LETTER TO MY COUNTRY

Because of the growing intensity of the war in Iraq, I feel the need to take a break from "Letters to Myself" to write what is in my heart right now. My first newly written entry in awhile is a letter published in my hometown paper, The Westport News.

Early one rainy morning in November of 1967, my father drove me from our house on Bradley Street in Westport, Connecticut to the railroad station in New Haven where I met up with about 50 other recent draftees about to be inducted into the U.S. Army. I was a shy young man who had quit college knowing that I would probably end up in the Army and would probably end up in Vietnam. Both were self-fulfiling prophecies because, after all, there had been a huge troop build-up that November, which in fact turned out to be the single largest number of men (boys, really) drafted into the Armed services in any one month.

So, by quitting college, I ostensibly knew where I was going to end up. Now, as I think of it 30 years later, I went because I wanted to find out for myself what the truth about the war was. Ironically, the day I showed up in New Haven, the Reverend Daniel Berrigan was holding the largest peace rally to date, in front of the New Haven train station. So we, the inductees, had to be escorted by the police through the line of peace marchers into the station.

What happened that day is a metaphor for what I've been thinking is making me an extremely uncomfortable and unpleasant person to live with in my home these days. As the writer of a daily on line journal I have, in the past few months, been a proponent of peace. I have written a couple of entries teasing the President -- one insinuating that he has "an anger problem," a problem I clearly recognize because of my own. The point is, I've been dredging my heart, day and night wondering what is the right thing for our country to do. There just doesn't seem to be a simple answer.

My personal notion of how to create peace in the world departs somewhat from the norm in that I do not believe that marching with a peace sign in hand, shouting "make love, not war" is actually going to make peace.

In my mind, peace is something that must be created in the heart; in mine, in yours, and in the hearts of marchers before any of us even thinks of taking to the streets. My reason why is simple: a line of angry marchers creates a "side" as in battle. We don't need any more "sides" in this world. Instead what we need is exactly the opposite -- a lack of sides. The solution to ending this war -- to ending any war -- is something simple and yet more powerful than even a march. We need love. We need to dig down deep inside our hearts to find that feeling and act from it.

And at this moment in time, the people we need to show our love to is our fellow men and women who have gone off to fight for us. This will be a real display of peace.

Not more than a few days ago, I was racking my brain for ways America might have out of this war, ways NOT to engage the enemy. I listened to David Cline's, President of Vererans for Peace, speech in Washington yesterday. I heard his impassioned call for Veterans to March to the White House to show our disapproval. I've listened -- as most of us undoubtedly have -- to many arguments against the war including "it's all about oil." There are a lot of convincing arguments against the war that I'm much more likely to believe than the ones for it.

But, something has changed my thinking in the last few days -- and I believe it's important for all of us to be willing to change when it's in our conscience to do so. What changed me is my memory of 30 years ago, of being a soldier returning from Vietnam. I was three days out of the field and on the last leg of my trip home during which I experienced the heights of the two emotions I'm talking about in this letter -- love and hate.

In October 1969 I left my mountain top, LZ Bayonet, by jeep where I took a hop aboard a C130 Cargo plane down the length of the country to Cam Ranh Bay and then a commercial airliner from there to Seattle. After cutting my way through all the Army's red tape and my final Army physical, I found myself in my brand new tailored dress uniform at the Seattle airport, nervous, afraid, and alone. So I went into a bar for a drink, as much to quell the non-stop tremors in my hands as to fight the fears. With my drink in hand I headed for the one empty seat remaining at a table when suddenly, inexplicably, the people sitting there lifted their drinks and moved to another table. None of them spoke to me, so for the moment, I didn't understand. Although soldiers in Vietnam knew there was a faction of our country that was against the war, we had no idea about the level of animosity which existed "back in the world" as we called our homeland.

Until that moment, I'd been proud of the couple of metals on my chest for the hour or so I'd worn them, most especially of the Combat Infantryman's Badge, which holds a special place of esteem among soldiers. But as I walked down the aisle in my plane back to New York, I felt that my medals and my uniform had suddenly become objects I could no longer afford to feel proud of. If I'd had another change of clothes I'm sure I would've changed into them.

But on the final leg of my journey back from my mountaintop near Chu Lai to my parent's house on Bradley Street, I experienced the other emotion I'm talking about -- the one capable of healing and overpowering the hate.

I arrived at Saugatuck train station late at night. There was only one cab so I shared the backseat of a Teddy's Taxi with an older man. I remember how very strange it seemed to see the Bridge Garage and the Mobil gas station where I'd worked in high school having just been in the jungle for 365 days. The cab crossed the blue bridge and then headed under the thruway down South Compo Road. The man beside me remained silent until the cab pulled into our driveway. He waited until I'd opened the door and stepped outside before extending his hand. "Thank You," was all he said.

The man's simple act of kindness has stayed with me all these years. It is important now that all of us find the love in our hearts to thank our fellow Americans, our soldiers, for risking their lives. Whether or not we believe in this war is no longer the point. We can still disagree, if we want to, with our country's reasons for being there -- and keep in mind, this is the right our soldier's serve to protect for us! What is most important at this time is to remember that the troops who are fighting for us, are men and women -- boys and girls -- just like us. Even if we don't know any of them personally, take it from me -- from someone who has been in their position -- they need our unconditional love. It is not the time to hold that back, let's give it to them.

Posted by Tony at March 28, 2003 12:23 PM