Reinterpreting the military: Lessons to learn from Vietnam

By Freda Moon
RAW STORY COLUMNIST

With the news from Abu Ghraib seeping into our conversation, my friends and I recently discussed the military over pizza. The belief among some of us, it turns out, is that the military is a monolithic institution, devoid of differences in opinion, political values or lifestyle. The assumption: They are all redneck Republicans. One friend condemned not just “the military” but also each and every soldier within it. Having been brought up on military bases and within a military family, she roundly declared, “They are horrible people.”

More disturbing than her open hostility (which was clearly personal) was the degree to which her perception represents a divide within our larger culture. The often-discussed “culture wars” are being fought on so many battlefields that this one might be overlooked: They are not just about abortion rights, same-sex marriage and affirmative action, but about the meaning of patriotism in the United States and the purpose of the American military.

The dominant idea of patriotism in not just this country, but in most of the world, is one that relates directly to war. The willingness to fight for one’s country, and the honor therein, is not a distinctly American notion.

Considering the abundance of bloodshed in the past century, we don’t have to look far for examples. In post-Vietnam United States, many have come to define patriotism differently: We’ve excluded the notion of blind martyrdom in favor of critical activism. We’ve become pacifists.

In moving from one paradigm to another, we seem to have lost sight of two important lessons: First, most of the men and women in the military do not look like President Bush. The military offers education, job training, and upward mobility to people at the margins of our society. In this way, as unfortunate as it may be, the military is one of the final frontiers of the “American Dream.” The soldiers are not, and never have been, the enemy of the political left. We ought to have learned from past mistakes, to know better than to think that shouting “baby killer” at a soldier just back from war serves a purpose other than to alienate a potential ally. Demonizing the individual soldier detracts attention from larger issues, from the decisions being made by the decision makers.

Second, and more controversially, I’d be willing to argue that there is a time and a purpose for war. World War II offers one example: Even prior to Pearl Harbor, there was abundant cause for the United States to intervene (when faced with the realities of the Holocaust, it is difficult to grasp why it took so long). What, after all, was the alternative to the United States entering the war? In the face of humanitarian crises and genocide, failing to use violence to stop violence is an ethical lapse of significant proportions. After all, doing nothing while a murder takes place in plain site is not pacifism but callousness.

While the cultural divide over the military became most pronounced with Vietnam, the war on terror — that tricky catchall — has highlighted the fact that 30 years after the United States ended its last draft many Americans continue to distrust their military. Indeed, Vietnam has re-emerged as a vital symbol of national disunity over what it means to be an American patriot.

It is clear that America’s “living room war” will feature prominently in the election rhetoric of 2004 and in our understanding of Iraq. Thirty years after American forces pulled out of Vietnam, we remain deeply conflicted about what that war meant for the United States.

One thing is certain: To insinuate that the military is without internal divisions is to dramatically underestimate the capacity of people for free thought. Worse still, to focus all of our attention on the individuals who commit wartime atrocities is to ignore larger issues. This is not to say that these individuals should be absolved, but to stress the importance of the big picture. Context is fundamental. Within each institution there is training, culture and leadership. Would the soldiers at Abu Ghraib have committed the atrocities depicted in those recent photographs had it been made abundantly clear that it would not be tolerated and that it is illegal? We’ll only know if we ask.

Ultimately, institutional problems can be solved only by focusing on the institution as a whole, by going beyond the misconduct of one or two or 10 people. Surely there are times when the responsibility for individual abuses falls solely with the individual, but it should never be assumed that the people behind war crimes are simply, fundamentally, evil. It is just too easy, and it doesn’t do nearly enough to answer one crucial question: How could this happen?