The American public had finally gotten what it had been asking for, but there was no satisfaction in it.  As much as America had seemed to want out of Vietnam, when we finally managed to disengage from the conflict, it was sour grapes and bitter wine!   For our apparent defeat by a tiny third-world country had dealt a tremendous crippling blow to our national pride.  We, the children of the generation that had defeated the Nazi and Japanese juggernauts of World War II, had been handed the hard won torch of victory by our fathers.  In the public mind, that torch had been dropped.  As a result, we would no longer be able to view ourselves as the invincible international power we had been before!  And who would be the recipients of the blame for that?  Who else?  America’s anger and frustration over the war and its outcome would be unjustly heaped upon us, the veterans who had unselfishly served in that war! 

In a final act of humiliation, in many VFW posts across the nation, Vietnam vets, rather than being welcomed and honored as brothers in arms, were rejected and treated as outcasts. Many of the veterans of World War II found themselves questioning the courage, the valor and dedication of their own sons and nephews, saying "We won our war! What happened with you?" The clear implication was, we had failed our nation, when in fact, our nation had failed us, after we had given our all!

Jesus wisely said, "Cast not your pearls before swine, lest they trample them underfoot, then turn and rend you."  To far too many Americans, our service to country had been as pearls before swine.  And they did indeed turn on us.  For we who had returned were but living reminders of America’s ignominious defeat!  Someone had to take the blame for it, and what more convenient scapegoat than the men who had fought the war?  What supreme irony and injustice!  We who were never allowed to win that war, were ultimately burdened with the blame for losing it!  It was not for any lack of dedication or valor or fighting spirit.  In reality, the American people themselves and the politicians were to blame for that defeat!

If it was a mistake to become involved in Vietnam, we just continued making mistakes after it was over.  As the dust of the war settled, we as a nation, only wanted to put the whole ugly affair behind us, to pretend it never happened.   We wanted to forget Vietnam and the troops we left behind, the missing in action and the prisoners of war.  We tried to forget the poor souls who were yet clinging to a slender thread of hope that their country would come to their rescue.  It had been only that hope that kept them alive, as they endured the daily inhumane treatment of their captors in the POW camps in Vietnam, Laos and Cambodia.  We wanted to pretend they just didn’t exist.  We wanted too, to forget our broken commitments and how we had deserted our former friends and allies.   No, I’m not speaking of the government of South Vietnam, which itself was admittedly corrupt, but rather the people of South Vietnam and Cambodia and Laos.  They had admired and tried to emulate us.  They, our staunch allies, had trusted, and relied upon us.  And we, the American people had failed them miserably.  But America seemed to think if we just tried hard enough to put it all out of our minds, we would eventually wake to find it was only some nightmare of epic proportion.  Inconveniently though, the reminders of the war were all too conspicuous around us to allow us to forget.

The immense human toll taken in that war could not be ignored, no matter how hard we tried!  For the reminders seemed to be everywhere; men who had returned after having given all for their country.  They were the legless, the armless, the paralyzed wheelchair-bound, who were begging spare change or selling pencils on virtually every street corner of every major city across the nation.  Here were men who a few short years before, with all the vigor and optimism of youth, perhaps had held a bright future in their hands.   Now they were just the pathetic cast-offs of a society that had enjoined them, "Come serve your country!", then kicked them in the teeth for answering the call!  Then too, there were the "social misfits" who, despite outward physical health, were unable to adjust after the war to civilian life.  The bleeding of their emotional wounds would not be stanched, but continued unabated.  Anguished and constantly tormented by their memories, they continued living "in country" in their minds long after their return Stateside.  Many turned to drink or drugs attempting to forget the unforgettable and ease their psychic pain.

The vast majority of us finally adjusted, accepted what we knew we could not change, and went on to build successful lives.  But what could Jane Fonda and the flag burners, the media, and the "silent majority" possibly say to those men whose lives now might never fulfill the promise of their youth and whose sacrifice was seemingly for nothing?  Do they feel even a tiny bit responsible?   In light of what these men sacrificed for our country, the feeble excuse, "I loved my country, but I hated the war" rings pretty damned hollow! 

War is as close to Hell as one can get in this lifetime.  And no one hated the war more than those who had experienced it first hand and witnessed for themselves the carnage it brings.  No one hated it more than those who lost their friends and their own bodies, and minds, and lives to it.  But the fact that they were willing to lay their lives and futures on the line, to chance losing it all, is evidence enough they loved our country.  No, there is absolutely nothing romantic or noble in dying, and there is no glory in suffering horrible disfigurement in the service of one’s country.  But I insist there is honor in serving in spite of that possibility!

I will resist the temptation to describe the sacrifice of those who died in that war with the romantic notion, "They gave their lives for their country."  For in reality, what they gave was no more, and no less than anyone else who served - their sworn allegiance and service to country.  Their lives were not given, but taken from them, wrested from their grasp, against their wills!  To think otherwise is simply ludicrous! In 1970, Army Major Alexander Hottel III was killed in a helicopter crash over Laos. A year before his death, he had penned his own obituary and sealed and sent it to his wife with instructions it be opened only in the event he was killed. It read simply, "I deny that I died for anything -- not my country, not my Army, not my fellow man. I lived for these things, and the manner in which I chose to do it involved the very real chance that I would die."

Most assuredly, no one ever went off to war planning to come back maimed or in a body bag.  But every soldier, sailor, airman and marine knows going in, that very real possibility exists.  We who went to those far flung tropic jungles to serve in that thankless war were willing to take that risk, because our nation asked it of us.  We did it for our families and loved ones who remained behind, safe in their Stateside factories and universities and cities and towns and suburbs.  We did it for each other – brothers in arms.  We did it because of a debt to and a kinship shared with those brave, dutiful men who had gone before us to fight for the nation in prior wars.  And, yes, we did it for the people of Southeast Asia, who had asked for and deserved our help.

I have no quarrel with those who were truly conscientious objectors, unwilling to kill because of religious conviction, especially those who were willing to serve the country in some other capacity, in a non-combat role.  But there were many who were called, yet refused to serve in any way. There were many who lied and cheated to protect themselves at the expense of others. There were many who went so far as to renounce their allegiance and flee the country. And there were many who burned our nation’s flag and dishonored those of us who did serve in a desperate attempt to somehow justify their own dereliction. I wonder how they live with themselves now. In retrospect, all these years later, are they comfortable with the choices they made back then?

At some point, we all make choices in life which we may live to regret. I know in my heart, I made the right choice back then. Far from hating the others for their choices, I feel only pity for them today. But to the apologists who continue to make "I loved my country, BUT..." excuses today, without animus I would offer this simple truth.  It’s a very easy thing to now profess, "I loved my country."  Anyone can say the words, perhaps with all sincerity.  But it’s a very different and much more difficult thing to be willing to lay it all on the line and risk the ultimate sacrifice, when time comes to answer the call and back up those words with deeds!