From 1957 to 1966 there was a television show hosted by
Walter Cronkite called The 20th Century. On Sunday evenings we all needed to be quiet
in our home while my father sat in his recliner with his cigarettes and ashtray
at his side, his eyes glazed over as he watched images of the World Wars and
the Korean Conflict move across the screen.
When the show ended in 1966 my father was deep into watching the daily
reports coming from Viet Nam.
As I look back on this now, and knowing all that I have come
to learn about trauma, I realize that my father was reliving his time fighting
in the Korean War every time he turned on the television to watch the news. He also watched every other documentary or
feature film he could find that depicted men engaged in combat. My father may have served in the Army on that
cold northern Pacific peninsula for less than two years, but that war had a
constant presence in our home.
Many people saw my father as a large caring man with a quick
and raucous laugh. He had a colorful
sense of humor and a lack of social boundaries that was often an embarrassment
to his children. What a lot of people
didn’t realize, however, was that there was a very tortured human being
underneath the Santa Claus suit that people saw every December. The Korean War added to the effects of
extreme poverty and abuse that he suffered as a child and he carried the pain
with him up until the very last years of his life. When I look at pictures of him, I can see the
pain in his eyes above the smile on which everyone else focuses.
During the Viet Nam War he ranted against the demonstrators
and draft dodgers. He felt that since he
had done his duty as a man by serving in the military, others should not
dishonor the memory of his fallen comrades by refusing to do their duty. His devotion to the men with whom he served
carried a large dose of survivor guilt.
Even though my mother spent long hours after their marriage pulling shrapnel
that was rising to the surface out of his face and scalp, my father had refused
to accept a Purple Heart. He insisted
that others deserved it more than he did.
Dad had a quick and explosive temper. Except for a very few occasions, he did not hit a member of our family. However, I remember seeing his fist going
through a wall on at least two occasions.
He also had a “look” that all three of his children refer to even
now. It was a “look” that told us we had
taken a step too far and that he was on the verge of doing something if we did
not leave or change our attitude immediately.
In the same way that the Korean War was ever present, so was his
temper. I have no doubt they were
connected.
My father was a man who had grown up poor in the Great
Depression, saw men leave to fight in WWII and come back heroes, and then he fought
in Korean War. He believed that a man
was to be honored for his military service and that his participation in
protecting his country from the threat of communism warranted respect and he felt
it was his due. If one of his children
disagreed with his viewpoint, he saw it as a personal attack on his right as a
man, a soldier, and a father.
He also struggled to be a father with no idea of what that
meant. His father was absent for most of
his life and my father fell into the belief that as long as he was physically
present in the home, worked hard at home and on the job, and brought home the
paycheck, he was meeting all the requirements of being a good father. He did not realize that his temper and
depression alienated his children, made them fearful and resentful, and contributed
to other issues in their lives. Like
many men of his generation, he also probably had an undiagnosed learning
disability that made it difficult for him to read. He was intelligent, and devoted himself to
watching news and documentaries to fill in the gaps in his education.
Dad’s childhood and his time in the Korean War set the tone
for our family without ever being discussed.
It was not until he was in his late sixties that he finally joined a
support group for veterans. For forty
years he had not been able to talk about his experiences, but finally found a
place for his feelings in a group of Viet Nam veterans who accept him into
their space. This group of men helped
him find peace while also helping him understand how his experiences in Korea
had affected his family. He died peacefully
in 2005, having made amends to his wife and children.
Growing up with presence of war in our home has made me a
pacifist. War creates more war and it
just goes on and on. Fighting seems to
always be the first choice while peaceful means of resolving conflict are
deemed traitorous. When young people
return from war having experienced extreme trauma and are not given the proper
support and treatment they need, I am convinced that wars are created for the
glory of those who do not fight and to the detriment of those who do.
While not a Catholic, I agree with the Catholic’s just war
doctrine:
The
strict conditions for legitimate defense by military force require rigorous
consideration. The gravity of such a decision makes it subject to rigorous
conditions of moral legitimacy. At one and the same time:
·
the damage inflicted by the aggressor on the nation or community
of nations must be lasting, grave, and certain;
·
all other means of putting an end to it must have been shown to
be impractical or ineffective;
·
there must be serious prospects of success;
·
the use of arms must not produce evils and disorders graver than
the evil to be eliminated. The power of modern means of destruction weighs very
heavily in evaluating this condition.
These are the traditional elements enumerated in what is called
the "just war" doctrine. The evaluation of these conditions for moral
legitimacy belongs to the prudential judgment of those who have responsibility
for the common good.
To this I would add that we, as a country, need to take full
responsibility for the continued support of military personnel after they return from war, ensuring
that healing is facilitated of not only physical damage, but also on the deeper
and more far-reaching emotional and spiritual effects of witnessing extreme
violence.
