Where have all the Flowers Gone? (Adelaide Australia November )
To say I have a complicated attitude towards days like
today, Remembrance Day, is a massive understatement. I was born with a predisposition
towards pacifism, a tendency that was strengthened by experiencing the damage
done to my father from his time in the army and especially his time with the
Australian army in Vietnam during the war. Then there was the impact on my
family of his time there: the family basically imploded, with the subsequent
effects on each of us.
Then there is my knowledge of military history, both as it
is lived by the people doing the actual fighting and from the broader
geo-political perspective of historical movements and imperatives, as well as
the reasons for going to war. Not to mention my acute awareness of the lies we are told to justify
war and the hiding of the real reasons a government will wage war.
At the end of the day it is these lies told by politicians and
our so-called leaders and their manipulations of events and the revision of
history, that has me now saying no to all wars.
At the same time from deep in the core of me I feel a love
and affection, a pride, for the people we send (yes, we) to do the fighting,
killing and dieing; I feel for and care about those who return from the fight
wounded in body, mind and spirit.
Whatever the individual’s reason for ‘joining up’ to fight,
they have all done the dirty work their society has demanded of them. Their efforts—their
sacrifices—need to be looked at as completely separate from their governments
actions and reasons for sending them to fight and what they have done must be
looked at separately from any outcome of any given conflict.
I have always been deeply revolted and disgusted to the core
by those who place blame and then abuse or attack those who have only been
doing our (yes our) bidding in war. Anti war should and does not mean, anti those who have done the fighting. To not make this distinction is to abdicate
one’s own responsibility as a member of society.
On days like this, Remembrance Day, and all other
commemorations that purport to remember and honor those who have died in war, there
is a militarization that in many ways excludes an honoring of the dead by
people who do not wish to, at the same time, promote or celebrate a culture of
war and conflict. And that makes me sad.
My father (who had served as a Major in Australian Army Intelligence
before, during and after the Vietnam War) died in 2000 as he ran for a train on
a hot summer’s day. I don’t think there were too many moments in the thirty odd
years between his time in Vietnam and his death that he was happy; not too many
times he was at peace.
PTSD; Depression; violent mood swings and behaviours;
constant and consuming distress and an ongoing inability to settle into any semblance
of what we call a ‘normal life’. These were his rewards for doing his ‘duty’,
for doing the things we (yes, we) asked him to do.
No need to go on. Suffice it to say, my siblings and I are
the children of a Vietnam veteran, and to some degree or another we have inherited
that legacy of suffering. Just like so many others, in so many wars, all over
this benighted planet and through time.
About ten years ago I wrote a poem about my father and his
post Vietnam life and death. Here is it as my offering at the memorial to all
who have had to suffer as a result of all wars everywhere.
Lest We Forget to not only oppose war in all its guises and
disguises, but let us always remember to create peace in our lives and in our
communities.
Peace to you all.
IT’S
A ’NAM THING
My father, many times he hit me.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.
My father hurt my sisters.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing
My father, he beat my mother.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing
My father had a shrink at 150 an hour.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.
My father tried to get sane.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.
My father, he kept his demons.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.
My father used to run for trains.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.
My father, one day thought he was late.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.
My father ran hard for his train.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing
My father caught that train, of course.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.
My father, his heart attacked him.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing.
My father, on that train he died.
But, hey, it’s a ’Nam thing
Hobart Australia
?2004 or 2005
