Hey-ho, it’s Independence Day and our ship of
democracy is running perilously close to some dangerous shoals, so I think I’m
just going to go back to a time when we were beginning to gain respect in the international
community, instead of pissing it away, back when we understood the concept of
alliances, of honor and of comity.
Because one hundred years ago today, troops of
the American Expeditionary Force (AEF), commanded by General John J. Pershing,
marched through the streets of Paris on their way to the tomb of the Marquis de
Lafayette.
(Photos from the Washington Post, 6 April 2017.)
It was a symbolic gesture—we’d only declared
war on Germany in April, and our troops were in absolutely no shape to enter
combat. In fact, they’d spend months both here and in France, training before
being deployed in the front lines. But the gesture brought hope and joy to the
citizens of France, and to Britain and the other Allies, who were nearly three
years into a war that had nearly brought all combatants to their knees.
There was a powerful personal link between
France and the United States that dated to 1777, when the 19-year-old Lafayette
arrived here to serve in the Continental Army (which, come to think of it, at
that stage wasn’t even as well-organized as the AEF in 1917). The young
Frenchman fought with us before his government lent its support, at Brandywine,
Monmouth and Yorktown as a general in our army. He was an advocate for
democracy and a friend of the United States throughout his life, a kind of
bridge between our two countries. He retained the love and respect of
Americans, and his grave in Paris is covered with soil from Bunker Hill.
The troops brought to Paris from Saint Nazaire in
1917 were a battalion of the 16th Infantry. The unit was regular
army, but more than half the men were recent recruits. So their marching was
not up to military standards.
From contemporary reports, it might have been
impossible for even the best-trained unit to have made a snappy march through the
crowds that lined the way. They almost had to force their way through the
throngs, hundreds of whom rushed from the sidewalks to shake their hands. They
were joined by French troops direct from the battlefield, filthy, bandaged, but
grateful for our presence. Flowers were tossed from every direction—from children
running through the ranks, from the sidewalks, from balconies, and the
Americans stuck the blooms in the muzzles of their rifles or tucked them in
their belts. Pershing said, “The column looked like a moving flower garden.”
At Lafayette’s grave, there were several
speeches by various personages of importance, and a wreath was laid. But the speech
that caught the hearts of the Parisians was by Colonel Charles E. Stanton,
Pershing’s representative. Stanton began by reminding everyone that “The fact
cannot be forgotten that your nation was our friend when America was struggling
for existence, when a handful of brave and patriotic people were determined to
uphold the rights their Creator gave them—that France in the person of
Lafayette came to our aid in words and deed. It would be ingratitude not to
remember this, and America defaults no obligations.”
Stanton concluded, “America has joined forces
with the allied powers, and what we have of blood and treasure is yours.
Therefore, it is with loving pride that we drape the colors in tribute of
respect to this citizen of your great Republic, and here and now, in the shadow
of the illustrious dead, we pledge our heart and our honor in carrying this war
to a successful issue.
“Lafayette, we are here!”
Ah, man—remember when honor meant something? As
in, at the bottom of the Declaration of Independence, the signers pledged their
lives, their fortunes and their sacred honor? When not everything was up
for sale? When we as a nation recognized that to whom much is given, much is
required—both domestically and internationally?
Here’s hoping we’ve still got those
sensibilities. Happy Independence Day, y’all.
