Surviving Viet Nam: A Brief Reflection on the Most Potent Force in the Universe

Photography by George Cassidy Payne

The Viet Nam War is personal to me.  Even though it ended 8 years before I was born, it has touched me more than any other war of my generation. It was my father’s war. I am a byproduct of its failure to kill him.

Remarkably, for a combatant in the field, he wasn’t taken out in a body bag like the nearly 60,000 American soldiers who were killed along with hundreds of thousands of people from Cambodia, Thailand, Laos and Viet Nam. And somehow he was not even marred by debilitating injuries, tortured, taken hostage by the enemy, or eternally traumatized by the horrors of combat. (Although he has referenced a few grizzly anecdotes about the  infamous allied fighting force known as the South Korea Tiger Division. But that is a story for him to tell.)

Nor did he succumb to the bottle or lose his grip on reality. My father is, as far as I am concerned, a heroic survivor who has earned the life that he has decided to lead after his war years.

Today he is a member of Veterans for Peace.The war not only failed to kill him, it succeeded in making him the kind, wise, passionate, and merciful man that he is today. Go figure.

The paradox is even bigger than that. Because my dad was a survivor, in 1981, he was alive to bring me into this world. The trajectory of his life was forever determined by the course of those events in far away Southeast Asia. Because my dad beat the odds of Nam, I was given the chance to live.  There would be no George Cassidy Payne without that course running the way it did. Take away Viet Nam and you take away me. It is really that simple.

When put that way, I am extremely happy that I am alive because my dad survived the war. Yet, if I am perfectly honest, it brings no satisfaction to think about the necessity of my birth as being contingent in any way on the experience of warfare. When I stop to think about the preposterous loss of life involved in that 25 year old slaughter-fest, it sometimes makes me feel as if my own life is preposterous. Where is the meaning in all of this destruction? Where is the justice in all of this suffering? Where is the redemption in all of this loss? From the Ho Chi Ming Trail to the coast of the South China Sea, that land will forever be stained and haunted by the battles Americans could never pronounce and the Vietnamese could never lose.

In one way or another, I inherited the curse of that war. It is in my bloodstream. It is in my veins. It is in my genetic makeup. My life is the natural result of survival at all costs. Nature;s most primordial law.

Wasn’t that what the Viet Nam War was all about? Survival at all costs. Perhaps not for Americans at home, for they believed in pride, honor, respect, power, money, and glory. But for the Vietnamese, it was all about survival at all costs, which is the most potent force in the universe.

I am guessing that most American soldiers felt the same way as their enemy.

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 Television brought the brutality of war into the comfort of the living room. Vietnam was lost in the living rooms of America – not on the battlefields of Vietnam.

Marshall McLuhan

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Photo by George Cassidy Payne

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