"Most of us are doing OK today."
He spoke calmly, evenly, composed even as he told us of the three close friends he lost in the Vietnam War and of his, as well as his fellow soldiers' struggles with addiction and reentry into civilian culture. In a turtleneck and blazer, under the processed light of McGuinn 121, he looks every bit the comfortable middle-aged businessman. It is difficult to imagine him at 18, younger than me, under the beating sun in Thailand, servicing sophisticated military machinery and waiting for letters from home.
We are careful today in how we speak about veterans. We make sure to separate them from their wars, to support the troops but not the people that put them where they are, to loudly acknowledge the shortcomings of our military, and to publicize and denounce its wrongdoings. We need people to know that yellow ribbons don't mean we condone armed conflict. We have to feel that our opinions are just, without offending the people our own age sleeping in three-hour shifts beneath tanks.
Just as there is a culture of athletics, drinking, and affluence, there is also a culture of justice - or, if not justice, a culture of those of us who want to feel that we are promoting justice. I say "we" because I am just as guilty of this as anyone else. I would be lying if I said I don't get a certain kick out of disagreeing with my parents' political views at times.
There is a particular appeal to feeling young and informed, and in believing that this somehow makes me more conscious of the pain and suffering of others than of older generations. Part of feeling that I am promoting justice is recognizing the failures of my country. I am charged with the responsibility of viewing the subversive documentaries, laughing at the anti-establishment satire, and being careful never to agree too strongly with any established leader (at least not the wrong ones).
I would never seek to discredit the views or actions of any of my peers who feel motivated to play a role in bettering our society. I feel blessed to be part of a community that supports those who take social action, lead service and immersion trips, and volunteer. I am unbelievably fortunate to learn from professors who not only share their insights with me but simultaneously encourage me to question and disagree with them. I am moved regularly by the compassion I see people act with here, their willingness to make changes to their daily lives in order to live according to the values in which they believe.
In seeking to stand shoulder to shoulder as people of justice, however, it is easy for us to fall victim to opinions of fashion.
We make a mistake when we pledge our allegiance to social positions at the expense of respect for our fellow human beings in uniform.
We exert an incredible effort to acknowledge the orphaned children, the decimated villages, the human heartbreak of our wartime "foes" in ways we believe that past generations did not, and we should. But can this compassion truly be reserved only for the emotional and spiritual wounds of those to whom we choose to extend it? Are the men and women returning - or remaining - broken every day by their experiences in U.S. military service somehow less worthy of our human concern because peace vigils are more appealing to us?
Faced in class with a well-dressed man my parents' age, standing in front of a projected picture of himself with friends who never did return home, I am prompted to recall that I have the benefit of expounding on my Veterans Day reflections because someone else my age is in Falusia.
I am proud to find myself in a community that prides itself on promoting justice for all. But in seeking justice for some, we can never allow ourselves to forget the sacrifices of others.
"Most of us are OK today."
Most of us will never have to know what that truly means.
Kathryn Dill is a Heights staff columnist. She welcomes comments at kdill@bcheights.com.
2008 Woodie Awards
