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Remembering Vietnam

Fifth Estate, a long-running anarchist magazine to which I subscribe, marks the 40th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam war in its current issue (Summer 2015) with several important articles, notably a recapitulation of “Looking back on the Vietnam War by George Bradford (David Watson) from its Spring 1985 issue. This and other articles are available on the magazine’s website, (scroll down the left hand column to find the archive). Here is my edited version – long, but important reading, since we need constant counters to the historical and current events propaganda with which we’re continually bombarded. It’s followed by quotes from and comments on another interesting article in the same issue, debunking the “Vietnam Vets were spit on” myth. “Happy” summer reading!


There was no Nuremburg trial after the U.S. defeat in Indochina; no court ever punished the administrators of the American war – Nixon, Kissinger, Johnson, McNamara, Rusk, and the rest – for their crimes. They either died peacefully in their beds or went on to more lucrative jobs in the same line of work. Now they extol their “noble cause” and hint of treachery and betrayal. Now they say they could have, indeed should have, won. Perhaps they didn’t unleash enough bombs, declare enough “free fire zones,” defoliate enough land. Perhaps not enough people were rounded up into concentration camps, their thatch villages burned and bulldozed. Perhaps not enough were incinerated by napalm and phosphorous, not enough machine- gunned and bulldozed into open ditches. If America had spent more money, sent more troops, embraced a more ferocious national spirit, and ignored its own wounds, if it had been ready to risk everything in a deadly gamble to destroy all of Asia “in order to save it,” then perhaps America could have “won” its war. A few million more would have been sacrificed. And, in fact, countless more did die in the aftermath: See how evil, how savage they are, America says through its propagandists; after our bloodbath ended, they undertook their own.


America has never confronted Vietnam or its role there. It has licked its wounds, engaged in recriminations without taking either its own history or the Indochinese people into account. They were simply “natives,” a hostile landscape before which the American crusaders fought their war against Wilderness. This war has gone on since the origins of America, and it’s never envisioned that inscrutable “other” on any terms but those of its own distorted projections.

For America, the war was a tragedy, we’re told. But to be a tragedy, it would have had to be an extraordinary transgression of a normal balance in the world. It would also have had to bring proportionally extraordinary suffering on the transgressors. Yet in these terms it isn’t Vietnam which was the tragedy, but America itself, and Vietnam only one more episode in its bloodletting. Of course, it was a moral tragedy for the Americans involved. But that’s not how many see it.

It’s partly my purpose to assess the price of the war not so much to the American soldiers who were both victims and perpetrators, but to its real victims and heroes: the Indochinese people who resisted American aggression. But to do so, it’s imperative to demolish the Big Lie originating in the lie of American “innocence” and proceeding to such dishonest formulations as “America’s involvement in” a war which was America’s creation. American soldiers, too, were victims, pawns of the policy-makers who blithely sent them to their brutalization and death while themselves living comfortably in suburban luxury, spending their time analyzing “body counts” and writing policy statements. But decency requires that a sense of proportion to the suffering be maintained. The soldiers were an occupation army engaged in a vicious, genocidal war against an entire population. The enemy was, quite simply, the Vietnamese people; indeed, it was the land itself, a “godforsaken mudhole,” as I heard many people, both for and against the war, describe it. So what did it mean to burn villages, run down peasants in tanks and trucks, shoot anything that moved?


The U.S. war against Vietnam was no loss of innocence, no aberration, any more than the massacre at My Lai was exceptional. My Lai will be remembered as the subhamlet in Quang Ngai province in which a company from the 11th Brigade of the Americal Division murdered 347 old men, women, children, and infants, then systematically burned their homes. This happened in early 1968, but was covered up until late 1969. As the My Lai events were the logical outcome (and in fact only the most notorious of such massacres) of U.S. policy, the war itself was the inevitable outcome of America’s history. Could this outcome have been anything but a series of brutal pogroms such as My Lai?

Even the official Pentagon report revealed that My Lai was not extraordinary. In his penetrating study of the continuity of massacre and conquest in American history, Facing West: The Metaphysics of Indian-Hating and Empire-Building, Richard Drinnon writes, “On the very same day of the butchery there, another company from the same task force entered the sister subhamlet My Khe 4 with one of its machine-gunners ‘firing his weapon from the hip, cowboy-movie style.’ In this ‘other massacre,’ American soldiers piled up a body count of perhaps a hundred peasants – My Khe was smaller than My Lai, ‘just flattened the village’ by dynamite and fire, and then threw a few handfuls of straw on the corpses. The next morning this company moved down the Batangan peninsula by the South China Sea, burning every hamlet they came to, killing water buffalo, pigs, chickens, and ducks, and destroying crops. As one of the My Khe veterans said later, ‘What we were doing was being done all over.’ Said another, ‘We were out there having a good time. It was sort of like being in a shooting gallery.’” None of this came out until writer Seymour Hersch obtained the forty or so volumes of the Pentagon report and summarized them in Cover-Up (1972), the source of Drinnon’s quotations. No one was tried for the murder at My Khe.

Yet even these massacres don’t convey the reality of the war. In hearings held by anti-war congressmen in Washington, D.C. in 1970, journalist Jonathan Schell testified that in 1967 he had spent a month in Quang Ngai province, surveying the damage of the war from the air and on the ground. “When I first looked down from the plane,” he reported, “I saw that the land below me had been completely devastated…What I discovered was that by the end of 1967, the destruction of society in Quang Ngai province was not something we were in danger of doing; it was a process we had almost completed. About 70% of the villages in the province had been destroyed.”

Schell decided to see an operation from its beginning to end in a forward air control plane. The operation, near Chu Lai, was one of thirty or so such “missions” proceeding against the Viet Cong at the time. The area he studied had a population of about 17,000, and had not yet been destroyed. Flying for two weeks with the forward air control planes, he saw the daily bombing of villages and their burning by U.S. ground troops.

He had been told by the psychological warfare office that villages were never bombed unless they’d been given warnings. Checking at the base at Chu Lai after the operation, he asked for a full catalogue of warning leaflets. “I hardly needed to do this,” he said, “because I had seen the people running from their burning homes, and had seen no leaflets dropped prior to the bombings. Indeed, five or six leaflets had been dropped, and not one of them had been a warning.” They were simply anti-Viet Cong tracts. When he asked if civilians had been evacuated, he learned that “initially the colonel in charge of the operation had given an order that no refugees, as they call them, would be taken out of the area. Late in the operation that decision was reversed, and 100 of the 17,000 were taken out. But even those 100 were taken out after most of the area had been destroyed. In other words, an area inhabited by 17,000 people was about 70% destroyed with no warning to the residents, and with only 100 people evacuated from the area.”

In the same hearings, historian Richard Falk discussed the My Lai massacre, observing that “long before these disclosures there was abundant evidence that the United States was committing war crimes in Vietnam on a widespread and continuing basis.” But far more serious than these atrocities alone, he added, was “the official reliance by the United States government on a set of battlefield policies that openly deny the significance of any distinction between civilians and combatants, between military and nonmilitary targets. The most spectacular of these practices are the B-52 pattern raids against undefended villages and populated areas, ‘free-fire zones,’ ‘harassment and interdiction fire,’ ‘Operation Phoenix,’ ‘search and destroy’ missions, massive crop destruction and defoliation, and the forcible transfer of civilian populations from one place to another against their will…In fact, the wrongdoers at My Lai, whether or not they were carrying out specific command decisions, were indeed fulfilling the basic and persistent United States war policies in South Vietnam.”

American policy was one of wanton, utter annihilation of the defiant land it faced. As U.S. Secretary of the Navy Paul Nitze said in 1965, “Where neither United States nor South Vietnamese forces can maintain continuous occupancy, it is necessary to destroy those facilities.” And, surveying the destruction of Ben Tre during the Tet Offensive in 1968, an army officer told an AP reporter, “We had to destroy it to save it.”


Such a statement reflects what salvation has always meant for these grim crusaders: a desolation. William Appleman Williams has written that for U.S. policy-makers, “America was the locomotive puffing away to pull the rest of the world into civilization. Truman talked about “hordes of Asians” as a “wilderness threatening to overwhelm civilization.” Those images and metaphors tell us most of what we need to know about why we went to kill people in Vietnam. We were transforming the Wilderness in order to save the City on a Hill.

“I felt superior there,” said Lieutenant William Calley. “I thought, I’m the big American from across the sea. I’ll sock it to these people here…We weren’t in My Lai to kill human beings, really. We were there to kill ideology carried by pawns, blobs, pieces of flesh.” Richard Drinnon quotes another My Lai veteran who “equated ‘wiping the whole place out’ with what he called ‘the Indian idea that the only good gook is a dead gook.’ The Indian idea was in the air in Vietnam.”

This was only the latest unfolding in that westward movement, the empire’s relentless drive to destroy and subdue wilderness, the “savages” who inhabit it, and all of nature. The situation was essentially the same when the U.S. began to intervene in Vietnam as it was for Frederick Jackson Turner in 1893 when he wrote his famous declaration that the dominant fact in American life had been expansion of its frontier. Though expansion had reached the Pacific coast, the rising imperial star of the U.S. indicated clearly to him that the movement would continue. This national mystique of Manifest Destiny plunged the Anglo-Americans into wars in Mexico, Central America and the Caribbean, the Philippines, and beyond.

In the mid-19th century, William Gilpin had written of the American destiny “to subdue the continent – to rush over this vast field to the Pacific Ocean, to stir up the sleep of a hundred centuries, to teach old nations a new civilization, to confirm the destiny of the human race, to cause a stagnant people to be reborn, to perfect science, and to shed a new and resplendent glory upon mankind.” This “perfected science” was the locomotive of modernity crystallized in the American Empire and its dream of conquest, and the destruction of Vietnamese society by the bureaucrats and the Calleys was only the most modern incarnation of that “glory.” By the time these conquerors and Indian fighters reached Indochina the frontier had become Kennedy’s “New Frontier,” his “relentless struggle in every corner of the globe.” As Drinnon writes, the troops were now being sent “into action against disorder on a frontier that had become planetary.”

In 1966, General Maxwell Taylor, leaving the ambassadorship in Saigon, revealed how deeply imbedded was the “Indian idea,” describing the “pacification” program: “We have always been able to move in the areas where the security was good enough. But I have often said, it’s very hard to plant the corn outside the stockade when the Indians are around. We have to get the Indians farther away in many of the provinces to make good progress.”

Fitzgerald comments that “American officers liked to call the area outside GVN [Government of Vietnam] control ‘Indian country.’ It was a joke, of course, no more than a figure of speech, but it put the Vietnam War into a definite historical and mythological perspective: the Americans were once again embarked upon a heroic and (for themselves) almost painless conquest of an inferior race. To the American settlers the defeat of the Indians had seemed not just a nationalist victory, but an achievement made in the name of humanity – the triumph of light over darkness, of good over evil, and of civilization over brutish nature. Quite unconsciously, the American officers and officials used a similar language to describe their war against the NLF. According to the official rhetoric, the Viet Cong didn’t live in places, they ‘infested areas;’ to ‘clean them out’ American forces went on ‘sweep and clear’ operations or moved all the villagers into refugee camps in order to ‘sanitize the area.’”

The Vietnamese, whether they were the enemy or the vassals of the U.S., were considered stupid savages, “Orientals,” in General William Westmoreland’s words, who placed a lower value on life than westerners. The NLF were nothing but “termites” in the general’s eyes, who showed his humanitarian concern for the country by advising that “We have to get the right balance of termite killers to get rid of the termites without wrecking the house.” An adviser in Pleiku told the head of the International Voluntary Service that the Montagnards (tribal highlanders) “have to realize that they are expendable,” adding that the “Montagnard problem” could be solved “like we solved the Indian problem.”

“Is it an exaggeration to suggest,” wrote Noam Chomsky in 1970, “that our history of extermination and racism is reaching its climax in Vietnam today? It is not a question that Americans can easily put aside.” This is the theme of Drinnon’s powerful book: “Winning the west amounted to no less than winning the world. It could be finally and decisively won only by rationalizing (Americanizing, westernizing, modernizing) the world, and that meant conquering the land beyond, banishing mystery, and negating or extirpating other peoples, so the whole would be subject to the regimented reason of one settlement culture with its professedly self-evident middle-class values.”

But the “stagnant peoples” had their own vision of destiny. A veteran told the Times’ Lelyveld, “I don’t think the people wanted to be saved.” When the conquerors saw the people wouldn’t, and couldn’t, be “saved,” they set out, within the terms of their mad equation, to destroy them, using all the perfected science at their disposal.


This pioneer arrogance saw its culmination in the Vietnam war, in which the entire might of the technological megamachine was pitted against a small, poor, archaic peasant region. The proportions in comparative wealth, technology, and firepower were obscene. At any given time, the difference in firepower ranged anywhere from 50 to 1 to 500 to 1. The war represented “the triumph of the principles and values of the industrial bureaucracy,” a “General Motors of Death,” as Gordon Livingston, a regimental surgeon who served there, put it later. At the 1970 war crimes hearings, he testified, “The magnitude of the effort, the paperwork, and the middle-management attitude of many of the participants, as well as the predilection for charts and statistics, including that most dehumanizing and absurd figure of all, the body count – all these represent the triumph of technocracy over reason.”

The aerial bombardment was unrivaled in the history of warfare. By 1969, South Vietnam, North Vietnam and Laos were the three most heavily bombed countries in history. “On some days in 1969,” reported ecologist John Lewallen in his book Ecology of Devastation (1971), “800 sorties were flown in northern Laos, dropping napalm, phosphorous, and anti-personnel bombs. One old man described the effects: ‘First the houses and fruit trees were burned, then the fields and the hillside, and even the stream was on fire.’” Bombing became so intense by that year that at times it went on for 24 hours a day, and farming, if it could be done at all, could only take place at night.

The use of herbicides was even more devastating. “To a counterinsurgent,” wrote Lewallen, “plants are the allies of the insurgent.” E. W. Pfeiffer, a zoologist sent to Indochina by the American Association for the Advancement of Science to study the ecological consequences of the war, compared the U.S. policy of bombing, defoliation, and mass plowing with giant bulldozers with the extermination of the buffalo herds in the American West. “This modern program,” he reported in 1971, “has as destructive an influence on the social fabric of Indochinese life as did the ecocide (destruction of ecology) of the American West upon the American Indian.”

NLF sources reported that some 300,000 people were poisoned each year between 1966 and 1969 by exposure to Agent Orange, Agent White, and other chemicals. An epidemic of birth defects was already occurring at that time. Over five million acres had been sprayed with some seventeen million gallons of herbicides, and an area the size of Massachusetts cleared by defoliants. The very soil of Indochina was being destroyed by bombing and defoliation, increasing salination, flooding, erosion, and drought.

Vietnam, once a major exporter of rice, now had to import it from the U.S. due to crop destruction and the disruption of agriculture. Huge tracts of mangrove, evergreen rain forest, and fruit trees were wiped out, leading to the breakdown of associated ecosystems, especially in the Mekong Delta. By December 1970, at least 35% of South Vietnam’s fourteen million acres of dense forests had been sprayed.

A “food denial” program was implemented by the Americans to starve the insurgents into submission. This meant massive spraying of croplands and destruction of food stores. Of course, the insurgents, being more mobile, were able to evade some of the circumstances brought about by defoliation, but the villagers left behind starved. Many animal species, particularly birds and aquatic food chains, were destroyed by the chemical warfare.

To “dry up the sea” in which the rebels swam, U.S. and South Vietnamese forces also removed people from the land, forcibly relocating entire villages to so-called “strategic hamlets” (concentration camps), and to the desperation of the cities, turning their old lands into “free-fire zones” where anything that moved was a target. “You have to be able to separate the sheep from the goats,” said one Pentagon-sponsored analyst. “The way to do it is harsh. You would have to put all military-age males in the army or in a camp as you pacify the country. Anyone not in the army or in a camp is a target. He’s either a Viet Cong or is helping them.” As a result of this campaign and NLF resistance to it, by 1970 a third of the people of South Vietnam had become refugees. In the first six months of that year, another half a million refugees were created by forced removal and wanton destruction. This figure is conservative, since many refugees were never accounted for by official U.S./South Vietnamese government head counts. Vietnamese culture was also wrecked by forced relocation and flight to the cities.

Analysts and experts in the pay of the empire approved of this havoc. Samuel P. Huntington, Chairman of the Department of Government at Harvard University, wrote from the comfort of his study that “the United States may have stumbled upon the answer to ‘wars of national liberation.’”


It became official U.S. policy, in the words of Robert Opton, Jr., a psychologist who was in Vietnam during 1967 and 1968 as a reporter, “to obliterate not just whole villages, but whole districts and virtually whole provinces.” At first, residents were moved out, but the vast numbers of refugees created by these operations led military officers to order that no new refugees be “generated.” As Jonathan Schell had witnessed, no warnings were issued when air strikes were called in on their villages, and every civilian on the ground was assumed to be the enemy and fired on. Free fire zones now came to include many inhabited villages. Opton witnessed U.S. Cobra helicopters firing 20 mm. cannons into houses, and soldiers shooting the people as they ran outside. “This was termed ‘prepping the area’ by the American lieutenant colonel who directed the operation. ‘We sort of shoot it up to see if anything moves,’ he explained, and he added that this practice was routine.”

Pfc. Allen Akers, who served in the 3rd Marine Division, testified at the Winter Soldier Investigation on war crimes in Vietnam, convened by the Vietnam Veterans Against the War in Detroit in early 1971, “We were given orders whenever we moved into a village to reconnoiter by fire. This means to fire on houses, bushes, anything that looked like there might be somebody hiding behind or under.” Sgt. Scott Camil of the 1st Marine Division reported “burning of villages with civilians in them, the cutting off of ears, cutting off of heads, torturing of prisoners, calling in of artillery on villages for games, corpsmen killing wounded prisoners, napalm dropped on villages, women being raped, women and children being massacred, CS gas used on the people, animals slaughtered, passes rejected and the people holding them shot, bodies shoved out of helicopters, teargassing people for fun, and running civilians off the road.” When asked by the moderator if prisoners being tortured were civilians or North Vietnamese army men, he replied, “The way we distinguished between civilians and VC, VC had weapons and civilians didn’t and anybody that was dead was considered a VC. If you killed someone they said, ‘How do you know he’s a VC?’ and the general reply would be, ‘He’s dead.’” He reported that when villagers were searched, “the women would have all their clothes taken off and the men would use their penises to probe them to make sure they didn’t have anything hidden anywhere; and this was raping but it was done as searching.” All this had taken place in the presence of officers.

The list of brutality is endless, which explains psychologist Robert J. Lifton’s observation that of the two hundred or so soldiers he and his colleagues interviewed, none was surprised by the news of My Lai. “They had not been surprised because they have either been party to, or witness to, or have heard fairly close-hand about hundreds or thousands of similar, if smaller incidents.” Said Camil, “It wasn’t like they were humans. We were conditioned to believe that this was for the good of the nation. When you shot someone you didn’t think you were shooting at a human. They were a gook or a Commie and it was okay. And anything you did to them was okay, because they’d do it to you if they had the chance.” Others reported destroying rice and livestock, desecrating graves, firing 50-caliber machine guns at villages for sport, revenge massacres of whole villages after a GI was killed by a sniper, burning huts with people inside, and firing at peasants in ox-carts from planes to finish off unused ammunition. Yet among many soldiers there was the grotesque complaint that they were fighting “with one arm tied behind our back.” Opton noted that among soldiers he interviewed in Vietnam, “many felt that a final solution was the best and perhaps only solution, and many of their officers agreed. Extermination of the Vietnamese people, some officers felt, would be the best way to protect the men under them.” So the only way to “save” the Vietnamese would be to annihilate them all, which was probably true in terms of winning the war, since the Vietnamese were willing to fight to the bitter end to throw out the invaders.

Of course, there was also the fear on the part of war planners that the war could expand beyond their ability to “manage” it effectively. A widening of the war could also draw more massive protest against what was an increasingly unpopular war back home, and resistance in the army itself, which was starting to break down and turn against the war. Daniel Ellsberg pointed out later that it was only the resistance to the war by Americans at home that prevented Richard Nixon from committing that ultimate atrocity of dropping nuclear weapons on North Vietnam. Such an escalation could be the only logic of the statement current among those who refuse to face the reality of the hideous crusade, that the U.S. military was “not allowed to win” – the culmination of the “Indian idea.”


The Americans may not have been able to impose a “final solution” on the Indochinese, but they did enough damage in the course of that war to wreck their societies and lay the basis for further carnage, as in Cambodia. If some 58,000 American soldiers died in Vietnam and another 300,000 were wounded, and we add to that list the startling number of suicides among veterans since the war, some 50,000, how can these horrifying figures compare to those of three million Vietnamese killed and 4.5 million wounded? What would be the comparable length of a wall like the Veterans’ Memorial in Washington, D.C. if it contained those three million names? And consider some other statistics: ten million refugees, a million orphans, nearly 10,000 hamlets destroyed in South Vietnam alone; 6,600,000 tons of bombs dropped on Indochina, including 400,000 tons of napalm, leaving some 25 million craters; 25 million acres of farmland and twelve million acres of forests destroyed, by among other causes, 19 million gallons of defoliants sprayed on them. The horror visited upon thousands of American soldiers and their families due to exposure to Agent Orange and other defoliants is only an indication of the far greater numbers and levels of contamination of Indochinese who were and continue to be the victims of the chemical plagues deliberately unleashed by the U.S.

The United States went into Vietnam to “save” the south by impeding reunification of the country and stopping the communists from assuming power over the entire country. In so doing it wrecked the possibility of any diversity in Vietnamese, Laotian, or Cambodian society, of anyone but the communists coming to power, by uprooting and destroying the groups that could have resisted or offset control by the Stalinists: the regional political groups and religious sects, the tribespeople of the highlands, the Buddhists, and other political tendencies. The U.S. claimed its desire to prevent domination of the south by northerners. Yet during the Tet Offensive in 1968 and the “Operation Phoenix” program of mass assassinations, jailings and relocations which followed in the early 1970s, it exterminated the mainly southern NLF cadres, making northern domination of the culturally distinct south another self-fulfilling prophecy (indeed, perhaps a necessity for the Vietnamese if they were going to win the war). “The U.S. has changed Vietnam,” wrote Fitzgerald, “to the point where it is unrecognizable to Vietnamese, and flattened the local ethnic, religious, and cultural peculiarities beneath a uniform, national disaster.”

Now, ten years later, history has been rewritten so that Americans can continue to evade individual and collective guilt for the slaughter of the Indochinese and the wrecking of their societies. One particularly repellent example was President Carter’s astonishing statement in March 1977 that “the destruction was mutual. We went to Vietnam without any desire to capture territory or impose American will on other people. I don’t feel we ought to apologize or castigate ourselves or to assume the status of culpability.” Vietnamese author Ngo Vinh Long reports that “a professor at Hue University likened this statement to a rapist saying that his victims hurt him as much as he hurt them.” Yet, incredibly, the refusal by Americans to face the truth of American culpability has brought about exactly such a reversal in many people’s minds.

The atrocities and injustices which followed in the wake of the U.S. war, which could only be seen as the tragic consequences of American devastation, as further proof that a holocaust does not create conditions for reconciliation and freedom but only for more holocaust and tyranny – these crimes are now employed by propagandists as a justification for the original violence that prepared the ground for them. The question never seems to be raised that even if the Indochinese were destined to mutual wars and dictatorship – a frequent occurrence in the troubled Third World – how could that justify the American intervention, the millions dead and wounded, the ruination of traditional forms of life which may have helped to prevent such brutality?

In fact, it is one of the war’s tragic ironies that the forced modernization so fondly touted as a solution by U.S. analysts will now be carried out by the Stalinists rather than the fascist puppets of the Americans, and only because the U.S. pulverized that society so thoroughly that the only force left capable of creating a new society was the communists.

Now that the “lesson” that American terror and death was necessary in Indochina is widely proclaimed, there are those who would wish to employ it for further holocaust in Central America. Edward N. Luttwak, one of the latest clones of American crackpot military realism, claimed in the Harper’s symposium that if the “1,000 sorties flown each day in Vietnam” had hit “worthwhile targets,” they “would have ended the war in a day,” and now prescribes American “victory” for El Salvador, using the same terms and justifications applied by counterinsurgency analysts in the 1960s in Vietnam: “I believe the United States should help the Salvadoran government, which is a democratizing regime, win the war. The United States can permit the Salvadorans to prevail by using their traditional methods: killing as many people as they can until there are no guerrillas left.”

And so the graveyards are in flower this spring ten years later. The slaughter is going on at this very moment in the highlands of Guatemala, in the ravines of El Salvador, and along the Honduras-Nicaragua border. We are now told by Richard Nixon (in a book which can only bring to mind the image of Hitler, say in 1955, writing a retrospective on World War II) that the idea of “no more Vietnams” means not that America shouldn’t intervene, but that it shouldn’t fail. Mayan Indians are being rounded up in strategic hamlets, tortured and massacred, their cultures wrecked and whole language groups decimated. The poor farmers of Central America are being exterminated, the “sheep separated from the goats.” Even napalm is being used against them in a stunning repetition of history. Of course these unfortunate people are only “Commies,” “subversives,” “guerrillas” – targets, more jungle to be paved and turned into an American parking lot.


I don’t confuse my opposition to U.S. intervention in Central America with any illusions about the politicians who run Nicaragua or the political parties involved in the resistance in Guatemala and El Salvador. But the blame must be laid where it belongs if we are to break the cycle of destruction: on the technocratic fascist war conceived and conducted by the U.S. imperialist war machine, and the daily acts of complicity by Americans with it.

To all the apologists for genocide, paid and unpaid, who repeat the imperial lie that the antiwar movement, which eventually became the great majority of Americans, inside and outside the military, “betrayed” the war effort, I can only reply: We didn’t do enough to undermine and betray your war. If there is any lesson to be learned from that war which can aid us in understanding the situation we find ourselves in today, it is that lesson – that now that the soil is being bloodstained by new, hellish wars, now that the engines of holocaust are again filling the air with their terrifying drone, we must find a way to rally our spirits once more, to blockade the beast, to stop its murderous career. Yesterday is today and today is tomorrow. The Vietnam wars are an American creation. It is here – and it is we who must act – where they will be stopped once and for all.


Richard Drinnon, Facing West: The Metaphysics of Indian-Hating and Empire-Building (1980)

Frances Fitzgerald, The Fire in the Lake (1972)

John Lewellen, Ecology and Devastation: Indochina (1971)

Vietnam Veterans Against the War, The Winter Soldier Investigation: An Inquiry into American War Crimes (1972)

Harrison E. Salisbury et al, Vietnam Reconsidered: Lessons from a War (1984)

In “Nobody Spat on American GIs!,” subtitled “The Mythical Imagery of the American ‘Great Betrayal’ Narrative,” in the current issue of Fifth Estate, Jerry Lembcke likens this particular popular myth to similar images created by Germans after their defeat in World War I and France after its loss of Indochina in 1954, always including the image of women spitting on returning soldiers.

“Stories of spat-upon Vietnam veterans,” Lembcke says, “have become so ingrained in the American discourse about war and veterans that they can now be referenced matter-of-factly with no acknowledgement of their mythical properties. Their migration from bar stools to the higher cultural ground of literary trope has been assisted by mainstream news organizations, which, with few exceptions, repeat the spit-on stories uncritically…

As one of the Vietnam War’s more enduring legacies, stories of denigrated veterans are now salted into the biographies of the latest generation. The late Navy Seal Chris Kyle wrote in his book American Sniper about being disparaged in San Diego upon his deployment to Iraq.

This American betrayal narrative was provided presidential imprimatur when Barak Obama used his 2012 Memorial Day speech to announce a $65 million Pentagon plan to commemorate the war on Vietnam with a 12-year series of events up to the 50th anniversary of the war’s end. Speaking to the cameras with the Vietnam Memorial wall as a backdrop, the president called the Vietnam war ‘one of the nation’s most painful chapters.” Treatment of Vietnam veterans, he said, “was a national shame, a disgrace that never should have happened. We’re here today to see that it doesn’t happen again.’”

Nations committed to avenging their hurts, Lemncke says, “are dangers to us all…The United States having gone to the Persian Gulf in 1990 to ‘kick’ its Vietnam Syndrome, as President George H.W. Bush said at the time, instead supercharged the jihadi movement and found itself, years later, bogged down in” another unwinnable, endless war.

“Remembered by many as a war lost because of betrayal at home, Vietnam has become a modern-day Alamo that must be avenged, a pretext for” more imperial war and more generations of veterans. It should be remembered “as a war in which soldiers, veterans, and citizens joined hands to fight for peace, demonstrating the effectiveness of popular resistance to political authority.