Since my arrival in Vietnam, I’ve not been isolated from the world. Each hotel has english-speaking news channels (either CNN World, BBC, or ABC – Australian Broadcasting Corp). They all also have MTV and HBO. Although I don’t know how my beloved Dodgers are faring, I have been following the events in Iraq and can imagine the media at home is doing with the treatment of Iraqi prisoners. When I mentioned my closeness to My Lai last week, I was tempted to bring everything up, but I had a more pressing engagement then.
Last night, I watched the news and fell asleep as Rumsfeld and the “general pool” began their remarks to the Senate Committee. Throughout the week, watching the story unfold, my heart goes to the men and women in uniform in Iraq, Afghanistan, and the mountains of Eastern Europe. For I fear that now, along with the shadows of trauma, lost comrades, and the struggle between fight and flight, they too, might be stained by the tainted brush of judgment.
I wish that we could have a National Referendum in the U.S. that would initiate a National Policy for the Executive and the Legislature: “If you make war, you’re in uniform, armed and on the point for the next six months.” Far too often in our recent history, the makers of war have never shared the cup. The reality of the horror for them are scripts or novels in the comfort of their homes. A little taste and I suspect that our Nation’s diplomacy and statesmanship will improve dramatically.
Turning to the domestic, we could insist that they all experience a six month tour of life in the hood on subsistence and food stamps if a certain number of U.S. jobs are lost or workers laid off. They need to feel what America feels. If they increase the National debt, they forfeit two/thirds of their pay and allowances for six months. On and on. These leaders (sic), have to get real, now!
Earlier in the evening, there was a report on how Great Britain receives her dead servicemen from the gulf battlefields. From their arrival to burial, the rites of honor our viewed by the public each and every time. At each funeral, among the mourners are ranking members of their service; members of parliament, and even the royal family. The bell of honor tolls for them at home as well as in heaven. They pointed out the differences in the reception in the U.S. of our dead.
I’d like to suggest that we refuse to keep the arrival of our dead quiet. The administration says that its out of respect for the families. I’m thinking that it’s more the fear of public opinion with another war’s casualties coming into the every home, every day. If a son or daughter of your community comes home under the draped flag, give an hour of honor to the deceased and support for the grieving. Everyone try to go to the assembly for the rite of burial. If they request privacy, nod, and express your sorrow for their lost. We can handle it emotionally and the heroic deserve it.
The Brotherhood of the Paddies understands full well that the brush of judgment paints all besides the guilty. So much so, that each begins to take on the guilt. Understand, my friends, that these young people will already bring home the shadows and the shakes. Don’t let them see the furtive glances or hear the whispers or become alienated by our apathy. The most maddening advice to hear is, “It’s over, get on with it.” Some times, it’s just too damn heavy, man. If we paint the stain on anyone, we need to paint each other as well. Don’t make the young carry a burden that belongs to us all. When they come home breathing, greet them with all of the love and respect you can muster. Let them see your tears of happiness that they made it and are valued now even more than when they marched off. Tell them how glad you are for their survival. tell them that for a year or a life-time.
Our government needs to get honest, quick. I don’t think that we’ve trusted them since Wagner-Peyser became Taft-Hartley; the Vietnam War; the Nixon White House; the “Trickle-Down” theories; or that globalization is good for America. In the streets of urban and rural America, we know that the revised labor laws stole fairness for workers. The second was built upon lies. Nixon was a crook. Trickle-down is like pissing up a rope, and while globalization is great for the boardroom’s parachutes, it’s screwing the life-blood of the Nation.
Just after mid-night, tonight, I take the first leg of 18 hours of flying time to return to Helena, Montana. I will have lots of time to think about the past two weeks and a half. I will be glad for six pm to arrive and I know that I will cry long before I see my wife. After I arrive and sleep a long time, I’ll share that part of the story with you and reflections. I’m already beginning to feel the familiar pangs of nervousness. With a computer, I can speak to a world that I’m always going to be afraid of, yet remain safe. I figure if I’m as honest as I can be, words won’t hurt. Outside of my safe world, I lose myself to the past.
Thank you, Kathleen, Jims, and Marty, for creating this safe, but curtained bridge for me to step outside during this journey. For the brotherhood, and our included sisters, if you still hurt, ask for help. If you don’t know where to go, use the link or send me a message. To Doctors’ Lewis, Blake, Jenkins, Hettinger and all their fellow staffs, thank you and know that I will always need you in my life, espeically now, more than ever cause I want to see the mornings. To my brothers, I really miss the weekly sessions. To Victor, I love you, man! And to Fish, “Whew!”
S’lan,
Tom