How Modern Politicians Recycle Medieval Language to Sell New Wars to Modern Voters
A hundred years ago the great Polish poet Julian Tuwim wrote a great poem explaining exactly that. The original sounds better of course, but not everyone knows Polish, so let me quote the English translation:
To the Common Man
When the black print sounds alarm
And freshly posted fliers cry
“To the Public,” “For the Troops”
When the glue is not yet dry
And any stud or young recruit
Will take to heart their age-old lie
That it’s time to fire the cannons
To murder, plunder, poison, raze;
When they start to tout “our country”
in a thousand worn clichés
Incite with ostentatious flags
And champion the “historic right”
to every inch, to glory, might
That now has come the time to fight
For our fathers, and forefathers,
Avenge the heroes or the victims,
And when bishop, pastor, rabbi come
to place a blessing on your gun
Because God whispered the command:
go and defend the fatherland
When tabloid headlines spread their noise,
vulgar, nefarious, savage and crude
and frenzied women in wild herds
sprinkle rose petals on our boys
— Hey listen, my untutored friend
Brother from this or another land
Know that it’s kings and portly men
who ring the bells that sound alarm;
And know that it’s bull, a common ruse
When they cry out: “Shoulder arms!”
That for them somewhere gushes crude
Meaning some hefty sacks of cash
And bank accounts do not add up
Or that they caught the whiff of bucks
And that those fat pigs hedged their bets
With an import tax on cigarettes.
Go drum your guns on cobblestones
It is your blood and their crude!
And let your voices linger on
It’s your wage that your blood has won:
“What you’re selling we won’t buy!”
Then there is Pete Hegseth with his Crusader tattoo.
A hundred years ago the great Polish poet Julian Tuwim wrote a great poem explaining exactly that. The original sounds better of course, but not everyone knows Polish, so let me quote the English translation:
To the Common Man
When the black print sounds alarm
And freshly posted fliers cry
“To the Public,” “For the Troops”
When the glue is not yet dry
And any stud or young recruit
Will take to heart their age-old lie
That it’s time to fire the cannons
To murder, plunder, poison, raze;
When they start to tout “our country”
in a thousand worn clichés
Incite with ostentatious flags
And champion the “historic right”
to every inch, to glory, might
That now has come the time to fight
For our fathers, and forefathers,
Avenge the heroes or the victims,
And when bishop, pastor, rabbi come
to place a blessing on your gun
Because God whispered the command:
go and defend the fatherland
When tabloid headlines spread their noise,
vulgar, nefarious, savage and crude
and frenzied women in wild herds
sprinkle rose petals on our boys
— Hey listen, my untutored friend
Brother from this or another land
Know that it’s kings and portly men
who ring the bells that sound alarm;
And know that it’s bull, a common ruse
When they cry out: “Shoulder arms!”
That for them somewhere gushes crude
Meaning some hefty sacks of cash
And bank accounts do not add up
Or that they caught the whiff of bucks
And that those fat pigs hedged their bets
With an import tax on cigarettes.
Go drum your guns on cobblestones
It is your blood and their crude!
And let your voices linger on
It’s your wage that your blood has won:
“What you’re selling we won’t buy!”
Then there is Pete Hegseth with his Crusader tattoo.