Hazing hell in Afghanistan

Initiation rituals in the army may have led to the deaths of two Chinese Americans this year. Is cru

In October, a 19-year-old army private called Danny Chen climbed into a guard tower in Afghanistan and shot himself in the head. According to the Chinese-American soldier's relatives, his comrades had subjected him to a painful process of "hazing" and racial abuse, including pelting him with stones and ordering him to do pull-ups with a mouthful of water, which he was prohibited from spitting out or swallowing. In a surprise announcement on 21 December, the army announced that eight of his comrades would be charged for offences ranging from assault to involuntary manslaughter.

This was the second such case in six months. In August, three marines were charged with mistreating another Chinese-American soldier, Harry Lew, who killed himself while stationed in Afghanistan. Lew, who had allegedly been stomped, kicked and tormented, was found dead in a foxhole that he had dug for himself. He had written on his arm, "May hate me now but in the long run, this was the right choice. I'm sorry. My mom deserves the truth."

Racism and bullying in the military are nothing new but for those outside the US, the concept of hazing rituals is hardly explicable. In the 2004 book The Hazing Reader, edited by Hank Nuwer, Stephen Sweet lists incidents of college students harmed or even dying while pledging to join fraternities: some were buried alive, others were shocked with electrical charges or pressured to drink far in excess of their capacity. The willingness of young men and women to submit themselves to degrading and sometimes dangerous acts, designed specifically to humiliate them, is as bizarre as the willingness of others to inflict such cruelty on their peers, colleagues or comrades. Is this a uniquely American predicament, and if so, why?

Hazing is all too easily explained (and even justified) as a means of cementing bonds within a group - but surely underlying any sense of belonging that it may induce is the assumption that, for those bonds to matter, a species of isolation from others not initiated through the ritual is necessary. To enter into a group through hazing is, in effect, to step out of the rest of the world and its rules. Or, at least, it is to position yourself as a member of a chosen people, separate from the rest. In many ways, it is a natural, microcosmic extension of that particularly American notion of exceptionalism: ever since the Puritan lawyer John Winthrop delivered his 1630 sermon exalting America as a "city on the hill" upon which the "eyes of all people" gazed, the nation has believed in its own otherness, even as its culture and political power grew more and more dominant across the world. The frontier is where it all began and the mythology of the United States remains rooted there.

The "true" American must play the role of the outsider: the Davy Crockett, the Billy Bonney. Look to the Tea Party or the Westboro Baptists - each group is besotted with its own outlaw fantasy. Yet to be a genuine outsider is unthinkable. Dan Choi, an Iraq war veteran who was forced out of the army under "don't ask, don't tell", recently told Public Radio International that being an Asian American in the military was a lonely experience. Racism was rife but he endured abuse in order to "fit in": "I wanted to joke and make other people feel comfortable . . . In the army, you're taught if you stick out, there will be consequences. If you look different, you're starting off with that additional burden."

Seen in this light, Chen's hazing and its outcome are more complex than yet another "isolated incident" of needless cruelty, as Martin Dempsey, chairman of the joint chiefs of staff, insists. Humiliation has long been used to establish or normalise social relations; indeed, the social scientist Evelin Lindner pointed out in 2006, "In the English-speaking world, humiliation was not seen as hurtful until about 250 years ago." "For millenia," she wrote, "people believed that it was normal and morally correct to have masters and underlings." In hierarchical environments such as the military, this power relationship is bound to be more pronounced than elsewhere. Ten years before Lindner, the social psychologist Alexander Durig described the "mind of the individual" as principally motivated by "fear [or] need of humiliation . . . We often learn to respect those who humiliate us. Conversely, we often learn to humiliate those who respect us."

Chen, like Choi, seems to have initially taken the abuse hurled at him on the chin. This was the army, after all. In a letter to his family, quoted in the New York Times, he wrote: "Everyone here jokingly makes fun of me for being Asian." In another: "People crack jokes about Chinese people all the time; I'm running out of jokes to come back at them." After his suicide, a Pentagon spokesman said that soldiers "treat each other with respect and dignity" but this platitude rings hollow. What to the insider are "jokes", to the outsider - the ethnic minority, the gay man, the lesbian - can be slow psychological torture. The US army claims that hazing is prohibited and insists that there is no racism in its ranks but the activist Kwong Eng seems correct to argue that "the culture allows it to happen".

Researchers have shown that those who perceive themselves to be targets of bullying experience high levels of stress and are less likely to trust the established avenues of redress. With little prospect of official intervention, Chen no doubt felt compelled to play along. Maybe his fellow soldiers saw the brutality they allegedly inflicted upon him as a form of initiation ritual. Maybe not. Yet the fearful desperation of a culture that requires such horrific customs has, once again, been dragged out into the light. Eight men are being charged but the issue cannot be resolved through the punishment of scapegoats alone.

The incident has been presented as a crisis of poor discipline. It is also, on some level, a crisis of national values and identity. While US popular culture glamourises the outsider, many are terrified enough by the prospect of being at the bottom of the social pecking order to assert their insider status by humiliating - literally, "bringing to the ground" - weaker peers. Bullying and racism are not unique to American culture but in few other nations is the question of belonging so central an anxiety.

Yo Zushi is a sub-editor of the New Statesman. His work as a musician is released by Eidola Records.

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The problem with grammar schools – and the answer to Labour's troubles

This week's news, from Erdogan the despot, to memories of Disraeli, and coffee and class.

Whom should we be cheering in Turkey? Coups are by their nature ­anti-democratic, whatever the rhetoric of their instigators, but Recep Tayyip Erdogan, the Islamist president, is about as much of a democrat as Vladimir Putin. Once he regained power, he dismissed several thousand judges, putting some under arrest. A large number of journalists were already in prison.

As recently as 1990, nearly half of Turkey’s employed population worked on the land and, even now, the proportion is more than a quarter. Erdogan has ruthlessly exploited the pious, socially conservative instincts of his people, who are rarely more than a generation away from the peasantry (and therefore politically “backward” in the Marxian sense), to win elections and push through economic liberalisation and privatisation. His foreign affairs ministry claims that the aim is to confine the state’s role to health, basic education, social security and defence. That is good enough for most Western governments. Provided he also co-operates in limiting the flow of Middle Eastern migrants into Europe, Erdogan can be as Islamist and authoritarian as he likes.

 

Quick fix for Labour

I have an answer to Labour’s problems. Its MPs should elect their own leader while Jeremy Corbyn continues as party leader. The former, recognised by the Speaker as the leader of the parliamentary opposition, would get the usual state aid for opposition parties. Corbyn would control Labour Party funds and assets.

He and his hardcore supporters should welcome this arrangement. Their aim, they say, is to build a new social movement. Relinquishing the burden of parliamentary leadership would leave them free to get on with this project, whatever it means. Corbyn could go back to what he enjoys most: voting against the Labour front bench. He would no longer have to dress up, bow to the Queen or sing the national anthem. This, I grant you, would not be a satisfactory solution for the long term. But the long term is more or less extinct in British politics. If Labour had peace for a few months, it might be enough. The situation would be resolved either by Corbyn falling under a bus (preferably not one driven by a Labour MP) or the Tory government collapsing in the face of a mass people’s uprising demanding Corbyn’s installation as supreme ruler. Don’t tell me that neither is likely to happen.

 

Divide and rule

The choice of Birmingham as the location to launch Theresa May’s leadership campaign, combined with proposals such as worker representation on company boards, has drawn comparisons between the new Prime Minister and Joseph Chamberlain.

Chamberlain, who as mayor of Birmingham in the mid-1870s tore down slums, brought gas and water supplies under public control and opened libraries, swimming pools and schools, was a screw manufacturer. There was an Edwardian joke – or, if there wasn’t, there ought to have been – that he screwed both major parties. He became a Liberal cabinet minister who split the party over Irish home rule, putting it out of power for most of the next 20 years. He and his followers then allied themselves with the Tories, known at the time as the Unionists. He duly split the Unionists over tariff reform, excluding them from office for a decade after the Liberals won the 1906 election.

Chamberlain was a populist who brilliantly combined patriotic imperialism with domestic radicalism, proposing smallholdings of “three acres and a cow” for every worker. One can see the appeal to some Brexiteers but he was also divisive and volatile, making him an odd role model for a supposedly unifying leader.

 

Mind your grammar

Justine Greening, the new Education Secretary, is the first to be wholly educated at a mainstream state secondary comprehensive. Pro-comprehensive groups were almost lyrical in praise of her appointment. Yet, unlike her predecessor-but-one, Michael Gove, she declines to rule out the ­return of grammar schools.

To understand how iniquitous grammar schools were, you need to have attended one, as I did. Primary-school friendships were ruptured, usually along lines of social class. The grammars were rigidly stratified. I was in the A stream and do not recall any classmates from semi-skilled or unskilled working-class homes. They were in the C stream and left school as early as possible with a few O-levels. No minister who wants a “one-nation Britain” should contemplate bringing back grammar schools.

 

Living history

Simon Heffer’s recent account in the NS of how his father fought in the Battle of the Somme led one letter writer to ask if anyone alive today could have a grandparent born in the 18th century. Another NS reader replied with an example: John Tyler, a US president of the 1840s, born in Virginia in 1790, had two grandsons who are still alive. Here is another possibility. “As Disraeli said to my husband . . .” If you hear a 94-year-old say that, don’t dismiss her as demented. Disraeli died in 1881. A 71-year-old who married a 24-year-old in 1946 (not impossible; the actors Cary Grant and Anthony Quinn both married women 47 years younger) could have spoken to Disraeli as a boy.

The past is not as far away as we think, though many politicians and journalists behave as though anything before 1980 happened on another planet.

 

Milk money

The class system is alive and well in parts of England. On a family weekend walk, we came across a small village with two adjacent pubs – one clearly for the toffs, the other more plebeian. This was most evident when ordering coffee. The downmarket pub told us that it served only UHT milk with its hot drinks. The other was ostentatiously horrified at the suggestion that it might serve any such thing. 

Peter Wilby was editor of the Independent on Sunday from 1995 to 1996 and of the New Statesman from 1998 to 2005. He writes the weekly First Thoughts column for the NS.

This article first appeared in the 21 July 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The English Revolt