(Written and copyrighted by Karen Angotti, printed with permission)
Vietnam. Did you wrinkle your nose and have a bad taste in your mouth when you read the word? If you came of age in the sixties and seventies, then you probably know what I mean about this most unpopular war–uh-oh I’m sorry I mean military action. My husband spent almost a year in that little spot of hell on earth. He was 8 miles from the North Vietnamese border living in a hooch which boasted two foot long rats on the inside and poisonous snake nests underneath. During the rainy season, the sheets were constantly damp and he contracted severe dysentary. His unit was the last stop on the supply line so the only pops that reached them were Frescas, all the better drinks having been snatched up before they reached Quang Tri. But all these were just minor inconveniences compared to the stark realities of war. At twenty years of age he watched friend after friend leave after breakfast and not come home for lunch. Then his turn came and he struggled to land a helicopter filled with smoke while his own flesh was burning. Only two people out of an eight man crew lived through that crash and Frank was one of them. Yes, he had third degree burns on 20 per cent of his body but he was alive. He was medi-vac-ed from Japan to Ft. Sam Houston and, with tears in his eyes, thought that he had never seen a more beautiful sight than the lights and flag of the United States of America. He soon found though that a good many people in the good old U.S.A. were not quite so happy to see him as he was to be back. Vietnam vets were derided, insulted, and even spit upon. He fought back rage while Jane Fonda made millions after sitting in a North Vietnamese anti-aircraft gun pointing it at our soldier boys, and I do mean for the most part boys. But perhaps these people were not the worst because at least they had a position. The others were harder to understand. Like the girlfriend, who wanted to know , “Oh yes, now which side are we fighting for North or South Vietnam?” The apathy was incredible. No matter what your position during the war, I am sure that you can agree with me on two things. One, it was not the soldiers’ fault that our government had entered into this war. And, two, most of the people who were protesting the war were not protesting against the ostensible, lofty reason for the war which was to prevent the spread of Communisim, but against the WAY the war was being fought. Too many lives were being spent trying to fan the flame of war rather than trying to put it out. We had the military might to have ended the war without losing American lives, but our leaders refused to take that course. Instead we had “peace with honor” which had no honor. And within a few months of the armistice, the Communists had overrun not only South Vietnam but Laos and Cambodia killing millions of people.
Now enters–the Lyme Vietnam. Our country is engaged in a war against an enemy which has invaded our borders and whose presence threatens every man, woman, and child. It is an unpopular war. And many would not call it a war, but then they are not involved in the fighting, the hand-to-hand combat, the care of the wounded. Even in the midst of the battle, the soldiers have been insulted, derided, and spit upon as if subjecting them to these hostilities will cause them to withdraw from the battle. Little do these blinded zealots realize that we were drawn into the battle kicking and screaming to be released and that we would like nothing better than to lay down our arms and quit fighting. I don’t know about you, but I would like nothing better than to trash this IV pole, the pills, the bedpan, the feeding tube, the needles, the wheelchair, and other assorted paraphenalia. Quite frankly, after more than two years of carrying bedpans and rarely being able to leave my house because my daughter requires constant care, I am more than willing to quit fighting, IF someone will just stop the Borrelia burgdorferi from their assaults and convince them to return their captured territories.
Unfortunately, this war also has its Jane Fonda, a couple of researchers who have, in essense, turned their guns on their own fellow countrymen. Using unproven rules even stricter than the code from the Geneva Convention, they have defined a very narrow range of enemy action that may precipitate a defense response. This action allows the enemy free reign in many cases much like the Geneva rules left the G.I.’s defenseless if they followed such inane rules as not shooting at a religious statue even if an enemy soldier is hiding in said religious statue and shooting at you and not entering into that demilitarized zone even if someone in there is shooting at you. Like good soldiers, we are supposed to suffer in silence, follow orders, and let the powers that be determine our fate.
Again unfortunately, this war also has ineffectual and untruthful government leaders. Leaders who are more concerned with numbers and statistics than wounded or dying soldiers. Leaders who care more about their own public image than a mere soldier’s private sorrows. Leaders who want to direct the war from the comfort and safety of a cushy, government office. Leaders who are being paid cushy, government salaries to watch us die while they waste the research funds trying to find a better ELISA (an antibody based blood test) when they would not accept the results as valid even if they had one. In a real war, one uses the best weapons not the WWII relics. If we are going to spend research dollars let’s spend it on something that has results everyone can agree upon–a reliable culture.
Let no one kid you, this is a war. And like all wars, there will be one winner, at least, in the intellectual arena. But while the battle is being fought, we patients continue to lose—jobs, homes, families, schooling, life savings, painfree days, and, for some, their very lives. The longer this war takes the more we lose. We must shorten the war by throwing all we have into the battle for in this war there can be no retreat or armistice and the next draft number picked may be your own.