Tuesday, November 11, 2014

MY STRUGGLE WITH VETERANS DAY

Both my parents served in World War II, and were proud of their service.  Both had scars from that service, especially my dad, who saw combat duty in Europe.  As I’ve learned more about what veterans suffer with after war, I see a part of their suffering that often goes unnoticed is “moral injury”.  Moral injury is when your moral center is damaged because you’ve done something you know is wrong.  My father’s generation didn’t talk a lot about their experiences in the war, but one thing my father once said has stuck with me, probably because it was the only time he spoke it: “Sometimes in war you have to do something you shouldn’t do.”

Admitting to moral injury means having the honesty to admit your participation in evil and the humility to suffer through what that means.  It is the part of healing that rarely, if ever, gets publicity or calls for support or understanding.  Nearly every week, there is a TV news show that shows veterans bravely coping with physical injury, and the committed caregivers who work with them.  There are constant calls for us “to remember and support our veterans.”  Every NFL game last Sunday had some “Salute to the Troops”. Today Perkins is giving a free breakfast to past or present service members.  All these gestures are accompanied by the statement that they “did it for us”—to “protect our freedom”, usually.

I’m sure the breakfast was appreciated, but when was the last time you hear anyone talk about moral injury—in the news, in entertainment, or even in your place of worship (which should be the very place we talk about evil and heal from it)?  When have you seen a feature story or human-interest story about someone helping a returning vet to admit to the evil he or she had done, been forgiven for it, and be welcomed back into a community that has its own need to repent.

Probably never, I would guess.  Because for us as a society to offer that kind of help, we would have to admit that the evil done by our military was done for us and by us.  Which would mean that we have suffered moral injury as a result of our supporting and benefitting from what our nation has done in its wars.  My Lai, the tiger cages, Operation Phoenix (what a macabre irony that name is) and all the other atrocities done in Viet Nam are our atrocities.  Abu Ghraib, water boarding, drone strikes on civilians, Guantanamo are our shame.  The mining of Nicaragua’s harbors, the training of assassins at the School of the Americas in Georgia are our war crimes.

Often when I bring this up, particularly near Memorial Day or Veteran’s Day (or 4th of July, which had nothing to do with the military), I am told “this is not the time to discuss that.”  But when exactly is the time to do so?  Is it just a pipe dream of mine that some day we the people will spend as much time remembering Hiroshima and Mozote as we do Pearl Harbor? Or spend even a fraction of the time remembering what we did on the other 9-11, facilitating a military coup in Chile on 9-11-1973?

Don’t want to think about all this?  Well let me ask what is to me what is one of the most problematic questions of all: Why is it that every country we’ve invaded since the end of World War II has been much poorer than us: Viet Nam, Cambodia, Laos, Grenada, Panama, Iraq, Afghanistan, Korea, and including our proxy wars in El Salvador, Guatemala, Honduras, Colombia and Nicaragua? Not to mention our support of military coups and dictatorships in Iran, Dominican Republic, Chile, Argentina, Paraguay, the Congo, Uruguay and on and on. What does it say that the richest country in the world goes to war against some of the poorest?  What does it say about our values?  (Of course we did plenty of invading prior to WWII, mostly of other Americans—Native and Latin Americans, that is).

My father was a member of the VFW, but stopped going in the late sixties and seventies.  He didn’t like the jingoism that seemed to dominate every gathering.  I also think he was struggling with the idea that his sons could be drafted to fight in Viet Nam, in a war that he came to see as unjustified, from top to bottom.  In the last decades of his life, I believe that he found the most important “welcome home”, which was forgiveness and reconciliation.

I know that it is hard to hold together gratitude for the sacrifice our troops make, and anger at what our troops have done, in our name.  But it can be done.  At least some Germans reflected this November 9, about the 25th anniversary of the end of the Berlin Wall, and the 76th anniversary of Kristallnacht.  Many, many Latin Americans love our country for its freedoms and opportunities, while detesting what it’s done to their lands.  I think we owe it to ourselves as a people and as a nation to try.

This poem is one of a series about my father, and was published in the Ilanot Review from Israel, in their issue about “Conflict” (which ironically, went on-line right at the beginning of the latest war between Israel and Palestine).

FALLING

A man hung from his parachute
like a seed softly whirligigging down,
shouting “Don’t shoot—I surrender!”                       
in the tongue of the enemy, your first tongue.
He had no way to reach
his weapon, but the men under

you did, and in a minute—though your voice
was raised and your rank commanded
obedience—it was the county fair
in Shreveport, in Pembina, in New Ulm                    
and New Prague, step right up, everyone                  
wins a prize, the lights flashing,
the girls all giggles, and bullets
and a ribbon for the man who hits the nose.

Then, silence, the head of the boy
on his chest, his body limp
in its harness, gravity doing
its work.  The son of German cousins—
perhaps the grandson of your grandfather’s friend—
spoiled blood over his uniform. Father,

why did you tell me this story
and not my brothers?
Your memories are like your hands:
big, calloused, open.

His boots newly shined, pulled him
down to the earth he finally
met as a shroud, a nothing,
a home. Your men did not speak.
They held their rifles across
their chests, as if bearing sick children.

*  * *


Today, I feel that to
            Be justice, and
                        Be beauty
We must mostly
                                                            Be honesty


Patrick

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