Shroud of War: Invocation I am the Vietnam generation. I am the generationof witness and fire. I was a hospital corpsman during the Vietnam Warand though far from combat,the war hauntsme and my generation. This war of decades ago,and unending warsof the American war machine,shrouds my waking hours. Vietnam: Fire. Redemption. Love. I am the Vietnam Generation. I hold the memory of two millionVietnamese children, men, and womenkilled during the War of Liberation. I hold the memoryof 58,229 Americanand 55,000 French soldiers killed.Not killed for patriotism.Not killed to save a nation.Sacrificed for the Military-Industrial Machine. I hold the memory of themillions of wounded soldiers and childrenmaimed with bombs and Agent Orange. How have we paid compensation for the400,000 Vietnamese killed by Agent Orange? How have we healedthis land destroyed by bombsand Agent Orange? How many generationswill it take to heal this land? Is there a salve that cansoothe the scars of napalm bombs?Is there a salve that will heal theskin of those burned with phosphorous? How do we Americanscare for the thousands of deformedchildren born today? When will there be contrition? How will we atone forMy Lai and the unknown massacres? How will we care for the people and landdestroyed by our sins and the evil of war? While the chairman of Dow ChemicalCarl A. Gerstackerplayed golf on immaculate green lawns. While Dow Chemical’s napalmincinerated Vietnamand burned people alive. While Monsanto gained fortunes forits stockholders with Agent Orange. While the war profiteers made theirpoisons and guns to destroy Vietnam,and proclaimed the greatness of the Democracy. While Nixon scuttled a peace deal in 1968so he could get elected.While McNamara formulated the calculus of war.Johnson, Kennedy, Kissinger, and all the architects of monumental hubrisstoked the furnace of war. While those safe in draft deferments,protested the warand the poor and working-class young menwere sucked into the vortex of conscription. I want to hold the thousandsof homeless veteransnow huddled on the streets. I don’t want us known asthe Woodstock generationwith its ephemera of peace and love.I want us to hold in our bonesthe imperative of peace and contrition. Do we have the courage to benddown on our knees insupplication? Noble Saints of Peace You are the warriors of the higher conscience,who refused to march off to war.You are the noble saints of peace,who came to Vietnam and cared for the children.You are the soldiers who returned and noware working for justice in Vietnam. You are the four students at Kent State shot dead bysoldiers while they protested against war. To those who chose prison over waryou are the noble saints of peace. The courageous monks, driven mad with pain,burned themselves alive to stop war. Your acts of resistance and loveshines with fearless courage. Witness: Cambodia I journeyed to Cambodia, where the genocide and killing fieldswere fostered by the American war machine. Twenty-five percent ofCambodians killed.The soul of a nationshredded by genocide. Children born afterthe Americans went safely homeare still maimed and killed by landmines.Children in wheel-chairs begging.Eyes famished for hope and ask us,“Please, help.” Where is our mercy and justice?How is their forgiveness?Where is our contrition? The killing fields and landminesare underfoot as I walk through the Mekong. Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnamare strewn with landmines and Agent Orange. Landmines dropped by B-52sin a rain of evil, blacker than evil itself. Where is the shamethat should burn in our soul?Where is the repentance? Where is our courage to end all war? Laos Beautiful innocent Laos. Nestledin the mountains, ancient Buddhist land,still infested with landmines thatdestroy and maim children decades after the war. Today, I walk through the fields.Our guides point us to the rightpath, but there are no signs, no guidepoststo the landmines. I met the children at the hospital,their legs were blown off by landmines,and cluster bombs dropped fifty years ago. How are we humbled and shamed by our deeds?When will we bend to our kneesto ask forgiveness? The US Military-Industrial Machine We, the Vietnam generation,have we grown complacentwaddling to retirementand investing in the war machine? Panama, Grenada, Iraq, Yemen,Afghanistan, Pakistan, and thenecklace of our war machineis made from the skulls of children. We have raped, ravaged andlooted countries around the globe. Our trillion dollar platinum platedwar machine is lacquered withthe blood and bones of its victims. When will we fight the real war? The war against poverty?Our war to save the environment?When we willend our desire for war? We, the Woodstock generation,born in the shadows and fire of war.We saw the nightly newswith the daily tallies of death,while our brothers and kinwe’re killed for a war of lies. What of the greater love? Contrition?Humility?Atonement? I am the Vietnam generation.I am the generation of witness and fire. Tune in! Tune in!Turn on!Drop out! No, my soul is no longer on ice. I burn with the shameOf our wars!I burn with the shameof our deeds.Our shame should burn as brightas the phosphorous bombsthat we dropped in Vietnam I burn with rage!I burn with this shame! I don’t want to beremembered for the delusionsof pot and drugs, turn on,tune in, drop out, the fogof forgetting. I need us to be thegeneration of remembering. The generationof witness and contrition. We were born in the fire ofNagasaki and Hiroshima, in the ashes ofthe Korean War and the inextricablenightmare of Vietnam. The Path to Contrition Can we be the generationof redemption and contrition?Can we be the generation of peace? I am the Vietnam generation. I am the generationof witness. How will our actions oftrue peace, forgiveness, and justice. Render healing? How will we bethe generation of contrition? Namaya24 December 2020