When I was seventeen, I spent the summer living in Florence.

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One night I was standing outside a bar, smoking a cigarette. An attractive, well-built American man came up to me and started a conversation.

He explained that he was American and that he was stationed in Italy. Then he looked me in the eye and asked, ‘Do you know what war is like?’

I replied that I didn’t.


‘You ever been to Disneyland?’ he asked. I haven’t, but I said yes, because I knew where he was going.

‘Imagine the opposite of that’ he replied, darkly.

I got the impression that he’d used this line before, and he was swaying, so I told him I was going inside to rejoin my friends.



Later on that night, I bumped into him again. He came up behind me and shoved his hand down my top, into my bra.

I pulled away, and asked him what the fuck he thought he was doing.

‘I bought you a flower’ he slurred. ‘I’m a f*cking war hero.’

It didn’t occur to me that my response (which was to tell him that he wasn’t a hero, he was a drunk man, stationed at a holiday destination, who had tried to assault me) would make him so angry.

But it did. And not just angry, but confused. In that moment I realised that, most likely, as soon as he’d put his uniform on, people had been praising him for being a hero.

So no wonder he thought he could do whatever the hell he wanted.

I was reminded of this exchange when last week a story broke about British squaddies illegally sharing pictures of naked women on Facebook groups. A behaviour, which despite being decried by those in charge, fits neatly with my experience of every military man I’ve ever met.

When I was 16 I met a man (an officer) who had been on two tours of Afghanistan. He was 34. We dated briefly. I can promise that there was nothing heroic about the way that he encouraged me to lie to my parents about seeing him, but only if I first promised that when I arrived at his flat I would have removed every single hair on my body from below my eyelashes. Pubic hair, apparently, made him physically sick.

I am by no means saying that every person who has been in the army behaves that way. That would be unfair, and untrue.

What I am saying is that our attitude towards people in the military, namely treating them as heroes as soon as they sign on the dotted line, promotes a culture where they see themselves as special. Above the rules.

If you tell a person they are inherently special, brave and heroic, you cannot be surprised when they cease to believe that normal standards of behaviour apply to them.

It’s the same problem that has been created in athletes. It’s how men like Brock Turner end up believing that they are entitled to, amongst other things, women’s bodies, because they’re good at swimming. We place certain people, who do certain impressive things, on a pedestal and then we are somehow surprised when they don’t wish to follow the rules.



In light of the Brock Turner case, amongst other examples of sportspeople sexually assaulting women, a discussion has opened up about the level of entitlement we see in sporting people, and how that can lead to them feeling entitled to sex.

That discussion has not previously extended to the other career choice which seems to exempt you from criticism. The army.

Sports players might be personal heroes, but people in the military? They’re brave. They’re risking their lives. They’re real heroes. And you’re not allowed to criticise a hero, right?

The military is an emotive subject, which might be what’s hampering discussion. But that’s just not acceptable. Nurses, firemen and women, police officers: they all do vital, brave jobs, and yet they’re not exempt from critique. Why should anyone be?

The truth is, people who join the military are no more automatically heroic than anyone else. They have chosen to follow a career path that they feel connected to. Sometimes that choice is motivated by wanting to give protection to their country, often during conversations with military people about what they are ‘defending’ they have proved somewhat sketchy on the details.

Other times that choice is motivated by the job stability and raft of benefits it offers. Why else would the army and navy sponsor university education if not to tempt bright, talented young people into joining?

There is nothing wrong with enjoying the benefits that a military career offers. We all chose our careers for roughly the same reasons.


There is a lot wrong with pretending that those who join the army do so purely motivated by purity and heroism.

Unquestionably, joining the army is a dangerous job. But does joining up to do something make you inherently heroic? And if it does, then why don’t we treat fireman and people who sail lifeboats (arguably just as brave and perhaps even more dangerous) with that same reverence? There are many types of jobs that come with a physical risk attached to them. Perhaps it’s the scar that two world wars have left on our country, but for some reason, despite the risk attached to other professions, it’s only the army that comes with an unofficial title of ‘hero’.

Some people who join the army do, subsequently, become heroes. There is no doubt that risking your own life to directly save another person’s is heroic. But heroes are also found in plenty of other walks of life, too.

The concept of a hero is an unwieldy one. It means something different to every person. For me, people who teach in difficult schools are heroes. Women who have reported their experiences of sexual assault are heroes. Everyone is entitled to believe whoever they want to be a hero.

Frankly, I don’t give a damn if you want to call your best friend, a captain in the army or your childhood dog a hero.

But no title, no honorific and no uniform give you the right to behave however you want. Whether you’re a sports star, or a solider, you should still be bound by the same rules and regulations that apply across the board. Just because you respect a person’s vocation does not mean that the rules don’t apply to them anymore.

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