The enemy of my enemy is what, again?

So for various reasons (as so often the case with me, that’s a euphemism for whims) I’m reading a book about the War of 1812, specifically the Battle of New Orleans. It’s called Patriotic Fire, by the Forrest Gump guy. (Winston Groom. He wrote the novel, not the movie.)

It starts a bit slow: the author’ prose comes off initially as more than a bit precious, and he’s a big one for parroting the received wisdom of  American history, especially the exaltation of powerful men. Although he does have a refreshing outlook on the banality of judging people’s actions 200 years ago by modern morality. (Face it, no matter how things shake out, two centuries from now people will regard us as ass-ignorant moral imbeciles. If there are still, you know, people.)

But once his story gets moving he keeps it rolling along quite entertainingly. He has a particular gift for picking out odd and colorful incidents. Of course he’s helped considerably by his chosen protagonists: Andrew Jackson, who despite what else may justly be said of him (mostly, that he was a chrome-plated prick) was an authentic badass who led the life of an action-movie hero; and Jean Lafitte, who despite what else may be said of him was an authentic freaking pirate. So, hard to go wrong.

I’ve reached the point where the Brits are invading Louisiana. Which made me think. At first it’d seem they were utterly naïve for believing they could get the local Creoles – Frenchmen who’d abruptly been converted to US citizens by the Louisiana purchase a few years before, and similarly situated Spaniards whose countrymen had been allied with the British to fight the French – would rise up against the US government and join the invaders.

Then it struck me: the old saw about the enemy of my enemy is my friend might kind of break down when your enemy primary enemy is remote and his enemy is living on your block, crapping on the sidewalk and breaking your windshield. The invading Brits may literally have been the men who’d just brought down the French empire; but the fall of the Corsican Napoleon and his putative gloire happened across the ocean, to other people. Whereas the odious Kaintucks, as the French Creoles generally called the Americans, were daily in their faces and on their lawns.

So I have wonder how a somewhat hypothetical enmity stacks up against everyday annoyance.

Also I can’t help but wonder how the moral situation shifts when the enemy of the first part turns up in your neighborhood in overwhelming force. Even if they’ve just been slaughtering your countrymen overseas, if they suddenly rolled down your block bristling with assault rifles, tanks, and attack helicopters, you might suddenly feel better disposed toward them.  Or at least unlikely to want to rush out and fight with them. Maybe better to let bygones be bygones and get along, yes?

And after all, those heavily-armed invaders might keep those other people – their enemies, who are decidedly not your friends – from waving their private parts at your aunty and stewing the neighborhood cats. Restore some law and order.

So maybe the Limeys weren’t all that silly for expecting the local majority population to join their side.

Except of course (*spoiler alert*) it didn’t happen. And the Brits  got their asses handed to them. The end.

Anyway, if you’ve any space in your reading queue, think about adding Patriotic Fire to it. The book’s a prime example of why I’ve always loved history: presented properly, it’s a wild-ass lurid action/adventure yarn that really happened.

PS: at some point I’m totally stealing characters and events from the New Orleans campaign for my own tales. Betcher ass.

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