To Vietnam vets, a heartfelt thank you

Making peace with the past is not an easy feat. There’s a lot of prep work, soul searching, opening old wounds and seeking solace.

Last August I rode to the Vietnam Memorial during its brief stop in Worley, Idaho, searching for that peace. It was time.

The memories of a nation at odds, of angry protests in America’s streets, of a soldier’s hollow gaze, stung deeper than I had imagined.

The black panels stood before me in a quiet yet prodding way, contrasting sharply against the backdrop of Idaho’s golden fields.

I stared at them too long, ran my fingers over the engraved names and finally whispered a tearful thanks to the Vietnam vets.

There are no excuses for a nation’s silence when its troops return home – not then, not now. Thirty years later, I still struggled with this time of angst and protest, of wondering whether we did right or wrong, and of regret that felt thick and ominous.

The ache was deep.

Although the merits of Vietnam will long be argued, the facts remain – those who served did so with honor and shear guts.

Of the 2.7 million who served, 58,245 (total number of names stenciled on the Vietnam Memorial as of 2004) never returned, 303,000 were wounded, including 75,000 severely disabled and 23,214 totally disabled.

Two-thirds of Vietnam vets were volunteer military averaging 240 days of combat a year. Of those two-thirds, 7,484 were women. Seventy-nine percent had a high school education or better.

Their dedication speaks in numbers – 97 percent honorably discharged, 91 percent proud to have served, 74 percent would serve again even knowing the outcome, and 245 awarded the Medal of Honor.

It’s said that America lost this war, but history corrects this perception. In accordance with the Paris Peace Accords, the last American left Vietnam on March 29, 1973. Two years later, on April 30, 1975, Saigon fell to North Vietnam’s military.

It’s said America’s involvement in Vietnam had no lasting effects, but those in the Philippines, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore and Thailand say differently. The widely disputed “domino theory” was fact, and because of our involvement these countries booted communism out and remained free.

Hero is a title that doesn’t set well with Vietnam veterans.

“We were just doing a job,” they say. Perhaps they’re right; the term hero defies definition.

But the path to heroism lives in all of us, taking hold under odd circumstances like fear, opposition and the 1960s.

The ‘60s were a time of rebellion. Despite a country’s antagonism, there were those who stepped away from everyday life, squelched the fear, rejected selfishness, ignored that alarm going off in the pit of their stomachs and picked up the weapon.

They marched into the jungles of an unpopular conflict, obeyed orders and paid the price in Vietnam and at home. While protesters chanted, “Hell no, we won’t go,” they said yes.

Years would pass before I dug beneath the layers of anger and mistrust, but when I did, it was the soldier, those who fought and were forgotten, that I remembered. That’s when regret hit – I never said thank you, never welcomed them home.

There are no excuses, not then and not now.

To those who came home and those who did not, your courage and conviction were seen in the haunting shadows of the August twilight, your whispers heard in the soft winds of history.

You are heroes – imperfect heroes tossed into a chaotic unscripted war devoid of Hollywood hoopla – but heroes nonetheless.

And 30 years later, I stood before a replica of the Vietnam Memorial surrounded by warm fields of gold.

“Thanks,” I said. “Welcome home.”