Draft of My Article for Episcopal Peace Witness

Like many young men who came of age in the 1960s, I did so under the shadow of the Vietnam War and the draft.  By about 1970 if not earlier, I talked myself into believing that I was a conscientious objector.   My home priest and church at the time were not exactly friendly to those with such beliefs.   For that and other reasons, I lost interest in religion.  John Lennon seemed more sympathetic.  Imagine that.

Fortunately, if my memory serves me correctly, 1972 was the last year young men were actually actively drafted.  My lottery number that year was 280 something.  Only the first dozen or so lottery numbers were activated.    America was tiring of war.   Thus, that fall I attended college with the plan of studying English literature.

Fast forward to 1974, I had spent a year and a half in school before running out of college grants and funds.  The Michigan economy was in recession.  Jobs were sparse.   I naively enlisted in the United States Navy for the GI Bill and guaranteed training as a journalist.  That’s the closest the Navy has to English literature.  Not sure too many veterans can say this, but in my four years of active duty I never touched a loaded gun once.   The one time in boot camp we were required to go to the gun range, I had pneumonia and was in sick bay overnight.

Perhaps the most prominent remembrances I have from my Navy days took place in 1975.  In the spring of that year, the North Vietnamese overran Saigon and the United States evacuated.  Most of the Seventh fleet home based in Japan was called to assist in that evacuation.  My ship was the one Seventh Fleet ship which remained near Japan rather than travel to the South China Sea to aid in April.

My ship visited Guam a few weeks after the fall of Saigon.  To this day, I have a vivid image of that island or at least what it looked like in spring 1975.  It was covered by a massive tent city of refugees.  In the camps, there were young Vietnamese women dressed in ao dai clutching pictures of American service men which they showed the Marine guards and sailors who were nearby asking questions like, “Do you know Joe (or Fred or Bill.)”  Thousands of Vietnamese children, old women and men were everywhere.  Today, refugees of war or violence flee Syria, the Congo, Central America. In 1975, it was Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos.  In earlier generations refugees have fled other lands.  The images of refugees are always heart rending and disturbing.

Not long after visiting Guam, my ship returned to Japan.  In my two years based there, I grew to appreciate that country’s culture.  I have ascended Mt. Fuji to view the sunrise and watched monks praying at the Great Buddha in Kamakura

I also visited Hiroshima.   I am not sure how much time we spent in the Peace Memorial Museum in that city, perhaps a couple hours.  For someone of my generation, touring Hiroshima is a second hand experience of war, unlike seeing the refugees on Guam.  In Guam, I was overwhelmed by so many Vietnamese refugees who were then living in temporary tent cities.  In Hiroshima, even though it was 30 years after the dropping of the atomic bomb, I was simply overwhelmed.  Images of the cruelty of atomic warfare, images of shadows of people who once were flesh and blood are difficult to view.  Tens of thousands dead instantly is hard to comprehend.   To this day, reading the annual August proclamation of the mayor of Hiroshima seems the least that I can do to remember the insanity of atomic warfare.   In 2006, I joined Veterans for Peace about the same time as I first became a member of Episcopal Peace Fellowship (EPF).

I recently attended my first meeting of the EPF national executive council in Chicago.   Chicago is also where John Dominic Crossan teaches at Depaul.  He and other scholars from the Jesus seminar seemed to agree that the Bible most accurately quotes Jesus when he said “blessed are the meek” and similar words.   Perhaps, Professor Crossan is right.  God bless our brothers and sisters who work with Doctors (and Nurses) without Borders, UN Commission on Refugees, Episcopal Migration Ministries, and other organizations who comfort the meek fleeing wars and violence.

We humans have spent centuries inventing and perfecting the tools of war.  Too many refugees and some veterans know that all too well.

The following image is from Guam 1975.