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For the purpose of this piece the veterans I’m referring to are specifically from wars other than the current conflict.
We have a healthy population of veterans of foreign wars in our little city and with a little prodding and listening you learn who they are. I always relish the chance to engage them about their view of their country today and as with the current warriors I probably make too many of them relive bad memories. For the greater good of these columns I guess I’ll bear that guilt although it tasks me.
Several of our regulars I’ve spoken at length with about their service and their opinion of “The War on Terror”. From the Vietnam vets I get a sense, almost universally, that they are having a serious sense of déjà vu and I truly believe it’s affecting some of them badly. It’s almost as if the parallels they are seeing are increasing their own PTSD. Some are simply horrified that our country seemingly didn’t learn a thing from the disaster that they lived through. Some of them tend to go drinking more than before and come home in worse states. You have to know these people locally to see the contrast perhaps but it is subtly noticeable.
One Desert Storm veteran who was the subject of an earlier report frightened me with his apparent longing and nostalgia for what he called “the beauty of war.” He basically thought we should enforce our will upon Iraq, whether they wanted us to or not, for their own good.
World War Two vets I’ve met have had mixed opinions but I’d say the majority are against the war, or don’t see it as in our national interest past the obvious oil factor. Many of them have a long ingrained loyalty to the military and the idea of “the Commander in Chief” bordering on religious, but realize that our men and women aren’t being honored by this war and how it has been run.
Most describe Bush as “an idiot”, “a disgrace” and even “horse’s ass” has been used by at least one passenger in the shout box which is my taxi. Feelings towards the troops fighting Bush’s war range from the honor and respect that you’d expect. To fear for these young men and women from those knowing the horrors they see. Surprisingly, and even more surprising to me was who it came from, I had one Vietnam vet that I know pretty well from around town express some fairly venomous sentiments about the men and women fighting today.
For the purpose of this essay we’ll call my passenger “John” to protect his identity. I’ve known John, not well, but as a fellow barfly and cab customer for years. I’d known for a while he was a Vietnam vet but he’s never been one to rant on about his experiences, in my company at least. I’ve known from our conversations in the taxi that he’s far from a George Bush fan. I’m embarrassed to say I’m not sure exactly what John does but he’s a self made successful businessman and has some contract work with the military base I’m near. I picked him up as we do almost daily from a local pub. Always early in the evening, John is an after work, few beers for a few hours type of regular. My recent trip with him found him a little drunker and a little later than usual. We made the usual small talk and I always try to interject some politics because I know it fires him up and we usually end up chatting in his driveway for several minutes after the ride is done. Get me going on GW and you have a conversation you’ll have a hard time getting out of what can I say?
Anyway he asked me how my night was going and I mentioned pretty slow because all the work was on Drum at the moment and I had let my military ID expire and was costing myself some serious money. He asked why I let it go and I just said I needed a break from them for a while. Not completely understanding where I was coming from John launched into a tirade saying, “I know what you mean. I’m so sick of them whining about things. I’m a Vietnam vet; I never got three meals a fucking day or hot showers. I lived in a fucking hole for a year.”
I was taken aback a little but said I understood. What bothered me is that you could physically see him reliving it and the memories working on him. Like some horrible movie that must play in his head without warning. I felt terrible once again for making someone see a nightmare they should be able to escape. That never should have happened in the first place. I pray I never have such scars that never go away. Tip your cabbie. Shadow out.
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