In October, 1941, the U.S.S. Reuben James, a destroyer engaged in convoy duty in the North Atlantic, was sunk by a torpedo from a Nazi U-boat. Almost 100 American sailors were killed in this attack.
When the acclaimed folksinger Woody Guthrie, perhaps best known for his song, This Land is Your Land, heard of what happened he was inspired by the names reported as casualties. To Guthrie, these names reflected the extraordinary panoply of people who made up our country and fought to protect it. He wrote a song to honor the fallen and to acknowledge and call out the varied identities of the different groups that had come to the United States and now served in our military. Guthrie’s first version of the song included the actual names of the casualties. He revised it to capture the generic connection between the fallen and their numerous communities who shared their background and ancestry.
Guthrie wrote in part,
“Have you heard of a ship called the good Reuben James
Manned by hard fighting men both of honor and fame?
She flew the Stars and Stripes of the land of the free
But tonight she’s in her grave at the bottom of the sea.”
Chorus:
TELL ME WHAT WERE THEIR NAMES, TELL ME WHAT WERE THEIR NAMES,
DID YOU HAVE A FRIEND ON THE GOOD REUBEN JAMES?
“Now tonight there are lights in our country so bright
In the farms and in the cities they’re telling of the fight.
And now our mighty battleships will steam the bounding main
And remember the name of the good Reuben James.”
Chorus:
TELL ME WHAT WERE THEIR NAMES, TELL ME WHAT WERE THEIR NAMES,
DID YOU HAVE A FRIEND ON THE GOOD REUBEN JAMES?
Guthrie’s song is just one example of many extolling what many Americans considered a distinctive strength and virtue of the United States, the diversity of our people. Today, that recognition is sometimes dismissed as part of “woke” culture and DEI programs. But American appreciation of the ethnic, racial, and religious diversity of the United States existed long before anyone had heard of the word “woke.” And we lose something of true value and an important part of our history if our diversity is universally ignored, or even worse, condemned in all circumstances.
The message of this 80-year-old song isn’t ambiguous. It is an ode to the wonder and power of America’s diversity—with special recognition of diversity in the military. Yet today one might wonder if a songbook containing the lyrics of the Reuben James could be kept on the shelves in some school libraries or included in government websites.
For some Americans, diversity, even in the military, is rejected out of hand as a discredited idea which contributes nothing to the strength of our nation. Do we really believe that? Was the call to “Tell me … their names” a useless and divisive statement? Or was it a tribute to our diversity and to what distinguished America from the Nazi regime we would be fighting in World War II?
Just a cursory review of our military history demonstrates what diversity has meant to our nation. The Irish Brigade was a heralded military unit during the Civil War. And the “Fighting 69th” regiment, originally part of that brigade, fought in many other wars and still plays a prominent role in New York’s St. Patrick’s Day parade. The 442nd “Go For Broke” Regimental Combat Team, comprised overwhelmingly of Nisei (Japanese American) soldiers, was the most decorated unit of its size during World War II. The Tuskegee Airmen were African-American fighter and bomber pilots in World War II who distinguished themselves in numerous combat missions.
These ethnic units came to military service out of a society deeply embedded with prejudice and discrimination. Discrimination against the Irish reflected in “No Irish Need Apply” signs were prevalent in 1860. The Japanese-American soldiers in the 442 regiment and the African-American Tuskegee Airmen served in segregated units and faced pervasive discrimination at home. But they fought for our country nonetheless.
Other countries included different ethnic groups in their Armed Forces. Most commonly, these were mercenaries, or soldiers recruited from colonial empires. The British hired Hessian mercenaries from Germany to try to suppress the American Revolution. Great Britain raised troops from East Africa, the Kings African Rifles, and France recruited troops from its Morocco Protectorate. The United States was different. Our forces were diverse because our military reflected the diversity of our people.
Perhaps the most poignant expression of the value we attach to diversity can be found in our national cemeteries where active-duty veterans are buried. The National Cemetery Administration offers almost 80 different emblems of belief that may be placed on the headstones of decedents. These include the emblems of numerous Christian denominations (including the Latin Cross, Armenian Cross, Polish National Catholic Church, African Methodist Episcopal Church, Mormons, and Episcopalians), Jews, Hindus, Buddhists, Sikh, Shinto, Atheists, Muslims, Druze, and many others. Far from being divisive, I suggest that extending this recognition to all of our honored dead respects both our diversity and our unity. Indeed, in an important sense it reflects what the phrase “Only in America” conveys.
I recognize that our commitment to diversity has sometimes been more aspirational than actualized. And diversity as a mandate has raised normative and legal concerns. But these criticisms have their limits. The respect for diversity intrinsic to “Only in America” has been part of our heritage and a source of our morale. Whatever the pros and cons of the cultural and legal conflicts about DEI may be, we do not want lose touch with this respect and commitment.
TELL ME WHAT WERE THEIR NAMES, TELL ME WHAT WERE THEIR NAMES,
DID YOU HAVE A FRIEND ON THE GOOD REUBEN JAMES?
