In Baltimore, Maryland on this evening of May 9th, 2009 I attended a function in which veterans and some family members of veterans spoke against the current war in Iraq. The first thing I noted of was the age of the attendees. There was a portion missing. The demograph was young adults, and middle aged people who’ve stopped fighting gray hair. Where was the pepsi generation? I would have felt better about humanity if more 25-35 year olds deemed this event worthwhile. To give them the benefit of the doubt; which I hate to do, they probably lead busier, more frantic and demanding lives than other groups. A certain amount of free time is necessary to care about societal issues; rather than immediate concerns.
The older attendees kicked it off in their trademark style. Slowly. A projector was being set up, and I imagined that perhaps they would show drivers-ed style footage of carnage to scare us away from complacency about war. Well, leave it up to bunch of people who’ve actually faced death to not exploit it like I might have. There was nothing of the sort. Instead chairs were arranged in a line, and the 7 speakers sat in them. A woman who was the de-facto moderator started out the evening sounding a bit scared but looking experienced. She explained that each person would tell their own story, or whatever they’d like to tell, and then they’d open it up to more discussion with any number of the 3 dozen attendees. At that, the microphone was handed to the man I would have guessed had been to war.
He had that far away stare that you may have heard of. I may have only thought of that because of context; it’s possible the clerk at 7-11 also had that stare. He began to speak, very quiet but so close to the mic that his whole mouth wrapped around the room. Even if you missed what he said on occasion, everyone heard him. He spoke matter of factly, because his story was, after all, a matter of fact. He had a surprising and endearing habit of humility. He regularly reminded those listening that he didn’t experience the worst of Vietnam. After gruesome details, he would remind us that he’s lucky to be physically unscathed. This reminded me of why I sat in the front row, only a few feet away. This is the kind of character no one could create, the kind of speech no one could write, and the kind of presentation no actor could execute. This was real, and as such, more powerful by being downplayed.
After he was finished, there was no applause. There hadn’t been any applause yet, but I was so shocked that no one dared to clap that I didn’t myself. Then I was angry that I hadn’t, for the same reason no one else did. By then it was too late. Another man had started to speak who had more jovial, though less interesting mannerisms. The projector projected images from his time in Vietnam. Like I mentioned earlier, the purpose not being to push a confrontation about the horrors of war. They were all positive. Other servicemen he knew, the bars they went to, musicians they saw perform and beautiful Vietnamese women. After the pictures had run their course, he finished up with a story of the life-threatening injury he sustained from an attack and the disability he sustains to the present. Amazing that he chose to present his circumstance with such an optimistic climb. Another reminder that this was real life, in which endings to stories could be bad or even anticlimactic.
Applause followed him. I hope that the first speaker is familiar with the fate of the opening band. Had he been second he would have had a better reception. The third man to speak got everyone to open up, in a manner akin to kicking a door in. He spoke like he had done it a thousand times, but this time was special. Veteran or not, he seemed a natural born leader and orator. Henry Rollins v2. His story had nothing that any other veterans wouldn’t, except the presentation with courage and eloquence. He was, after all, the character with the gall to open the local chapter of Iraq Veterans Against the War. He handed the mic to the man next to him, in a way that made clear these 2 knew each other. The fourth speaker differentiated himself from the pack by describing his own character and circumstance before his story. I’m sure it was unintended, but caused me to identify him as an introvert, and thereby a character worthy of my empathy. He was apt to add his own feelings into his stories, not allowing the pure physicality speak for itself; though it could. His story was stark and sobering, the way an abused person’s feelings are more terrifying than their abusers.
The mic traveled to a woman on the opposite side of the line. She was the first woman since the introduction to speak. She quickly identified herself as the mother of an enlisted serviceman. The way she described her son was essentially despondent. Their relationship wasn’t glorified unrealistically because of his increased risk of injury and fatality. I appreciated that. It reminded everyone that the military is assembled out of all types, and not every soldier is surrounded by love and support. Though some are, which was clear when the mic was again passed again to an older woman, who started reading a well-written description of her very lovable child. As soon as it began I knew how it would end. Still, shock and literal “awe”’s came from some of the listeners when she, without warning, said her son had been killed in Iraq. After this performance, no one would dare not indulge her by watching a slide show she made in memory of him.
There was dead silence as she attempted to get the slide show to play in some god-awful modern freeware. After trying everything that made sense, a few volunteered their own advice, which was all logical and well put, but still ineffective. There was a specific amount of time that we, as listeners, could hold onto the emotionality of her story without any input. That time had expired for me at least. This unique and highly human event was easily subdued by the inanity of gadgets and gizmos. Everyone waited however. Only a monster could have left because of a 5 minute wait that might well have been on their own computer. Finally it played, and for this woman the wait didn’t throw a stick in her spokes. It was pictures of him as a child and an adult. Something that means more to her than it could mean to a stranger, but everyone gladly looked at every one of them. Afterwards she read an actual letter that he had sent her. She noted, “I don’t know what historians are going to do in the future; emails dissapear”. It was such a great point, reinforced by the previous experience fumbling with technology, that I decided at once that I would write this account of the evening, detailed ad nauseam.
Finally the weight and length of this event had settled into everyones bones. The Mic was passed back to the first woman, and now we didn’t know what to expect. After hearing from impressive people with impressive stories, I, as well as everyone else, was taken aback when I was prompted to participate. I had lost count of how many times there was silence. But here it was again, and this time it was friendly. This was simply a moment of silence that no one planned, but was proper. The woman again suggested ways to participate. It likely wouldn’t have been long before someone else volunteered, but I felt the responsibility anyhow. I grabbed for the mic, which was only a few feet in front of me. I could hear my voice trembling and I’m sure everyone else could too. I used the bill of my hat as a shield and marched through what I thought was comparatively a disconnected and unimpressive opinion. When I caught glimpses of 2 of the veterans nodding in approval of my sentiments, my voice smoothed over a bit. It didn’t really matter to me what exactly I expressed(though I did mean it with conviction), only that I opened the gate for others. After I handed the mic back, one of the Vietnam veterans called me a “wise man”. This had to be exaggeration on both counts, but I was flattered to hear anything close to that. Almost immediately another listener volunteered. This continued in this fashion, and I was duly impressed by the eloquence and insight of strangers, whether they had been to war or not. Then came my favorite event of the evening.
A small man came from wherever he had been sitting to the front, asked for the mic and crouched. The confidence in his walk, and the promptness of his speech was impressive. He was clearly the most at ease with this format and forum. He told us that he had been a bomber in Vietnam. The story of his war experience was decidedly brief however, in favor of his estimation of the conditions in Vietnam since. He had been back. He had visited the sights of particularly gruesome events in the US-Vietnam war and been delighted to find the areas recovered. He gave us information on the rising per capita income of the Vietnamese people. The compassion in his actions and his recounting of them could not be denied. Suddenly I realized that his focus should be all of ours. Instead of only mourning, regretting and ultimately venting, we should all be focused on reconstructions, rehabilitations and reparations for the effects of war.
The human suffering in the room was as thick as solid rock. Someone asked, in an almost angry tone, “what do you want us to do?” It was almost disrespectful, but understandable. One can only listen to problems for so long before they’ll demand a solution. The question was met with plenty of suggestions. About now there was something missing. I wished someone would start a fiery speech that would raise us out of our chairs and out to steal planes to bring the troops home the right way. Maybe someday I could be that person, but not tonight. This night was smothered with constructive thought and intellectualism.
The night walked on until the moderator noted “It’s 10". This seemed like a poor reason to end the night. This event was not extraordinary, but it was powerful. As you might imagine, 2 generations of anti-war veterans and their family have a heavy impact. A few veterans mentioned the “veterans for peace” organization was founded by a WW2 vet, who is now dead. Which begs the question, did this same multi-generational meeting occur when Vietnam was being fought? I would bet my bottom dollar on yes. Why then was there so much complacency about the Iraq war until recently? Is there simply so much downtime between wars that society forgets the horrors of the last one?
Wether this is a systematic effort in the hands of dark government forces or a matter of happenstance, it’s inexcusable. We’ve been repeating the same cycle, in foreign policy and in personal passivity for a century. When this Iraq war is over, the anti-war movement has one a battle on war, but not the war on war. Until all countries who were victims of unjust military force are repaired, rebuilt and sincerely apologized to, war is taken off of the table as a legitimate option of foreign policy, and the desperate conditions that cause people to join the military are reversed, the anti-war movement has plenty of work to do. Chief among them not allowing us to again rest on our laurels. War is not the answer, and neither is temporary peace while we allow another war to approach.
