“We’re not ready for this … This is the middle of nowhere … This is a shithole … I felt like we were fish in a barrel … What are we doing?” is the chorus that introduces us to the Korengal Valley, the deadliest area in Afghanistan in 2007 and also noted as the most violent place on the planet, given that 70% of all ordinates dropped in a single day during the Afghan conflict hit various targets in Korengal.
Violence in the valley is almost seen as second nature as the documentarians Sebastian Junger and Tim Hetherington provide aerial footage from a helicopter that captures fog rolling over the variegated mountains surrounding Korengal, but there is little differentiation between nature’s warm breath and residual smoke from mortar shells that have punctured the landscape. This intertwining of nature and militant agency sets the tone for Restrepo, a film that examines the contradictions inherent in war: the endearing brotherhood that forms within a platoon and the disassociation with the killed and the “others” outside of the platoon. Often, the “others” are the enemy, but just as often, the “others” are the residents of a country that has been enraptured with turmoil for the last four centuries, experiencing an invasion or regime change on average of every 86 years, the Taliban being “only the latest in a long line of conquerors, warlords, preachers, saints and philosophers who have swept through the Afghan corridor destroying older civilizations and religions and introducing new ones.”1
Restrepo also sheds light on the irony that the American forces will be the philosophers to sweep through the Afghan corridor, despite their agenda to rid the country of the Taliban. While nobility is shown through the U.S. actions, and the film doesn’t slander the military efforts, it clearly shows the contradictions inherent in the agenda and the practice. Essentially, the importance of the Korengal Valley stems from a single road that winds through it, needing to be paved, but being prevented by consistent shelling and mortar attacks. However, the road is illustrated as a more dire American concern than that of the Korengal residents. This is particularly clear when Capt. Kearney, who issues orders to the 2nd Platoon, holds his weekly Shura with the Korengal elders to offer any explanations of deaths – accidental or otherwise – and keep them abreast of the progress the Platoon intends to make. During the Shura, he emphasizes how crucial this road is in that it “connects the locals and provides an easier route to the Pesh River Valley.” Building on the need for this road, Kearney tries to further convince the Shura to support the U.S. actions – as if they have a choice – by baiting them with the money, community projects, and healthcare that the road will provide.
While the prophesied benefits of the road might come to fruition, the elders in the Shura are rather indifferent to Kearnery’s sales pitch. As he recites lines, those that have been said a dozen times before and exhibit their almost perfunctory nature through his lack of inflection, the elders fiddle with silver juice packs, playing with the sharp end of a straw, reading to puncture the thin cellophane package. Their silent indifference speaks volumes in that it showcases how far the military has disassociated themselves from the people in this valley, not only in that they have little regard for deaths – incidental or on purpose – but they are approaching these residents with a Western mindset, one that revolves around money, something that these residents have little use for.
In addition to disassociation, there’s also an amalgamated U.S. persona that exudes both narcissism and ignorance when Kearny assumes he can negate all previous civilian deaths in the Valley, merely by saying his intention is to “wipe the slate clean,” expecting the Shura to take him at his word and not object. When they do object, Kearney’s response through the translator is “[this civilian] doesn’t get that I don’t give a fuck.”
Kearney also offers an interesting look at how fraternal losses are measured against losses of those deemed the “other” when his platoon fires upon a handful of residences that are incorrectly targeted as Taliban hideouts. Children are injured and a few are left dead, but there is little empathy shown toward the patriarch of the home, despite the number of U.S. losses Kearney has experienced during his tenure. Instead, Kearney categorizes the misstep as bad public relations, noting that the incident is a “bad first impression,” making his future sitdowns and Shuras with them a bit precarious.
Having never served in any branch of the military, I can’t say that his mindset is inaccurate; perhaps this is how wars are won: the disassociation of human life and the similarly categorization of anyone who doesn’t don a U.S. uniform an “other,” a less than human entity blindly blamed for the death of a fellow soldier.
And while a brethren’s death serves as powerful motivation to defeat the enemy, Restrepo shows that the enemy is often labeled without prejudice, and these actions seem to stem more from ubiquitous malice, creating a vicious cycle of death and revenge. A cycle also being manufactured by the “others” in the same mountainous valley.
DYL MAG Score: 8
1Rashid, Taliban, 2000.
