WINNING THE WAR WITHIN
By Jude Treder-Wolff
The devastating effects of war on a person's soul and mind are of particular
urgency and resonance right now because of the current world situation with
wars in Afghanistan and Iraq dragging on with no end in sight. On his website
– www.makingandunmaking.com - Larry Winter, BPS, LMHC, includes a disturbing
statistic from the last major war that has stark relevance to our country
at this time. "As of today," he writes, "over 100,000 Viet Nam veterans have
committed suicide. It does not take much foresight to project what society
will look like ten to fifteen years from now if we don't address the men
and women returning home. Homelessness, suicide, battering, and joblessness
will become more rampant, costing society financially as well as emotionally."
A veteran mental health professional who has served the needs of patients
at Four Winds Hospital in Katonah, New York as well as countless participants
in men's and other groups over the past 20 years, Larry is himself a Viet
Nam combat veteran. He will facilitate an experience that allows participants
to examine the effects of war on our own and on soldiers' being in his workshop
"Why We Won't Ask War Veterans What They Know" at the annual conference.
In 1994 Larry returned to Viet Nam with a group of health care professionals
from the West Haven Veterans Administration, on a mission to study Post-Traumatic
Stress Disorder among the Vietnamese people. The trip was organized by a
government-sponsored travel agency set up by President Eisenhower called
People To People, and occurred around the time President Clinton was making
efforts to normalize relations with Viet Nam. "We met with Gen Diap. The
six of us that were veterans he invited us to do to dinner with him. The
General told of being in a boat in the middle of the Perfume river with Ho
Chi Minh planning a battle. While they were there they read poetry to each
other. He then recited a poem that he had read sitting in that boat." Then
he paused.
The following is excerpted from Larry Winter's soon to be released book
The Making and Unmaking of a Marine:
In the General's pause I asked "Could you recite the poem for us, sir?"
He nodded.
What I remember of Professor Dung's translation is:
Voices travel great distances over water.
Starlight in the fish's eye.
A mother's tears drop to the river.
All Vietnam floods.
Everyone told the General how much they liked his poem and the party continued.
It was getting late when I finally spoke to Professor Dung, asking him if
he would translate what I had to say to the General. He said yes and I started.
"General Diap, Sir, I have brought with me my Crew Wings, the most honorable
symbol I have of my war experience. I fired my weapon on your people. I tried
hard to kill your people. I am not proud of killing. I want to give you these
wings as a gesture of peace between us. Now I give up the hatred for the
Vietnamese I have carried for years."
I walked around the table, stood before the general, handed him my wings
and saluted.
"General Diep, I too am a poet and would like to read you a poem I have written
for this occasion."
If a man kills a man
He must dig two graves,
One in the earth for the dead man,
One in his heart, for the dead man's spirit,
Or he will not return.
At our final meeting in Vietnam we met with another General the famous General
Giap the genius of gorilla warfare. During that meeting David Reid Johnson
our group leader spoke. "Many years ago we dropped bombs on you; they did
not work. Today we will try poetry." David then motioned to me.
I stood and pointed my finger at the colonel who'd spoken about losing his
wife. "I wrote this poem for you, my friend, who just spoke about his hatred
for Americans."
I had arranged with Hoa, our interpreter, to translate my poem as I read
it.
Viet Cong,
The spirit that I have taken from your heart
From your country
From your land
From your people
From your beauty
From your soul
From your mothers
From your fathers
From your children
I return to you.
I am one man.
I have lived with sadness.
Holding your spirit prisoner in my heart.
Forgive me.
The TV camera stopped and stillness filled the room. In a spontaneous gesture,
David said "Now may we come across the table and meet with you one-on-one?"
We led the way, moving single file towards the Vietnamese. Hands extended,
we entered the crowd of green uniforms. Arms encircled shoulders, muffled
slaps on backs. Tears squeezed out the corners of the eyes of both sides.
Two old men approached me. One man who had been the interpreter introduced
the other man as his friend. They danced from foot to foot in front of me
like school children. The interpreter asked if he could have the original
of my poem. He explained that he and his friend would share the poem. I handed
the poem to them. It was as if I'd given children candy. They bowed in unison.
I placed my hands together before and bowed to them.
For information about how to purchase copies of The Making and Unmaking
of a Marine or learn more about the healing work being done with America's
veterans and their families go to www.makingandunmaking.com. |
