wars, fictional, historical, or mythical

along with all the episodes of Hell's Kitchen, we've been watching tons of Star Wars movies and shows lately. 

why am I pairing this post about Star Wars with this set of very old photographs from the Alamo? well. mostly, I must admit, I'm doing so because these photographs of the Alamo have been sitting around in a draft blogpost for seven years now, at least. and when else besides blog-every-day-in-July am I going to turn that draft into an actual post?

most of what I know about the Alamo comes from pop culture references and the friends I hung out with when I lived in Lubbock, Texas. I had the pleasure of visiting the Alamo in person with friend Hannah in 2013, just as I was leaving Lubbock and moving to Indiana. I remember learning about the six flags Texas has flown, and I'm sure I learned a bunch more about the history of this landmark from plaques and tour guides-- but I've forgotten most of it. Wikipedia has refreshed and supplemented my crummy memory this evening.

1836. a hundred men against the Mexican army. a last stand. fighting. death. loss. 

and now it's transcended whatever really happened. it's become a symbol, wrapped up in reverence and honor and however much meaning we can make of such sacrifice.

part of what makes this connection between Star Wars and the Alamo actually interesting (rather than merely a random product of me wanting to mark one of these many old blogpost drafts off the list) is Rogue One.

if you haven't seen Rogue One and you care about spoilers, sorry. the story is only analogous to the Alamo's in that it too is a desperate-but-hopeful last stand, with plenty of fighting and loss. it's set in fictional outer space, not in actual 19th-century Texas. it's an infiltration mission, not a siege. perhaps unsurprisingly, I remember more about the Star Wars Rebel Alliance than I do about the Texas Revolution.

it all makes me think about stories and what they can do. in real life, stories shape so much. how we remember them and transmit them and reify them... it all matters as much as anything.

and stories about real events always have to leave things out, it seems. the legacy of the Alamo, whether we're talking then or now almost 200 years later, is surely oversimplified. complex, messy events-- a hundred men and their last stand-- all boiled down to a rallying cry.

stories about fictional events have to leave things out too... but it's also easier to come back to the bits you left out and fill them in interestingly, without worrying about getting it wrong or betraying historical truth.

in that vein, have you seen The Clone Wars? it's a good show, from the pieces I caught while husband watched it. (friend Patti included it with her epic Star Wars marathon some months back. I agree with her that Ahsoka is a gift; I love her.)

The Clone Wars uses the backdrop of everything we got in the prequel trilogy to tell so many more stories-- stories with plenty of nuance and emotion and thought-provoking themes. it seems quite timely in some ways, the episodic adventures of government officials trying their best to keep the peace and uphold democratic order in their republic despite all the evil and selfishness in the galaxy. even though I hadn't attentively watched every episode, the final scene of the final episode of season seven brought a few tears to my eyes. these movies refer to the Jedi way as a religion plenty, but no other scene in any other piece of this saga has ever actually made me feel that definition so poignantly.

husband has moved on to the Star Wars: Rebels series now. it takes place during the original trilogy and it also seems pretty awesome in terms of nuance and grown-up themes. loyalty and selflessness, honor, trust, sacrifice and the painful legacies it can leave in its wake.

so anyway, I recommend both The Clone Wars and Rebels as meaningful stories. they transcend the original Star Wars movies in ways I find pretty impressive.

I also recommend visiting the Alamo. even though it's a rebuilt monument and not the actual Alamo of 1836, it has plenty of beauty and meaning of its own.