Bring it on, John
Oliver North (archive)
August 27, 2004
| Print | Send  "Of course, the president keeps telling people he would never question my service to our country. Instead, he watches as a Republican-funded attack group does just that. Well, if he wants to have a debate about our service in Vietnam, here is my answer: 'Bring it on.'" -- Sen. John Kerry

Dear John,

As usual, you have it wrong. You don't have a beef with President
George Bush about your war record. He's been exceedingly generous about your military service. Your complaint is with the 2.5 million of us who served honorably in a war that ended 29 years ago and which you, not the president, made the centerpiece of this campaign. I talk to a lot of vets, John, and this really isn't about your medals or how you got them. Like you, I have a Silver Star and a Bronze Star. I only have two Purple Hearts, though. I turned down the others so that I could stay with the Marines in my rifle platoon. But I think you might agree with me, though I've never heard you say it, that the officers always got more medals than they earned and the youngsters we led never got as many medals as they deserved. This really isn't about how early you came home from that war, either, John. There have always been guys in every war who want to go home. There are also lots of guys, like those in my rifle platoon in Vietnam, who did a full 13 months in the field. And there are, thankfully, lots of young Americans today in Iraq and Afghanistan who volunteered to return to war because, as one of them told me in Ramadi a few weeks ago, "the job isn't finished." Nor is this about whether you were in Cambodia on Christmas Eve, 1968. Heck John, people get lost going on vacation. If you got lost, just say so. Your campaign has admitted that you now know that you really weren't in Cambodia that night and that Richard Nixon wasn't really president when you thought he was. Now would be a good time to explain to us how you could have all that bogus stuff "seared" into your memory -- especially since you want to have your finger on our nation's nuclear trigger. But that's not really the problem, either. The trouble you're having, John, isn't about your medals or coming home early or getting lost -- or even Richard Nixon. The issue is what you did to us when you came home, John. When you got home, you co-founded Vietnam Veterans Against the War and wrote "The New Soldier," which denounced those of us who served -- and were still serving -- on the battlefields of a thankless war. Worst of all, John, you then accused me -- and all of us who served in Vietnam -- of committing terrible crimes and atrocities. On April 22, 1971, under oath, you told the Senate Foreign Relations Committee that you had knowledge that American troops "had personally raped, cut off ears, cut off heads, taped wires from portable telephones to human genitals and turned up the power, cut off limbs, blown up bodies, randomly shot at civilians, razed villages in fashion reminiscent of Genghis Khan, shot cattle and dogs for fun, poisoned food stocks, and generally ravaged the country side of South Vietnam." And you admitted on television that "yes, yes, I committed the same kind of atrocities as thousands of other soldiers have committed." And for good measure you stated, "(America is) more guilty than any other body, of violations of (the) Geneva Conventions ... the torture of prisoners, the killing of prisoners." Your "antiwar" statements and activities were painful for those of us carrying the scars of Vietnam and trying to move on with our lives. And for those who were still there, it was even more hurtful. But those who suffered the most from what you said and did were the hundreds of American prisoners of war being held by Hanoi. Here's what some of them endured because of you, John: Capt. James Warner had already spent four years in Vietnamese custody when he was handed a copy of your testimony by his captors. Warner says that for his captors, your statements "were proof I deserved to be punished." He wasn't released until March 14, 1973. Maj. Kenneth Cordier, an Air Force pilot who was in Vietnamese custody for 2,284 days, says his captors "repeated incessantly" your one-liner about being "the last man to die" for a lost cause. Cordier was released March 4, 1973. Navy Lt. Paul Galanti says your accusations "were as demoralizing as solitary (confinement) ... and a prime reason the war dragged on." He remained in North Vietnamese hands until February 12, 1973. John, did you think they would forget? When Tim Russert asked about your claim that you and others in Vietnam committed "atrocities," instead of standing by your sworn testimony, you confessed that your words "were a bit over the top." Does that mean you lied under oath? Or does it mean you are a war criminal? You can't have this one both ways, John. Either way, you're not fit to be a prison guard at Abu Ghraib, much less commander in chief. One last thing, John. In 1988, Jane Fonda said: "I would like to say something ... to men who were in Vietnam, who I hurt, or whose pain I caused to deepen because of things that I said or did. I was trying to help end the killing and the war, but there were times when I was thoughtless and careless about it and I'm ... very sorry that I hurt them. And I want to apologize to them and their families."  Even Jane Fonda apologized. Will you, John   
   


Scattered Memories
by Lt. Col. Janis A. Nark




    And now the tears come, two and a half decades later. I ache for all we lost in
Vietnam - our buddies, our relatives, our innocence.

    I'm no heroine. I joined the Army Nurse Corps to go to
Europe; that's what my recruiter promised me. I was 21 years old when I was ordered to Vietnam. I stayed 364 days. I cared for the sick, the wounded and the dying. I did the best I could. I am only coming to know that now.

    For almost 20 years, I never spoke about that time, that place - I buried my memories, my anger and a large part of “me” deep, so deep, just wanting to forget; wanting to feel peace.

    I only spoke to Sue about it because she was there too. Years later in the Army Reserves, once again in fatigues and combat boots out on field exercises, we'd turn to each other, never making the connection of physical circumstances. We'd tell each other funny war stories, and we'd laugh. Then one of us would remember, and share, and then we'd cry. It would be months or maybe a year before we would repeat the scenario.

    In 1982, the
Vietnam Veterans Memorial (The Wall) was placed in our nations capital. I saw pictures of it and the Vets on television or in magazines, and it brought out emotions in me that went way beyond tears. And I, like many Vets, knew it wasn't over. We knew we had to go there. We didn't know why, we just knew we had to go. The Wall was calling us home.

    It took me five years to answer. Sue and I went together. At first, we stayed far away in the trees. “Tree -Vets,” we're called. Then a picnic on the grass behind. The Wall where we could see the visitors’ heads moving along as their walk took them deep into the V of the black granite. Our first frontal maneuver came at night - arm-in-arm, supporting each other, ready for retreat, we walked the length of those names, our tears camouflaged by the night. Even there, even then, we rarely spoke about the war, not even to each other. And we never wore anything or said anything that identified us as
Vietnam veterans.

    1992 was the 10th anniversary of the
Vietnam Veterans Memorial. Sue couldn't come, and I did two things Id never done before - I went alone and I went in uniform. I wore my current dress uniform with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel, and all the insignia, medals and decorations that tell a very specific story to those who know how to read it. I could never have anticipated what happened to me there. I wrote Sue that night:
    I carried you with me when I went to The Wall. I had the strength to be there, but I didn't feel the entitlement. I did put on a brave front. No raggedy remnants of faded fatigues or sun-bleached boonie hats for me. I stood heads above the crowd - proud (at long last) in my Class A’s. My chest of ribbons saying loud and clear, “I'm a vet, too. I was your nurse. Honor me. Reach out to me. Please, help me to heal.”

    And they came. They were there for you Sue. Oh, I wish you could have been there! You would have been so touched; and it was you who deserved what I received. God, but it felt so good to cry the tears that for so long we held, and covered with our laughter, and let the years bury so deep. They came, the 40-something Vets looking so much older than their years. Some with the same eyes that we saw back then, the pain still very much with them. They hugged me and held me, and most smiled through tears as they tried to speak. They want you to know they remember that you were there for them, and they're grateful. You saved some of them and cared for them and for their buddies. They love you. You were their nurse.

    I saw him hesitate at the edge of the crowd, then urged on by a friend the WWI vet came forward. With crippled and deformed hands, he stood as tall as his 86 years allowed and saluted me. I smiled as my eyes filled with tears and returned his salute. He was mortified that he might cry. I hugged him as his friend took our picture. He spoke volumes in the simple words, “Thank you.”

    It was a strange deja vu. Remember when the GIs would always take our pictures? They still do. And all those eyes looking at us - how we learned to look right in them and say, “It’s okay, you’re gonna be just fine.”

    It’s not so hard to see The Wall now, to be near it, to feel its presence, to feel their absence. We’re going to be okay. It’s time to heal, my friend ... to know that you did everything you could, and more; that it mattered that you touched those lives.

    Next year we’ll stand together when the Women’s Memorial is dedicated, and we can begin to forgive ourselves for our imagined slights and shortcomings and our human frailties. And we can begin the process of healing ourselves and coming to peace with our memories. I love you, my friend.

    Veterans Day 1993, the Vietnam Veterans Women’s Memorial was dedicated in Washington,D.C. Thousands of women vets attended, and we were overwhelmed. We led the parade - the nurses, Red Cross workers, entertainers, women who worked in supply, administration, logistics and intelligence. The streets were lined with people applauding and crying. A vet sat high up on a tree branch yelling, “Thank! Thank you!” A man in a flight suit stood at attention for over two hours, saluting as the women passed by. People handed us flowers and hugged us. One GI had a picture of his nurse taken July, 1964. He was trying to find her.

    The women veterans find each other. We know, at last, that we are not alone, that we are not paranoid or crazy, but that we have a lot of work to do in order to heal. We talk to each other and find comfort as well as pain in our words and our tears. Now after so many years, the process has finally begun and we hold each other close and say, “Welcome home.”
LT. COL. JANIS A NARK

    John Kerry done and said so many terrible things about our returning Vietnam Veterans in 1970 and later, we cannot forgive him, let alone vote for him. His sick and twisted mind caused many emotional scare on many of Vietnam vets. He then joined with his Communist friends, and made tape recordings to be played to our P O W 's, damning our military and this Nation. He "Kerry" said the United State form of Democracy was a farce and there is a better way, These are communist teachings. He cannot be trusted to be our Commander in Chief of this great Nation, with such a background he cannot pass a security clearance.

    Some people like Ted Kennedy and Nancy Polosi deserve him, just don't expect the rest of us to accept him.
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