During the late 1960s, when protests against the Vietnam War erupted across the country, college campuses emerged as places of more than intellectual debate over U.S foreign policy and the country’s deeply racist history.
Unlike the protesters against the Israel-Hamas War, many of the college-age demonstrators back then faced the very real possibility of being drafted by the U.S. military and forced to serve in what they considered an unjust war. I was one of the fortunate young Black men who had a deferment that enabled me to avoid compulsory military service because I was enrolled in college.
While some saw my deferment as a lifesaver, I was troubled by my friends who had either been drafted or already killed. By the end of 1968, the war had resulted in the deaths of nearly 17,000 Americans, with another 87,000 wounded. Among the bloodied were a disproportionate number of Black soldiers.
The protests also made me feel guilty about my own sense of patriotism as I reconsidered the military service of my father, several of his brothers, my grandfather and great-grandfather in different U.S. wars.
All of these competing factors came to a boil one day when I was listening to a professor rant and rave against the Vietnam War. Troubled, confused and increasingly frustrated, I asked the philosophy professor if he had ever fought in a war.
As some may know, a core tenet of existentialism is that one should experience reality in order to critique it.
He answered, “No.”
“Then how can you criticize it,” I snapped.
After that exchange, it didn’t take long before another disgruntled student and I dropped out of Southern Illinois University and walked into a nearby Army recruiting station. Both of us enlisted. He joined the Green Berets, the Army’s elite special forces, and I went into the Army Security Agency.
Surprisingly, I would learn later that my protest against the war – and appreciation for U.S. democracy – had only begun.
Secrets and truths
The Army Security Agency was a top secret unit within the Army. It was connected to the National Security Agency, a U.S. Department of Defense agency charged with supporting combat operations and providing cryptological security, cybersecurity and national intelligence. After my training, I received my orders for the war in Vietnam.
Our task was to be the eyes and ears of U.S. soldiers on the ground by providing intelligence on Vietnamese troops. It was 1971, and I was stationed about 50 miles within the demilitarized zone in a place called Phu Bai Combat Base.
During the late 1960s, when protests against the Vietnam War erupted across the country, college campuses emerged as places of more than intellectual debate over U.S foreign policy and the country’s deeply racist history.
Unlike the protesters against the Israel-Hamas War, many of the college-age demonstrators back then faced the very real possibility of being drafted by the U.S. military and forced to serve in what they considered an unjust war. I was one of the fortunate young Black men who had a deferment that enabled me to avoid compulsory military service because I was enrolled in college.
While some saw my deferment as a lifesaver, I was troubled by my friends who had either been drafted or already killed. By the end of 1968, the war had resulted in the deaths of nearly 17,000 Americans, with another 87,000 wounded. Among the bloodied were a disproportionate number of Black soldiers.
The protests also made me feel guilty about my own sense of patriotism as I reconsidered the military service of my father, several of his brothers, my grandfather and great-grandfather in different U.S. wars.
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