Tag Archives: aerial bombardment

Sneak Attacks?

The anniversary of the bombing of Hiroshima gives one pause as it marks the emergence of a world of remote military strikes conducted by GPS, or on a UTM grid that cast agency at a distance from ethics or ethical choice. One thinks not only of the global cartoons of global expanse that seemed to unroll geopolitical spaces for their American readers, but of the new ethics of point-based precision. For the point-based maps created vertiginously elevated the subjectivity of their readers across the 40,000 maps produced between 1941-45 by the U.S. Army Map Service so as to remove them from a shared ethical framework of humanity. The framing of military invasion as a game of geospatial dominance discounted the massive incalculable loss of human life in campaigns of prolonged fire-bombing and atomic holocaust.

Indeed, the narrative this cartoon bears traces of how this new spherical global space suggested suggested a territorial dominance across the new spaces of air travel: the cartoon that appeared after the atom bombs were dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki on August 6, 1945 are particularly striking as it appears to remove any sense of the agency of atomic holocaust; it cast the explosive logic of the atom bomb as a delayed quid pro quo response to the “Jap Sneak Attack” of 1941; it asked readers to consider not the effects or impact of the atom bomb, but, rather evasively, who really was “the Fellow who Lighted the Fuse,” as if he were to blame: before any images of the destruction of both cities was described, the Chicago Tribune included testimony of Enola Gay crew members, hailing from Chicago, as an exclusive, with a discussion of the physics of atomic bombs and a reminder that a number of B-29 bombers were posed for further destructive missions. The front-page color cartoon of the Tribune, in Hearst style, was the sole visual documentation of the bomb’s effects, masking the devastation of its impact by the geopolitical logic that led to dropping an atom bomb.

Carey Orr, “the Fellow Who Lighted the Fuse,” American Newpaper Repository

Who, indeed, was making the sneak attack? If the yellow and orange hued pyrocumulous clouds caused by atomic blasts suggested the fireball of a nuclear or atomic explosion, the cartoon clearly referenced not only the explosion that left 200,000 estimated dead in its immediate aftermath, but the fireball of the atomic explosion as a sunset of the Japanese Empire. The first dropping of an atomic bomb on civilian population by the United States–

–was sunset of the Japanese empire, seen from the empyrean perspective of the navigation of aeronautical space that allowed its delivery at precise global coordinates.

The atomic fireball left massive fatalities and injuries in its immediate radius, far beyond the devastation at the site of impact where buildings were flattened, leaving third degree radiation burns far beyond it. The cartoon provided a rationalization of the explosion in maps that provide a continued basis for reflection on the scope of aerial bombardment, departing from the maps of worldly retreat of Japanese Empire on which American newspapers had focussed and were created by late August 1945 by the U.S. Army Information Branch, as if to justify the impact of one devastating attack.

Japanese Empire from 1895 to 19 August, 1945/Army Transportation Corps, Aug. 27 1945
University of North Texas Libraries

Many cartoons of the atomic bomb dropped by the U.S. Army were explicitly racist or misguidedly celebratory. This famous front-pager made open reference, perhaps fitting Chicago, where Rand McNally was based, as the spherical projection enabled dominance of aerial space and mastery of the virtual space of air strikes: the globe was now not inhabited by people, but a spherical surface over which one flew. And while the sign planted on the unidentified island of Oahu is suggested to be the site of the spent match that started it all, omitting that the 1941 aerial attack was staged on a military base–Pearl Harbor–rather than on a civilian population. The colors of the apocalyptic conflagration are muted, as we see only harm coming to the scattered limbs and bloodied knife of a caricature of the Japanese soldier scattered in a stratosphere.

The images of airplanes clustered like so many gnats over the empire of Japan provided an increasingly common typos in maps that affirmed the status of Japanese cities as targets. Boosterish jingoist maps had presented Japan as “the target” of aerial bombing, but delivery of the Enla Gay’s payload confirmed the targeting of the island empire by announcing the ultimate superiority of airspace dominance, in targeting two cities:

We are perhaps still measuring our relation to the decision and effects of the atomic bombs dropped on the civilian populations of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. If the interconnectedness of any two points on the globe was asserted by a spherical projection, the cartoon gestures to lines of longitude and latitude to link the unprecedented conflagrations of the destruction of Japanese cities to the rash act of aerial bombardment on a December morning, as if to suggest that the decision to suddenly drop two atomic bombs was a matter of just deserts in the new age of airborne explosives: the logic of air dominance had entered the cartooning landscape by 1943.

Of course, the real “sneak attack” one might have expected to see reported was not from the point of view of the pilots who had guided the two bombs dropped over Japan–oddly outside the field of terrestrial expanse that the staff cartoonist of the Chicago Tribune presented to readers the morning of August 6, 1945. But the space of flight commanders that cartoonist Carey Orr was invited to design celebrated the introduction of a new atomic age for its readers, that seemed to mark the global supremacy of the Americans in the destruction of Hiroshima that Harry Truman had commanded in Washington, DC, and that the US Army’s upper echelons had signed off on.

Readers of the newspaper acknowledged the impact of the blast the rocked large aircraft lying nearby, promising unprecedented damage as a result of a blast that obliterated a huge sector of the inhabited city–causing as yet unmeasured human casualties, spreading radiation illness among civilians-by a cartoon that clearly rendered the unprecedented degree of devastation as a consequence of the incursion of American airspace four years earlier, as the U.S. Navy threatened to “let loose more and more destruction on vital coastal installations,” with little regard for human life. The cartoon must have provided a critical way that this act of destruction could be mapped.

The pastoral scene rendered by cartooning was a sharp counterpoint to the way that the Manchester Guardian, for example, reported on the destruction that spread out from the hypocenter of the bomb in Hiroshima, carbonizing trees and reducing to rubble all but a skeletal framework of a building that survived the atomic blast that killed tens of thousands of civilians. While President Truman proclaimed to the nation with almost unhinged excitement (or glee) that “we are now prepared to obliterate more rapidly and completely every productive enterprise the Japanese have above the ground,” as he went on to threaten a “rain of ruin from the airtime like of which has never been seen on this earth,” the cartoon oriented readers to a view above the ground, justifying the scale of the explosion in wildly disproportionate terms as the result of restoring balance in a geopolitical theater, not a nation, and omitted the scale of its devastating destructiveness by orienting viewers not to the scale of human destruction by which some 60% of the city was obliterated, but the smooth surface of a spherical globe. that enabled the heinous act to be performed, as if to echoed how the Enolas Gay target it with precision.

Mancester Guardian, August 7 1945

The different ethics of understanding the atomic explosion two thousand times more powerful than the largest bombs the RAF dropped on Germany was stunning in its scale, but muted in its horror by being rendered in a “lessons learned” jingoism Hearst newspaper style, but taking advantage of the regular comic strips that supplemented its news coverage from 1940-43, to describe the most consequential global news that day by a color cartoon, as if by detracting attention from the four sq miles the bomb had flattened by the bomb by imagining the aerial view from outer space as a set of pastels through which fly, as if comically, a disembodied head, limbs, and a hand, in an all too unsubtle warning of where playing with fire will get you, placing the unnamed “fellow” in place of the men who ordered the bombs of devastating tonnage dropped on two civilian centers: the “editorial” penned by veteran cartoonist Carey Orr–whose explicitly racist cartooning in his regular strip in The Tiny Tribune was a model for Walt Disney–oddly replaced the horror of the bomb with a sequence of pastels of pinks, oranges, and reds as the glorious sunset of an Eastern military theater, almost allowing readers to ignore that 60% of a city had been wiped out.

“The Fellow Who Lighted the Fuse,” MSU : Janet A. Ginsburg Chicago Tribune Collection

The cartoon that fails even to “map” Hiroshima displaced all responsibility for dropping of an atomic bomb–pointing the finger, circularly, at the very folks whose populations it incinerated and introduced radioactive illnesses. If one followed the long fuse that curved around the surface of the globe, those who understood the new doctrine of hemispheric dominance might trace the origins of the massive explosions that rocked the earth to the spent match that lay–notionally–on the islands of Oahu in Hawaii, where the evidence of who was the culprit in the recent air raid might be found–and located with geographic precision on exact global coordinates. The explosion was itself evidence of the interconnectedness of global war, and a decisive rebuff of images mapping a pan-Pacific Japanese Empire that radiated from the islands of Hawai’i that were a target of Pearl Harbor, that asserted the expansion of a Pacific empire in saturated reds in 1940 that took the Hawaiian islands as their center and focal point, to underscore the Empire’s active encroachment on American sovereignty.

1940 American Postcard after Japanese Flag

The tables were reversed in the double-duty that the atomic afterglow provided as a sunset of Japanese empire, and the precision strikes that pinpoint mastery of aerial targeting revealed. The cartoon underscored the power of bombing with such precision that the virtual landscape maps of the Army Service created; but the spherical projection erased any agency in the dropping of the bomb in ways that almost removed their users from humanity, replacing a landscape of national integrity with the world of geopolitics on grids, where the surgical strike of point-based intervention became more tempting than wars between nations, rewriting the harmony implicit in a leftist “One World” underscoring the shared humanity of global interconnections now allowed by high-speed air travel in a maleficent style.

Politicians like Wendel Wilkie optimistically assured audiences in 1940 that “there are no distant points in the world any longer,” by using the magic of a Universal Transverse Mercator, Richard Edes Harrison exploited available global mathematical projections to teach Americans, as the editors of Fortune magazine or Harrison himself put it, there was now “One World, One War,” as a single map was entitled in the the atlas that Harrison helped produce to allow readers to “Look at the World” with new eyes, eyes of global strategy, in a view of the world fitting the “air age”–and global war.

The FORTUNE Atlas for World Strategy sought to provide the magazine’s subscribers to Time might expect by offering the very needed principles used in the U.S. Military to map global expanse in wartime–and indeed, as William Rankin noted, enabling the synchronization of air, water, and land troops in unprecedented ways, by the very spherical UTM projection that the U.S. Army helped to develop, as if to allow them inside on the new power of strategic mapping that the U.S. military sought to promote.

Courtesy David Ramsey Map Collection/Cartography Associates

The resuscitation of such recondite Renaissance global projections as the azimuthal equidistant, that Gerardus Mercator used to map the pole, to foreground the notion of a global theater of military dominance by air–

–was later adopted, in something of a recuperation of the logic of a “one world” argument, as Rankin noted perceptively, in the wreath-bound emblem intended was a of global harmony in the United Nations, as if the war or cartographic logic of aerial bombardment had not occurred; what had provided a strategic sense of reducing global expanse in a world of air travel and the global reach of airborne bombs was repurposed by 1945 that for all practical purposes affirmed the centrality of American in a global discourse that dislodged the UTM projection from military theaters of war, as if to try to recreate a map of less militaristic intent, that ensured the global map would be continued to be framed by olive branches.

Harrison’s maps are the pictorial precursors of our ubiquitous satellite maps of today, yet hand drawn with great cartographic skill for specific arguments, detailed in text, statistics, and diagrams that erased the problems of military strikes across borders in a terms of a logic of efficiency and geometry–and of theaters of dominance.

They expanded emblems of transcontinental air travel to a global optic as Edes Harrison reinvented cartography as a skill of global dominance for American Strategy, far beyond the form of “transcontinental travel” of the recent past from New York City, unveiled in January 1942, as America entered into the global war effort, and sought to “sell” the war to domestic audiences through the logic of military maps by revealing geostrategic aims of airspace, as much as technologies of transcontinental air travel.

Global dominance in air travel was soon to arrive, opening up American dominance for a time in this global airspace, but the war became a critical time to promote this world view at the same time far beyond American frontiers: as war was increasingly fought in the air across Europe and the world by 1942, when the United States was joining, Life magazine assured readers that the United States frontier of Alaska was only “wait[ing] for war” in January 1942, months after Pearl Harbor, as the United States was readying itself for a showdown with the “ancient and imperial power of Japan,” the air map not only displaced the national map, but guaranteed a global purchase by high-speed air travel that could be readily imported to a military theater, now that the United States Air Force was stationed outside Anchorage in the Elmendorf Air Base, ensuring a Pacific Theater of War.

Harrison in 1943 gave us the simple ease of “seeing” Japan rom Alaska–from “our” own territory, as if, prefiguring Sarah Palin, on the horizon from her own window in Achorage–presents the globe absolutely free from cloud cover, in all its topographic elegance, the Sea of Japan and the island’s extensive mountain ranges from the Sakhalin islands all present with a tactile quality of a molded plastic relief map, with a level of naturalistic local detail and topographic accuracy that the surface of a Rand McNally globe could only aspire–and which was, the reader knew, a virtual space as much as one that a person could ever apprehend, even from the air, but was the promise that airspace dominance provided to Americans in 1943-4.

The detailed topographic aerial views that Edes Harrison so expertly designed of four approaches–or possible incursions–into Japanese airspace seemed designed to familiarize readers to the prospect of high-speed air travel in ways that worked hand-in-glove with the U.S. Army Map Corps–

“Japan from Alaska,” from Richard Edes Harrison, “Four-Approaches to Japan” (1943)

–into whose horizon line the reader could gaze, as if with wonder, seeing the island empire revealed on the horizon as lying essentially in its purview. The territorial proximity of the Empire of Japan seemed so near the Aleutian plans, that the text promising to reveal “various approaches to Japan” that could span, in the rapid travel across airspace, “the huge continental mass that Japan is trying to subdue” by confirming “the close geographic relationship that can be put to work in Allied offensive action” in the air–while conceding “difficulties of supply” of such offensive actions.

Richard Edes Harrison, “Japan from Alaska” (1943)

The shaded hemispheric relief maps of Richard Edes Harrison’s landscape maps of course offered evidence of a new purchase on global military theaters to civilian audiences in such elegant full-color inserts included in National Geographic and other publications. His global perspectives orient readers to global dominance that intersected with the ability of the Army Map Corps, as they naturalized the adoption of UTM coordinates by the U.S. Army to coordinate military forces in global war. The critical nature of maps for global war were indeed apparent after Pearl Harbor was attacked, and the United States realized that few maps existed of this theater of war, William Rankin has noted: as if to conceal the absence, Newsweek assured readers that Washington DC had become in short order a veritable “city of maps” months after the attack on Pearl Harbor, as if to assure them of American mapmakers’ readiness to meet military needs in global war: “it is now considered a faux pas to be caught without your Pacific arena,” editors assured readers lest they still entertain some inner isolationism. Newsweek openly linked Harrison’s pictorial map to dominance over theaters of combat: the increased accuracy of such bifold pictorial maps served to process a spherical earth beyond national bounds, as President Roosevelt geared up to move troops, navy fleets, and air squads around the globe.

Richard Edes Harrison, “Russia from the South” (1944) courtesy David Rumsey Map Collection

There were, Harrison assured readers of news maps made for the U.S. Army Service Forces, or Army Maps Corps, at least “four approaches to Japan” on the table by 1944, despite the considerable distance across the Pacific–which really, he implicitly argued, should not seem so far in an age of airspace and high speed flight–

Richard Edes Harrison (May 8, 1944), Army Orientation Course. Army Service Forces. courtesy David Rumsey Map Collection

–and the simplicity of these approaches “to Japan”–from Alaska, from Manuchuria, from China-Burma, and from the SW Pacific–presented a defined “Pacific Theater” sought to orient readers to the nature of global geopolitics on grids. Relations of global geostrategy seemed complicated, in the specific, but Edes Harrison simply simplified the legibility of a global landscape no one had seen.

Richard Edes Harrison, 1943

The pictorial landscapes that cast military theaters as verdant topographies were absent from war, but the picture was, readers would have known, quite different on the ground: the view might have been able to be naturalized as a continuous spherical map to suggest the close ties of air travel, but the same islands of the Alaskan peninsula were themselves “theaters of war” as well as stepping stones, where American army bases and U.S. Army and Navy airfields existed, providing the infrastructure for the global airspace that Edes Harrison’s bifold landscape maps promoted through their elegantly expansive pictorial form.

These islands that rest on the “seam of the Pacific and American geological plates” offered a powerful strategic bridge–and theater of combat–that is all but erased in Harrison’s hemispheric maps, which use the continuity of a UTM grid to define continuity, as if the illusion of perspectival unity habituates viewers in the know to the contraction of terrestrial relation that air power allows, without needing an infrastructure of air bases and refueling stations, or indeed human lives.

National Parks Service, Aleutian Islands

The unique global perspective that Edes Harrison offered Americans of the approach to Japan from Alaska was almost a creation of the U.S. Army Map Service geodeists, who plotted the continuity of air flights from these bases, as if to plot alternate flights from the Aleutians or Marianas–the eventual actual fligthtpath Big Boy and Little Boy took–as if they were options on the table of future geopolitical strategies. The set of landscape images superceded any notion of national airspace, suggesting the “freedom of the skies” if not a global theater of geopolitics over which the United States presided from the air.

Richard Edes Harrison, “From Alaska,” from “Four Approaches to Japan” (newsman)
Richard Edes Harrison, “From the SW Pacific,” courtesy David Rumsey Map Collection

the approach over and into Japanese airspace–here reduced to a thin strip of land lying upper center on the global space Edes Harrison showed, must have normalized the possibility of an airborne invasion or bombing campaign as a game of sliding across a newly mapped global space. And when the Chicago Tribune asserted a false equality of wartime bombing, even in the case of the unicum of the unprecedented power of an atom bomb, as a tit for tat, that suggested in a color scheme straight out of Tiepolo–complete with cottony puffs of billowy clouds–that dramatically suffuses the cartoon panel with light, that cuts against the dismemberment of Japanese bodies, and, amidst the violence of airborne limbs that fly across the globe like so much detritus, assured readers, that the explosion was to be ethically accepted as a response to the “sneak attack.” American readers of the Tribune should feel no qualms at the dehumanized victims of the atomic strike or feel ethical qualms of deep, deep unease at the prospect of a world whose inhabitants bathed in radiation more than celestial light.

American Newpaper Repository

The tragedy of showing the dropping of atomic explosives by a cartoon map on the front page of “the world’s greatest newspaper” some seventy-five years ago recast the act of dropping an atom bomb as only the due delayed response for the Japanese Imperial Air Force’s aerial attack: the magnified register of this response was perhaps hinted at, or acknowledged, in the color scheme that recalled the bizarrely majestic illusionistic perspective in the Wurzburg staircase of in the truly global Apollonian perspective it offered over the continents, for visitors to the Wurzburg Residenz–a fresco that seemed to suffuse the stairwell and pick up the light that streamed through large bay windows below it, as one proceeded to the Imperial Hall on the first floor, on the way to the baroque Kaisersaal dominated by images of the genius imperil: was there a gesture to the frescoes of a sun god bathed in light in the cartoon of the explosive force of Genius imperil?

Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Apollo and the Continents (1752-53)

The cartoon may not have been a reference to the Tiepolo ceiling fresco that dominates the gallery through which one ascends the imperial staircase in Wurzburg, in a monumental passageway of Vitruvian ideals. The ceiling of the vescoval residence that echoes was the culmination of several vaulted ceilings Tiepolo designed and executed of planets orbiting round a sun god, bathed in radiating light, this one placing images of the continents in each cornice and caricatures of the world’s races on the ceiling fresco’s sides; the celestial court to which the visitor ascending the staircase ascends presents emblems of three continents–America, bearing a griffon, Africa, and Asia, but is dominated by the remove of the Apollo ringed by a golden glow. The cartoonist seems to have replaced Apollo by the Enola Gay, bathed in celestial rays that is the modern seat of cosmographic globalism.

Giovanni Battista Tiepolo, Apollo and the Continents (1752-53), detail of ceiling fresco

Whereas Tiepolo rendered the continents paying service to the Sun God as if a courtly society, what was an allegory of triumph is rendered as a triumphant tha tconceals the purely destructive intnent of America; if Tieopolo’s characterization of the continents was tinged by racism, and racial prejudice,  the celestial celebration is now rooted in military triumph over the Japanese floe, the dawning of an atomic age whose radiance is rooted in new rays, hardly so removed from the terrestrial sphere–and now hardly an allegory at all–but perhaps only able to be imagined on August 6, 1945 as the dawn of a new age marked by the release of cataclysmic energy of divine transcendence.

There was, of course, little actual transcendence or any sense of transcendent sublime down on the ground, where actual humans lived. The dropping of the “Little Boy” atomic bomb that targeted Hiroshima was hardly an allegorical event, but was probably easier to see that way by the folks who dropped it, and wanted to see in it the conclusion of the war and the beginning of a new age. The explanation the cartoonist offered of the logic of dropping the first atomic bomb ever was preposterous indeed. The Japanese planes had attacked a territorial outpost over one third of whose inhabitants had recently been Japanese, before the United States government placed them under martial law–including its courts!–from December 7, 1941 through 1945, interning the small minority of Kibei who claimed loyalty to Japan, until the U.S. Supreme Court voided as illegal the military takeover of the civil government of Hawaii, and the internment of those Japanese-Americans in relocation centers on the islands where they had, under considerable duress, come to renounce American citizenship.

The Tribune, as if making due on their marquee promise to be the “Best Newspaper in the World,” offered a local perspective on the obliteration of two Japanese cities for readers. For it promised, for what it was worth, exclusive coverage of the “Atom Bomb Crew’s Story,” that Americans were more likely to read about: as if obliterating the inconvenient fact that island of japan was inhabited, or that four square miles of Hiroshima had been just purposefully reduced to an “obliterated zone,” the sort of thing we should never try to create, and presented the “awesome scene from the plane” for all Americans to share–especially Americans already habituated to the removed view of a global landscape and hemispheric logic: the presence of the Aleutian peninsula that was so critical in the war, and the proximity of Alaska to the Pacific theater as Harrison had described it, both described the “inside story” of the Chicagoan in one of the planes that dropped the bomb was dropped on August 6, 1945, and provoked cries of “My god!” from those “battle-hardened American airmen” ten miles away on the Marianas, as more bombers waited to run raids “on other enemy targets” without noting or considering their human costs of such brutality; the dominant tone of the exclamatory headline is celebration and festive.

American Newpaper Repository

The cartoon is above all a celebration of the cartographic logic of wartime globalism that show the world as interrelated, and linked discreet points in the spatial continuum of airspace. This was the space Edes Harrison and the U.S. government had promoted served to advance priorities of strategic hemispheric dominance, to be sure in an extension of the “freedom of the air” of civil aviation, but in a logic and illusion of global mastery that was to militate against global peace for the second half of the twentieth century.

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Filed under atomic age, geopolitics, globalism, Hiroshima, World War II

Finding Aleppo in a War-Torn World

The deep frustration at being able to map the Syrian civil war around Aleppo–combining the actual inability to map the factions in the conflict, and the actual unmappability of the deeply unsettling destabilization of civil society in the five-year civil war which is waged by outside actors, as much as by the Syrian government–has sapped confidence in the ability to negotiate a cease-fire or indeed to find a civil solution to a conflict that has both created an ongoing flow of refugees and destroyed civil society in the region, as well as an equilibrium of power.  And the more we are frustrated in being unable to map the conflict and its descent into inhumane violence, the more violent it has become and the farther removed from being able to exist again as a country.

 

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Any theater of war is extremely difficult to endow with coherence in a map–one speaks of the “fog of war” to describe the clouded experience in the confusion of military conflicts.  But the difficulty of gaining purchase on the extent of the destruction of the ancient city of Aleppo that is particularly troubling–and troublingly matched by the difficulty of mapping or imagining the targeting of the city and Aleppo’s inhabitants and the refugees who have left the city.  The failure to describe, document, or respond to the costs in the sustained aerial bombardment in recent months seems an abdication of ethical responsibility before such escalated destruction that almost fails to acknowledge its scope.  The terror of aerial strikes against civilians have led to the targeted destruction of schools and hospitals in the rebel-occupied regions of the city hard to imagine, as a besieged city is isolated from the world.  While we don’t have access to the maps and plans that were used during the sustained engagement of rebel forces in Aleppo, and have rather watched screen-shots of the diminishing areas of the region “held” by “rebel forces” over months, those very images distance us from the human rights tragedies that is occurring on the ground with the dismantling of public health care and social institutions, as if extending so many false possibilities of the tenuous grasp over territory of opposition groups.  With unclear data on suffering, deaths, refugees or destroyed buildings in the encircled city, we map territory as the clearest index of the balance of war, but ignore the scale or scope of its ongoing bombardment and destruction, as the country has not only “gone dark”–

 

 

–but the city destroyed under unimaginable sustained assault.

 

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News wire sources have tried to “map” the extent of those lines areas held in the heavily bombed city, to be sure, in recent months.  But the absence of clear lines of jurisdiction or control of a battle that is increasingly waged from a move–but shown as if it were a land war–echoes the military divisions of cities in ways that seem incommensurate with the suffering or mischaracterization of the actors of the war, and the lack of limits with which the Assad regime has enlisted foreign help to destroy its former cultural capital and economic hub, as if trying to efface the opposition that it has for so long successfully tarred by their association to ISIS and the Islamic State–and as a media blitz has tried to portray the battle in Aleppo as a fight against ISIS rather than a defining moment in the escalation of military forces against one’s own people by Bashar al-Assad.

Even though the aerial attacks on Aleppo began as early as July 2012, the escalation of attacks by Russian bombers that began to target buildings and humanitarian supplies with intensity from July 2016.  While we were in the midst of the farce of our recent American Presidential election, we have watched maps of the Syrian conflict at an odd remove, depicting the city the city as a multi-colored sectored region, as if a point of stasis in slippy map of sovereignty, as much as a focal point where five different forces seem to lock horns.  The disservice of these opaque colors seem to erase and to be done such a deep disservice with Microsoft Paint.  And as we do so, we can only fail in an attempt to chart the intensification of suffering that is only like to increase in coming months, as the shrinking green lands held by rebel forces have depicted the so-called “situation in Syria” in increasingly disembodied fashion.

 

syria97410fps.gifThomas Van Linge/Newsweek/@arabthomness

 

As we watch the layers of colors, trying to map the levels of conflict from an empyrean remove that has echoed the official policy of not putting “boots on the ground,” we fail to account for the destruction of houses, massive departures of residents, targeting of humanitarian assistance and destroyed infrastructure and human services in the city.  The layers with which we discriminate a war-torn city set to conceal terrifying human costs in the rather terrifying palette of pastels in its curious camouflage, as if to hold out hope for an amicable solution, but to erase the destruction of civilian lives, hospitals, residences, or food and needs supplies that tried to arrive in the light green rebel-held areas of the city that suggest an island around the Citadel of Aleppo.

 

Rif_Aleppo2.svg.pngNovember 1, 2016/Kami888

 

For the limited information about Aleppo’s continued destruction by aerial attacks as well as bombardments makes the extent of the human costs its destruction increasingly difficult to render with coherence.  This absence of this coherence perhaps leadt some twenty-nine million to be struck by viewing the dazed five-year old Omran Daqneesh and the tragically bloodstained face from which he gazes somewhat stoically and looks at his bloodied hand–as if dazed to be transported from the scenario of violence in which he lived to what seems a setting of sanitized medical care, his blood-stained face contrasting to the clean orange cushions of an emergency ambulance.  The transferal of Omran from the battlefield like context of Aleppo to the emergency health care vehicle show him dazed not only at his change of context, but almost in shock of being in a controlled ambulance in which he sits, if a sign of hope, is also emblematic of the inability or difficulty to bridge the controlled context of medical and clinical care of the Emergency Medical Services and the rubble of the besieged city, almost the negative image of a controlled environment:  the image circulated by Aleppo Media Centre was emblematic of the dissonance between the emergency services and the onslaught of bombs where civilians are targeted daily amidst the rubble of the besieged city, so that the dazed look of poor Omran seems a substitute for our own helpless bewilderment at the war crime of the sustained aerial bombing of Aleppo’s buildings, health care providers, hospitals, and inhabitants.

 

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If the image is manipulative–and difficult to include in yet another post on Aleppo–its power seems to derive from the failure we feel between inability of the child who touches his hand to his head, to take stock of his head injury as he tries to process the loss of his family, after being carried by an emergency worker into the new setting of an ambulance.   The image was so poignant it was shared so widely all over the world on Facebook, as we searched collectively for an emblem of good, of one child rescued from the violence of Aleppo–as nine million Facebook users tried to transcend the broken windows, destroyed buildings, and slim hopes for the survival of Aleppo’s citizens, increasingly targeted in inhumane ways to which we are so unable to respond.

For if there is a lack of any coherent purchase on the city’s destruction on such an unprecedented scale of its bombardment, even for the Syrian Civil War, the saving of one child after his family was lost allowed the survival of a child to exist in the blood-streaked face of the five-year-old Omran Daqneesh that circulated globally on social media seemed finally to locate a “face of the Syrian Civil War” against the city’s dire destruction.  Indeed, the actual improvised settings of health care in eastern Aleppo–

 

624143740-graphic-content-wounded-syrians-are-seen-on-a-table-in_1-jpg-crop-promo-xlarge2Thaer Mohammed/AFP/Getty Images

 

–continued as bombs continued to strike the neighborhoods and where the living and dead lay beside one another in emergency rooms that lacked adequate medical supplies.  The absence of medical assistance or facilities, even as Bashar al Assad rejects the last proposal proposed by the United Nations for a local truce that recognized any claims to separate sovereignty of rebel forces, if it was not armed, arguing that it was a violation of “national sovereignty,” seems to have invited an endgame of increased military raids, as the “area held by rebel forces” has shrunk in recent days to a small region curving around the medieval fortified Citadel, sandwiched between advancing regime forces.

 

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The garishly bloodied face of Omran, the sole survivor of an air strike on his family home in Aleppo’s rebel -held territories, seemed a ghost, but served as a respite from images of the dead, and his transport to an ambulance from the horror of Aleppo seemed a promise of the future.  The image posted by the Aleppo Media Center provided little orientation to the actual struggle, but the apparent shock of the contrast of Omram’s evident transport, his face and T-shirt covered in dirt and blood, to safety offered more than a reprieve from image of dead children:  seated in an ambulance, fingering his bloodied head, his place provided a bizarre juxtaposition of a world of safety and medical supplies who had moved from the bombing of his family’s building in a war-torn city we can barely map.  The arrival of the child into a setting of Western safety almost seemed an image of the precareity of saving a child out of its destruction, and preserved an odd ability of hope even as airstrikes would soon hit four hospitals in east Aleppo, and continue to target civilians.

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Filed under Aleppo, data overlays, human rights, Syrian Civil War, Syrian Free Army

Bombed Out Landscapes over Time

When the Germain army declared, in April of 1942, as accelerating violence of global war brought the arrival of the British bombing of German towns, the wartime Nazi government boasted that they would use native maps in the public domain to destroy valued buildings in England with impunity. In blood-curdling claims that prefigure the American threat to violate international law by targeting of historical sights in Iran, the Teutonic boast that ‘We shall go out and bomb every building in Britain marked with three stars in the Baedeker Guide” suggests the slippage between German superiority in objective tourist maps once tied to educational formation to the superiority of airstrikes from the German Luftwaffe’s arial blitzkrieg.

The claim was well-known, but seems to conceal the quite loaded historical sense of superiority of reducing England to a site of ruins, akin to the ruins that Germans once studied so eagerly of the Roman Empire and Greece, prizing as guides to a lost world whose material traces they hoped to detect, and detect as some sort of prefiguration of the imperial destiny that they claimed as their own during the Third Reich. It would be a rehearsal of sorts for the carpet bombing of the Siege of Stalingrad, the late August 1942 air raids that left Vasily Grossman without words to describe it–“Everything burned down. Hot walls of buildings, like the bodies of people who have died in the terrible heat and not yet cooled down . . . miraculously standing–amid thousands of vast stone buildings now burnt down or half destroyed” as being to his yes “like Pompeii, caught by destruction in the fullness of life“–in the notebook he kept on entering the city. And amidst the flames of burning houses, as the bombs are dropped on Stalingrad, “It was no longer a matter of individual explosions; all space was now filled by a single dense, protracted sound” of th howls of bombs, air cloudy with white dust and smoke, the characters of his novel search for images of Pompeii, wondering if any one will remember them, the thunder of explosions and crack of anti-aircraft guns marking time against the howl of a bomb that grew in volume, altering one’s sense of time as “howling seconds, each composed of hundreds of infitintely long or entirely distinct fractions of seconds,” erased desire, memories, or “anything except the echoes of this blind iron howl.”

Whether referencing the obliteration of space by the Baedecker guides was a conceit of historical migration of empires or conflated cartographical superiority of touristic guides with the precision of aerial bombardment suggests the crossing of categories of bombarding civilian populations. The bliteration of clearly demarcated lines haunted Stalingrad’s bombardment included modern incendiary bombs, for Grossman, as tens of thousands of which small canisters that could tumble out of in containers of thirty-six filled the air with a distinct screeching unlike the whistles of high explosives, a screeching that echoed the screeching of the V-2 bombs that Thomas Pynchon employed as the arresting auditory perception of the first sentence of Gravity’s Rainbow as “A screeching came across the sky”: the “new sound” that Grossman described in Stalingrad was unlike the whistle of hunters of high-explosive bombs, but “penetrated every living being [from the] hearts of those about to die [to the] hearts of those who survived–all hearts clenched in tight anguish,” so that “there was no one who did not hear it as they plunged into the city, rendering “building after building joined in a single blaze and whole burning streets fused into a single, living, moving wall . . . as if a new city of fire had appeared over Stalingrad,” introduced by the distinct sounds that follow the arrival of “planes coming from north, west, east and south [that] met over Stalingrad,” whose descent on the scientific “seemed to be the sky itself that was descending–sagging, as if under dark, heavy storm clouds, under the vast weight of metal and explosives.”

To register the new city rendered by daily destruction, lest the earlier city by lost, the London City Council undertook in a valiant act of cartographic preservation during the air attacks from September, 1940, just after the Germans had planned to invade Russia, to 1941, and amplified with the attacks of V-2 rockets by 1944, to ensure a level of destruction more sudden and more terrifying than the incendiary bombing of Stalingrad. The ways that the British Army mapped the destruction that V-2 rockets of terrifying precision were able to carve out of the city of London had been long lost, but the recovery of these map provides an eery echo of the historical models and precedents of civilian targeting of historical sites that haunts the contemporary world. For he scars of ethanol-fueled V-2 rockets that speedily struck wartime London seventy years ago are a good place as any to start to map the systematic bombing of civilian spaces.  As if mapping the liquid-fueled fantasies of destruction of Wernher von Braun, the V-1 and then, subsequently, V-2 bombs silently arrived to create a psychologically searing topography of death that transformed the city, immersing civilians to new topographies of fear.

The contemporary graphic tabulations of damages in recently published Bomb Damage Maps  orient one in chilling ways to the progress and degree of bombing wartime London in purples, violets, oranges, and light blue on London’s familiar plan.  The pastels are disarmingly tranquil if not placid in tenor, but seem to conceal within a Benjamin Moore-like in their variety, which seem to reveal a of destruction wonderfully measured concealment  resistance of a British culture of grim-faced exactitude to the horrific episode of wartime destruction, generations away from the bombardment of images of bombed out landscapes in Beirut, Syria, or so much of the Middle East and Libya today.  If these pencilled sketches seem oddly antiquated and removed, the poignant attempt to come to terms with the radically escalation of destruction in the  devastatingly regular tempo of accelerating bombardment that is known as the London Blitz–even if they cannot capture the panic, commotion, terrified screams or chaos, in the muted pastels in an aerial perspective that affirm the organic city that once existed in a still alive past.  

The images of community that they preserve in a time of the compacting of time and space stand in a bizarre psychological counterpoint to the terror of the Blitz, an attempt to maintain level-headedness perhaps in the methodical taking of stock of the sites that were apparently be turned into Baedekers of a future lost world. The bombs that clustered on London in the Blitz are not only preserved, but collated, in a stunning overpowering overlay that suggests a puncturing of space if not obliteration–in a collation of the sites of all German bombs dropped on London in the Blitz, September 1940-June 1941, courtesy “Bombsight“, embracing a massive repository of spatial information aggregating locations of all bombs dropped on the city.

The data is so overwhelming, of course, that the viewer is vertiginously unable to process the extent of detail it aggregates, in what might be better known as a Cartofail. The multiple maps that were made by the Bomb Damage Maps tend in the reverse: they preserve the underlying street network and sites of all buildings in the city, preserving a palimpsest that survives in the face of aerial bombardment that attempted to efface any sign of human habitation; the result is a valiant basis for the recreation of the future of London in a dark period, and a particularly healthy and plucky form of cartographic resistance, of sorts, running against the collapsing of time and space in a time of total war, by trying to retain and train attention on what exists in the city that can be preserved lest it be forgotten. In the face of total war, it is a resistance of exactitude.

The maps recall those colored glossy stars pasted, in the manner of pins, at the sites of explosions in London, which “cover the available spectrum” from silver to green, gold, red, blue, and  a surprising preponderance in certain areas of violets whose locations seem to coincide with bomb strikes, but are so  suspiciously marked with the names of women, the silver ones labelled “Darlene,” others Alice, Delores, Shirley, Sally, amidst  Carolines, Marias, Annes, Susans and Elizabeths.  The disjunction between names and places map the interior experience of Lt. Slothrop against the city that became a canvass of war, but the placid colorings of the map hues suggest a deeper disjunction between mapmaking and violence.

The maps capture an attempt to take measure of the scale of destruction, from black areas bombed out beyond repair to more lightly damaged areas in yellow, as if to process the unprecedented scale of disaster in the precision of the Ordnance Survey Maps. In ways that seemed to try to contain the violence of the bombs that killed over 9,000 by a coloring the sites that were hit by the daily assessment of bomb damages, Bomb Damage Charts drafted by the London City Council tried to process the daily destruction that took the toll of 9,000 in what Germans portrayed as revenge for allied bombers suggest an English tabulation of the ethanol-fueled violence, called as retribution for allied bombing of German cities, that revealed fingerprints of the fantasy of Wernher von Braun, the rocket scientist who was driven by truly stratospheric aspirations to reach the moon.

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And they reflect, as such an attempt to map the devastation Thomas Pynchon so famously began Gravity’s Rainbow by suggesting the sudden arrival of an ethanol-fueled V-2 rocket that struck the zero Greenwich meridian around 1967, by describing a volley of ballistic missiles whose targeted strikes and explosions brought to life something like a new world, and a terrible one that is punctuated in a senseless sequence of devastating strikes.  And as Pynchon famously used the Matthausen testimonies to describe the horrors of the bombs’ production during the war by the remain side, the bomb damage maps would have provided powerful means to elaborate the destruction of the city came to map the fictionalized if troubled ever-idiosyncratic psyche of Tyrone Slothrop.  The rooftop observations of the arrival of V-2’s that arrive, arching short of the land and arriving on London, tracked by a group of Yanks, stationed at the Allied Clearing House, Technical Unites, Northern Germany (ACHTUNG), a paper warren filled with black typewriters that pose as grave markers, removed from the war but close to its violence.

As much as orient one to the destruction of bricks and mortar buildings, they suggest a way to complete the terrifying topographies of the wartime city, as familiar cityscapes suddenly vanished, taking human lives in a chaos difficult to psychologically sustain.  If Stephen Spender described how in “destroyed German towns one often feels haunted by the ghost of a tremendous noise” as it “is impossible not to imagine the rocking explosions, the hammering of the sky upon the earth, which must have caused all this,‟ evoking the inability to grasp or orient oneself to the ineffability of the sensory barrage of modern destruction with particular eloquence.  Pynchon was particularly attentive to transpose the complicated topographies of what were otherwise blank space by recourse to the “old Baedecker trick” not limited to that genre of travel books alone, but pillaging from WPA guides and other maps, in ways that make it more than likely that something like the Bomb Damage Maps provided a similar basis to orient his readers to imagining the new topography of war in which his characters sought to navigate as best they could, and the tourist maps of post-war London which rendered the continued effects of bombed out areas light green offered an effective palimpsest as any to recover the  psychological trauma of the destruction of the psychic network of place and society–

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–itself a mirror image to the German Schadenskarten created to document the parallel six years of trauma inflicted on cities in the Nazi state.

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Schadenskarte des Angriffes am 27. November 1944

1280px-Luftbild_Freiburg_1944.jpgStadtarchiv Freiburg, destruction of Freiburg sometime after or during Summer of 1945

Although the scale of destruction was more targeted and more limited in scale, the hundred and ten hand-colored Bomb Damage maps applied a six color palette to the Ordnance Survey maps in order to register the impact of bombs on the city, ranging from yellow noting mild damage a dire black denoting “total destruction,” which, even if they cannot capture the scale of the 29,890 victims killed in the raids and 50,507 suffering serious injuries, although their over-generous 1:2,500 scale allows one quite effectively to explore parts of the city’s neighborhoods and read the present configuration of individual blocks against the damage of older bombs–whose scale is partly captured in surviving photographs of Debris Survey and Disposal Service crews who explored ruined houses and buildings in plaster-dusted uniforms in the hope of seeking survivors.  The images of police constables Arthur Cross and Fred Tibbs capture the broader effort of repair, reconstruction, and taking stock of a spate of local destruction as it occurred, and the need of the maps as a means to process the rapid arrival of rocket strikes in the not indiscriminate targeting commercial and residential London by unmanned rockets.

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Repair of evening coming of 1941 of Bank Underground Station

Assessing damage of Bank of England and Royal Exchange after London bombing raid of January 11, 1941, which created a crater of 1,800 sq feet–the largest in London

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Filed under London Blitz, military maps, Vietnam War, war crimes, World War II