Patriotism, Peace and Vietnam
by Peggy Hanna
Like
the peace movement throughout the country, our local peace group lost
its momentum with Nixon’s election in 1972. Our guys were coming
home. Not as we wanted -- the war wasn’t over, but they were coming
home.
Over the years and in different ways, peace people paid a price for standing up against the war. We paid in fractured relationships. The war became a forbidden subject. We were written off as communist dupes.
As I write this thirty years later, I do take comfort in knowing we were right. I wasn’t a communist dupe! But it’s little comfort, too many wounds are still not healed. The peace movement’s role during Vietnam is a subject that’s buried, but not gone. Although most people, even veterans, have come to believe the war was a mistake, many still see the peace movement as unpatriotic. Translate that to they see "peace people" as unpatriotic, even to blame for losing the war.
I
think the image most damning of the peace movement (or war protesters)
isn’t one of burning buildings or even the flag, but the image of
antiwar activists spitting on our soldiers when they came home. There’s
denial on the part of many peace people that this ever really happened,
because it’s beyond comprehension. But now, yes, I’m sure
there were some such incidents. But to paint all peace activists with
the same brush would be like painting all soldiers with the brush of My
Lai. There’s truth to be sure on both sides that people did unspeakable
things, hateful acts against others. But what good is it to concentrate
only on the worst of both sides? All of us know in our own heart and conscience
whether we need forgiveness or to forgive. Sometimes, maybe it’s
both.
I love my country- unconditionally, as a mother loves her child. However, it’s not a blind love. I see her faults, know her sins. Just as parents help shape their children, I believe we as citizens must recognize our responsibility in shaping our country’s values and policies. This is what democracy demands. We honor those who fought for our freedom by utilizing that freedom, by exercising those very rights for which they put their lives on the line.
It’s painful to think of all the lives lost or haunted for a war that shouldn’t have been fought, that couldn’t have been won. Even so, nothing can diminish the sacrifices and bravery of so many who did what their country asked them to do. Maybe in some ways the pain of Vietnam is a positive pain. A pain that will always remind us, we must do everything in our power to work for peace without sacrificing our sons and daughters.
In 1986 I had an opportunity to meet with a group of Vietnam Vets who shared their stories and anger with me. I had run (unsuccessfully) for state representative, an outgrowth of becoming politically active during Vietnam. During the campaign, the incumbent state representative called a press conference with the local Vietnam Vets group in front of the war memorial in Bellefontaine, Ohio. He labeled me a traitor because of my peace activism during Vietnam. The reporter called me at home and asked if I’d like to speak to the vets before he wrote his story. It was a forty-five minute drive, but they were willing to wait for me.
No time to change out of my blue jeans (to keep up the image of "the candidate") or to think of what I might be facing, I drove the back roads up to Bellefontaine. I found the address, an old dilapidated building with a forbidding-looking entrance on an alley. About a dozen Vietnam vets dressed in jeans and T-shirts sat or stood in a semi-circle filling the small room where we met. I felt shaky but determined that my nervousness and fear would not paralyze me. The reporter asked me to tell my story.
I told them much of what I’ve written here. I didn’t know if they’d believe me, or if what I said would make any difference to them. Or if they’d attack me - verbally, of course, not physically. But as I spoke, their reactions dumbfounded me. They were shocked. They were angry, but not with me! They had believed the stories fed to them by their commanding officers, stories about those commie-loving traitorous demonstrators. They knew only what they saw in the media back at home. They thought people like me hated them. I was shocked to realize they never had a chance to know what we assumed they knew -- how much we truly cared about them and how driven we were to bring them home. I had no idea how the images of violence and anger on the part of a minority of protesters, as portrayed in the news, skewed the message we carried in our hearts.
In church terms, it was a time of reconciliation. A sense of acceptance and understanding replaced the tension and anger present when I first entered the room an hour and half earlier. Every one of them shook my hand and warmly thanked me as they left. Not only did they believe me, all pledged their support for my candidacy (except one older vet who shook my hand but did not say those magic words, "You’ve got my vote.")
Feeling enormous relief that they believed me, that they understood, I drove home in tears. I thought about how Vietnam veterans and peace people needed to come together like this all over the country. To understand, to forgive, and to heal.
Editor's note: You can read additional excerpts and reviews on Ms. Hanna's web page www.peghanna.com. Peggy Hanna lives with her husband in Springfield, Ohio. Her email is peghanna89@yahoo.com.