American Sniper ~ A Troubling Story of War and Warriors

Eric Tang
Eric Tang
Sep 8, 2018 · 4 min read
American Sniper, by Chris Kyle

“I don’t shoot people carrying Korans. I’d like to, but I don’t.”

That’s how Chris Kyle responds to an army lawyer halfway through the events of American Sniper. Kyle, a Navy SEAL serving in Ramadi, has shot an Iraqi man who, he claims, is carrying an assault rifle through the streets of Ramadi. Local Iraqis claim the man was unarmed and simply carrying a Koran; an investigation ensues, and we get a disturbing glimpse into Kyle’s psyche.

Those words echo a general tone of American Sniper: undoubtedly Islamophobic, also cruel, perhaps murderous. Reading American Sniper in 2018, Kyle seems to presage the racist, violent, “America First” rhetoric of Trump. He repeatedly calls Iraqis savages. He has a crusader cross tattooed on his arm. He writes about his love for killing and war. Throughout the book, Kyle comes across as an unreflective brute.

Despite all this, I found more buried inside American Sniper. By the end of the book, I disagree with almost every political statement Kyle makes. But I also deeply respect the personal sacrifices Kyle makes for others: the book helps me think about how we grapple with sacrifice, family, and loss.

From the start, I recognize that Kyle’s fundamental worldview is vastly different from my own. In the prologue, Kyle lists his priorities as “‘God, Country, and Family,’ in that order.” I don’t consider myself religious, and I often struggle with patriotism. That struggle with patriotism isn’t helped by the rest of Kyle’s story. In calling Iraqis “savages,” Kyle echoes both the Crusaders and the U.S. genocide of Native Americans. He’s explicit about his indifference to the Iraqis’ fate, writing that, “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about the Iraqis. I fought for my country and my people.” Personally, that scares the shit out of me.

Yet Kyle’s willingness to sacrifice so much for other Americans and the notion of America is where I begin to feel a deep, conflicted respect for Kyle. Over the course of his four deployments, he saves an astonishing number of American lives. He braves enemy fire to free a group of trapped journalists and Marines; he downs an insurgent seconds before they attempt to ambush a SEAL team; he kills an insurgent at over 2,100 yards to protect an incoming American convoy. While Kyle expresses his thirst for killing, he also repeatedly stresses his hope to be a protector, braving the fight to protect his fellow soldiers.

In these efforts to protect other Americans, Kyle risks his own life countless times. In the streets of Fallujah, he carries a dying Army soldier back to safety, braving heavy fire. Later, his helmet is struck by bullets in a night raid, and a collapsing concrete wall nearly severs his legs. In a larger sense, Kyle suspends his life, marriage, and fatherhood back in San Diego for almost eight years, so that he can serve a country whose ideals he believes in, guarding others he is willing to die for.

This respect for Kyle troubles me. I could never hold him up as a role model, but I also have trouble vilifying someone who sacrificed so much for my own country. As an American citizen, my existence depends on the sacrifices of soldiers like Kyle — sacrifices that most of us (myself included) would shudder to make.

Throughout American Sniper, there are also moments when Kyle feels incredibly human, even fragile. He writes about bringing two new guys into the platoon: Ryan Job, a devilishly funny kid, and Marc Lee, a deeply religious man who served as a sort of chaplain for the platoon. When Ryan and Marc are killed in battle, just days apart, Kyle is devastated. He writes honestly about the intense grief of losing his brothers and turns to a renewed faith and prayer to help him overcome their loss.

In navigating life with his wife, Taya, Kyle’s story also feels surprisingly human. Much of the book is about how Kyle juggles his priorities: God, Country, and Family. Every time he decides to re-enlist or stay home, he must choose between his role as a protector of his fellow soldiers, or as a loyal husband and father. In one compelling chapter, Kyle comes home from his fourth deployment with two young children who barely know him, and a marriage strained to its limits. He decides, heartwarmingly, to come home.

That’s Chris Kyle. He’s evil. He’s a hero. He’s just as human as the rest of us.

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