« When the kissing had to stop | Home | I'm English, by George - and proud to say so »
The pleasure of war
It was clear that everyone else had had a similar surge of bloodlust
It was my son's birthday a few days ago and he had asked for a paintballing party. Paintballing, for those who don't know about it, is playing soldiers, with fairly real guns but with fake ammunition, in the form of little capsules of paint; these capsules explode on contact into a little splatter of colour. Anyone who gets hit is dead, and therefore out. That was all we knew about it when we arrived, that and the fact that little boys are absolutely crazy about it.
It seems that big boys are pretty crazy about it too. When we got to the centre of operations, in the middle of some beautiful birch woods in the Home Counties, the clearing was full not of excited children, as we had expected, but of excited young men, apparently in their mid-20s or even older: the big boys outnumbered the little boys. I could understand the enthusiasm of the little boys; they do not read the newspapers. But it seemed extraordinary to me that on a peaceful sunny afternoon, several days into the bombing of Yugoslavia, any adults could actually want to play at being soldiers, just for the fun of it.
They seemed to be taking it quite seriously some of them, already discussing tactics. Perhaps it was simply a failure of imagination on their part. Perhaps it was priggery on mine, but I found it disturbing.
The occasion was extremely well organised. We were issued with real army camouflage suits, complete with padded hoods and Darth Vader-like helmets with visors. Soon, entirely covered up and disguised, we looked exactly like real soldiers - fierce , shapeless and faceless. I could not recognise my own son. We were issued with guns and ammo. Excitement mounted. We were divided into large teams and lectured by formidable sergeant-major types on what not to do. In particular we were never, ever to remove our visors; with the velocity of our guns, a paintball in the eye would certainly kill. A hit on any part of the body will bruise.
Nor, said our sergeant-major fiercely, were we on any account whatsoever to use children as cannon fodder. We all laughed, and so did he, but he repeated the instruction. "No putting the kiddies in front of you as a screen while you go forward, right?" Again I thought he must be joking. Actually, he wasn't.
The strange thing was how real it all seemed. Once we were let loose in the woods on our mission - to take the enemy's flag while they tried to take ours - I began to feel confused and actually slightly frightened. The enemy were well hidden. Several appeared to be good shots; the trees around me were soon dripping in green and yellow paint. It was hard to see and hard to crawl through the dead leaves. I hardly knew which way to go; the sun gleamed through the birch trees, the woods were quite silent except for the intermittent sound of guns. We had no strategy. My allies had disappeared, unrecognisable in any case. I had no idea what to do, or how the land lay; this must be like war, I thought.
Then suddenly I saw someone aiming at me, and fired at him. By some miracle I hit him; he raised his hand in acknowledgement and left the field of battle. He was "dead". And suddenly I was absolutely elated. Having not wanted to take part at all, I suddenly got the point. Miraculously, I shot another of the dark baggy figures, and hurried forward. It was thrilling.
Powerful emotions are in play in this game. When we all got back together outside the combat zone, it was clear that everyone else had had a similar surge of bloodlust; all the little boys' faces were shining with happiness and with fierce aggression. The big boys were being overtaken, some of them, by feelings even more powerful. By our third mission a few seemed to be overwhelmed by them.
I was inside a wooden stockade with a lot of smallish people, apparently children. Having no strategy, we were an easy target for our efficient enemy, who stormed our base without much trouble. As they poured in, some of the big people went on shooting the bewildered smaller people at fairly close range, even after the losers made the sign of surrender. In other words, in all the excitement of approaching victory, some of these grown-up men could not bring themselves to stop shooting pointblank at children, even though it was against the rules and quite unnecessary anyway. That, presumably, is what the sergeant-major meant.
It wasn't actually dangerous; the impact of a paintball stings a little, especially at close range but does no harm. At 12 or more, the children were far too old to be upset. Ours all went home very happy. What I found unsettling is that playing soldiers so quickly turns into something other than a game. Unreality and reality fade into each other. The half-hidden figures cease to be real people; they are simply targets. They fall anonymously, inhumanly. The rules of the game give way to the thrill of the chase and the pleasure of the power of the trigger.
Clearly it makes men - and little boys - feel like men. At some level they love it. And the events in the Balkans are provoking the same sort of reaction. That is Adam's sin: not curiosity, but bloodlust.
The Sunday Telegraph | Sunday, April 04, 1999
