COMMENTARY
Life Goes On During Wars Here And Abroad
By Toney Atkins
So far in my lifetime, up to the middle of the first decade of the new millennium, there have been at least six wars of which I'm aware.
I suppose it didn't matter a whole lot in my personal sphere of existence when I was young because the men and women fighting the battles were over there somewhere. I knew it was happening; it was depressing to a certain extent; but my everyday concerns monopolized my thinking and pushed the harsh realities of what was happening in the rest of the world to the recesses of the closet in my brain.
My dad fought overseas in World War II, during which I entered the world. A lot of Americans were there and died, fighting the likes of Nazism and the Japanese who sought to bring the United States to its knees, starting with Pearl Harbor.
The war affected Dad in ways that I'll probably never truly understand. Now in his 80s, he only recently opened up and talked to me about the nightmares he still has about the bombs, the bodies, the fears. He sleeps only a few hours each night, because the war comes back to haunt him when he closes his eyes. He said he nearly had to walk out of the movie theater when he saw "Rambo" because anxiety ripped at his nerves as the action of another war was flashed on the screen -- fiction based on a real conflict.
One of my only memories of that time -- or perhaps it was only a dream -- was of Mother standing on the front porch, crying as my father walked away toward the railroad tracks to go into town to catch the train which would transport him toward conflict.
Meanwhile, learning from members of our small community, I was afraid of Black people. They were different and to be feared, I was told, not being educated to the fact that Black airmen and other soldiers had been unpublicized heroes in the war. I recall that when I was still very young, a friend and I encountered a young Black boy on a country road near the Black section of town. We ran in terror. I was later to wonder why, realizing that the war of attitudes between the races wasbeginning to rage on our own shores.
Some men from my small mill village hometown went off to Korea a few years after the first atomic bombs essentially ended WWII when I was only 2. I remember seeing the photographs of the Korean Conflict on the front pages of newspapers, but we didn't have television, so we weren't exposed to all that was going on over there in the war against communism. Those who came back from Korea didn't talk much about it, at least, not in my presence.
I grew up with those infamous "under the desk" school drills of the 1950s as the fear of The Bomb potentially being in the hands of our enemies lurked in the background of our daily activities. Hearing groups of military planes flying over our schoolhouse would cause some of us to be scared, at least for a few moments. Were they ours, or were we about to be blown into oblivion?
Here in the U.S., the 1950s and early 1960s were peaceful and superficially innocent, disturbed only by the growing civil rights movement. As tensions grew as Blacks began to openly demand equal rights, much to the dismay of whites. That war was escalating.
Somewhere in the background, our soldiers, Black and white, were being sent to a place called South Vietnam, allegedly to train the people there to fight an intrusion of communism.
Later, that would become an explosive conflict that would change the course of life as we thought we knew it. It always seemed to be referred to as a "conflict," although it certainly seemed to be a war. The nation became divided because our troops were over there fighting, being wounded or dying, and it wasn't clear what we were trying to accomplish or even how we planned to emerge as winners. There were protests. Rebellion brought changes in attitudes and even morals.
Meanwhile, conflict raged in our cities as violence broke out and buildings burned as the battle for civil rights continued. A president was assassinated, as was a powerful civil rights leader, and we twice mourned as we recovered from our shock and horror.
Men and women came back from Vietnam, scarred and unfairly scorned by many. They had done what their country had told them to do, but their country didn't seem to appreciate it. Many citizens who knew only what they read in the newspapers or saw on network news on television just wanted the unpleasantness of Vietnam to go away, even in memory. But like those who fought in earlier wars, the veterans could not make the war inside them disappear so easily. They had seen the horrors of conflict, and many had lost friends and comrades.
On the home front, Blacks had achieved a great deal of equality as a result of a degree of peace came during the rights movement, although resentment still reigned, especially in many parts of the South. By that time, I had long decided that there was no good reason to discriminate because of skin color, but many folks in my part of the country didn't agree. The war for equality went underground as whites struggled to accept what supposedly had been resolved.
Life went on, with many appearing not to have a care in the world as they smothered reality with drugs, alcohol and disco lights. Our nation had a few "minor" conflicts after Vietnam, but all seemed relatively peaceful until the early 1990s, when Iraq burst into the news as its soldiers moved into the oil fields of Kuwait. The United States put its armed forces into action, sending the experienced and inexperienced into a land of heat and desert sand. After months of military preparation, TV viewers watched as bombs exploded over Baghdad and our troops moved in. It was all over in a matter of weeks, but the impact was felt in hometowns around the country as family and friends prayed and awaited the return of their loved ones.
The battle ended without resolution for many soldiers, who came back feeling anger that the mission hadn't totally been accomplished. Many said they couldn't understand why Iraqi President Saddam Hussein wasn't taken down because of his apparently malicious intent and arrogance. Many soldiers returned to the U.S. with physical and mental scars after the combat, and they were treated as heroes.
Then came the day that would change the world forever. Terrorists staged a spectacular attack on the U.S. on Sept. 11, 2001, killing and injuring many citizens of all races, colors and creeds. We were horrified and an underlying fear became pervasive. Perhaps for the first time in history, Americans were briefly united in a struggle to understand the pain and agony and to move forward, striving to regain the "normalcy" of our more naive past. U.S. troops were sent into battle in Afghanistan, which many Americans supported because the villains behind the atrocity allegedly emanated from there. A degree of victory was achieved, but the man believed to be behind the attacks on our country was elusive and, at this writing, remains at large.
Before that war could be finished, the presidential administration of George W. Bush suddenly signaled that he believed Iraq was a center for terrorism and that its leader was a monster who had to be brought down. Giving the public reasons that later were to prove to be misleading, many more troops were sent to Iraq. A relatively quick victory prompted President Bush and others in his administration to proclaim "mission accomplished." Several years later, the bloody violence continues and officials say more terrorists are in that country now than before the war. Our soldiers are still dying, and at least one Marine who returned safely recently told me that many like him were proud to serve but that they were never really given an honest explanation of what they were fighting for.
Black and white veterans of the Iraq and Afghanistan wars are returning, many with mental and physical wounds from which they may never recover. Others are coming back in coffins, with families and friends praying that their deaths ultimately will prove to have been worth the cost.
After the war at home, Blacks and whites alike now coexist although, in many ways, remain separate. That never-declared and seemingly never-ending war still seethes beneath the surface, with many bridges of understanding to be built before the hate and bigotry end. The Bible foretold wars and rumors of wars. Here and there, too much blood has been shed for our "freedom" as life goes on and we go about pretending everything is fine. Let's pray that no life lost in any war has been in vain. Let us support and honor those who have fought, here and there, so that we might maintain a a superficially peaceful, democratic nation.
We've only recently celebrated Memorial Day, but one day is not enough to take a mere moment from our busy lives to comprehend and remember those who sacrificed all so that we might live in unity and freedom from the fear of our enemies.
There is no peace in the world today. Without sincere prayers, determination and honest but firm leadership, present wars will continue and new ones will develop.
We pray the current conflicts will end soon and our men and women can come home to heroes' welcomes and their families and that all of us can eventually enjoy life without war, one day at a time, with hope for the future.
