universe at large, Patton declares “I won’t have a yellow bastard crying in front of these brave men wounded in battle.” The soldier, sobbing all the louder, tries to shrink even further into his fear as Patton reacts by angrily belting the helmet off his head.

Patton says: “I won’t have sons of bitches who are afraid to fight stinking up this place of honor. I won’t have cowards in my Army.”

The 21st Century’s Patton has taken on the countenance of George W. Bush, and maybe its time for a little reality slapping on the other side of the Atlantic, for all our sakes.