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Notes from the Boonies

By Paul Wisovaty

The Iraq war is entering its sixth year, eclipsing in longevity both World War II and the American Civil War. If John McCain is elected, it may threaten the Chicago Cubs' record for consecutive seasons without a World Series appearance, although its duration for the moment remains short of our involvement in Vietnam. This begs the oft-asked question, "Is Iraq Vietnam all over again?"

Having majored in medieval history in college, I am obviously not qualified to answer that question. Okay, there was that silly Hundred Years War thing in the 14th and 15th Centuries, although trying to make any comparison there may be stretching it. At least we hope so. But there is one glaring difference between Iraq and Vietnam, and it's kind of an elephant in the corner of the room. I don't know that too many people think it's important - we don't hear any of the Presidential contenders talking about it – but if you served in Vietnam, I may guarantee that it has crossed your mind.

Like every other town in America, Tuscola holds three or four parades every year. Each of them features a Grand Marshal, usually somebody about ninety years old who has, well, lived to be ninety years old. But I have noticed that our parades these last few years have invariably included local Iraq vets as Grand Marshals, and I assume that this has been the case across the country. You may guess where I'm going here.

A couple of years ago, as one of our parades was about to get underway, a City Council member expressed to me his appreciation that two of our local Iraq vets were serving as Grand Marshals. I of course agreed, and added – I couldn't help myself – that I was reminded of all of the parades in which I was honored after I got back from Vietnam. He then asked, "Really?" My reply - Nam vets will understand – was "f*** no." That kind of ended the conversation. I picked up my American flag, fell in line for the color guard, and off we went down Main Street. I do not believe that he and I have since discussed the subject.

So what's my beef? I certainly do not begrudge our young men and women who served in the Middle East. God bless every one of them. They have been, as we were, Bobby Zimmerman's "pawns in the game." And like us forty years ago, more of them are coming around to that conclusion. Even if they don't, God bless them anyway. Put 'em in a parade. Throw flowers. Offer them your nubile sons and daughters. I could not be more on board with this. So why am I digging up bones from 1968? And why am I using up the space that The Veteran has graciously – some would say inexplicably – given me since 1997 to bring up a subject that is arguably yesterday's news?

I suppose the answer is that I still don't get it. The Iraq war is no more popular than was Vietnam, and, with the really odd exception of those crazy church folks from Kansas, I have yet to hear of the first instance of an Iraq vet being dissed by anybody. But we were. Forty years later, I keep asking myself why.

I suppose I could call some sociology professor at the University of Illinois and ask him, but he'd probably just thank me for the call and then dial up Homeland Security, and a few hours later I'd be handcuffed and hauled off to Guantanamo. I would then be introduced to what the Administration calls enhanced interrogation techniques. My ACLU friends would have a pancake breakfast to raise the money to post my bail, but of course if you're one of George's security risks, there ain't no bail. Scratch that idea.

Option number two would be to ask my fellow Nam vets in Tuscola. The problem is that they probably don't know either. But, as suggested earlier, that doesn't mean that the question hasn't crossed their minds.

I suppose I should come clean here. Nobody every spat on me when I got back from Vietnam, and nobody ever called me a baby killer. I am certain that those things happened to other vets, for the inescapable reason that there has never been, and never will be, any shortage of morons in the world. People who did that were certainly not representative of the anti-war movement in this country, which recognized not only that we had been "pawns," but also our role as natural leaders in that movement. What was the reaction I most often received? Absolute indifference. "Hey, Wiz, haven't seen you in a few months." "Well, actually, it's been two years. I just got back from Vietnam." "That's cool. Wanna shoot some pool?"

So here I am, 61 years old and still dwelling on this really antiquated question, while in Iraq and Afghanistan people are getting killed in a war that doesn't have one damned thing to do with my paranoia. But if we still feel compelled to greet each other with "Welcome Home" – because nobody ever said that to us forty years ago - there's got to be some baggage out there. So help me out – maybe help us both out – and drop me a line at PO Box 412, Tuscola, IL 61953, with your thoughts on the subject. I'll print your comments in the next Veteran.

I promise I won't call Homeland Security on you, even if your answer makes as little sense as my question. Oh, and Welcome Home.