This blog marks the third day before the inauguration of the 46th President of the United States. Its topic concerns a human deficiency that is both universal and historically omnipresent in our species. From the ancient Egyptians to the democratically inspired Athenians, our race has often demonized others as less human and therefore deserving of less privileges. For example, both the Egyptians and Athenians had slaves. In other words, it appears to be a natural human tendency to demean classes of individuals and even to enslave or systematically ostracize them from social acceptance.
During war times, it is common for soldiers to refer to the enemy in dehumanizing terms. If you are asked to kill people, it is easier to consider them less human. Hence, you hear soldiers demeaning the enemy as Krauts, Japs, gooks, or ragheads. In recent wars, this disregard for the humanity of others has made Hannibal’s sacking of Rome or the 100 year’s war seem relatively minor in comparison to the carnage of the 20th Century. Consider the holocaust, the carpet bombing of Berlin, the atomic bombs on non-military targets in Japan, the more than a million civilians lost to bombing raids in Haiphong, Hanoi, Laos, and Cambodia. But soldiers who fought in these recent wars often suffer not only from the nightmares of modern weaponry but also from remorse for the human carnage left in war’s wake. That remorse can arise from any real contact with the enemy—that is, from the experience of a common humanity. Even during war, it is possible to “love thy enemy.”
(The following is a slightly fictionalized account of a true story.)
Ron laid in his bunk, waiting for the nightly shelling—boots and flak jacket on, mosquito net flung open, rifle and loaded cartridges within reach. His thoughts, however, were elsewhere. He was thinking of Chui’s frown when he teased her with his playful take on her name. She wasn’t at all remote like the other mama-sans. Somehow, not even a language barrier could prevent them from having fun or sharing their feelings. Her brother, a Vietcong, would have beaten her for merely talking with a GI. And if he found out that she had feelings for an enemy soldier, he probably would have tried to kill them both. She knew how difficult it was for him to accept her job. But it was what she had to do for her family. She was their sole support. And she didn’t think it beneath her to polish the enemy’s shoes, wash his clothes, and clean his barracks. She did what was necessary . . . though Ron knew their relationship did not make it easier for her. In fact, it put them both at risk. While the thought of her warmed his heart, their future together also made him anxious and tense. They lived in different worlds. And neither the Army would allow, nor her family approve the bond between them. Forces beyond his control would drive them apart. He would eventually return to college and his life in the States. But her life would be different: her prospects limited. She would be one of the millions relegated to the poverty and suffering of a war-torn country. The thought of their disparate futures made him feel depressed. Often, the urge to be with her, to share the moment, would become overpowering. For fate had already predetermined their future apart.
On several occasions Ron had taken detours from his air base mail runs to drive towards Pleiku. Each time, when he approached the turnoff, he spontaneously made that turn, as if he had no choice in the matter. He was driven to her by a force over which he had no control. He had to be wholly in her presence, where she lived, not at his detachment where their roles defined their relationship, not the reverse. Of course, those trips involved some risk. The all-white uniformed police—whom GI’s derogatorily called “white mice”—could have detained him. Without orders, he would have appeared AWOL. But during the day they were mainly busy with directing traffic and maintaining order within the crowded milieu of merchants, city dwellers, farmers, street marketeers, and occasional outliers, like a Vietcong visiting family or a Montagnard looking to barter.
But a night visit was another matter altogether. Perhaps, they might bend fate to their will. Maybe the moments they stole were all they would ever have. Ron weighed the risks of being AWOL in Pleiku against death by happenstance. On any night, an errant rocket or mortar round might find him in the wrong place at the wrong time—even now, in his bunk. Nam vets often repeated a dark aphorism, “you never hear the round or rocket that takes you out.” Your light doesn’t flicker before it is extinguished. It is just blown out. His fate might find him wherever he was, but he could be where he wanted to be—with her. The curfew would have already cleared Pleiku’s streets. He would have to be discrete at every turn to avoid a chance encounter with the white mice or, worse, any Vietcong visiting a whore house. He could be detained as AWOL or even shot as an enemy combatant. His only “cover” would be an MP helmet he had won in a card game. It was not unusual for the military police to comb the city for soldiers reported missing from base.
As he lay in his bunk, it was not loyalty to country that occupied his thoughts, but the pull of his heart. Nor was he swayed by the incongruities in their circumstances. Chui, he knew as a person, not defined by her race, nationality, or social status. She alone had made his deployment bearable. He never had a second thought about the risk he took in illegally exchanging his military certificates for the US dollars he gave her. No amount of money could equate to what she had already given him. Somehow, she found room in her heart for him, even as she cared for her family. What did define her was compassion and self-sacrifice. And she loved him—the enemy of her brother and a soldier of an occupying army. Ron could only see her as an oasis of humanity in that desolate space characterized by propagandized political debates, diplomatic malfeasance, and a divisive war that sorted citizens, including family members, into enemy camps. Besides, even if they could be together in America, he knew neither she nor their relationship would ever be socially accepted there. They would only have this time together. The thought of losing her forever swelled his heart and impelled him out of his bunk.
He would not even take his rifle. He didn’t want to fight this war against her people. The CQ was a friend who would try to dissuade him. He would promise to return the Detachment’s jeep before the usual midnight artillery barrage. If he encountered a white mice roadblock, he would claim to be looking for an AWOL GI and agree to whatever limitations they required of him. He had to see her, even though he knew she would disapprove of his visit. He was prepared for her reprimand and insistence that he return to his detachment. Probably she would retort with feigned anger, “GI dinky dou.” But then she would welcome his embrace. And they would rescue each other from a world that saw their union as unnatural and even punishable. (End of story)
The soldier I named “Ron” was a real person. His story illustrates a breakthrough many of his fellow soldiers never experienced. They failed to see Vietnamese as equals. They were called “gooks,” somehow less human, certainly by birth and, possibly, by divine intervention. They worked the rice fields and the lowly crafts upon which the former French colony depended. But they were believed inferior and better suited to the dirt-poor existence and menial labor into which they were born. Their women might serve men’s needs, but never as an equal consort for the European or American Caucasian. They were as soiled as the dirt floors in many of their homes. Therefore, it was somehow easier to drop chemical weapons and two-thousand-pound bombs on their land, killing indiscriminately, in the name of defending America from the spread of communism into Indochina. (As a Vietnam vet, I must admit that this blatant oxymoron still provokes my personal rage.)
To some degree, all wars involve some level of self-deceit where only two things must be real: a well-publicized, perhaps fabricated, justification for going to war and the dehumanization of an enemy that must be annihilated. Hitler certainly understood how to justify his reign of terror, as did the American settlers who engaged in Indian genocide and in the atrocities of African slavery for a quarter of a millennium. Both Hitler and our American forebears, however, carried racial prejudice beyond the dehumanizing nature of war. Both showed it as a part of our humanity and thereby admissible in our social structures.
Historians and anthropologists have written extensively about the stratification of classes in human societies. But the story of Ron and Chui illustrates something more insidious than social class or differences in education, language, or even race. Social status or differences can be used to stigmatize people as less worthy and, therefore, less human. Prejudicial judgments of this type are common in human culture. And they also justify measures that prevent those deemed less worthy from equal access to the benefits and status they might otherwise merit or earn. Chui, for example, would never qualify for immigration to America unless Ron married her. Even then, there would be many obstacles to overcome before she would be accepted as a fellow American. She was, nonetheless, an intelligent and capable person who quickly learned enough English to communicate with Ron. She could speak and read both Chinese and Vietnamese, including the alphabetized French version. But, as Ron’s wife, she would find it difficult to be accepted in a society that would denote only her differences, including her accent and her skin color. The failure to recognize the humanity of others seems to be innate in our nature. But it remains murderous in human relations and debilitating to the development of personal character.
Today is the national holiday in which we honor Martin Luther King. His influence in passing the Civil Rights and Voting Rights Acts was a victory for all Americans. Those legislative achievements not only ended the Jim Crow era, but enabled America to begin the realization of “Justice . . . and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity” (from the Preamble of The Constitution). But those achievements did not end racial biases or systemic racism in America. This past summer of “Black Lives Matter” protests has once again lighted the path before us. We are reminded of our ability to overcome the weakness of our nature, to lock arms with our brother and sister Americans, and make real the promise of America. As Reverend King reminded us, “we do not lack the resources, just the will.”
Our new President and Vice President are offering us a new vision of what America can be.