Luck of the Draw

Times change, things change, people change, but the past only changes when we purposely change or distort it for a reason. Today we talk about slave history, the assignation of JFK, Martin Luther King, and Emmett Till. All tragic stories about death and injustice perpetrated by hate. 

We have a tendency as human beings to create stories, myths, our own history, to lessen the impact, make the results more palatable, because we share a shame in the fact that these atrocities were allowed to happen, condoned by inaction.  These exclamations of hate did nothing to change the core of our societal makeup for the better.

During the course of our lives we have witnessed or been involved with, in one way or another, war. Lives lost, lives changed, destruction wrought upon peoples in the name of…what? When all is said and done nothing has changed. Time has been altered, for some permanently, and yet we persist as though war is and was, the only answer.

We have lived through or lived under the umbrella created by WW1, WW11, Korea, Vietnam, and now the ongoing saga in the Middle East. Only one thing has changed in the last fifty plus years that has made a difference, the draft; or I should say, the lack of it.

The draft was the legislative conscription of men in order to fill the ranks of our fighting corps. When a male turned eighteen years of age he was required to obtain a draft card, which made him eligible to be inducted in to the armed forces, whether he wished to be or not. 

There was much opposition to the Vietnam War, as it was not a declared war, sanctioned by congress, and the majority of those being conscripted were from the lower and middle stratus of society. Those of means could no longer pay someone to take their place, so means were concocted to avoid obligation. National Guard, the weekend warrior corps as it was branded, allowed volunteers to fulfill their military obligation while not being required to visit the Asian land of monsoons and death.

As bad as those times were amidst the rising opposition to the war, it wasn’t until years later that the impact of conscription began to be realized, as the 911 attack rallied the services once again to mount an attack on those presumed responsible. The main difference between the Vietnam era and Middle East retribution was that the draft had been abolished. 

The end of the Vietnam Era brought in a lottery system where numbers were allotted to birthdates. The date indicated who would be the first called, to serve. Those considered lucky, drew high numbers, and never were required to serve, as the war wound to a halt because of dissension amongst Americans for and against the conflict.

One element of conscription that was never realized until later, was the connection it magnified between those serving, and their family and friends at home. That connection became critical in ending the conflict. Every neighborhood knew of someone who was lost in the conflict. The toll became emotionally attached to the realities of a war that was being conducted for a philosophical agenda that proclaimed the world would be taken over by a yellow peril, referring of course to Asian people.

In the process of growing out of adolescence, we begin to discover ourselves as individuals. For a number of years we are dependent upon parents or guardians, to not only provide for our basic needs, but in fact regulate what we think of and about, life’s challenges. The approaching registration for the military draft was a time when the weight of societal demands weighed heavy on all those subject to its edicts.

We were developing during a period of conflicting views. Those in favor or our stance in Asia assumed those that were not, were unpatriotic, as fighting for what your government determined was righteous, patriotic, and should not be challenged. And if it was questioned, you were undoubtedly supporting anti-democratic views espoused by enemies of our country. “Love it or leave it,” became the mantra of the so called, War Hawks.    

The evolving change in sentiment began as the death toll of America’s youth reached fifty thousand casualties. The Vietnamese and Cambodian deaths were in the hundreds of thousands. Collateral damage had become acceptable dialogue when describing enemy losses. We were bombarded every evening by the rising death toll of Americans and Vietnamese by the news media, who brought the devastation of conflict, into living rooms across America.

We began as a nation to ask questions that previously had been avoided. Was what we were doing making us safer as a country, and if so, at what cost? No answer was given but for the stream of flag draped caskets returning to the neighborhoods of America.

During this time in my history, your history, our history, I searched for a rational way out of the dilemma presented to me by both family and country.

My family consisted of many generations of military men, ranging from a great grandfather who served in a European regiment, to my own father who served in WWII. I matured alongside uncles that had served in Korea and the Philippines.

Generational persuasion is strong, but I decided to diverge from family tradition and do what I believed to be the right thing. I have never understood the mentality of war, as it accomplishes nothing, but the need for a greater array of military posturing and sacrifice of a population, who fight for those whose only contribution is to send the neighbor boy in their place, to defend their honor.

Yes despite all odds and an ancestry of warrior tendencies, I declined the offer to join the ranks of those, as we were told, who were going off to defend the reputation of the United States by destroying a culture and a people, I knew nothing about. 

I was threatened with prison if I didn’t co-operate, so I was brought before a collection of Generals, Colonels, Captains, and a stenographer who recorded the answers to the questions I was asked.

One question I will never forget, “What would you do if some raped your sister?” The question made no sense, but then neither did the inquisition into what I believed was my moral standing. To personalize an event to extract a measure of assurance for a conflict predicated on a societal inference of a people, seemed ludicrous, but then so is war.   

I must have given a plausible excuse for refusing to be part of a conflict I didn’t believe in, because I got two years of what amounted to Alternative service. I was assigned to work with mentally challenged individuals, helping them to cope with life on their own, no longer part of an institutional framework. I can only say I learned more about life from them, than they learned from me.

I often think back to that time and wonder what would have happened to me had I not stood up for what I believed in, my convictions, If I had not thought for myself.

I do not regret my choice, and if I had to do it again I would. War does nothing to enrich humanity, only the coffers of those who benefit from the loss of it.

I can still hear the words, “Kill them all!” And I can’t help but wonder, who is, them?