Thoughts on: “Tribe” by Sebastian Junger

Thank you for reviewing top number One book for me in 2018. Btw I finally got my Instagram account, let’s see what else can we share. Great to see odd people are increasing on my network.

Cheers
xx

Poor Bjorn's Notes to Self

“Tribe” started as an article for Vanity Fair and was later expanded on and turned into this book. It revolves around how at odds the structure of modern society is with our tribal instincts and how people directly, or indirectly, affected by war have problems readjusting to normal life.

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What really stuck with me with this book was how people in war torn nation look back on war with nostalgia. Many even preferring war times to what they are now experiencing.

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📝 Genetic adaptation takes about 25000 years to accumulate in humans.

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📝 Modern society perfected the art of making people feel unnecessary. “How do you become an adult in a society that doesnt ask for sacrifice?”

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📝 People need 3 basic things in order to be content:

– Feel competent in what they do.

– Feel authentic in their lives.

– Feel connected to others.

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Willie Gillis, an ordinary guy, on The Satuday Evening Post.

Because I found these two articles so pertinent, and relevant, I would like to thank this cowboy, who is not posting since 2012, so I assume he might be somewhere else. If he is still alive, he can contact me, and ask me to delete his posts, or leave them, with his courtesy.

During the WWII years Norman Rockwell created a character named Willie
Gillis — an ordinary guy from a small town who joined the army.
Rockwell chronicled his experiences in the war in a series of Saturday Evening Post
covers.  After the war, he showed us Gillis returned to civilian
life — above you see him in college, on the G. I. Bill, having
survived and put on a little weight.

It’s a poignant image, for all it doesn’t say.  Gillis is
preparing himself for a “normal” life in post-war America, with his
pipe and his golf clubs — but the war souvenirs hanging over his head
suggest that he will always be haunted by memories out of place in a
“normal” world.

One of the virtues of Ken Burns’ newest documentary The War
is that it addresses the sort of post-traumatic stress disorder that
returning vets, and the whole civilized world on some level, suffered
in the wake of WWII.  For the vets it was peculiarly disorienting,
with feelings of triumph, guilt and shame all mixed up together.
It was not something that could be talked about in the world Willie Gillis was
trying to become a part of.

All of this I think reinforces my notion that it was in art, in film noir
particularly, that such disorientation could be engaged in a safe way,
a socially acceptable way.  You can read more thoughts on
the subject here.

Posted on  by 

A Norman Rockwell for today

POST-TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER AND FILM NOIR

World War Two was a “good war”.  America and its allies pulled together
and destroyed the Axis powers.  On balance, and in retrospect, it
has to be considered one of the great achievements of
humane civilization.  But human beings don’t live on balance or in
retrospect, particularly where war is concerned.  They live inside
the horror of it and it takes a toll on individuals and on societies
which can never be fully measured.

The upbeat spirit of American propaganda during the war, and the
genuine satisfactions of victory, veiled the true experience of the war
for millions — not just for those who fought it on the battlefields of the
world, but for those at home who lived in terror that their loved ones at
the front might never return . . . and of course, most especially, for those at home whose loved ones didn’t return.  On a broader level, anyone who simply witnessed
the spectacle of total war on a global scale, from whatever distance, had
to have experienced a soul-shaking anxiety about the fragility of all
social structures and cultural norms.

After WWII, the whole planet experienced post-traumatic stress disorder
— localized in this case by the fact of the atomic bomb, which ended
the war but left the world with a paradox that wouldn’t go away.
It took an act of colossal horror to finally “win” this good
war.  And the prospect of this horror being again visited on the
world was far from unimaginable.

We now know a lot more than we used to about post-traumatic stress
disorder and the ways it can be treated.  In the immediate post-war era, the
phenomenon was more elusive, and often unrecognized.  We made
meaningful social restitution to the veterans of the war, with measures like
the G. I. Bill — we reconstructed the devastated nations we
conquered.  But that just scratched the surface.

It was in art that the true psychic cost of the war was exposed and explored — nowhere more pointedly than in film noir.  The sort of trauma that engenders PTSD is identifiable by several characteristics — a sense of being out of control and confused, a sense of terror, a sense of being outside the normal realm of human
experience.  Is there a better description of the usual
predicament of the protagonist in a classic film noir?

PTSD on a broad cultural and societal level is what best explains the phenomenon of film noir, which on its surface is so mysterious.  Why should a triumphant
nation, after a great collective victory in a good war, have been
gripped by that mood of existential dread which informs so many Hollywood films of the post-war era?  Why should the most spectacular achievement of American arms have led to a crisis of manhood, a sense of impotence, a fear of powerful women
incarnated in the morbid fantasy of the femme fatale?

femme_fatale_by_kaceym

Film noir was a dream landscape where the buried costs of WWII could be recognized, reckoned and mourned, as a prelude to psychic recovery, or at least psychic survival.
Veterans of combat often report the difficulty of dealing with people
who have not shared their experience of it — people who can never
really know what it’s like.  Film noir, far more than the WWII combat film, was one of the few arenas of American life where the true legacies of war, its lingering moral and
psychological dislocations, could be engaged without apology or shame.

Posted on  by 

Soldier Boys, keep the beat inside.

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Who can mend my broken drum
Will it be as good as new
I must play when morning comes
If I don’t, what shall I do?
He keeps the beat of marching feet
He keeps the beat inside
Spencer Morgan And Dieter Hedrick Are On Opposite Sides Of The War And Fighting For The Same Thing.
At the age of fifteen, Dieter’s blind devotion gets him promoted from Hitler Youth into the German army. Dieter’s determined to prove his allegiance and bravery all costs.
Spence, just sixteen, drops out of his Utah high school to begin training as a paratrooper. He’s seen how boys who weren’t much in high school can come home heroes, and Spence wants to prove to his friends and family that he really can be something. 
Their worst fear was that the war would end too soon — that they wouldn’t get the chance to prove themselves. But when they finally see the action they were hoping for, it’s like nothing they could have ever imagined.

Hello, bonjour Vietnam.

Hello, bonjour all Human Kindness 🙂

I have almost finished my book reading of “Tribe”. A few pages left. Thank you Sebastian Junger, and thank your Dad’s, for those inspiring conversations.

Me, too, I made a “new world” talking at the table with my daddy, when he left me express my thoughts, once in a while. He passed me all time heros like artists eg. Leonardo Da Vinci and Michelangelo, to endavours eg. Magellano, De Gama, Cristoforo Colombo. He made me love sport Champions eg. Jim Thorpe, and co-regional Marco Pantani, or wanting to visit Indian American Reservations and Tierra del Fuego with Southern Emisphere sky. We’ve been watching all time western and war movies, sharing Clint Eastwood’s icy look, and wanting to visit Normandy at all costs which I did.

Savonarola, Giordano Bruno and Erasmo da Rotterdam have been our best companion during our meals. Can’t miss Galileo, and Universe laws ( first famous story about the apple or second, actually lol ).

This song reminds me of that vietnam colleague, Nia ( wrong spelling ), who once told me how she ran for one month through Vietnam woods, in the night. Her mom left her at average 9-11, with a rice bowl, before saying goodbye. Oh, they met again, I guess years later. She lives and works today in Parisian region at housekeeping. She is quite a discrete woman, her accent is strong and I hardly understood what she was telling me. But I capted the most.

What shakes me most in my talking with asiats, is that there is no hate, no revenge against americans. This impressed me much. The asiats I know are pretty peaceful people and smiling persons. I wish you, all VA americans, to find that inner peace and forgiveness you deserve. We can change our story.

Like Galileo, we need to look at the Past from another perspective. Could you imagine that Earth was a ball? A blue dot? Could you say that there are more Gods? Which one is the Good one? Who holds the Truth? Governements lies are bullshits, so what? Can you make a choice for your Self? Today, I mean. Who fuc***, ok, who fucking bothers still of what happened 50 years ago? Isn’t time to move forward?

Are you still stuck in a viet wood? You know what? Nia did it. She was an innocent and she is alive, and sewing skirts for californian rangers. So, why couldn’t You? aren’t the guilty, the dirty, the ones who deserve more Self Love and Compassion?

Isn’t this the right time to release Anger out from your lungs? Spit on your grave, if you like, if you think it helps you. Or wouldn’t be nicer if you put a red rose on your cross?

I would. I like red color. Like blood, true love and roots chakra.

YOU were born to be American and Patriot, not me. My life, until now, got less meaning than yours, my sense of call and service is still strong, but look at YOU.

Be proud. Be fair to your Self. I wish you can recover and BECOME the best version of Your Self.

Knoe that, if you can’t forgive Your Self, nobody will, in your place.

Luv xx

 

Tell me all about this name, that is difficult to say.
It was given me the day I was born.

Want to know about the stories of the empire of old.
My eyes say more of me than what you dare to say.

All I know of you is all the sights of war.
A film by Coppola, the helicopter’s roar.

One day I’ll touch your soil.
One day I’ll finally know your soul.
One day I’ll come to you.
To say hello… Vietnam.

Tell me all about my colour, my hair and my little feet
That have carried me every mile of the way.

Want to see your house, your streets. Show me all I do not know.
Wooden sampans, floatings markets, light of gold.

All I know of you is the sights of war.
A film by Coppola, the helicopter’s roar.

One day I’ll touch your soil.
One day I’ll finally know your soul.
One day I’ll come to you.
To say hello… Vietnam.

And Buddha’s made of stone watch over me.
My dreams they lead me through the fields of rice.
In prayer, in the light…I see my kin.
I touch my tree, my roots, my begin…

One day I’ll touch your soil.
One day I’ll finally know your soul.
One day I’ll come to you.
To say hello… Vietnam.

One day I’ll walk your soil
One day I’ll finally know my soul
One day I’ll come to you.
To say hello…Vietnam
To say hello…Vietnam
To say xin chao…Vietnam.

Breakfast at Tiffany’s.

Good Morning you all,

in my last days off work, I ‘ve decided to wake up, cosy and lazy, totally no hurry, and take a breakfast in bed.  Weather is still cold and snowy out there. Not only in France, but also in Italy, Wales and Canada. Wherever I have peers and friends, it’s white …

Don’t you find snow zen like?  It compells people to go slower, be careful on the way you march in, the shoes you choose, the way you drive. Being aware of what usually you are not taking the time to. Like breathing. Can you just take a moment to deeply breath the fresh air and just stare all around? And feel grateful to own a cosy apart where to cocoon in weekend days? or in the evening before sleeping?

When you feel alone, think of whom are outside, struggling with tough conditions and go and take a warm shower. It is divine.

I’ll suggest a good dessert or smooth, spicy hot wine, if it stays reasonable, and you are ok with your body, and watch one of these long lasting cult movies, that you will certainly hire with a license in a rental shop, …  or listen to this fab cello duo from Croatia, which I find absolutely CRAZY and AMAZING. You won’t think to classical music the same than before.

Enjoy your day.

Grandpa was an Italian navy led.

coping-with-depression

Yes, according to Sebastian Junger, from his book « Tribe », people who develop chronic PTSD are more likely to have lived experiences before going to war or living their trauma. « Statistically, the 20 per cent of people who fail to overcome trauma tend to be those who are already burdened by psychological issues, either because they inherited them or because they suffered abuse as children. » As long as I’m concerned, depression was a family “present”. Depression, in my own words, is the way your soul is telling you how much you NEED to be loved. My grandfather used to spend days in bed, because of financial burdens. He was born in 1910, can you imagine ? Previous treatment for depression was electroshock. By the way, he died at age of 95. His last years he followed a therapy with psychodrug injections. His dreams turned into nightmares. He once told me that he woke up dreaming that he was LITERALLY on fire. The rest of the time, he was okay, especially, when he could hear classical music on his ears. No, not mp3, but simply allucinations.

At age 20, he was a navy led, he proudly attended the Amerigo Vespucci training school, and enjoyed telling me his stories from sailing with Admiral Alberto Da Zara ( one of most renowned charachter, in Italian Royal Navy, who asked him to take care of his own dog, Pippo, on leave time ). His fave tale at Xmas eve. It’s not natural, that grandpas die before we get old. I would like he could speak to me now, and teach me, how to sort all of this mess out.

Amerigo_Vespucci_1

« Learn english ». This was his statement. « It will open you doors ». He told me this after telling me the story of that unforgettable trip on the Channel, when he had the worst time of his life, because of very bad weather, and eventually, thought he wouldn’t come back home again. He made good friends on that trip, and definitely, enjoyed talking to brits. My grandpa was a storyteller, and, of course, as little girl I was taught to listen to elderly, but I did enjoy it, I promise. So was and still is my dad. This means not only we have the same way to face difficulties (depression is a reaction), but also, we pass on the same way to cope with them. So, pay attention on the illnesses and diseases your family is suffering since generations. They tell you who you are. If this is your case, the 20 per cent is telling you that you are a highly sensitive person and you have to take care of your Self. And your family, it goes without saying.

Sensitive : easily upset by the things people say or do, or causing people to be upset, embarrassed, or angry.

Are your an HSP? Try this :http://hsperson.com/test/highly-sensitive-test/

Canary and miners.

Bonjour !

Here I am. The first time I’ve heard about PTSD I would never consider – me – being involved, once in a lifetime. Never say never. Usually, PTSD are referred to vets from battlefields. This is not the case. Although, living in parisian region since last years, it’s sometimes recalling Tel Aviv or Libanon tv images. Anyway, I won’t tell you that this is apocalypse, cos to be honest, I am not so fond of biblic books. But I watch tv news once a while. And still live in real world:) Catastrophic events are more and more likely to happen to common people, like your neighbour, or ME, and YOU. And because we are unique, as individuals, we can have unique reactions to the same event, eg. earthquakes, hurricanes, terrorism attacks, fake alerts, war battlefields, but also everyday stress and anger management issues. Times they are a changing. Society evolves fast and speed, as well as enterprises are transforming their structure calling this process of internal reorganisation, « rational ». Their politic is mathematical and algebrical, so no more room for emotional issues, or troublemakers, ….

Do you knoe the story about canary used for testing carbon monoxide gas in last century ? According to a few sources, canaries are good early detectors of airborne poisons, they simply need more hoxygen, to fly high, than mices. The idea of using this sentinel species is accredited to physiologist John Scott Haldane, the inventor of hoxygen mask against World War I gases employed by Germans. He investigated mine disasters, especially, the toxic gases which killed most miners after firedamp and coal dust explosions. Finally, in 1986, electronic gas detectors replaced those lovely vocalist birds. This use of canary for testing environemental health reminds me of my burn out, at work, in september 2015. Constant stress exposure during a long period of time, or chronic stress, and Paris attacks (january and november 2015) caused me PTSD ( panic attacks, physic, mental and nervous exhaustion, break down, tremors nerves, anxiety, sleepless nights, memory-lost, rage attacks, hypervigilance, paranoia, and various addictions).

Sul-mercato-ci-sono-troppi-canarini-nella-miniera.-E-dicono-che-la-realtà-non-è-ciò-che-sembra

To be honest with you, I admit I have been quite workhaolic since 10 years now, since I left my homecountry, and moved to France, parisian suburbs, in december 2007. That means, that all my family network lives in Italy, and although I am quite social, and friendly, it’s been quite hard to build new relationships, and friendships. Especially, considering the crazy turn over of young people in the company I am working for, still an uncertain time (please, accept my discretion on this subject). That means that every two years, I saw my new friends leaving for Uk, Us, Italy and Spain. Some spared money and they are world traveling, right now. Some met a life companion, dating on line, and eventually got married. And moved to Abu Dabi, Emirates, to get a cute tan and a new lifestyle. Since I am not keen on high tech, I have been in and out social networks, several times. I still like penwriting. Or writing emails to keep in touch with old friends. This habit is less common today. It goes all so fast that people can’t find their time to stop, close their eyes to relax a second, and breath ….I don’t blame anybody, coz I have been that person, me too. You just feel compelled to go on marching in.

Circumstances led me to my very personal « battlefield ». And this blog is meant to detail what kept me alive, and still does. How I crossed over the desert, and met wonderful people who helped me getting out of deep quicksand. Step by step. Inch by inch. In Al Pacino words, from the movie Any given Sunday : « I tell you this, in any fight it’s the guy who’s willing to die that who’s gonna win that inch. And I knoe that if I have got a life anymore, it’s because I’m still willing to fight and die for that inch. Cos that’s what living is. The 6 inches in front of your face. Now, I think you gonna see a guy who will go that inch with you. You gonna see a guy who will sacrify him self for this team because he knows that, when it comes down on him, you gonna do the same for him. That’s a team, gentlemen. And either we heal now as a team, or we will die as individuals. That’s football guys. That’s all it is. Now, what you gonna do ? »