When General Allenby conquered Jerusalem during World War I, he

In the grand tapestry of history, where the threads of conquest, faith, and power are interwoven, the words of Noam Chomsky carry a striking truth about the way narratives are shaped and spun by those in control of the story. Chomsky states, "When General Allenby conquered Jerusalem during World War I, he was hailed in the American press as Richard the Lion-Hearted, who had at last won the Crusades and driven the pagans out of the Holy Land." These words speak not only to the events of a specific time in history but also to the way in which victory and heroism are often defined and framed by the victors themselves. It is a poignant reminder that history is not a simple recording of facts but a narrative shaped by ideology, power, and the perspective from which it is told.

To understand the significance of Chomsky's words, we must delve into the historical context of General Allenby's conquest of Jerusalem in 1917 during the First World War. Allenby, a British commander, was tasked with securing the city of Jerusalem from the Ottoman Empire, which had controlled it for centuries. The capture of Jerusalem was seen not just as a military victory, but as a symbol of Western Christian supremacy, harkening back to the Crusades of the medieval period, when European knights fought to reclaim the Holy Land for Christendom. In the aftermath of Allenby's success, the press in the West—particularly in the United States—hastily crafted a narrative that linked this modern military victory to the ancient, romanticized tales of Richard the Lion-Hearted, the great medieval crusader. This framing, however, glossed over the complexities of the conquest and the suffering of those who lived in Jerusalem, including the Palestinians and others who were caught in the whirlwind of imperial struggles.

Chomsky’s reference to Richard the Lion-Hearted—a figure of medieval legend who led the Third Crusade—calls attention to the enduring legacy of the Crusades, which shaped not only the history of Europe but also the way the West viewed the Holy Land. In the 12th century, Richard I of England famously fought to reclaim Jerusalem from Muslim control, a struggle that was framed as a righteous battle between the forces of Christianity and the forces of Islam. The Crusades themselves, however, were marked by violence, exploitation, and a distorted sense of religious duty. The fact that Allenby’s conquest of Jerusalem was compared to this earlier chapter in history highlights how the West continued to view its actions in the Middle East through a lens of religious and cultural superiority. This triumphal narrative, however, glossed over the fact that the land was already home to diverse peoples—both Christian and Muslim, as well as Jewish communities—whose lives were upended by foreign conquest.

But Chomsky’s words are not just a critique of historical narratives; they are a warning about the power of myth-making and how stories are told to legitimize actions, particularly in times of war. The way the American press celebrated Allenby as a modern-day Richard the Lion-Hearted is a clear example of how victory—even when achieved through violence—can be glorified and transformed into a heroic myth. This is a strategy that has been used throughout history, from the Romans who glorified their military conquests and presented their emperors as god-like figures, to the British Empire, which portrayed its colonial efforts as bringing civilization to the world. Such narratives serve not to illuminate the realities of war, but to justify them, to present conquest as something noble and moral when, in truth, it is often born out of greed, imperialism, and suffering.

This myth-making does not only occur in grand historical events but continues to shape our understanding of modern conflicts. Consider, for example, the Vietnam War—an event that was for many years presented by the United States as a righteous battle against the spread of communism. However, the reality of the war was far more complicated, involving the devastation of a small nation, the loss of innocent lives, and the psychological toll on both soldiers and civilians. It was only much later that the truth of the war—its cruelty, senselessness, and unjust consequences—was fully revealed. This is the same cycle of myth-making that Chomsky warns us against: the glorification of war and the suppression of its true costs.

Chomsky’s words also urge us to question the way we approach war and conflict in our own time. If we understand that war is often framed by those in power to fit a particular narrative, we must ask ourselves: who is benefiting from this narrative, and at whose expense? Are we, as citizens, willing to accept the heroic myths of war without examining the true human cost? Are we willing to look beyond the surface of victory to understand the lives that are lost, the societies that are destroyed, and the long-lasting consequences that affect generations? The lessons of history demand that we do not fall prey to the seductive power of myth but that we confront the truth of war—the suffering, the loss, and the destruction it brings.

In our own lives, we must approach history and conflict with a deep sense of awareness and critical thinking. When we hear the stories of victory, whether in politics, war, or sports, we must remember that victory often comes at a high price, and those who are hailed as heroes may have caused great harm in the process. The true measure of heroism is not in conquest but in the ability to build rather than destroy, to create peace rather than perpetuate conflict. Let us heed the wisdom of those who have suffered through war, and let us strive to create a world where the stories we tell are those of peace, understanding, and healing, not those of glory and conquest.