Ricardo A. Serrano Denis
Much of the history of the Second World War rests on the idea that goodness prevailed as its moral drive. It came naturally, part of the political package that guided American soldiers to the beaches of Normandy and the treacherous geography of Japan. Rooting out evil was the main objective—evil being the exact opposite of what America stood for. In a sense, the Second World War became a mirror through which Americans could see themselves reflected as the fairest nation of them all. Sure, historical accuracy calls for a reexamination of the Great Depression as the official instigator of intervention in foreign affairs (sometimes overriding Pearl Harbor as the obvious spark to that war), but pick any popular history book on World War II and you’ll be hard pressed to think of any other reason for America stepping up to the Germans other than pure goodness.
It is of no wonder (and up to this point a meek point to think otherwise) that comic book readers became enamored with superheroes baptized in the fires of World War II as the supreme representatives of their fantastic alternate realities. Of the many that came, it was the one dressed in the colors of the American flag that captured the imagination of readers, Captain America. If we accept the Second World War as iconic in scope regarding World History then we must recognize that it also has the capacity to create icons and legends in its own right, both real and fictional.
Captain America came out of that war as such an icon. He punched Hitler square in the jaw and might just have well sealed the victory for those who escaped to the pulpy pages of the comic book to find the endings they so intensely desired. Captain America’s war with the Germans was quick, clean, and righteous. But what really made a mark on comic book history was that Captain America set the standard on what heroism should actually be. Most importantly (and most dangerously), it made war experience the absolute standard on what makes a hero, well, a hero.
It is perhaps in Jason Aaron’s Ultimate Captain America #2 that we get a true look at the psyche of the hero that made war the event that turned men into heroes. Deep inside the jungles of Vietnam, Captain America looks for Frank Simpson, the Captain America of the Vietnam War. Simpson was turned super-soldier for Vietnam in the absence of Steve Rogers (Captain America’s civilian name). But like many, he receded into the madness of his war. He deserts only to resurface as an enemy of the state in 21st century, carrying the full weight of his war to the present.
The mission becomes an opportunity for introspection, for making sense of a war Rogers did not participate in. Contemplating the jungle and its complicity in keeping Americans away from victory, Captain America dwells on what his country should mean for the men that fight for it. He says:
Looking around this godforsaken place, I could almost understand if Simpson had just snapped. I saw plenty during the war. Good men who just reached their breaking point. I’ve been there myself. I’ve looked that fear in the face. I remember 1944, waking up one morning in the Ardennes forest, freezing cold, knowing we were surrounded on all sides by Nazi Tiger tanks, and I couldn’t move. It took me hours to get out of bed. I could’ve broken then. Like the men I saw eat bullets from their own guns. At the time, I felt like I could almost understand why they were doing it. But flipping sides…Frank Simpson betrayed his country. He said he wanted to show me what America really stands for. But he’s the one who’ll be getting the lesson. America doesn’t stand for cowards and turncoats. Not my America. The America I know’s always been worth fighting for. Even dying for. And sometimes killing for.
It is brilliantly simple and easy to digest. Captain America lays the blueprint for heroism in pure black and white. It is devotion, with honor, to one’s country and the disposition to kill and die for its safety that makes men heroes. Stray from these guidelines and you will most probably end up being an enemy, a lost citizen fallen from the grace of his country’s innate disposition for goodness. This is but a simple metaphor for how the history of war is digested in popular culture.
In History, we fight and debate over the origins of war, on the degrees of justness and righteousness in them. We forget that the men that fight them, the ones that become heroes, sacrifice so much that only outsiders get to enjoy the excitement of their heroics in the aftermath. Tom Brokaw’s oral history The Greatest Generation, for example, proves this by going to such lengths as too delve straight into hero making. Brokaw will say the Second World War bred the greatest generation of Americans the history of the country had ever seen. And probably will see, if Brokaw is concerned. The sacrifices of the soldier are secondary to the story because, in the end, they were heroes. Spielberg adds his line with Saving Private Ryan and many other directors, authors, comic book writers and artists followed suit.
And so it goes with history. We seem to unconsciously regard war and its heroics as if they were mythical feats of greatness. They become innocent rites of passage that turn men into Captain Americas. Scars are expected while ugliness and extreme violence are accepted as realities that make men heroes. History, then, becomes the notary. An entity with the authority to make official the transformation of men into heroes. But it also becomes the thing men at war strive to. There is no force as powerful as a people’s expectations. There may be warnings on the dangers of history repeating itself, but that is precisely what people seem to want most of the time. We want more wars because we want more heroes. We want to imagine a world of Captain Americas because without them, well, what’s the point of history?
