In today’s world, and yesterday’s it seems.
I want to share a piece written by Cole Schafer that dropped into my inbox today.
After you read it, I will share another piece of long form that also ties in.
From Cole:
I want to share a piece written by Cole Schafer that dropped into my inbox today.
After you read it, I will share another piece of long form that also ties in.
From Cole:
Brevity, bravery and lost battalions.
Five hundred troops are getting pummeled with artillery.
In Nexus, Yuval Noah Harari tells of a moment from World War I that breaks my heart every time I read it.
And so the story goes...
Americans are fighting like wolves to liberate northern France from the Germans. Something goes awry, and a battalion becomes trapped behind enemy lines.
Five hundred troops are getting pummeled with artillery. Not by the Germans. But by the Americans. The shelling is intended to provide cover for the American battalion to get the hell out of Dodge. Unfortunately, wires get crossed.
To make matters worse, the German line is so dense, the captive battalion can't get a runner through to alert the Americans they're firing at the wrong guys.
As a last-ditch effort, Major Wittlesey, the battalion's commander, scribbles a few words down on a scrap of paper, fastens the note to the ankle of an army carrier pigeon and sets him free.
The bird is in the air.
Cher Ami flies into German fire, where a shell explodes directly below him, killing five men and severely injuring his claw.
A piece of shrapnel tears through Cher Ami's chest and leaves his right leg dangling by a single tendon. Despite his wounds, Cher Ami flies twenty-five miles to deliver the note.
When the Americans open up the tiny canister holstered around Cher Ami's ankle, they unearth a note that reads...
We are along the road parallel [sic] 276.4. Our artillery is dropping a barrage directly on us. For heaven's sake stop it.
While the details of the exact story are a bit hazy, the Americans adjusted their artillery and launched a counterattack to rescue the trapped battalion.
Heading home.
Homing pigeons have been used for centuries as a means of delivering important information across great distances.
They're called homing pigeons because they will always find their way back home.
From birth, they're raised in a loft, where they keep a nest. As long as they're released within a 600-mile radius of their loft, they will do everything they can to return to it upon their release.
This is what kills me about Cher Ami. Not just that his instincts saved close to 500 American soldiers from dying at the hands of their own country
It's that amid all the chaos, horror and fiery terror, what Cher Ami wanted more than anything, was to get back home.
The cost of immediacy.
Instant communication costs us depth.
When communication wasn't as immediate as it is today––when dialogue primarily happened through letters, messengers and courageous carrier pigeons––our words held more weight.
We had to consider each word we placed on the page because we weren't for certain we'd have the chance to write again––at least not soon.
Think about those 21 words written by Major Wittlesey.
His communication had to be clear and concise. It had to effectively address just how dire his battalion's situation was in as few words as possible.
A worthwhile practice––whether as an individual or an organization––is to challenge ourselves to say more with less.
If we could write just one headline each day, what would it be?
When you have 2+ hours, this is worth it:
https://youtu.be/W4tqbEmplug?si=ivbzq7uCjJRr6Gzj
K.