June 19 Editorial: Patriotic fervour?

Patriotic fervour?

The greatest shame that attaches itself to New Zealand from the war in Vietnam is that soldiers were brought home under cover of darkness, to avoid displays of anger inspired not by them but by the politicians who involved New Zealand in the conflict. It is clear, judging by correspondence to this newspaper, that all is far from forgiven in terms of New Zealand's involvement in the Vietnam War. While most would hopefully approve of the 'welcome home' that was implicit in the presentation of a roll of honour to Kaitaia College, listing the names of the 41 old boys who volunteered for service in Vietnam, New Zealanders' general distaste for the war, then and now, at its most fundamental as being none of our business, has added to the burden borne by those veterans. There are still some who would patently prefer that it had never happened, and have no desire to be reminded that New Zealanders contributed to a national cause for shame.

One correspondent has referred to the honouring of old soldiers in general as displaying unremitting sympathetic and patriotic fervour, but that does not accurately reflect our national attitude, at least as shown at Anzac Day commemorations.

The 'big ones,' of course, were the two world wars. There are no remaining survivors of the first, and veterans from the second are dwindling rapidly, and the emotions stirred by the sacrifices made in those global conflicts are not matched by our attitude towards later theatres, including Vietnam. That alone might well rankle with those who served and came home; the perceived threat of communism in the 1960s and '70s was every bit as real as that of invasion of New Zealand by the Japanese in the 1940s and the possible triumph of Nazi Germany in Europe.

Many of those who served in World War I and II might well have done so in the belief that they were defending Britain, but the threat to New Zealanders' freedom in the event of the Axis powers winning WWII was very real. The fact that the Allies won, in the Pacific as well as Europe, or at least won more quickly and with less loss of life than would otherwise have been the case, can largely be attributed to the belated intervention of the United States.

It was hardly unexpected that when the US set out to deter the spread of communism in South-East Asia little more than a generation later New Zealand would contribute, albeit in a small way, and employing only volunteers.

It is very easy, but foolish, to judge events of the past from a present day point of view. That is what seemingly motivated protests at last week's commemoration of the 70th anniversary of the arrival of American soldiers in New Zealand, before they headed for the Pacific to defend our country. The protesters were purportedly stating their disapproval of subsequent American involvement in conflicts outside the United States, but there might have been some recognition that they were very welcome in 1942, when New Zealanders were in genuine fear of invasion by a Japanese army.

Similar latitude might be given those who served in Vietnam. It didn't take 70 years for public sentiment to swing away from supporting involvement in that war, but it is wrong to continue punishing the men who served there all these years later because of a long-held belief that they should never have gone there.

It is wrong, too, to regard the honouring of men and women who have served in the defence of their country, whatever one's 21st century views regarding the reality of the threat might be, as displaying 'unremitting sympathetic and patriotic fervour.' The common thread to every Anzac commemoration the writer has ever seen has been recognition that everything about war is tragic.

Far from patriotic fervour, the mood is invariably sombre, one of sorrow for friends who died in battle, sorrow for those who came home and have since died, sorrow that any of the horrors so clearly remembered ever happened at all.

The clinking of medals in the pre-dawn gloom could be taken as jingoistic, perhaps, but that's a fairly long bow. And most encouraging of all is the attitude taken by the younger generation, those who are just a few years younger than the men who sailed for Gallipoli and, little more than a generation later, Africa and Europe.

Anyone who thinks that April 25 offers an annual opportunity to rejoice in the power of arms should listen to the students who address the civil services marking Anzac Day in Kaitaia. They invariably speak of the difficulty they have in comprehending the horrors experienced and the sacrifices made by their forebears, of the highly positive qualities they displayed in defence of their country and their way of life, and of the lessons their generation should take from that. If any good can come of war, this is it.

This isn't patriotic fervour. This is an annual display of respect for the courageous men and women of years gone by, whose selfless example deserves to be recognised for what it was and for what it might teach those who have followed. If there is an underlying message it is that war is a terrible thing which recent generations have largely been spared, and will hopefully continue to be spared.

It is disingenuous to say now, many years since war has directly touched the lives of most New Zealanders, that violence can never be the solution. It would be accurate to say that many who served in both world wars were anticipating a brief adventure; short-lived that optimism might have been, but surely their offering of violence was a necessity they could not escape.

Those who served, died or were mutilated on foreign battlefields offered themselves in the service of a great cause, the freedom of their people at home. However grossly they might have under-estimated what they were to encounter, they did not relish the opportunity to rain death and terror of their own on other people from the misguided point of view that violence on that scale, on any scale, can ever be a good thing.

It is right that lessons should be learned, although there is no reason to believe that much has been learned since man discovered the power of a club, but it is wrong to view those who served in their country's defence as thugs who wilfully displayed the worst of human nature, who should never remind themselves, or those they defended, of their actions.

The young men who served in Vietnam did not declare war, but did their duty. They took arms against a threat that, while far from home, was regarded as a very real one for their country. They served with honour and courage, and whatever the political motives for their war they deserve to be honoured and recognised for that. The political machinations that led to and perpetuated the war in Vietnam were not of their doing, and do not relieve our obligation to welcome these men home.

The greatest shame that attaches itself to New Zealand from the war in Vietnam is that soldiers were brought home under cover of darkness, to avoid displays of anger inspired not by them but by the politicians who involved New Zealand in the conflict. These men were treated abominably all those years ago, and some would see them treated abominably still. We might believe that they should never have served in Vietnam, that the war should never have been fought, but we still have an obligation to honour their commitment to serving their country. And, at long last, we should tell them that we are glad to see them home.