Remarks at Weymouth VietNam Veterans Memorial
PRISONER OF WAR - MISSING IN ACTION.
We see the letters, we hear the words, we feel that we know what it means. As veterans, we know that "war happens" and when war happens - shit happens, and that's the truth of it. In our era and our lifetime, POW means Prisoner of War in VietNam. MIA means Missing in Action - in VietNam. Body not recovered.
In the last 30 years, some POW's came home: Operation Homecoming. Some other MIA's eventually came home, identified at last by modern science. For others, perhaps for the remaining 44 Brothers from Massachusetts, all we may ever have is names etched in stone such as those on the memorial before us today. We know the names and dates of these, our Prisoners of War/Missing in Action and we know their number. They are are readily available, published for all to see...and mourn.
But I want to tell you today of another meaning of POW/MIA: Prisoners of War - Missing in America. Not all prisoners of the war in VietNam were held in camps in Laos or at the Hanoi Hilton in North VietNam. Many Combat Veterans of that conflict are prisoners of that War right here in America. They can be found in VA Hospitals and Clinics, in Nursing Homes and Homeless Shelters and on the streets of this city. They are Prisoners of injuries received in that war, injuries that can be seen and some injuries that cannot be seen. They are Prisoners of Neglect, Disrespect and Despair. And some - too many - are prisoners of their own feelings of guilt and shame. All potentially share a common destiny: unlike the POW/MIA's whose name and number we know and who we remember here today, the Prisoners of War in America are destined to remain nameless and numberless and ultimately forgotten unless we , who care, find them and lead them to freedom. "I wasn't there,but I care" means that we care for all, living or not.
MIA - Missing in America. Unlike previous wars, VietNam Veterans did not come home as a group, at war's end. Those unfortunate enough to go, went piecemeal almost 1 by 1. Those lucky enough to survive, came home the same way. and when they got here a strange thing had happened while they were away. America had come to feel that it had been lied to about VietNam, that it had been played for a fool. Many others, putting their own self-interest before such suddenly archaic ideals as duty and honor and commitment, secretly came to feel shame and guilt for stepping to the front of the line while 'Nam Vets were struggling to stay alive for 365.
Returning VietNam Vets, a powerful, visible reminder of all these things, were made to feel unwelcome, unwanted and unnecessary in this New America of me first and the hell with you. So Veterans of VietNam became MIA - Missing in America. Truthfully, most 'Nam Vets were able to pick up and eventually get on with their lives, while some of their brothers just couldn't. But to paraphrase a familiar saying "All Lost Something - Some Lost Everything"
I also want to speak to another aspect of VietNam Vets Missing in America. Many of us have been to services such as this one today. We've attended Runs and Rallies; on Memorial Day and Veterans Day. We've been to Washington, D.C. for Rolling Thunder and seen hundreds of thousands of Veterans standing proudly in dignity and respect. And many of us have asked the question: "Where are the Black Veterans, our Brothers?" Our Brothers of Color fought - and died - with the same Bravery and their Families and loved ones grieved for their loss right along side us. Thus, it is only fitting that they should once again be at our side, as we fight to regain the Dignity and Respect that is our due as America's freedom fighters. I say that they, too, are Missing in America. Today I ask all that hear these words to free ALL POW/MIA's - whoever they may be and wherever they may be found.
Remarks at Dorchester Viet Nam Memorial
QUESTIONS
Where's mine? My car, my boat, my vacation condo? Where's my tax cut, my promotion - my ticket to the front of the line? Lucky to be born in America, I know what I'm entitled to and I want it all.
Familiar questions, heard every day; on TV and in newspapers, at work and on the street. Everybody always asking "Where's mine?" Nobody asking "Where's it all come from?"
But there are some of us, such as we who are here today, that also ask questions, if only in our hearts.
Where's my Dad, my Uncle Jack?
Where's my Son? I still have his Daisy BB Gun and his Schwinn Bicycle - I can't bear to give them away. I have the picture he drew in the first grade, that hung on the refrigerator door for so many years. I have the drugstore valentines that he bought for his Mother; big, satin, puffy things, all ribbon and perfume. Where's my Son?
Where's my best friend from high school? Where's the kid that was the class clown, the life of the party at the Senior Prom? Where's the kid that was "too small" to play football and amazed everyone at the Thanksgiving Day game in '68?
...And whatever happened to that real shy kid, the one who blushed and stammered every time someone spoke to him? I don't remember his name, did he ever make something of his life?
Where's my husband? He was supposed to take our Daughter to her first dance recital. He was gonna work two jobs just to put her through college and stand proudly on her graduation day with tears in his eyes.
...And he wanted so much to be there to give her away on her wedding day. Do you know why he wasn't there for her?
Where's my Uncle Jack? He was supposed to take me to my first Opening Day at Fenway Park. He shoulda been there when Dad got hurt at work, and families come together to help each other out. Instead, we came together and stood helplessly by as Uncle Jack's Mother mourned her broken boy. Does anyone remember that?
Where's my Son, my Brother? Where's my Husband, my Schoolmate?
Where's my Dad, my Uncle Jack?
They are right here, in our hearts and in our memories. To those who would question our dedication and our commitment to keeping their memories alive, we can only say this:
...There will never come a day, when we will be unable to answer the question "Where are they now?" As long as we are here for them, they will always be here with us.
NONE FORGOTTEN - NONE LEFT BEHIND
To fail at one, leaves the other undone.
I haven't forgotten that time, that place.
The drumbeat of choppers; the pain on your face.
I promised you'd make it, but I knew right then that all
I'd be left with was your Nickname -
and your wristwatch, with "Love,Mom & Dad", on the back from when
you were "In The World" and nothing could happen.
"Hey,Doc! Will he make it?" Nothing is said.
King Solomon's triage; some bled: some dead.
They hail'd mythic Warriors, carried out on their shield.
We carried a poncho, in haste, from the field.
None of us looked at you. Hot Zone! 360!
Only Doc saw your face, another of many
he would see that day and for years to come.
"This one's had it, What else have we got?"
Then Doc was gone. He'd heard "Corpsman Up!"
And what of that kid, that FNG? He was there
that morning - gone that night.
Outside the wire, dropped from sight. Did he move too slow?
Get lost in the dark, paralyzed with fright?
Whatever, he's gone now. It's better that way.
If I didn't know his name, just call him MIA.
You gotta be hard, gotta survive.
Get back to the real world: Lucky. Alive.
Won't get there worrying 'bout all that we did,
especially some New Guy; some Nameless Kid.
But when you got back, you couldn't forget.
Yeah, you tried but you weren't safe, not yet.
It's too close to the surface, get rid of that gear
Keep it together, show nothing, no fear.
Don't want to get tagged as a ticking bomb Vet.
Still, none are forgotten, after all of these years.
Not names; Not faces; Remembered with tears.
And none left behind, tho' those places would be:
The memories of what happened there, stay ever with me.
My name is Feathermerchant. I served in the United States Marine Corps from 1967-1971.
I did not go to Viet Nam.
I want to thank every Veteran that did go to Viet Nam for the privilege of being here today.
Welcome Home. (Hand Salute)
