Sleeping Muse, Brancusi
Deahn Berrini
Behind Milkweed
In the 1980’s, at Brown University, I took a seminar on the Vietnam War with Professor Charles Neu. Students were encouraged to do independent research, and I was set up to meet with a veteran who, as part of his therapy, was encouraged to tell his story as many times as possible. At that time, the term post traumatic stress disorder was brand new, not in the news or the talk shows as it is today, but the term gave a legitimacy to the feelings and problems many veterans suffered when they returned from a war zone. Also at that time, the Vietnam War Memorial had not yet been built, and the plight of the individuals who fought in that war took a lesser priority to the perceived greater political disaster the conflict brought to the reputation of the United States.
As this soldier shared his story, I was struck most of all how a person can get ripped from his home, family and values, given new, brutal values more expedient to his assigned task, participate in the horror of slaughter, and then be flown back home and expected to pick up his life. As I read more, I saw this pattern repeated, literally throughout history. Odysseus’ return from the Trojan War, his incessant need to repeat his story, his inability find his way home, and then his family’s inability to recognize him when he does return, this has been repeated for centuries and is being repeated today, with the return of our Iraqi veterans.
I could not let this go. When I met a woman who’s husband had gone Missing In Action in Vietnam and had to wait twenty years for the closure of having his remains identified, I had my story. I am not a soldier and would never pretend to be able to write about that experience. But love, loss and being lied to, this I could write about.
As a society, a group of people making our way in this world together, we have a responsibility to each other. If I can help illuminate that responsibility, then I am grateful for the opportunity.
