Yesterday I visited the Wellcome Collection's War & Medicine exhibition. Divided into three parts (organisation, the body and the mind), the exhibition looks at the paradox of war which means that as through history mankind has developed increasingly horrible and effective ways to maim and kill through warfare, so to we have had to rapidly adapt our medicine and health care to try to stem the damage we can do to each other.Starting at the Crimean War and working through to modern day
Initially, although fascinating, it does not seem like the most uplifting of viewing experiences. But there is, I think, an interesting angle for the optimist who cares to seek it. I was struck by how many of the most important medical developments of the last hundred years or so only came about as a response to the injuries and casualties of war. For example, the Russian's invention of triage as a method of treatment prioritisation during the Crimean War. The first facial reconstructive surgery and skin grafts were carried out during World War I because of the damage done by shell blasts. The extent of ongoing medical problems and injuries as a result of World War Two even led to the creation of the NHS. The horror of war through the ages has forced the medical profession to raise its game and now in the 21st century we are reaping the huge benefits of their discoveries, which save lives.
War has also transformed the way we deal with people's response to stress and trauma. The third and final section of the exhibition is focussed on just this - the injuries sustained by service personnel that although not outwardly visible were no less serious. This section of the gallery is quieter and calmer than the rest, with fewer interesting oddities to examine and an abundance of art and photography, almost all of which is fittingly black and white. There is an emphasis on art as being a release for people who have suffered the psychological horrors of war, and a way to communicate what they perhaps cannot vocalise.
By the end of WWI, the British Army had dealt with over 80,000 cases of shellshock. During the war, there were some medical officers and physicians who argued that shellshock was merely a physical reaction to the shell bursts, characterised by exhaustion, hallucination and insomnia amongst other undesirable symptoms.
Shockingly at that time, those who were incapacitated by this 'shellshock' to such an extent that they didn't feel able to continue fighting, could be accused of 'desertion' or 'cowardice', both of which were punishable by death. Over the years, medical officers began to understand that everyone is susceptible to battle-related stress. As the narrator on one US Army film about the psychological effects of battle says: "Every man has his breaking point." Now we call it Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) - a term which can apply to the psychological outcome of any shocking or traumatic event, not just war. War has helped to develop our knowledge of this condition and out therapeutic response to it.
A list in one of the glass cases shows the names of 306 soldiers who were executed by the British Army during WWI for these reasons. I think this is something we now find very hard to swallow. There was an instance in 2005 were there was a prolonged campaign to secure a pardon for Harry Farr, a serviceman executed for cowardice, who had undergone five months of treatment for shellshock only a year before his death.
In 2006 the then Defence Secretary, Des Browne announced a formal pardon. He said: “Although this is a historical matter, I am conscious of how the families…have had to endure a stigma for decades.” The Government went one step further in Nov 2006 and agreed that all soldiers executed in WWI should be given posthumous pardons.
The last part of the exhibition is the most hopeful, and colourful. In 2006 Catherine Panter-Brick, an anthropologist at Durham University, conducted a large scale survey of schoolchildren aged 11-16 in Afghanistan, which aimed to assess their mental health in the context of their direct experience of war. As one part of this the children were asked to draw themselves as they saw themselves now and in the future. These drawings are displayed on the wall here. Though vastly different, they share a common theme – the children may be unhappy now, but the drawings of their future selves reveal optimism, hope and ambition. One Girl, 14, draws herself now collecting scrap plastic in the street for her father to sell to support their family. But she writes of her future, ‘I want to be a painter, newscaster and actress.’ I think the most striking thing about these drawings is they provide a visual manifestation of our ability to heal psychologically after even the most traumatic and horrible events. And it’s that thought that I take with me as I leave the Wellcome Collection.
(NB: The War & Medicine exhibition is a temporary collection which ends tomorrow, so if you want to check it out you need to be super quick. However, the two permanent collections at Wellcome are well worth a look, and I am also looking forward to their next exhibition ‘Madness and Modernity’ , with installations by performance artist Bobbi Baker about her experience of having a mental health condition).
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