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From Berkeley With Love
When I was bussed
from the holding station near
Oakland
,
California
, to catch my first flight to
Vietnam
our bus had wire mesh over the windows. Someone asked why. "To keep
the public from throwing rocks, garbage, maybe even shit at you
guys," someone told us. The following day when I walked off the
airplane at
Tan
Son
Nhut
Airport
in
Vietnam
, again we boarded busses on which the windows were covered with wire
screen. "That's to keep the enemy from throwing grenades inside as
we go through town," someone told me. Ironically it seemed, we had
two enemies--one of them back home.
On a cold, drizzly
day six months later I was at LZ Nancy near the DMZ when our commanding
officer called a special meeting. We all crowded into a large tent and
almost immediately the gathering took on one of the eerie "secret
mission" scenes from the World War II movies I had watched as a
kid. We all new something was up as only a few days earlier my platoon
leader, Lieutenant Robert M. Gribble, had been pulled out of LZ Nancy
for some super secret mission.
When he had our
attention our C.O. announced that he was seeking volunteers to form a
single squad for a very secret mission. He couldn't give us any details
other than that the following day we would have to convoy north to the
old Special Forces camp at Mai Loc. I was the company's perennial
volunteer but on this day I balked. I wanted desperately to be part of
the mission but because it sounded so grim I didn't want to lead the
squad with all the related responsibility I would have to carry. I
waited until one of our Staff Sergeant's volunteered to lead and by that
time I almost lost out in my bid to become his assistant squad leader.
Our C.O. pointed out that I was assigned that night to serve as
"bunker sergeant" so it probably wouldn't work out anyway. I
told him that I could sleep during the convoy to Mai Loc the following
day and literally begged to go. He relented.
Everyone was very
hushed that night…even the men who had not volunteered or those who
had volunteered and not been selected were quiet. If this was as
dangerous as the C.O. had made it sound some of our comrades would not
be coming back. Those of us who HAD been selected were unusually quiet.
That night while
making the rounds I stopped at a bunker overlooking the river that
formed part of our perimeter. The NCOs always knew the guys on that
bunker listened to the radio while on duty and overlooked it as the
river drowned out the sound. As I climbed the ladder to their perch I
could hear they were listening to a program out of
North Vietnam
. In the World War II fashion of Tokyo
Rose we had our own
Hanoi
Hanna…in fact several of
them. While I sat there she played a song from home and when it finished
she launched into a typical propaganda diatribe.
After finishing her
spiel she played a professionally-sounding radio spot, not at all unlike
the typical public service announcements you still hear every day on the
radio. What made it unique was that the announcer spoke perfect English.
He reminded we American soldiers in
Vietnam
that we were criminals, that we indiscriminately killed women and
children, and that our leaders were ruthless tyrants. He encouraged us
to disobey orders, proclaim that we were Conscious Objectors, lay down
our guns and come home. He assured us that it wouldn't be easy, that the
leaders of our evil army would try to fight us every step of the way. He
closed by promising us that there were lawyers at home who would defend
us and multiple organizations that would support our decision. He closed
by inviting us to write for more information on how to successfully do
the right thing and lay down our arms. Forty years later I no longer
remember the name or the organization, though I'll never forget the
closing line: "For more information write to (name of
organization), (address of organization),
Berkeley
,
California
."
It all struck a funny
chord in my mind and I threw back my head and laughed out loud.
One week later our
squad was back at LZ Nancy…the actual mission had proven to be
anti-climactic to its buildup. Ours was the Engineer squad that led the
way to re-open the
Khe
Sanh
Valley
in 1971 for the offensive called Lam Son 719. We actually experienced
very little resistance or danger. That came later for those like
Lieutenant Gribble who stayed in the valley for the duration…as well
as for the ARVN soldiers that used Lam Son 719 as springboard for a
drive into
Laos
. Every man in my squad was decorated for valor. Mine was an award I
never felt I really earned.
The two months
following that mission was the only time during my two tours of duty in
Vietnam
that the anti-war movement back home bothered me. Newspapers reported
repeated incidences of ARVN cowardice in their drive into Laos:
sensational stories of tank commanders having to lock their men inside
their armored vehicles to keep them from deserting, of whole companies
abandoning their artillery and fleeing, of cowardly soldiers clinging
desperately to the skids of helicopters bringing in supplies to try and
desert and escape the danger of doing their duty. The intent was
obvious, to send a message home that "These (Vietnamese) people are
too cowardly to defend their own country, so why are we sending our
(American) boys over there to fight and die for them?"
While there were no
doubt such incidences, I knew that they were not occurring with the
frequency with which they were being reported, and that any such
examples were dwarfed by the number of ARVNs who bravely went into
combat to do their job and often die for their own country. I came to
hate the war protestors, not for what they said about me and my American
comrades, but for belittling a people I had come to love. I had
witnessed many acts of heroism by ARVN soldiers and was personally aware
of several instances in which an ARVN soldier risked, and sometimes gave
his life to save an American. In March I finally vented my frustration
by sending a letter home to the
Daily
Interlake
newspaper in
Kalispell
,
Montana
. It was the only such letter I ever wrote home about the war itself.
To say that I was
then, and even that I remain today somewhat "hawkish" would be
an understatement. When I was a Senior in high school in 1968 my
government teacher, Mr. Jerry L. Agen, assigned our class a project to
write a paper about the Vietnam War that included two pages PRO and two
pages CON. Mine was titled "Bullets or Bondage" and had the
requisite two page argument against the war and 40 pages of reasons why
I believed it was just. Mr. Agen was against the war but wrote on my
paper, "Doug, while I disagree with your premise herein, what you
write reflects the spirit that has made
America
great. Don't ever lose that!" He gave me 200 points out of a
possible 50 points.
While serving in
Vietnam
I validated my belief in our cause. To this day I maintain that despite
the errors in leadership and the controversy in
Washington
,
D.C.
that tried to rob us of victory, our cause was just. I believe to this
day that going to aid that small country in
Southeast Asia
was the right thing to do. I only wish we had stayed to finish the job
and to win.
When I came home in
1972 and was discharged at
Fort Lewis
,
Washington
, we were all told NOT to wear our uniforms home as we might attract
undue attention. I was proud of my service and believed I had earned the
right to wear that uniform home…to hell with those who didn't like
it…and did. Perhaps I was fortunate; never in my nearly three years of
military service from 1969 to 1972 was I spit on and only a few isolated
times was I the subject of vulgar expletives. Of course the public was
much more appreciative of soldiers in my home state of
Montana
. I do know that some of my comrades in other states were not so
fortunate.
Three decades later I
watched television as the
United States
was attacked once again. As one might expect the old soldier and the
political hawk in me emerged in a not too subtle fashion. The following
year, shortly after American forces entered
Baghdad
, Pam and I took our children on a week-long vacation to visit my mother
in
Idaho
and my father in
Washington
. Upon learning we were coming my dad asked if I would speak at a school
while I was there. The Moses Lake, Washington, high school has the
uncommon distinction of numbering among its alumni two recipients of the
Medal of Honor for actions in the Vietnam War. It is a school where
patriotism runs deep and, following release of the 2002 documentary
"Beyond the Medal of Honor" in which I appeared in several
on-camera interviews and as son of a local man, I was something of a
celebrity there.
On the day of my
presentation I first was treated to breakfast at a local restaurant by a
school administrator. My father, sitting at the table with us and
knowing I tend to the "hawkish" side of the political spectrum
sought to reassure me. "This town is VERY patriotic," he told
me. "Don't worry about pulling any punches this morning when you
speak." Knowing how I planned to begin my presentation I wondered
then if I was about to give him a big dose of disappointment.
Hundreds of high
school students were crammed into chairs before me as I walked to the
front of the room in my Army uniform after being introduced. At the very
back of the auditorium sat my five adult step-brothers, every one of
them equally hawkish. They had come to watch with pride the presentation
by their oldest brother.
I looked across the
room and then began: "I've been told that
Moses
Lake
is a very patriotic city. But I would like to ask one question before I
begin." I paused, wondering if anyone would answer the question I
was about to pose with an affirmative. "Is there anyone in this
room who is opposed to the war in
Iraq
?"
I needn't have
worried…those who oppose a popular (at that time) ideal are generally
not shy. One young man on the front row raised his hand. I walked over
to stand in front of him while the room became quite still. "I have
just two words for you, young man," I stated and then paused. You
could have heard a pin drop. "Thank you!" I announced loudly.
In the back my brothers slouched down in their chairs in embarrassment
while I'm sure my father began to worry that I had gone liberal on him.
Then I explained.
"I thank God
that there are those who oppose this, or any war. I disagree with
you…I believe you are wrong. I'm a 'hawk' I'll admit. The thing is, if
everyone thought exactly like I do the
Persian Gulf
would now flow all the way to the Syrian Border, and
North Korea
would be the world's largest parking lot. The fact is, if everyone
believed like I do our country would be prone to become the world's
biggest bully."
Then, before spending
the bulk of my presentation defending WHY I believed in the Iraq War I
spoke to those students who comprised the vast majority in the room and
who believed like I did. "You need to respect this young man, and
any others in this room who oppose the war. I didn't say you have to
agree with them but they have earned your respect. It takes REAL COURAGE
to stand up for what you believe, especially when it is the minority
opinion and everyone else thinks you are wrong. There is nothing more
American than freedom of speech, and by showing the courage to stand up
for what he believes, this young man is a model American."
Doug Sterner
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