“My body was used to design military technology”

My left hand it extends all the way to my elbow and only along my elbow, narrowing into a small, fleshy stump. I’ve always been weird to prosthetists – that funny little kid in the office with his arm outstretched like a bird with a broken wing, waiting for the cast to dry. Since I do not have a forearm, the prosthesis socket must fit over my elbow to stay, but the socket necessarily limits the range of motion and makes it difficult to prevent falling during a full day of bending and unfolding. My last prosthetist had invented his own patented method of forming a nest that fit better on bodies like mine.

What I didn’t realize was how else they had applied this knowledge before I even became their patient. With funding from the Agency for Advanced Defense Research Projects (Darpa) to develop wearable technology for combat soldiers, my prosthetist had designed a suit made up of black straps, metal ties and tough tubes, reminiscent of a dystopian video game hero outfit. This exoskeleton is designed to “reduce injuries and fatigue and improve a soldier’s ability to carry out his missions effectively” and could potentially make soldiers more deadly in real life. The technology that allows soldiers to jump, squat, and shoot while wearing this fabrication, they say, is the same as what was put into making my contact. This is the result of many years of experience in working with people with differences in the limbs, which make it difficult to put on a conventional prosthesis, people like me. My body – or bodies like mine – is used to support the design of military technology.

Imagine if your dentist applied his many years of experience working on mouths like yours to develop, say, military weapons for the military. In American prosthetic offices, this is actually a fairly common relationship. The revolving door and the tangled history between the prosthesis and orthopedic industry and the military have forced patients like me into a design cycle that creates high-tech weapons for American veterans on the one hand and death and mutilation on the other. The intention is for future soldiers wearing this technology to be better at destroying enemies – creating more people with disabilities who will probably never get a prosthesis. A crucial part of this cycle is the industry’s focus on developing new, expensive, electronic prosthetic devices for veterans who receive them from the government for free. Yet the vast majority of people who experience limb loss in the United States not only never receive these devices, they are not veterans at all.

The prosthetic devices were once mostly home-made inventions, invented by their bearer to help with homework. George Webb Derenzi, captain of the 82nd Regiment in the British Army, who lost his arm to gangrene during the Napoleonic Wars, is known for designing a number of home mechanical devices, which he describes in his 1822 book. Enchiridion. (Come for the boot hooks with one hand, stay for the steel egg holder.) These types of devices did not have much potential market and were aimed at personal use. Derenzi believed that they could help people with disabilities to rejoin society without having to “burden” others with requests for help with specific tasks.

It was only after the US Civil War – during which 60,000 soldiers underwent limb amputations – that arm and leg prostheses became lucrative business opportunities and valuable goods. The US government has supported this new industry by passing a law that issues a prosthesis to any veteran with an amputation in need. By the end of the 19th century, there were a number of competing limb prosthesis manufacturers: The Salem Leg Company, AA Marks and JE Hanger, which today, under the name Hanger Clinic, are one of the largest suppliers of limb prostheses in the United States.

The commodification of the prosthetic limb met with a certain initial reluctance to hide stumps in wooden nests. For many Confederate veterans, healed stumps were a sign of pride and resilience – the true survivor wore a stump. Over time, the mood for both limb loss and artificial limbs has changed dramatically. According to David Serlin, a professor of communication at the University of California, San Diego, the U.S. military spent the first half of the 20th century developing various analytical methods to identify the body types of ideal military recruits. The result in the popular media and public consciousness was an indelible link between the military and the idealized male body: muscular, symmetrical and weak. When these bodies returned from World War II with missing limbs, the military tried to convince the public that these men were not only particularly masculine because they put their bodies in danger, but also that prosthetic devices would help confirm their masculinity. masculinity and even heterosexuality.

Prosthetic devices have a deep history of patriotism and nationalist projects. Carefully staged images of veterans using prostheses in Go on, a 1918 journal produced by the U.S. Surgeon General, tells the story of how human synthesis and technology can completely rehabilitate amputees. According to Beth Linker, a professor of history and sociology of science at the University of Pennsylvania, Go on “I was hoping to convince the public that rehabilitation has the power to make war wounds disappear.” In their marketing campaigns, limb prosthesis manufacturers have similarly sought to connect the prosthesis user with a triumphant and resilient nation – painting a new image of the veteran, completely redesigned through technology and able to return to the workforce. Today, the true survivor carries a polypropylene nest with an airbrushed bald eagle surrounded by fireworks and the American flag.