Dreaming the World

We had a hard freeze overnight. Right now, as we approach 11 am, the official temperature is 35F and the wind is whistling along; the windchill is in the mid-20’s. The sun was out earlier but now the sky is overcast. Overnight most of the remaining leaves dropped from our bordering trees.

In the comments for yesterday’s post, Carolyn, who blogs from Cats In Cambridge, mentioned the dreadful treatment vets returning from Nam received from the public. She named that treatment a “great betrayal,” which seems to me to sum it up perfectly.

Somewhere along the way Americans began to believe we would win every war and to blame service women and men when we didn’t. Politicians and generals lose wars; everyday soldiers just do their jobs. Even when we have “won” more recent wars, returning vets have often been treated as contagion.

Looking back I remember my anger at the misplaced blame heaped on returning Vietnam vets. I also remember that my friendship network, comprised mostly of military brats, seemed to provide a bit of a haven for the vets we knew. We could listen to their pain at being targeted, and their Nam stories without blaming them for anything. We more or less got their addictions to opiates and hash, problems they picked up in Nam. We weren’t spooked by their odd behaviour or flashbacks.

Much more recently Jennie and I had a long time friend who was in the National Guard, experienced many deployments, and when threatened because of his sexuality, retired and moved to another country. He and his partner fostered over 200 kids. Anytime one visited them one was very likely to meet a former foster kid; the pair was revered and loved by the kids they aided.

Our friend was loved and shielded by his mates and commander, who knew him as a brave and compassionate warrior and a splendid family member. I imagine a large part of their “magic” with those kids, and the other members of the Guard, was simply that they understood separation, anxiety, and PTSD, and refused to blame the person who was suffering.

Those memories remind me of a truth all of us “brats” knew: there is often an enormous gulf between the experiences of vets, and active duty personnel and their families, and those living relatively normal lives. Sometimes it used to seem we lived in different countries, or universes. Given the current administration, I imagine that gulf is larger than ever.