Shock N Awe

Shock and Awe: a 20th Century term relating to military and strategic policy, first coined in 1996 by Harlan K. Ullman and James P. Wade in a discussion of the military strategy of rapid dominance, in their book Shock and Awe: Achieving Rapid Dominance. This notion of shock and awe literally means to paralyze an enemy’s will to carry on, and to seize control of the environment and paralyze, or so overload, an enemy’s perceptions and understanding of events that the enemy would be incapable of resistance at the tactical and strategic levels.

Of course, the words shock and awe still ring in our ears after hearing it day in, day out, as newscasters repeated it like a mantra, while we watched the sublime blasts of orange, red and yellow over the skies of Baghdad in April 2003. Arvin and I were still physically and psychologically numb from 9/11, as we sat watching the first bombs rip into Iraq on our tiny tellie in our studio apartment in Astoria, Queens.

The expression has stayed with me since then. Recently, it has had a special relevance to me in other spheres of my life. It seems to have a much more malleable meaning, than just strictly a military connotation. Though that is how I first started thinking about it.

I remember just after 9/11, and suddenly, sprouting up all over New York City, was the American Flag. It was on everything. Decals on the sides of the subway trains and the bus. Huge flags unfurled from the back of the remaining fleet of Manhattan fire trucks. Smaller flags flying from peoples’ cars. From buildings. From every building.

Then there was the ubiquitous United We Stand signs and decals. We? And standing for what? About what? Against what? Personally, I was still in shock. I trembled and had panic attacks whenever I saw troops in the subway. I still ducked and took cover whenever the fighter jets flew over, and that was probably 2-3 dozen times a day for months. Worst of all, when you ventured out to the boroughs, away from the glare and the plastic smiles of Manhattan, and into the heart of the Middle Eastern and Muslim immigrant neighborhoods, it was certainly not United We Stand. It was traditional, American fear camouflaged in patriotism. Mosque burning, harassment, threats…yes, United We Stand.

I have since seen this slogan “shock and awe” used to describe the tragedies of terrorism around the world, as well as the atrocities of Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo. I have gazed at cable news personalities practically screaming at us about the shock and awe of the Great Recession. Or, that we need shock and awe policies to stop it.

I’m more intrigued by the overwhelming fear that enveloped me since that fateful Tuesday. Fear never knowingly guided my life before. It has guided every second of my life since. That fear has it’s own shock and awe value, for me.

When I first conceived of this project, it took many years of working through post-traumatic stress disorder, and the concurrent vestibular injury—all resulting from 9/11—for all the disparate ideas, and materials, to strike like the proverbial stones and create the spark and fire.

The fabric makes me extremely angry, panicked, bitter, sad, puts me on the edge of flashbacks sometimes. It’s ridiculous. It’s only printed fabric. But that’s how traumatized I still am. I don’t even think it’s the American flags. I’m pretty sure it’s the United We Stand. Instant trigger. All it takes is a simple trigger of an event to send someone into a flashback.

Yet I was drawn to the notion of making the phrase into pillows; I wanted something that was painful to look at and acknowledge, yet simultaneously could embrace, hug, scream into like a pillow, could kick around or throw in anger. I am drawn to their tactile, almost healing nature, even though they initially stir panic, anger, fear, sadness, and flashbacks.

I am making them bigger. Much bigger. Body pillow size. Full size hug.