CHAPTER 40
Even though more than a quarter of a century has elapsed since my final departure from Vietnam in 1970, I still find it difficult to draw conclusions, reconcile feelings, and “put it all away.” I suspect that perhaps I never will.
If anything, writing this book over the past several years has awakened forgotten emotions and heightened my anger and sense of frustration. I said in the preface that I thought the current trend toward honest and open discussion about Vietnam was both healthy and historically appropriate. I truly believe that, and I believe our society, and particularly those who served in Vietnam, will be the better for it. I, nonetheless, remain troubled by the experience.
It is pointless to argue whether or not the United States ever should have committed its sons and daughters, resources, honor, and reputation to the defense of the South Vietnamese government. The fact is it did. More than 58,000 names on the wall, thousands more with shattered bodies and minds, and the expenditure of billions of U.S. dollars attest to the depth of our commitment.
As a professional soldier, it was my duty to go when called. I answered that call three times—in 1963, 1965, and 1969. I have no regrets. I am proud to have served. I served with good men—professionals, volunteers, and draftees—most of whom did not want to be there but nonetheless did their duty.
Still, after all this time, I am angry. Angry at the draft and its inherent unfairness, at its economic bias in favor of those who had money and influence and were able to obtain educational and other deferments. Angry at a system that exempted 16 million of the approximately 27 million draft-age men of that era. Angry at a government that initiated Project 100,000 and other measures that protected college deferments at the expense of the poor and disadvantaged. Roughly one-third of those serving in Vietnam were conscripted; thus the predictable consequence of this bias was a class division that resulted in the “have-not” draftees fighting the war in the place of the “haves.”
I am angrier still with those who fled the country, falsified records, feigned homosexuality, or used influence to unfairly avoid the draft. Their actions were reprehensible. As American citizens enjoying the bounty of this country, they had every right to oppose the war, but they had a legal and moral obligation to serve if called. By shirking their responsibility, they sent others—less affluent, less influential, but arguably more honorable—in their places. Many of those who went in their places did not return; others returned physically or emotionally damaged. My personal belief in the concepts of “Duty, Honor, Country,” taught to me at West Point so many years ago makes it impossible for me to understand how those who have so dishonored themselves have been able to reconcile the consequences of their behavior. Worse yet, they have further dishonored themselves by claiming vindication as a result of Secretary McNamara’s later disgraceful confessions.
Likewise, I am angry about the treatment accorded to Vietnam veterans. For too many years, the American people have not been able to distinguish between an unpopular war and the soldiers who were called upon to fight it. The country did not welcome us home, acknowledge our sacrifices, or honor us in any way. Because the war was hateful and divisive at home, there was an effort to pretend it didn’t happen and to somehow distance our nation from it. By ignoring those who served, it was apparently hoped that they and memories of the war would quietly fade away. Vietnam veterans have been discriminated against in the workplace, and the treatment of them by the Veterans Administration has at times been disgraceful, as have Congressional cuts in programs to assist Vietnam veterans.
In the years following the war, Hollywood and the media have exacerbated the problem by portraying Vietnam veterans as drug-ridden psychopaths and misfits unable to assume their places in American society. This irresponsible stereotyping, though not supported by any legitimate research, and despite credible evidence to the contrary, has been embedded in the minds of the American public. Unfortunately, a number of veterans and Vietnam imposters, whom I have labeled the “professional mourners,” have contributed to the image problem by their own conduct and shoddy personal appearance. Hardly a Vietnam-related event takes place that these individuals don’t appear and capture media attention. The public loses sight of the fact that these are not the typical Vietnam veteran. I am angrier still at the Vietnam Veterans of America (VVA) for their role in perpetuating this loser image for Vietnam vets. If the VVA wants to truly represent the 2.5 million Vietnam veterans in this country, they should be in the forefront telling the factual story: the vast majority of Vietnam veterans returned home without serious emotional problems and quietly resumed productive lives.
I am angry with our country’s handling of the MIA issue. While I personally do not believe any of the nearly 2,200 servicemen officially listed as missing in action are still alive, I am just as certain that the U.S. government failed to do all it could in applying leverage to get information from the North Vietnamese regarding the fate of those individuals. It appears only in recent years has there been genuine progress in this regard. Just as inexcusable has been the unwillingness of the government to deal candidly and honestly with the MIA families, allowing the myth to perpetuate in spite of significant evidence to the contrary.
Most troubling to me, however, was our government’s ultimate abandonment of Vietnam and especially those Vietnamese who, with our encouragement and support, made a commitment—a commitment they could not walk away from when the end came. Once the Vietnamization program was in place and American withdrawals had begun, our government yielded to political pressure and took the expedient, easier course over the right, but more difficult course. Our rush to exit ignored the very guidelines that had been established to determine the rate of withdrawal. We simply pulled the plug. Predictably, the Vietnamese Army collapsed, and those who were left behind paid the price. This is our national shame and my own personal guilt. I believe that those of us who lived and worked closely with the Vietnamese people feel it most deeply. For me, it has not abated over these twenty-eight years, and I doubt I will ever overcome it.
The good news is that slowly there is a growing genuine public recognition of the sacrifices and contributions these men and women made for their country and of the injustices they have endured. I am convinced that the tremendous outpouring of emotion, patriotism, and support for the Gulf War and those who served in it was in large part fueled by the latent sense of guilt that many in this country have carried for years over their attitudes and treatment of those who served in Vietnam. I believe this same recognition accounts for the continued attraction the Vietnam Memorial holds for visitors to our nation’s capital.
I would like to return to Vietnam—to Dinh Quan—for one final visit. I have been back many times over these past twenty-nine years in my mind, and the painting in my study is a constant reminder. My hopes for those we left behind are for the peace and happiness they deserve. If anyone there should still have memories of us during our time there, I hope they are fond memories of men who cared and tried to help.