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So it is with symbols: They can shift in meaning over time and among cultures. They can be interpreted—or misinterpreted—for good or for evil, even lose their original meaning entirely.

Photo: Martha Cooper Varick A. Chittenden is professor emeritus of English, SUNY Canton College of Technology, and executive director of Traditional Arts in Upstate New York (TAUNY). Photo: Martha Cooper

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I was planning to write this column about presidential campaigns and their relevance to the small towns of upstate New York, and I had settled on an account of Teddy Roosevelt’s stop in my hometown during his Bull Moose campaign of 1912, as told to me by an old farmer years ago. I changed my mind, however, after a series of exchanges over the publication of a simple snapshot. When Voices issued a call for articles relevant to the national Veterans History Project, photographer Martha Cooper and I prepared a photo essay based on our work about a North Country native who served in Vietnam. The snapshot in question—the one that appears on this page—was among other candids Mike’s buddies had taken of him on fire bases and in the jungle during a thirteen-month tour of duty. Here we see him at age nineteen, surrounded by the trappings of war, far from his small town, a boy warrior. This picture of youthful strength and innocence could have been the cover of this magazine. In fact, I believe it should have been. It is a beautiful image, both evocative and aesthetically pleasing. But the editors raised questions about its appropriateness, for one small but important reason. Can you find it? It is, of course, the pendant Mike is wearing—a simple Maltese cross given him by a friend. The editors’ objection: it could be construed as a Nazi symbol and offend many, if not most, Americans. Best not to publish it on the cover of our folklore magazine. I have since learned that the Maltese cross has a long history, going back to the Crusades, when it signified Christian commitment to fight against Muslims. Over time, it became the Prussian “iron cross,” meant to honor acts of heroism in the War of Liberation against Napoleon. It remained a German symbol of bravery for nearly a century, through World War I. Then it was reintroduced by Hitler to invoke the folkloric imagery of great victories and gallant warriors. In 1945, when the swastika was outlawed, so were other German military symbols. By 1957, German veterans were allowed once again to wear the Iron Cross as a recognition of their bravery in combat. Michael Cousino at American base at Khe San, 1968. Unidentified photographer. Photo reprinted courtesy of University Press of Mississippi. When asked recently why he wore the cross for that picture, Mike said, “A Marine buddy”—he can’t remember his name—“was about to leave Vietnam for home and was cleaning out his duffle bag when he found this cross and asked me if I wanted it. I took it. I thought it was just a cross at the time. It was cool and what the motorcycle dudes wore. Another guy later in the day said he wanted to take my picture so I decided to put on the cross as just something to do. I never wore it since ’cause it was so heavy. I was later told it had something to do with Germans and World War II. When someone told me it was a Nazi symbol, I tossed it. But if you like the picture, use it. I don’t mind what people will think!” The Iron Cross has been used by neo-Nazis and as a hate symbol, with or without a swastika. But it is also the treasured symbol of firefighters, first associated with the bravery of the Knights of St. John who saved fellow Crusaders from being burned alive. So it is with symbols: They can shift in meaning over time and among cultures. They can be interpreted—or misinterpreted—for good or for evil, even lose their original meaning entirely. As folklorists, we should be sensitive to these changes and their values. I do not blame our editors for being cautious—I wouldn’t want to offend readers, either. But as documentarians, we must tell the truth about what we find in our research, especially if explaining the context will clarify issues like this one. If we want to sanitize folk expressions, we should be writing for Golden Books. I must confess that Marty Cooper and I flirted with the idea of “Photoshopping” the cross right off Mike’s chest, leaving just the suggestion of dog tags. We thought that might make the photo palatable. The next morning, I really realized the ethics of that move were worse than not publishing it at all. Instead, I asked to include the image with this column, taking full responsibility for the decision. Of course, my entire book on Mike and his experiences might not pass the judgment of some readers, since offensive materials are frequently parts of Mike’s stories. Don’t look now, but they include a Confederate flag, nudity, profanity, misogyny, and unbelievable violence. From the original texts of the folktales of the Brothers Grimm to contemporary stories of prison life or songs of the drug culture, folklorists have been dealing with the realities of everyday life. Some of those realities are not very pleasant. And if we are to write about them, we have to be ready for the controversy that follows.

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