Guilt, shame, slaughter without purpose, alienation from homeland and life
itself—this was the legacy that Günter passed on to his son Walt from his World
War II combat service in Hitler's Wehrmacht. Walt, "the only child born
in freedom," was born in the United States shortly after his parents emigrated
here from Germany. Growing up in the Cold War 1950s, Walt longed to be an all--American
boy, but was always the Indian to his friends’ cowboys and the "Kraut" to
their G.I. Joes.
When he turned 18, Walt enlisted and volunteered for Vietnam. "I wanted
to finally be one of the good guys," Walt said. "Service in the American
military in a righteous cause would expunge my family's past and earn our place
in society." He could not know that, instead, he would return with Post
Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), feeling less than ever like "one of
the good guys."
The Warrior's Path
Our troops do not enlist because they want to destroy or kill. No matter the
political climate, most troops seek to serve traditional warrior values: to
protect the country they love, its ideals, and especially their families, communities,
and each other. If they must kill or be killed, they need transcendent reasons
to do so. Throughout history, the only reason for fighting that has survived
moral scrutiny is a direct attack with real, immediate threat to one's people.
PTSD is, in part, the tortured conscience of good people who did their best
under conditions that would dehumanize anyone.
Almost all cultures, past and present, have had warriors. They have also had
complex stories and rituals to help them recover from combat and guide them
through the life cycle. The occurrence of warriors is so universal that depth
psychologists understand Warrior to be one of our foundational psycho--spiritual
archetypes.
In traditional cultures, boys and men studied a "warrior’s path." In
these societies a warrior was not the same as a soldier; not merely a member
of a huge, anonymous military institution used for the violent execution of
political ends. Rather, warrior was one of the foundational roles that kept
societies whole and strong. Warriors were fundamentally protectors, not destroyers.
People respond to the same call today. Michael, a Marine who served in Afghanistan,
proudly declares that at age 18 he was the first in his state to enlist after
9/11. Nick, an army officer who served in Iraq, enlisted because of a lifelong
desire "to be like Hector defending the gates of Troy."
Warriorhood, however, is not so valued or nurtured in modern society. "Warrior" is
not even a recognized social class. A veteran, especially one with disabilities,
appears to many, and sometimes to him or herself, as a failure in terms of
normal civilian identity. Michael fears that, as an experienced combat veteran,
the only place on the planet he now fits is in the French Foreign Legion.
The Echoes of War
War abroad fosters war at home. When we go to war, we inevitably bring its
violence and horror back to our homes and streets. We cannot help it.
Rather than feeling that he had restored his family's honor, Walt spent years
ravaged by nightmares, homeless, abusing drugs and alcohol, and sitting with
a shotgun in his mouth trying to find the will to end it all. He married and
had children, then divorced and neglected his kids. He could not keep a job.
He could not come home.
War echoes down the generations. Known or hidden, we all carry the wounds
of war. Walt was wounded by his father's history. His children were wounded
by his.
When a veteran has PTSD, his or her entire family and community are inevitably
affected. The individual symptoms of PTSD—sleep disturbances, substance abuse,
depression, and problems with intimacy, employment and authority—are the same
symptoms that are epidemic in our society. When we take a close and unprotected
look, we see: We are a nation and a planet of wounded warriors, their offspring,
and their neighbors.
Cleansing the Warrior
War poisons the spirit, and warriors return tainted. This is why, among Native
American, Zulu, Buddhist, ancient Israeli, and other traditional cultures,
returning warriors were put through significant rituals of purification before
re--entering their families and communities. Traditional cultures recognized
that unpurified warriors could, in fact, be dangerous. The absence of these
rituals in modern society helps explain why suicide, homicide, and other destructive
acts are common among veterans.
In Viet Nam Walt had exhumed bodies of enemy dead from mass graves and reburied
them. He felt like he had dirtied and damaged his soul. Nick declared that,
though he had wished to be a great champion of his people, "all they gave
me was this dirty stinking little Iraq War."
In traditional cultures, warrior cleansing was often guided by shamans, and
particular shamans presided over "warrior medicine." Among his many
offices and honors, for example, Sitting Bull served as Medicine Chief of the
Hunkpapa Warrior Society, responsible for overseeing the spiritual lives and
well--being of the society's warriors. Sitting Bull considered this to be the
most important of all the offices he held.
Walt entered individual and group psychotherapy for combat veterans. It helped
to tell his stories, have his feelings and losses confirmed by other vets,
and receive honor as part of a brotherhood. But he was in search of more cleansing,
blessing, and soul healing than traditional therapy could provide. He eventually
partnered with a Native American woman. He studied her culture, and participated
in sweat lodges and other traditional rituals. He attended a Pow Wow where
he was honored as a returned warrior. He was accepted by the Native community
far more than he had been by mainstream America.
I annually lead healing journeys back to Viet Nam, and there, too, vets report
feeling more welcomed and honored by their former foes than they have ever
felt at home.
A Double Wound
Sitting Bull and his warriors, and other bands from innumerable traditional
cultures, were never plagued with self--doubt about the value of their mission,
as many of our soldiers are today. In order to do battle with a whole heart,
the danger and threat to one's home must be real, and the people must experience
it as immediate and about to threaten their total existence; there must be
no alternative. A people and their warriors must be in unity.
The effect of that unity shows in Nguyen Van Tam, known as Mr. Tiger, a robust,
friendly, and serene man of 87 living in Viet Nam's Mekong Delta. He is a veteran
of wars against the Japanese, French, and Americans. Though at war for a quarter
century, he has no disturbing symptoms. "We Vietnamese," he says, "do
not have PTSD because we never hated Americans. We only fought to protect our
families and homes from invaders."
When, to the contrary, wars are based on false pretenses, a moral vacuum results.
As Martin Luther King Jr. observed, troops then experience "not simply
the brutalizing process that goes on in any war," but also "cynicism
to the process of death, for our troops must know after a short time that none
of the things we are fighting for are really involved."
Walt explained, "I didn’t realize until it was too late that I was just
like my father—a good man fighting on the wrong side for the wrong cause." Moral
trauma is at the core of PTSD. An idealistic and sincere young soldier discovering
that he is in fact fighting for false or distorted political, economic, or
historical agendas can experience deeper and more complicated psychic wounds
than those traditional warriors experienced.
The severity and extent to which veterans suffer with Post--traumatic Stress
Disorder is a direct response to our culture's blindness about war's true cost.
PTSD is the expression of the anguish, dislocation, and rage of the self as
it attempts to cope with its loss of innocence, reformulate a new personal
identity and cultural role, and awaken from massive denial. Veterans with PTSD
are people whose belief systems have been shattered. We can better understand
PTSD as an identity disorder and soul wound rather than a stress and anxiety
disorder, as it is presently classified. War dehumanizes anyone it touches,
but especially a veteran who questions the cause he served.
Most conventional therapies teach healers to avoid talk of morality. But war
is inherently a moral enterprise and veterans in search of healing are on a
profound moral journey. Healers and communities must walk with them. As a society,
we must honor those wounds in ways that recognize their depth and degree of
psychic suffering.
Lifting the Burden
Warriors in traditional societies served the need for protection, and all
that was done was done in the tribe's name. They had rituals transferring responsibility
for actions during warfare from veterans to the entire culture. Ultimately
leaders, not ordinary troops, were held responsible for the results of battle
and for the deaths that occurred.
Our veterans cannot heal unless society accepts responsibility for its war
making. To the veteran, our leaders and people must say, "You did this
in our name, because you were subject to our orders, and because we put you
in untenable and even atrocity--producing situations. We lift the burden of
your actions from you and take it onto our shoulders. We are responsible for
you, for what you did, and for the consequences."
Walt received this acceptance from Native American communities. In my seven
trips to Viet Nam, and with every veteran and civilian I have met who has visited
Viet Nam since the war, the Vietnamese people have offered such acceptance
and forgiveness to any American returning to the country to reconcile. In contrast,
since Afghanistan, Michael says, "I still love America, but America does
not love me."
Without this transfer of responsibility, the veteran carries war's secret
grief and guilt for us all. Too many veterans collapse into a silent suffering
disability and thus serve as our broken scapegoats while the rest of us proceed
with "business as usual." In contrast, during my healing retreats,
veterans tell their stories, civilians speak of their lost loved ones, and
everyone shares their damaged values and broken dreams. Finally, our vets enter
the center of our circle and civilians pledge to accept responsibility for
any harm done in their name and to help carry the veterans' stories for the
rest of their lives. By sharing this burden we become a community united in
service to war-healing.
Healing for All
We wish, as the gospel song says, "to study war no more." But scholars
count over 14,600 wars in the last 5,600 years of recorded history. War is
so epidemic in its occurrence, devastating in its impact, and lasting in its
aftermath, that we must study it and tend to it and treat it. If we are to
return war to its proper place as a last defense when absolutely necessary,
we must heal the wounds of our soldiers and communities. We cannot achieve
peace--making without first achieving true and comprehensive war-healing.
Walt finally put away his shotgun and quit drinking. He enjoyed a successful
relationship with his new partner and was adopted by her tribe and its warrior
society. He took up a spiritual path that restored his belief in the goodness
of life and order of the universe. He volunteered with more disabled veterans,
visiting the infirm at his regional V.A. hospital and helping create annual
veteran reunions. Both in therapy and beyond, we created rituals that allowed
this soldier to find healing. The Native American and veteran communities helped
support and bring this warrior’s wandering spirit home. In turn, Walt became
a devoted advocate for other veterans more wounded than he. The disabled veteran
became an elder warrior.
But war completed its damage. Only in his 50s, Walt died of Agent Orange--related
cancer last year.
We cannot heal from war without involving the entire community and society,
and without invoking transpersonal help. We must develop modern rituals that
acknowledge the additional wounds caused by war fought for non--defense reasons.
Much as we might disagree with a war, our rituals must include purification,
public storytelling, and community acceptance of responsibility for what the
soldier has done.
These war-healing rituals and practices serve us all. They bring home to
us the need to break the cycles of war-making and violence both within the
individual soldier and within the society. When we return to our veterans their
silenced voices, when we accept our true responsibility as individuals and
communities, we will no longer see war as an adventure or a legitimate tool
of power politics. Then, perhaps, we may see that all over our country and
world, we share the same legacy of war-wounding. When we join together to
address those wounds wherever they appear, we will finally "study war
no more."
I asked Walt's permission to tell his story during our farewell visit in the
hospital where he was dying of Agent Orange cancers. He was surprised at first,
but finally said, "I was afraid my life was worthless. But please tell
my story. Please make it mean something. Maybe it can help some other poor
souls avoid my fate."
About Edward Tick
Edward Tick wrote this article as part of A Just Foreign Policy,
the Summer 2008 issue of YES! Magazine. Edward is author of War and the Soul
and three other books. He has worked with veterans for three decades and is
director and senior psychotherapist of Soldier's
Heart: Veteran's Safe Return Initiatives.
ABOUT YES
YES! is an independent, non--profit, ad--free magazine with a national readership.
The focus of each issue varies – from social justice, to sustainability,
peace, economics, and more – always with an ear to emergent solutions. Where
are the possibilities? What's working in communities in this country and
around the world that could be enhanced, expanded, or replicated elsewhere?
The stories in YES! empower readers with knowledge, creative inspiration,
and possibilities for action. A significant portion of each YES! issue centers
around a particular theme, and in our Summer 2008 issue, the theme is "A
Just Foreign Policy." To see more articles from the Just Foreign Policy
theme, visit: www.yesmagazine.org/justforeignpolicy
