I Want To Come Home For Christmas (SaLaAM ReMi Remix) - Mavin Gaye
Marvin Gaye co-wrote this song in 1972, the year after he released What’s Going On. Here’s what he said about that album, according to Rolling Stone:
In 1969 or 1970, I began to re-evaluate my whole concept of what I wanted my music to say.I was very much affected by letters my brother was sending me from Vietnam, as well as the social situation here at home. I realized that I had to put my own fantasies behind me if I wanted to write songs that would reach the souls of people. I wanted them to take a look at what was happening in the world.
I think the part of the lyrics that hits me the hardest is:
'Cause I'm a prisoner of war / Lying here in my cell / Hoping my family is well
Wish they wouldn't worry so much about me
There’s something that feels very true and very sad about a suffering soldier spending his energy wishing that people wouldn’t worry about him. I couldn’t find Frankie Gaye’s letters online, but I do recommend strongly Kurt Vonnegut’s May 1945 letter to his family about his experiences as a prisoner of war. A (Christmas-related!) excerpt:
We were loaded and locked up, sixty men to each small, unventilated, unheated boxcar. There were no sanitary accommodations ― the floors were covered with fresh cow dung. There wasn’t room for all of us to lie down. Half slept while the other half stood. We spent several days, including Christmas, on that Limberg siding. On Christmas eve the Royal Air Force bombed and strafed our unmarked train. They killed about one-hundred-and-fifty of us. We got a little water Christmas Day and moved slowly across Germany to a large P.O.W. Camp in Mulburg, South of Berlin. We were released from the box cars on New Year’s Day. The Germans herded us through scaling delousing showers. Many men died from shock in the showers after ten days of starvation, thirst and exposure. But I didn’t.
He repeats that last sentiment ― all those people died. but I didn’t ― a few times in the 3-page letter. I’m struck by the simplicity of it; there isn’t much sense to be made of it. All those people died, but I didn’t. I am struck by this kind of senselessness when I try to take a look at what is happening in the world. I read an essay in August written by a 14-year-old from Gaza, also worrying about her family in the midst of her own suffering:
I dozed off, only to wake up to the sound of bullets flying in the street, bombs, and shrapnel hitting the walls and windows. My mother shielded me with her exhausted body, smiled at me, and said, “We’re OK, don’t be afraid.”
This went on for several minutes. We couldn’t move. I felt cold despite the summer heat—until I felt something warm on my hand. I couldn’t see what it was in the darkness. Then I realized it was blood. A piece of shrapnel had pierced my mother’s shoulder—which she was using to shield my head—and it had made no sound.
I couldn’t comprehend it. I couldn’t ask if she was still alive. Fear paralyzed me, and I wondered if death had claimed her this time. I kept searching with my hand for her heartbeat to see if there was a pulse.
Her faint voice startled me. “Are you OK?” she asked. I told her she was hurt, and she calmly replied, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry.”
Gaza (and the Iran-Israel proxy war that has spilled into Lebanon and Syria) is one of 6 conflicts listed as a “Major war” by the Wikipedia page on ongoing armed conflicts . The others are in Ukraine, Myanmar, the Sahel (in West Africa), Sudan, and Mexico. I feel so lucky to have never experienced a major war or a minor one. No one has ever pointed a gun at me, much less bombed the city where I lived. My family and friends are also, for the most part, in places that have no war. I have never been afraid that one of my family members might kill me. Mavin Gaye died at age 44, shot point-blank by his father; this song was released posthumously.
There is a senselessness to all of this. All those people have to tell their family not to worry, but I do not, not in the same way. All those people died. But I didn’t. I wonder, often, how to do right by my good luck.
Wishing I knew how to stop the fight,
Tessa