America's war fallen

ARLINGTON cemetery, like the rows upon rows of war graves in Normandy, is a poignant reminder of the sacrifices made by Americans for other people’s freedom over the past 100 years. Any European who feels that transient blunders and scandals somehow justify snootiness, moral superiority or outright anti-Americanism should take a long walk round the Arlington cemetery before opening his mouth.

I am particularly struck by the lack of bombast: this is a memorial to the fallen, not to the wars in which they perished. No huge bronze figures of hero-liberators, no granite women cradling dying sons, no phallic obelisks, swords and flags, or decommissioned tanks or any of the other military symbolism that I associate with Soviet war memorials in Europe. The headstones are simple and uniform, bearing a religious symbol in most cases, and a terse account of service and decorations.

My own walk takes me to a grave that reads BSM W/V & OLC PH AM (see above). I am there to pay my respects to Roman Kupchinsky, a friend and colleague who died of cancer in January.

Annoyingly I can’t work out what the initials on Roman’s headstone mean. I try Googling them on my BlackBerry. I assume, wrongly, that this will take me to a handy page of American military abbreviations. Unscrambling acronyms and abbreviations is usually the sort of thing that the internet does beautifully. But on this occasion, it lets me down.

More annoyingly, I’m drenched, disrespectfully, in sweat. I arrived at eight, when the cemetery opened, hoping to beat Washington's sweltering midday heat. But it’s already unpleasant.

Yet more annoyingly, I can’t get to the Pentagon, where my first appointment of the morning is looming. I can see the building—just across the freeway from the southern corner of the cemetery. But I can’t reach it. I plod along the perimeter until I find a gate, but beyond it is no sidewalk. Approaching the Pentagon on foot along a four-lane highway will probably look rather suspicious. I walk fast back to the Metro, by now with not just shirt but also trousers sopping. The map printed out at the visitor centre starts to disintegrate in my hand.

I covered the Pentagon 20 years ago, when access was easy, especially if you used a bit of charm or dissimulation. Now it’s different. You enter through an airport-style security check. The guards look disdainfully at the dripping wreck in front of them. An air-conditioning unit on the floor is sending icy blasts skywards. I stand over it, discreetly loosening my shirt and trying to get dry, if not clean.

My hosts are in starched uniforms and politely don’t notice my appearance. But I do explain where I have been, and ask them for advice about the inscription. They are glad to tell me. BSM is Bronze Star Medal. W/V means “with valour”, ie earned in action. OLC is Oak Leaves Cross, meaning he won it twice. PH is Purple Heart, meaning that he was wounded.

And with that we turn to our common professional interest. America, with all its commitments and worries in all corners of the world, still devotes startling amounts of brainpower to understanding the intricacies of Polish military planning, Czech public opinion, Baltic defence budgets and the ins and outs of Balkan security. I doubt I could have a discussion combining this sharpness of focus and range of vision in my own country, or even in Brussels. In its own way, it’s as humbling as the gravestones in the cemetery next door.

NB This is the sixth part of a multi-part correspondent's diary covering a trip from Washington to Budapest and Tallinn. Parts one, two, three, four and five are also available on the Eastern approaches blog. The next installment will be posted shortly.