The Body in Peril/The Body at War: Women in Combat
©Christine Olinger first appearing in Ladybug Flights, June 2003

In 1994 then-President Bill Clinton signed an order allowing women on combat ships and fighter planes. The action was largely in response to the performance of women in the 1991 Gulf War, Operation Desert Storm. For ages debate had waged over how well women could perform in combat. Desert Storm effectively answered this question: just as well as the men. Yet doubts still cloud the issue, and recent events in the latest war indicate we, as a nation, still haven't quite come to terms with the idea of women in battle. A central part of this issue is the national perception of the female body. In other words, America has a body image problem when it comes to its women at war.

Two of the chief concerns about women in combat seem to have already been answered, yet they linger in this second wave of front line activity among females in the military. Critics have long bemoaned the possibility of sexual torture and punishment as a bottom-line “no” to the question. There have further been constant questions about how well women would handle the tough realities of battle.

Although it got little press and less commentary, sexual abuse has happened to at least one female POW. Colonel Rhonda Cornum, who was a major in the first Gulf War, was taken prisoner by the Iraqis and testified before a presidential commission on women in combat that she was sexually molested. She gave only slight mention of this in her biography She Went to War: the Rhonda Cornum Story. Cornum has said in later interviews that she chose to downplay the incident because she feared it would receive undue attention in the press and give too much ammunition to nay-sayers. Cornum later served as commander of an army medical unit in Bosnia, a region famous for its rape camps.

Women have passed the test. But has America given them the acceptance they have earned? In spite of the fact that 12 female soldiers died in combat in the first gulf war all evidence indicates that our nation is still uncomfortable sending their daughters to the front lines. In recent months much was made over Jessica Lynch, who was rescued in an unprecedented storming of an Iraqi hospital. Further attention focused on Shoshana Johnson, one of the later rescued POWs, and Lori Piestewa, a woman who was later found to have died in combat. Many Americans seem to be under the impression that she was the first woman to die in combat, but Lori Piestewa was the first Native American woman to do so.

It is interesting that most Americans can name Jessica Lynch, many more can name Shoshana Johnson, and even a few can remember Lori Piestewa, if not her name. Yet of the 25 random pedestrians asked last week, none could give the name of a single male POW or fallen soldier in the current war.

This may seem to indicate that Americans value women more dearly than they do men. But what is actually going on is a subtle discomfort with ultimate choice. We, as a nation, don't like the thought of women being killed in combat. We squirm at the idea of sexual torture, and this is, of course, a valid response. But closer examination of the real issue brings to light the bitter truth: America would still prefer to make women's choices for them; America would still like to control our bodies.

We do not, as a nation, value women's bodies more greatly than men. Contrarily, we value them less, view them as property, and wish to control where the female body goes and what it does. Women can't fight wars, our collective subconscious tells us, because they would be raped, they are not strong enough, they should be protected.

History has disproved all detractors on the issue. In this recent war, Iraqi Freedom, women have served in more active and dangerous positions than ever before, right alongside their battle brethren. They have been just as tough, just as competent, and just as fragile, ultimately, as the men. Yet our reaction as a nation to the female body in combat is still one of protectiveness and emotion. So much has been made of Jessica Lynch's small stature. She has been minimized even as she has been lauded. Tiny Jessica, little Jessica, the half-pint hero. What she really wanted was to travel and be a teacher. How often has the media taken measurements of male POWs? How many men are in the military so that they can travel and later make use of the education benefits? There are certainly many men in the military who are short, slender, and perhaps more prone to computers than combat. Their right to serve is not in question; their value as soldiers a given.

But they all complete boot camp. They all volunteer. No soldier in the current war was drafted. Women in harm's way are, just like their male compatriots, there by choice. We are all grateful that Jessica Lynch is home. We were all overjoyed to see her returned safe. But the niggling, persistent question remains: would a male soldier in the same situation have been retrieved at as great a risk; and would a male soldier in the same circumstances have received the same attention?

The issue is not really whether women can or should serve. They can; they do; they should. The issue is not really whether women are as capable as men in battle, or whether they can perform as well. They are; they do. The issue is not even whether America cherishes its women more greatly than its men. America does not. What we seem to deny, as a nation, is the ugly truth: that we view the female body as valuable property, too valuable to risk at war.

Yet risk it they have. Women have faced every test: gunfire, grueling terrain, capture, torture, sexual abuse. They have done so willingly and have proven all critics wrong. Now we need, as a nation, to accept those choices and to rethink our reactions. If women are to have complete sovereignty over their bodies they must also be permitted to make the ultimate sacrifice if they choose to do so.