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How We Judge Those Who Served, or Didn’t, in Vietnam The New York TimesBy David Nelson November 4, 2015 7:00 am The first Democratic presidential debate once again raised the issue of military service during the Vietnam War. Senator Bernie Sanders was asked how he could be commander-in-chief, given that he applied for conscientious objector status during that war. (Though his application was rejected he was not drafted and did not serve.)But while Mr. Sanders’s college-age pacifism — his office says he is not a pacifist now — has raised questions, he is not the only candidate to avoid Vietnam: Donald Trump and a few other candidates also were old enough to serve in that war but did not, for various reasons. The one candidate who did serve in Vietnam, former Senator Jim Webb, a decorated former Marine, dropped out of the Democratic nominating race. And the only remaining veteran in the pack, Senator Lindsey Graham, who recently retired from the Air Force Reserve, was 19 when the last American troops left Vietnam.Vietnam has always been a sort of litmus test for some voters who view a lack of military service in that war as a cause for dismay and even disdain. But should the candidates be judged so harshly? Most of us who were old enough to have been subject to the military draft during Vietnam view questions related to the war and our draft status through our personal reactions to that war. I signed up for a Marine Corps officer training on Oct. 21, 1965, and my thoughts after the Democratic debate have focused on my situation around that time period: What was I thinking? As a 20 year old growing up in Lubbock, Tex., I had few philosophical thoughts about the war. A senior in high school at the time of the Cuban missile crisis in October 1962, I was keenly aware of the fear that communism might spread throughout the world, and I readily bought into the so-called domino theory that if South Vietnam fell to communist forces, other countries in the region would be next. Although I had to register with my local draft board at age 18, I began college at Texas Tech University in the fall of 1963 with no particular plan to deal with my military obligation. Then, leading up to the 1964 presidential election, Senator Barry Goldwater made several speeches in which he recommended our country go to a volunteer military and abolish the draft. Although not a strong proponent of abolishing the draft, President Lyndon Johnson suggested a commission to study the issues involved with switching to an all-volunteer force. But by March 1965 Senator Goldwater had lost the election and President Johnson began sending more ground troops into Vietnam. At that point I knew the idea of abolishing the draft was probably a pipe dream. At the recommendation of a buddy of mine, Lee Roy Herron, I joined a Marine Corps officer training program that did not interrupt my studies. After surviving 10 weeks of officer candidates’ school in the summer of 1966, I transferred into a Marine Corps law program. As I had hoped, my three years of active duty after law school were relatively uneventful. On the other hand, Lee Roy died heroically in battle in Vietnam in early 1969, soon after he had volunteered for the front lines with fellow Marines.How quickly we forget the realities of military service and the draft situation that existed during Vietnam and the stark differences in individual experiences. Personally, I did not serve in Vietnam, never saw combat and received no awards for valor. It is difficult for me to judge the lack of military service by Senator Sanders or Mr. Trump or any other candidate when some of my personal military decisions were centered on achieving just what they did: avoiding setting foot in Vietnam and experiencing combat. Although we could just treat all Vietnam-era veterans as heroes, and harshly judge all those who did not serve in that or later wars, that view is too simplistic and unfair. It is also unfair to treat all Vietnam-era veterans who never saw combat as equal in heroism to those who actually saw the fight, were killed or wounded, or taken prisoner, such as Senator John McCain. While all Vietnam-era veterans deserve to be honored for their service, the highest accolades belong to people like my friend Lee Roy.The Vietnam era was a complicated and confusing time, and judgments of draft-age men for their decisions then should not be made hastily or harshly. Prior military service is not a requirement to be commander-in-chief, and youthful decisions made a half century ago may not be much of an indication of the kind of leader an individual would be now.David L. Nelson spent three years in the Marine Corps, attaining the rank of captain. He became a tax partner with Ernst & Young and represented many of the largest nonprofit organizations in Texas. He is coauthor of the book “David and Lee Roy: A Vietnam Story,” published by Texas Tech University PressLong After War, Moral Questions LingerThe New York TimesBy Jeffrey Brown December 20, 2012 12:18 pm It’s hard for a New York team to maintain fan loyalty when it is playing erratic football. But the front office deserves a lot of credit when the green and white colors are displayed alongside members of the military at the opening ceremonies of every game. The crowd’s genuine cheers of pride memorialize these soldiers while they are alive and smiling without waiting for the potentially sad consequences that might accompany a dangerous mission. This is a welcome change. Vietnam veterans bitterly remind anyone who will listen that there was a time when an ambivalent public had not yet learned how to separate feelings about an unpopular war from the warriors who were fighting it. I still remember a little girl pointing at me in uniform and saying: “Look, Daddy. There’s a soldier.” Her uninterested father muttered, “So what?” My combat experience as an Army doctor during Vietnam would seem to have little relevance to practicing pediatrics in an affluent New York suburb. Nevertheless, hidden memories percolate through my thoughts every day. I had treated trauma patients while I was at personal risk, talked down a disturbed soldier who was threatening to shoot me and cared for patients who had tropical diseases I had only read about. My eclectic knowledge base even included knowing how much chlorine in drinking water prevents hepatitis and how far a latrine should be located from a mess hall. But the most difficult duty was navigating moral dilemmas that never seemed to have correct answers. Military doctors report to two chains of command, medical and operational, and my role as doctor for my unit sometimes conflicted with my role as doctor for individual soldiers: When I treated my patient successfully, was I writing him a prescription for death when he returned to duty? If I kept a soldier on sick leave, did I create increased risk for members of his now understrength squad? Should I have risked the dangers of calling a medical evacuation helicopter team into a “hot” landing zone, or instead opted to give suboptimal care to my injured patient? So, it was with great trepidation that I detoured from a medical meeting in Washington, D.C., several years ago to visit the Vietnam Veterans Memorial. It has a serenity that belies the chaos and violence that killed the 58,000 soldiers who are remembered there. The clean peaceful lines were designed by Maya Lin, a Chinese American architect, with the intent of bringing focus back to the soldiers and away from a divisive war. It is often called “The Wall,” because its most distinguishing feature is a series of graceful and beautifully landscaped black granite panels that record soldiers’ names chronologically by their dates of death. Each name follows the next in a run-on style that creates an unsettling impression that the list might never end. The most troubling unresolved question for me was always whether the war had cheated these young men out of a longer life. I prefer to believe that it did not: Regardless of its length, a lifetime is simply the time that someone lives before death. That makes every life complete? It cannot be missing something that would never be. Standing in the December cold, I read the name of each person who had died while I was there. That night, I left my hotel bed, dressed quickly, and returned to read the list again — this time, more slowly and with greater care. I wasn’t distressed because I recognized the names of those I had seen die. I couldn’t sleep because I didn’t recognize most of them. I had been with some of these men while they were in pain and dying, and I still remember the sweet smell of warm sticky blood mixed with Vietnam’s mud. It was inconceivable that I did not know who they were. The real weapons of war are not rifles and grenades, but the soldiers who carry them. We already knew that we were interchangeable and replaceable, but during dark moments, soldiers can feel disposable. Forming friendships could be difficult because experiences were shared for only short periods of time. The strong affection of fellowship was a more viable option? it only required awareness of how someone relates to you in the present, not the past or future. These instant companions created the feeling of family and enriched the experience of being alive. And for many, that feeling was so intense that it could never be reproduced after returning to civilian life. It was unspoken, but these fellow soldiers had another role: They lessened the chances of our dying alone, and they could provide human witness to verify when our own deaths were really taking place. Medical personnel cherish their jobs when they are “doing something” to keep patients alive, but they don’t always recognize the pastoral importance of just being present while someone is dying. Our presence creates an existential bond that becomes a permanent part of who we are. And this bond remains unbroken — even if we have never learned the names of the dying, or we can’t distinguish one dead person’s name from another’s when it is written on long black wall. After the football game, when everyone is ready to move on with life, no one gives much thought to the opening ceremony. But the veterans and servicemen who were present remain bonded with the fans who cheered them on with the appreciation and affection they deserve. Dr. Jef rey Brown served in Vietnam as a combat infantry battalion surgeon in 1966 and 1967. He recently retired after a long career practicing community pediatrics in Westchester County, N.Y. He has written three books and is on the teaching staf at New York Medical College and Weill Cornell Medical College. ................
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