Milbank: A fitting coda to a dozen years of war

  • EVAN VUCCI / Associated Press
    Friends and family of Army Maj. Gen. Harold Greene gather for his burial service at Arlington National Cemetery. Greene, who was shot to death by an Afghan soldier, is the highest-ranking American officer to be killed in action since the Vietnam War.

I’ve observed many funerals over the past decade in Arlington National Cemetery’s Section 60, where war dead from Iraq and Afghanistan are buried.

Last week I went for what, God willing, was the last.

It was the burial of Harold Greene, shot to death in Afghanistan Aug. 5, the first U.S. general to be killed in a combat zone since the Vietnam War. Because of his high rank, there was great pageantry: the riderless horse with boots backward in the stirrups; the Army chief of staff presenting the flags; the pounding, 13-cannon salute.

The fanfare was a fitting coda to a dozen years of war. President George W. Bush often said there would be no surrender ceremony on the deck of a battleship. Now the wars are over, for better or for worse — and the general’s burial was about as much ceremony as we’re going to get.

The Iraq War is history, at least for U.S. ground troops, and soon Afghanistan will be, too. Greene’s death captures well the ambiguous end: He was the No. 2 general in charge of training Afghan forces to take over after the American departure, and he was killed — randomly, it seems — by one of the Afghans who was supposed to be on our side. It was a senseless closing act of an American pullout ordered somewhere between victory and defeat.

In 2005, when I began visiting Section 60, the burials were constant. The remains of those killed in Iraq and Afghanistan came to dominate some two dozen rows in the 18-acre plot, 876 fallen warriors in all.

But recently, Section 60 has begun to tell a different story — of the end of wars. Other than Greene, there have been only two active-duty burials since May, Arlington officials report. Most of the recent headstones near Greene’s resting place are of veterans of World War II, Korea and Vietnam who died long after they served. In other words, Section 60 is gradually returning to what it was before the remains of young men and women began a decade ago to fill its rows with heartbreaking rapidity: An ordinary graveyard.

It will never be ordinary, of course, for those of us who lived during this time. As of Thursday morning, 6,831 American military personnel had been killed in what used to be called the “war on terror”: 4,425 in Iraq, 2,203 in Afghanistan and 203 elsewhere. Over 50,000 have been wounded in action.

And what do we have to show for it? Much of Iraq (and neighboring Syria) has fallen under the control of barbaric religious extremists, and hopes for a stable Iraq rest largely on the goodwill of Iran. Afghanistan — home of the “good war” — looks all too likely to fall apart after American forces leave.

But disillusionment with the conflicts shouldn’t affect the gratitude we feel toward those who lie in Section 60. Indeed, it would do all Americans some good to forget the political second-guessing and to recall what these men and women did for us.

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