Our Own War, Part I
by Nate Wood

This is the first of two articles in which Nate Wood explores the implications of the Iraq War for the generation that grew up in the shadow of Vietnam.

An acquaintance of mine recently gave up a six-figure salary to become an officer in the Marine Corps. For some of my friends who knew him well, this came as a shock. They couldn't understand why someone of his intelligence and position would take the obvious risk of joining the military at this particular time in history. Others, maybe those who knew him better, were less surprised. They told of a young man who supported his country — right or wrong. Who actually believed in the war in Iraq and felt compelled to take part in it, hoping to discover some part of himself in the process.

I too was surprised, though he and I had met only a handful of times in college. But more than that, I felt embarrassed by his actions. Or, more accurately, I felt embarrassed by my inaction. This was not the first time I've felt this way about the military service of others. The difference is that in the past I harbored these feelings for my father, who decided not to serve in Vetnam.

My generation grew up with stories of Vietnam. Books like "Fields of Fire," "The Nightingale's Song" and "The Things They Carried," and films, especially the "big four" Vietnam movies — Platoon, Full Metal Jacket, Apocalypse Now and The Deer Hunter — gave us the images, language and perspective to talk and think about our parents' war. Our childhoods were saturated with the myths, heroes and villains of Vietnam: Jane Fonda, John McCain, Rambo, My Lai, Delta Force, Miss Saigon and so many others. We grew up watching adults, on both sides of the divide, revert back into fiery 20-year-olds when the conversation turned to draft cards, Kent State or college exemptions.

In many ways, today's culture wars, now famously conceived in terms of a red state-blue state divide, are the same conflicts that split our parents' generation 30 years ago. The political and cultural landscape has not really matured beyond the intense emotions of Vietnam-era campus politics. Even the 2004 election, the one in which our generation was supposed to make a difference, was structured around one basic theme: Sen. John Kerry's service record, George W. Bush's service shortcomings and questions about duty and responsibility to country. The famous line, "I'm John Kerry and I'm reporting for duty," delivered with salute at the Democratic National Convention and the central role of the Swift Boat Veterans in the campaign underscore the extent to which America is still dealing with fallout from Vietnam.

All children find heroes in their parents' generation. We are no different. Fascinated by the adventure and controversy of the war, we imagined ourselves into the conflict, taking part in the long, sweaty marches through thick jungle or persevering in a dank jail cell in Hanoi with other POWs. Our heroes, however, were not the World War II generation. Rather, they were young men fighting against both an elusive enemy in a foreign land and public dissatisfaction with the war back home. Their service was cloaked in ambiguity. Their enemy was not evil. Their mission was unclear and their conduct sometimes suspect. They were given an impossible mission — to wage an unwinnable war, for questionable reasons, with no discernible goal. But despite all this, maybe even because of it, they were heroes for carrying on even in the face of so many reasons to give up.

Of course, by idolizing the soldiers who served in Vietnam, I belittled my father. He did not serve, did not want to. And looking back, he is very thankful he did not have to. Like so many others, my dad celebrated the day he received his high draft number. There was no honor, in my father's eyes, in serving your country for an unworthy cause. As a kid, I did not understand this. In fact, I felt embarrassed for his decision. Couldn't he see that guys his own age were fighting and dying for each other? Didn't he listen when his country called? Though I am reluctant to admit it today, for a long time I was mildly embarrassed that my father did not fight in Vietnam. I told myself I would have been there.

Now we have our own war. Of course it is different from Vietnam. Perhaps the biggest difference is the public's unwavering support for the men and women on the ground. Our parents learned from their most shameful mistake — no more personal attacks on the troops themselves. There are many other differences as well: the nature of the enemy, the global situation, terrorism.

Still, the specter of Vietnam looms over the war in Iraq. And at least one thing is the same: Young Americans are dying in a foreign land for questionable reasons with no tangible goal in sight. The American death count is now over 2,000 and though there are calls for withdrawal, no definite plans have been implemented. Judging from what the president says and what we know of the situation on the ground, it is increasingly clear that our military will not be out of Iraq any time soon.

Like it or not, our parents' debate has become our own. We are faced with the same questions with which my father, President Bush, John Kerry and so many others grappled 30-odd years ago. What does duty to country really mean, not in some abstract, pledge-allegiance-to-the-flag kind of way, but in a way that comes with very real, adult consequences? Without a draft, our generation, especially the well-off and well-educated, is afforded the luxury of deciding this question in its own way. It is a luxury we too often take for granted. That friend of a friend, the one who just became a Marine, gave up that luxury.

The best way to honor his service — regardless of whether we agree with its goals — is to think about our own choices with the gravity the situation deserves. Reflecting on the choices our parents made is an integral part of this.

I have never told my father that I was ashamed of his decision to stay home. At first, it was because I didn't want to embarrass him further. Now it's because I am embarrassed for myself. But I think once I do tell him he will understand. After all, in his youth, before the realities of war and politics sank in, he probably would have felt the same way.

Email Nate Wood at wood dot nathan dot a at gmail dot com