LIves Devastated by War

I Mourn Lives Devastated by War

In 1968, America was at war. Communism was the menace. Vietnam was the focal point of the confrontation between good and evil, the domino of choice that must, at all costs, remain standing. Portrayed as a grass roots conflict between north and south, it was, for the Vietnamese, a continuing struggle for national unity against another in a seemingly endless series of colonial or occupying powers intent upon denying them independence, national unity, and self-determination. For America, it was portrayed as a struggle against a pervasive evil seeking world domination.

Young and idealistic, I responded to the call without question. I took our leaders at their word and trusted their judgment. Though I too had “other priorities,” I put aside my plans and dreams, became an officer of Marines, and was born again hard in the jungles of Vietnam. It did not take long, however, before I felt an uneasiness with what I was doing. I could see no purpose, no reason, no plan, and no coherent strategy. But yet, I lacked the moral courage or presence of mind to refuse to continue or to escape from the insanity. Ideology was gone and god and country had no relevance. My purpose was only to survive, to return to “the world,” where I could be cleansed of my sins.

In our conference rooms and classrooms, we speak of “just war” and “rules of engagement.” Such talk, however, is, in reality, just shallow rhetoric, part of the mythology, necessary to maintain a guise of morality and allow our national conscience to remain clean. As is clear from history, moral rules as they apply to war, are merely a tactic of advantage having relevance and application only should belligerent nations find such rules and restrictions conducive to the achievement of some important national goal or purpose. But when political or military interest comes in conflict with moral principles, it is inevitably the former that prevails. How else could one morally explain the systematic incineration of hundreds of thousands of innocent men, women, and children, as a consequence of the saturation and nuclear bombing of cities during World War Two, while, at the same time condemning the extermination of innocents in the Nazi death camps.

Make no mistake, however. Few if any go to war to murder innocent people. Most exert great effort, often at considerable personal risk, to protect the innocent and conduct themselves with decency and integrity. Unfortunately, either under the pressures of “supreme emergency,” as was the case in World War II, or due to the morally untenable conditions of guerrilla/counterinsurgency warfare as in Vietnam and Iraq, soldiers inevitably become the unwitting instruments of slaughter. Such occurrences are always tragic and regrettable, but never more so than when war is misguided and unnecessary. Those removed from the chaos and confusion of combat are understandably appalled by what, from their perspective, constitutes brutality and murder. When public outrage demands justice, it is invariably the warrior who is held accountable, while those who initiated the war, formulated an incoherent strategy, and devised questionable tactics are themselves absolved of responsibility and permitted to continue their charade of moral awareness and concern as they sit in judgment of our actions. We are the victims of their hypocrisy, the scapegoats for the inevitable affront to the national conscience, and the sacrificial lambs sent to slaughter in retribution for their sins and inadequacies. In fact, no one knows the sacrilege of war better than we who do the fighting and then must live with the memories of what we have done and what we have become.

Vietnam was the defining experience of my life. Though physical wounds may heal, the emotional, psychological, and moral injuries of war linger and fester. Vietnam forever pervades my existence, condemning me to continually relive and question the past. “Did I act rightly?” “Did I make the correct decisions?” Inevitable concerns of those who must take life and whose decisions cause others to die. Despite the urging of well-meaning friends and loved ones, I can never forget Vietnam nor put it behind me. No one truly “recovers” from war. No one is ever made whole again. The best that can be hoped, I think, is to achieve a degree of benign acceptance. To that end, I strive each day, to forgive myself, to absolve myself of guilt, and to live with the wounds of war that will never heal.

I know now the true cost of war and the burden of life in its aftermath. I realize as well, that all war is profane and unnecessary war is sacrilege. And perhaps worst of all, I know the frustration of having to sit idly by, helpless, as it all happens again. I mourn lives devastated by war.