Honoring the Vet, but Hating the War

From 1957 to 1966 there was a television show hosted by Walter Cronkite called The 20^th 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.