By Bob Greene
“The day I turned 19, I went down for my physical and
had my first and only experience of Army life. I took with me a letter
from Dr. Murphy, my childhood doctor, describing in uncompromising
detail the asthma that had been a major part of my life up to 16.”
Thus begins an article by Christopher Buckley in the
September issue of Esquire magazine – an article that should spur
millions of members of a generation of American men to question a part
of their lives that they had thought they put behind them long ago.
Buckley – the son of conservative columnist William F. Buckley Jr. –
describes in the article how he had received a medical deferment from
the Army, and thus how he had escaped going to Vietnam.
The article is titled “Viet Guilt, ” and it addresses
itself to those millions of young American men who did not go to Vietnam
– and who are beginning to realize, all these years later, that by not
going they may have proved something about their own lack of courage –
their own, lack of manhood, if you will – that ought to make them very
uncomfortable. Enough words have been devoted to the moral issues of the
war. The point that Chris Buckley makes is that, if the truth were
really to be told, most of the men who managed to stay home from Vietnam
did not do so for reasons of morality alone. Their real reason for not
going was that they did not want to die, did not want to get shot at.
And they found out that there were many ways to avoid Vietnam. Young men
of my generation got out of Vietnam because of college deferments,
because of medical deferments, because of having a “lucky” number in the
Selective Service birthday lottery that was initiated toward the end of
the war.
Three million men of fighting age went to Indochina
during the Vietnam War; 16 million men of fighting age did not.
Buckley was one of the men who did not – and I was, too.
Reading his article made me realize the truth of the emotions I have
been feeling lately about that particular subject. I sense a strong
feeling – “shame” is not too strong a word – among many men who did not
go to Vietnam, and perhaps now is the time to bring that feeling out
into the open.
Those of us who did not go may have pretended that we
held some moral superiority over those who did, but we must have known –
even back then – that that was largely sham. A tiny, tiny minority
served jail terms – the rest of us avoided the war through easier
methods. The men who went to Vietnam were no more involved with the
politics of the war than we were. They were different from us in only
two important ways: They hadn't figured out a successful way to get out
of going, and they had a certain courage that we lacked. Not “courage”
as defined the way we liked to define it; not “courage” in the sense of
opposing the government's policies in Vietnam. But courage in an awful,
day-to-day sense; courage in being willing to be over there while most
of their generation stayed home. When I meet men my age who are Vietnam
veterans, I find myself reacting the same way that Chris Buckley
indicates he does.
I find myself automatically feeling a little lacking. “I
have friends who served in Vietnam…” Buckley writes. “They all saw
death up close every day, and many days dealt with it themselves.”
They're married, happy, secure, good at what they do; they don't have
nightmares and they don't shoot up gas stations with M-16s. Each has a
gentleness I find rare in most others, and beneath it a spiritual sinew
that I ascribe to their experience in the war. I don't think I'll ever
have what they have, the aura of I have been weighed on the scales and
have not been found wanting, and my sense at this point is that I will
always feel the lack of it…” “I will always feel the lack of it.”
I think many of us are just beginning to realize that. I
know when I meet those men of my generation who did serve in Vietnam, I
automatically feel less worthy than they are; yes, less of a man, if you
want to use that phrase. Those of us who did not have to go to Vietnam
may have felt, at the time, that we were getting away with something;
may have felt, at the time, that we were the recipients of a particular
piece of luck that had value beyond price. But now, I think, we realize
that by not having had to go we lost forever the chance to learn certain
things about ourselves that only men who have been in war together will
ever truly know.
Our fathers learned those things in World War II; our
sons, God forbid, may learn them in some future conflict. But we – those
of us who did not go – managed to avoid something that would have helped
form us into different people than we are now. Buckley writes “by not
putting on uniforms, we forfeited what might have been the ultimate
opportunity, in increasingly self-obsessed times, of making the ultimate
commitment to something greater than ourselves. The survival of
comrades.” But I think it may go even beyond that; I think it may go to
the very definition of our manhood. I know that when I meet a man who,
it turns out, has served in Vietnam, part of me wonders whether he is
able to read my mind.
I don't know how widespread this feeling is among men of
my generation who didn't go; but I can testify that, at least for some
of us, it's there, all right.
Bob Greene