In Iowa City, during 1970, we watched the horrors of the Vietnam war nightly on TV. The Pentagon had not yet learned to embed journalists away from the front lines. Then on May 4, 1970, the US national guard shot and killed 4 unarmed protesting students at Kent State. Together with thousands of other students, I stopped my PhD studies and went out to protest this war.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
To the People of Vietnam
Hold on dear brothers
Though a hail of cursed bombs rain down
Defile your land, and slash your dikes...
Hold on
We here behold your suffering
Behold your battered spirit
And stand in awe of what we cannot understand
We’ve seen them hunt you down like dogs,
Outnumbering you,
Out firing you
And yet you still stand firm
We’ve seen them grinning
Drag your tattered bodies from the holes...
Holes where you chose to stand and die
Die rather than lie prostrate before the naked might
Of the white devil who has trampled your land
Hold on, dear brothers,
Your spirit cannot be bought
Not with all their billions
Nor can they smash that spirit that burns alive within
Hold on dear brothers
Though they level your land
More than in all the horrible annals of war
Yet then, that desolate, bleeding land
Will stand as a symbol
Not of their moral superiority
But of their hollowness
Not of your weakness
But of your strength
Not of technology’s triumphs
But of the endurance of the human spirit
So it shall be your symbol
Battered and bruised and bashed
Your tortured land becomes your crucifix
Hold on, they cannot kill you
They’ve tried it oft before
They did their worst to Jesus
Only to ignite his spirit
Alive in dead men’s hearts
Hold on, hold on, the mornings near
Your sacrifice will be redeemed.
Iowa City, 1971
==============================================
The Legend of Vietnam
We’re creating a legend in the land of 'Nam
We’re creating a legend
In the land of 'Nam
And in years to come
The people will tell
In their stories and song
How they fought with a monster
Of incredible size,
How he raged, how he fumed
As he poured forth poison.
How fiercely he flailed
His massive pride hurt
As he sent flying minions
To drop flaming death.
We’re creating a legend
In the land of 'Nam
And in ages to come
They’ll recount to their children
As though in a dream
How nightmare horrors
exploded from the land,
As the monster in death throes
Writhed, belching forth
The newest in wartime
Technology turned
To terrible use.
And the young ones will look
On their pock-marked land,
And behold in full wonder
How so few could hold
against such spite
such machine-fueled rage.
Yet still over terror,
death, and despair,
Reigns the spirit of the proud
Who call this land home
We’re creating a legend
In South Vietnam.
Inspired by Frank Harvey’s Air War – Vietnam. Harvey is no dove which makes his account all the more credible – a book only for the strong of stomach. The war in Vietnam has transcended ideologies. We have forfeited any moral right we may have ever had to be there by turning all the massive might of our technology upon this peasant population. It is an outrage. The more we increase the sophistication of our technological terror, the more deeply entrenched we become in defeat and despair - and the longer their naked determination resists and defies us, and the more enduring and permanent shall be their victory.
==============================================
Two recent events have started me thinking about Vietnam in terms of religious symbolism. First it was the speech of King Richard (Nixon) who in solemn and self righteous tones announced to us the fate that he had decreed for Vietnam (i.e. the bombing of Hanoi).
Next it was the exhortation of High Priest (Billy) Graham, urging us to see that the issue in this was really “a matter of the heart”. To him the significance of the gospel seemed to extend no further than the confines of the human psyche. He missed the contemporary crucifixion taking place in Vietnam.
There is no crucifixion without a cross, and the cross in this case is the battered, torn and ravaged land. A gnarled and wooden tree would not suit the refinements of our age – behold we present a pock-marked, rubble strewn, defoliated burning land sick with the stench of death.
Nor will we be satisfied with driving a few nails. No – we shall nail the people to the ground with fury upon fury – a torrent of screaming raging bombs exceeding in sheer magnitude any war that men have ever fought. In our mad rage we will level all life from the land if they will not confess to us that they were wrong – and give up their claims of being “sons of the land”.
And yet they will not die! As Jesus, when they had done their worst to him, saw his spirit rekindled alive in dead men’s hearts – so they suffer and as they die, their spirit grows in valiant determination that will not yield.
Day by day the panorama of crucifixion parades before our eyes. One choice remains – with whom will we side – the crucifier or the crucified!
Iowa City, 1970
No comments:
Post a Comment