Final Project Portfolio

Final Portfolio

Two Letters
Letter to soldier of the past
Letter to The American People

Analysis
Russian War Photo
Civil War Photo
Onion Analysis
Google Earth Demilitarized Korea

Group Effort
Poem Analysis


Creative Pieces
Seven War Haiku
A Soldier's Journal
Story from a Picture
My Own Post
I Remember...

Google Earth Image

Google Earth is an amazing tool that allows one to see all of the wonders of the world, as well of many things that are not quite so great. One such sight that Google Earth exposes to the public is that of war torn areas around the world. In my search for this heavily damaged areas of the world, it occurred to me to look t the Demilitarized Zone between North and South Korea. When I looked, I was surprised at what I saw.

I had expected a barren wasteland, without any life whatsoever. I had assumed that this area, the dividing line between two enemies would be torn apart, pockmarked with craters and burnt remains of what used to lie there. Instead what I saw was a luscious jungle, where wildlife was flourishing between the outposts on either side of the strip. There were few if any traces of the war that had once ravaged these lands.

While I thought about this, it began to make sense, and to become an excellent microcosm of a world without violence. This is what a demilitarized world would be like, without weapons to cause violence and strife, mankind and the world could heal the scars of the past and begin to grow unfettered into a better and brighter future. This is indeed a strong case against war, if ever there was one.

When I first searched for this I was expecting a scene that would sadden me. Instead what I found was a scene containing a powerful message of hope, with a lesson for us all to learn from.

My Own Post

Prompt: Write a poem about war, and expressing your thoughts on war, without using any words related to violence (i.e. struggle, guns, fist, anger, war, fight, etc.)

Is it worth it?

The silence masks the midday sun,
The world under a foreign shadow.
A deserted land crossed with tracks,
where men with nervous faces fidget.

Is it worth it?

Men prepare, for what they do not know
and all is silent. Still silent. Then on the horizon
more men. Another pack, as large as the first.
The move to meet under the scorching desert sun.
There arms connect in a strange embrace.

Is it worth it?

And the earth begins to hum.
Quiet at first, then louder.
What approaches none know.
They wonder what they go toward,
and know it cannot be right.

Is it worth it?

Then a night begins.
And when the sun arises,
none are left to tell the story
None are left to answer the burning question

Is it worth it?

And in another land, another time
men with nervous faces begin to fidget.
and still do not know...

Funny Wording, Serious Topic

The Onion Link
At face value, this is a very amusing article. It seems funny and lighthearted, never taking a serious tone. It mocks the Bush speech that declared victory in Iraq, by describing how many "Victory Deaths," or deaths of our soldier since we became victorious, there have been. Midway through the article though, one realizes that this satire is actually not so funny.

By continuously using the word victory as an adjective before almost every fact, The Onion hammers on the point that victory should not involve constant deaths of soldiers, or huge debates about whether Iraq could handle itself if the United States pulled out, or even an immediate need to pull out. In other words, the article makes it very clear that the situation in Iraq today is not a victorious situation.

At this point, the reader begins to question how there has been any victory in Iraq at all. Soldiers are dying at a more rapid rate than before we were "victorious," the situation seems to have gotten far more perilous for our men and women since we supposedly won the war, and it dawns on the reader just how hopeless the situation in Iraq really is if this is considered victory.

At this point the article compares Iraq to Vietnam, relating the current situation to the infamous quagmire of the end of the Vietnam war. The reader realizes begins to despair of ever being out of Iraq, as all of these new insights occur to him. He sees how the people of Iraq, like the Vietnamese, do not support our cause, he sees how politics will not allow us to lose face by backing out, and he sees no easy solution to the problem.

The articles purpose was to draw the readers attention to just how bad the situation in Iraq really is, and through mock humor it does exactly that with an effectiveness that could not have been accomplished any other way.

To the forgotten...

To the Heroes of the Past,
I know what it must be like, looking down on the world from wherever you are today. I can imagine what you are feeling, and I know that it must seem like all you fought for is being lost with each passing of the day; that the memory of you and what you stood, and died, for is fading away. You must feel as though your blood was spilled for little or nothing. It must look as though we are now ruining what you created. You see the low voter turn out rates, the apathy towards a war no one approves of, the disgusting state that we keep our poor and helpless in, and so much more that we are failing in. You must be wondering if we even deserve democracy.

I am writing to tell you that we do. It may seem like all of us are apathetic, and indeed many of us may be, but there are those of us who are not. There are many of us who lose sleep over the state of this nation, who want change more than anything, and who, like you, would do anything to keep this nation alive, and make it better. We are the ones who continue to fill the voting booths, who cry out against the war, and who hold the signs on the streets. Our love of the United States powers us against hopeless odds. We are your legacy and we will not let this nation die. As things get worse our voices yell louder. For our sakes, have hope. You and your legacy will not be forgotten.

If I Were a Soldier...

August 1, 2008,
Day 97 for me in the God forsaken desert, and today was just like the past 96 of them. Just like the past 96 days the sand got stuck in my teeth, the sun scorched my back, and I spent the whole day wondering if it would be my last as I patrolled the streets of my zone. It is getting monotonous. That is a very bad thing. It is when it gets boring that people make mistakes. If you watch the guys who have been here he longest, they are always jumpy. They see things where there is nothing, getting feeling in their guts when they have absolutely no reason to, and fear things that should not be feared. They are not cowards, they just don't want to get bored. They don't want to end up dead.
I don't know what to do, part of me becomes complacent as another part of me becomes angry. I want to go home, but to linger on that thought just makes the days longer, I don't support the cause, but to linger on that just makes you vainly frustrated; in turn one just becomes complacent. To think about any aspect of anything around here too long would drive you crazy. Instead we think and talk about nothings. Irrelevant things that don't matter, and that don't remind you of things you don't want to dwell on.
Today the Humvee in front of mine exploded. All three of its crew members were killed. It didn't even phase me. I went through the routine reactions, but until know I never thought of the passengers. This war is slowly destroying us. Our bodies may make it out, but our minds never will. But today is over. Home is one day closer. I m still alive...

The Seven War Haiku's

1. The light at dusk fades,
Another day of violence,
The soldiers tear falls.

2. A home was once here,
Now a crater in its stead.
The fog of this war?

3. In their cushioned chairs,
The suited men cast their votes.
Another lost soul.

4. The finger pulls back.
A life lost on the balance.
Justice or power?

5. In silence he hangs.
The world cheers his public death.
In despair God sighs.

6. The night is waiting.
Then the pilot whispers "drop".
In the east, evil light.

7. The poor he kept down.
Rivals crushed, his power kept.
When is what's wrong right?

John had never done anything like this before. He had been on the streets all his life, but never had he hurt someone else in order to fuel his Rastafarian lifestyle. As he watched the old man, gingerly step out of the understated black Mercedes, he swallowed the bile that had welled up from his stomach, and fingered the pen knife in his jacket pocket. John had been following this grumpy old man and planning this attack for the past three weeks, ever since his spiteful complaints had led to John's forced resignation at a local used book store. He no longer got to lounge around and read the classics, occasionally ringing up a customer all day, because the old man felt as though he had not been properly treated. Anger at the cruelty of the world raged in John. As the old man turned the key to his apartment door, John stepped out from the corner he had been hiding in and slowly made his way across the parking lot. In his head the battle raged. He knew the old man could solve all his problems, he was obviously wealthy, but at the same time, he wondered at once expense to his soul this ill-gotten wealth would come. His desperation fought with his conscious as John made his way up the stair case. The old man was bending down to pick up his groceries, and John could see how helpless he was. the bulge of his wallet, as well as the obvious luxury of the apartment within tempted John to the very depths of his soul. He could see himself drinking that bottle of wine in that leather recliner watching the 58 inch plasma TV, to some degree he could even justify the attack. As John made the last couple steps to the old man, he felt himself bending down. He picked up one of the bags and handed it to the old man, looking away in shyness as he did so. As he walked away he felt that something significant had just happened although he didn't understand exactly what it was.

Group work

How to Kill by Keith Douglas

Under the parabola of a ball,
a child turning into a man,
I looked into the air too long.
The ball fell in my hand, it sang
in the closed fist: Open Open
Behold a gift designed to kill.

Now in my dial of glass appears
the soldier who is going to die.
He smiles, and moves about in ways
his mother knows, habits of his.
The wires touch his face: I cry
Now. Death, like a familiar, hears

and look, has made a man of dust
of a man of flesh. This sorcery
I do. Being damned, I am amused
to see the centre of love diffused
and the waves of love travel into vacancy.
How easy it is to make a ghost.

The weightless mosquito touches
Her tiny shadow on the stone,
and with how like, how infinite
a lightness, man and shadow meet.
They fuse. A shadow is a man
when the mosquito death approaches.


The narrative of the poem is slow and seems like the person is breathing heavily, in a dangerous place, and in the moment. There is a feeling of calm which we do not usually associate with killing. However, there seems to be panic and confusion beneath the calm of the poem, which becomes apparent through the sentence structure of the poem. Many of the stanzas include single run-on sentences. The confusion by this speaker is meant to evoke a similar feeling in the reader. The place where this person finds himself is not natural, and he wants the audience to know this. The speaker wants the reader to understand that there is an uncomfortable ease with which we now engage in war and killing. In the beginning of the poem, the man talks about a ball being in his hands. This ball seems symbolize the fact that it is his turn to kill. The person in the poem does not seem to want the power to kill, which he realizes he has when he talks about glass balls and sorcery. This gives the impression that he is in control of a man's fate. The poem ends with a statement about the ease at which life becomes death. The speaker ends the poem with a sense of reflection, looking back at his action, and just how easy it was.

Iraq Picture

Another Iraq Picture

With all the turmoil surrounding whether the soldiers in Iraq are needed, wanted, or effective, this image shows just how important and critical they are to the stability and wellbeing of Iraq. The central focus of the image is the man leaning in the Coalition soldier. This soldier seem to be the only stable in the picture.
This photograph also tells the story of how the soldiers in Iraq feel about being in Iraq. The soldier is unmoved by the Iraqi civilian's emotions. In fact he seems to be on the verge of pushing him away.
The photographer includes a political statement about the facelessness of Iraq's in the American mind. One does not immediately notice that the Iraqi's face is hidden behind the soldiers helmet. Only after closer examination does one notice this common fact. The photograph gives the message our lack of knowledge or care for the Iraqi population.
Another element the photographer adds to the scene is the picturesque environment abruptly shattered by a giant tank on the shores of palm-lined river, making a statement against war as a whole, showing just how out of place war is in Iraq.

Analysis of a Refugee Family

This direct approach image of a refugee family tells the story of many southern families as they fled the oncoming, ransacking Union Army. By highlighting and exaggerating certain aspects of this particular family, the photographer explains many of the hardships faced by these families, as they packed all of their belongings and began a journey south, not knowing when, or whether, it would end. The photograph is taken from a very low angle, which exaggerates the size of the pile of belongings on the cart, also highlighted by the photographer, through camera focus, is the woman standing in the foreground. The woman's overcoat, long dress, and bonnet clearly tell of the present winter, which adds the agony of the family's travels. The photographer includes two children in the image, showing how no one was left untouched by the terrors of war. The two men looking sadly on tell, not only of the hardships of the journey, but also of the lives being left behind. They hold their head high, but the worry in their eyes reveals their true thoughts. All that they have spent their lives building is being abandoned, probably to be destroyed, as they go to start again somewhere else. Other details that contribute to the picture are the blurred family and friends, the well built home being left, and the scattered goods that show what could not be brought along. All in all, the photographer tells an immense amount about the entire Civil War refugee situation with this single image.

Picture

Story from A Picture

I have never been so scared in my life. I have never been so sure that each breath I took would be my last. I have never been so angry at the great injustices of the world as I was on that late Sunday afternoon.
Throughout my life, from a young child playing in the streets of Basra, to a devote teenager kicking around a soccer ball in the hot, dirt field outside the city, to a young student seeing America for the first time as I found my way to Columbia for the first day of classes, to a new engineer starting a family, I have always felt blessed. Everything I did required dedication and hard work, and none of it was easy, but I always had the opportunity to get where I wanted. I always knew that I was fortunate to be born into the religion of the president, and to parents of the party; and I always knew how bad things were for some in the Iraq of my early life. In some sense, I suppose it was overall a good thing for Saddam to be overthrown, on the other hand, my neighborhood had always managed to go unnoticed by the government. We quietly paid our dues and said the right things to get the resources we needed, but were otherwise left alone.
As for myself, I never remember looking down the barrel of a gun before the arrival of the U.S. I never remember losing friends to roadside bombs meant for foreign soldiers, or feeling unsafe at the market because any second the whole place could go up in flames, because one of the vendors was suspected of selling weapons. I never remember the tears on my wife and children's eyes when I make it safely home from work each day.
I understand that perhaps things will be better for us all in the future. Maybe one day no one will live in fear, everyone will practice their religion freely, and Iraq will be both free and safe. For now anyways, I wonder if things were not better before. One or two "disappearances" every once in a while was certainly a lot better than hundreds of causeless deaths each and everyday.

Vietnam Pictures

Getting help, Getting answers.

Photographical Analysis

This direct approach image of a refugee family tells the story of many southern families as they fled the oncoming, ransacking Union Army. By highlighting and exaggerating certain aspects of this particular family, the photographer explains many of the hardships faced by these families, as they packed all of their belongings and began a journey south, not knowing when, or whether, it would end. The photograph is taken from a very low angle, which exaggerates the size of the pile of belongings on the cart, also highlighted by the photographer, through camera focus, is the woman standing in the foreground. The womans overcoat, long dress, and bonnet clearly tell of the present winter, which adds the agony of the families travel. The photographer includes two children in the image, showing how no one was left alone by the terrors of war. The two men looking sadly on tell, not only of the hardships of the journey, but also of the lives being left behind. All that they have spent their lives building is being abandoned, probably to be destroyed, as they go to start again somewhere else. Other details that contribute to the picture are the blurred family and friends, the well built home being left, and the scattered goods that show what could not be brought along. All in all, the photographer tells an immense amount about the entire Civil War refugee situation with this single image.

Civil War Refugees

Here is the article: http://oha.alexandriava.gov/fortward/special-sections/refugees/
Here is the picture:

Statue Falling

Saddam Statue Toppled

In this photograph from the streets of Baghdad, a monument to Saddam Hussein is being brought down by U.S. troops before a crowd of Iraqi spectators. In central focus is the curious, shocked expression of the U.S. soldier and the falling statue, being pulled down by a chain noose. In the background is the crowd of onlookers, blurred out, and without focus. It is impossible to tell what they are thinking or feeling from the photograph. The photo uses the contrast between dark and light well, with the soldier and the statue being very dark, and giving the appearance of everything else being whitewashed. The low angle exaggerates the size of the statue and soldier. The statue being pulled down by a metal noose is very metaphorically significant as well. It represents the collapse of the Iraqi dictatorship by the U.S. leadership, perhaps this related to the whitewashing out the Iraqi people's opinion by the United States in it's quest for control over Iraq.

Picture Analysis

This image from World War II Russia is a very moving and dramatic example of fantastic photography. Here the photographer uses nearly every tool at his disposal to create a masterpiece that tells an amazing, yet incredibly sad story. The photographer positions himself at an extremely low angle, nearly at eye level with the dead soldier in the foreground, and focuses the camera on the body. Here all the gruesome details of a terrible death become apparent. The blood caked on his face and draining out of his head, as well as the unnatural position of his limbs, tells of the agony of the soldiers demise. The existence of other men being in the picture, yet blurred exaggerates the effect of death, essentially the presence of death in the picture blurs out the presence of life.
Another interesting thing to note is the darkness of the dead man, compared to the grayness of the rest of the picture, because of this, he is the only thing that actually stands out, both as the focus of the camera, and the darkest object in the photograph. In this picture, the photographer has used every tool at his disposal to tell a gruesome story of death and hopelessness, and the horror of war.

Dmitri Baltermants

Letter To America

My Fellow Citizens,
I do not know if you have noticed, but lately the papers and airwaves seems to be filled with news of our countrymen dying in a far away land called Iraq. I do not know if you have noticed, but the count of these deaths seems to be slowly, continuously, and constantly, rising, no matter what the politicians in Washington say about the situation improving. Lastly, I do not know if you noticed, but we are doing nothing about it. Other than the few extremists, the parents and families of the deceased, and politicians looking for another term, no one seems to be overly upset about this. Sure we oppose the war, and many of us would not vote for someone who supported it, but we ourselves are doing little or nothing to change it. We are indifferent. Our fellow citizens die terrrible deaths as we continue on with our unchanged lives. As Ellie Weisel says in his famous speech, we have "made their lives meaningless." We have "looked away from the victims" of shortsighted politicians
.
History has shown us that it is only the anger of the populace that can cause change. The anger of the founding fathers at their oppression, the anger of the freedom loving North at the slavery of their countrymen, and the anger of the young draftees at being forced to fight for a cause they didn't care about. Anger at injustice has always been a key to fundamental change in this nation, indeed it is the only key.

Where is our anger at the deaths of our sons, daughters, brothers, sisters, friends, and family? Where is our anger at the deaths of our fellow countrymen?

We have seen what happens when we look on. The war is still going on. Young men and women continue to get shipped away to die in ambushes and traps. Those who come back leave limbs and minds behind. The politicians still say it is getting better. We continue to get nowhere.

The war will continue to go on until we, as a nation united by anger, decide to take a stand against it. The time has come for us to put our foot down. This is not a war for freedom, this is hardly a war against terror anymore.It is time to end it.

Iraq Article

So, Here is the link to my article: http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/7337873.stm

Basically, this article discusses the death of a member of the British special forces two weeks ago in Iraq. The article discusses the situation, in which two bomb makers had began making bombs across the street from the police chief and the Iraqi police turned a blind eye. This in turn raised questions about the integrity of the Iraqi police, and also forced involvement of U.S. and British forces. The article then goes on to detail how the soldiers were forced to kill several women and children along those fighting them, after the death of one of their comrades in an ambush. The article finally analyzes the fighting practices of these men from a variety of sources, and also claims that in ridding Iraq of these two militant men, they may have created a much bigger problem.

This article is a departure for the BBC from normally unbiased reporting. There are many times in which the authors opinion clearly shines through the bare facts. The author begins by quoting many "lies" by the ministry of defense, and explains how, pending further investigation by a third party, the real facts emerged. After this seemingly innocent blow to to the government, the author then continues to give the majority of the quotes to angry onlookers and a far smaller portion to British authorities. Furthermore, by describiing the extent of the devestation caused by British forces, these forces seem to be far worse than that which they are combating. The author does end the article with a praise quote to the actions of the soldiers which does help to balance the bias shown throughout the rest of the article.

I don't remember...

I don't remember the ending of the para sailing crash, getting the broken ankle. I don't remember placing sixth at regionals, when I was the number one seed, because of strepp, and because of this I don't remember state my senior year. I don't remember breaking up with her, I don't want to. I don't remember moving away for four years, or much of the four years I was there. I don't remember saying yes, or the consequences. I didn't remember leaving the light on. I don't remember what happened when I found out why it was. I don't remember hearing the news and I don't remember the struggles. I don't remember the date. I don't remember the time. I don't remember what will come of it. I don't sitting on the bench the first year of baseball, and I don't remember losing my varsity spot for a race.

I remember...

I remember... Rafting down the colorado river and seeing the waterfalls rush down the walls of the canyon after an august thunderstorm. I remember the first race I ever ran, and the thrill of competition. I remember the toy lego ship that my neighbor stole when I was five. I remember the first time I drove a car, and the first time I drove alone. I remember the freedom of being able to go anywhere. I remember the winter hunting trips, and the biting cold as I waited with m father for the elk to appear, or the sun to rise. I remember the camping trip, in Havasu Falls in the grand canyon, and the turquoise waters falling from above, pulling you in as you swam towards them. I remember the first shower after two weeks of backpacking in New Mexico, and the first good meal that night. I remember seeing the waves high above our little boat, when a storm came during a deep sea fishing trip. I remember the rope connecting my brother and I to the skiboat below snapping in Key West, and the view from way too high above. I remember the summer nights when we would go rock climbing at night, seeing how high we could go up the mountain before we had to be home, then rushing home to beat the curfew. I remember washing dishes for hours to earn gas money, or money for a new bike. Then I remember the next job, cleaning boats and repairing things for a river outfitter. I remember the thrill and fear of the first time on a motorcycle. I remember the adrenaline of riding out of control down the hill. I remember my life.

Homophonic Translation

Then these keyless crackhats or hugs deal my trail
Stiffle it out. Lay Jar Pear, infinitely Duck elbow.
K, you is scarlet. Overt. Prayed you unique, Let's Rally!!
Crown in endless battle. Eons in mass dance. Lie fuel

This this coon fool. I upon want a bell boy.
Yet fate, decent, ere the home sunters the mount.
Pavers pay. Rest more. Tis Dan I ate. Dan I hear. Danced Ajoy.
Not true, oh toy key, fix this home's stained carpet.

Illest undo. K You irrate. Oxen nap. It's da masses
that oughta, all incense, all grand callous. D, or,
keyed and sell. Bare Cement, this hose and her sender.

It's revival, K? and is more, it reminisces
Dan is in agony, yet play and so us leer.
Vice us, bomb? Net? Nor.
Lou, Don it. Un-Grow. So lies Dan's new choir.