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Survivor's Guilt: A Life of Atonement?

By Gregory Ross

When I first met my wife, the woman who married me, as opposed to the woman I refer to as my "first wife," who didn't marry me, not just because I didn't ask. It was the early 1970's; marriage was out of vogue and I was stoned all the time. But, I digress: when I first met my wife in November, 1975 I had a white canvas back pack that I carried everywhere. I got it when I moved to California and used it as a billboard for all the things I wanted to say to the world. Some of the information I remember putting on it was the amount of lives and money the war cost and two phrases: "How Many Vietnamese Died In Our Civil War?" and "Working Class America: 100,000 die each year in work related accidents, injuries and diseases. 58,000 died in the War." There was more on the Billboard Back Pack but those are all I remember.

Upon first meeting my not yet wife's parents, I was marginally employed and in her parents estimation the latest mistake she was making in regards to men. Her first husband turned out to be a disappointment to them. Now she was taking up with a long haired crazy veteran freak who always wore a Vietnam Veterans Against The War pin and that embarrassing Billboard Back Pack. Eventually I won her mother over but her father and I were locked into the "useless, no good, boy friend/father protecting his rebellious daughter" scenario. Even when we got married he died before he and I could finish the work we had started of getting out of the stereotypical "father-in-law/son-in-law" hostile roles. Though her mother accepted that I was going to be a part of their lives and even began to like me, she couldn't understand why I had to carry that Billboard Back Pack everywhere. Truthfully, I didn't totally understand the reason then either; it just felt wrong to be without that visible statement at all times.

The first few years with my wife, who wasn't my wife yet, was one of the most emotionally active periods of my life. I had met the woman whose love I was convinced would save me. I worked Child Care which involved relating to a large group of 5 to 9 year olds. I was part of a group of men called Men Against Sexist Violence [MASV], learning from and working in conjunction with San Francisco Women Against Rape [SFWAR]. We did outreach in schools to offer boys another view of relationships and the committee I worked with did counseling with Significant Others of rape or sexual trauma victims. I also worked with the War Resisters League [WRL]. A man in MASV once pointed to my Billboard Back Pack and said, "That is a heavy load to carry." I replied, "Not as heavy as when I don't carry it." A revelation to me, the first acknowledgment of "Survivors Guilt."

Eventually, with the exception of my wife, who married me anyway; it all imploded. I would break down crying at work when boys insisted on playing "War Games." The relief on my boss's face when I quit confirmed my guess that she was struggling with my continued employment. MASV self destructed when the Socialist, Communist and "Feminist Male" factions endlessly argued over the "Primary Contradiction: Classism versus Sexism" and polemics ground the group down. I am still friends with a few of the original founders but we are scattered all over Northern California. I left WRL as our small group was successfully taking on recruiters in the schools. I left because I brought up that as we got more successful we needed to be more careful. This was after all the age of Co-Intelpro. The other two working class members agreed but the middle class people thought we were just paranoid. Soon, PTSD and drugs put me over the edge and I went down to the VA Program in Menlo Park, CA to clean up and heal enough that my wife actually did marry me in March, 1982.

For a long time I went back to keeping my Veteran status a secret, telling only people I loved or trusted for some other reason. I have no idea what happened to the Billboard Back Pack but, over the last few years I have not left the house without a Veterans For Peace patch sewn onto my hat. Total strangers come up to me and say, "Nice Hat." I figure they mean the sentiment of the patch. It is not such a heavy load anymore, but I feel anxious without my hat.

Gregory Ross: Navy veteran, served on the Gun Line off the coast of Vietnam [1968-69]. Graduate of a VA drug, alcohol and PTSD program [1980]; a Detox Acupuncturist [1989] and published in "Veterans of War, Veterans of Peace." Avoids haircuts, shaving. Likes feedback, even criticism, can be reached at: gandgandg@yahoo.com