ORANGE FLAMES
The Anger Within --
I need to tell you about an incident I witnessed--an incident of
rage and
violence.
It occurred at the Vietnam Veterans Memorial in Washington, D.C.
this past
November
on Veterans Day.
I watched from afar as a woman thwarted, struck out in anger. Her
act of
violence
shocked me! I was appalled, embarrassed. That woman whose boiling
rage I
witnessed
was me.
How do I explain this? Where to start? How far back do I go (to Vietnam?)
to pick
up the loose threads of this story, and begin to unravel the emotions
I
want to express
and explore.
For the past eleven years I have been actively involved with Vietnam
veterans groups
and veteran's issues. Prior to that I had consciously or not, disassociated
from
my Vietnam experience for the many intervening years since my return
in
1969. I had
no particularly horrible memories to forget, nor any good ones to
cherish either it seemed.
I felt comfortable simply forgetting I had ever been to Vietnam.
It was OK
with me
to feel nothing about Vietnam--until the dedication of the Wall in
Washington D.C.
in 1982.
The dedication of that memorial opened doors to the past I was not
aware
existed or
needed opening. After seeing the Wall, I had an overwhelming urge
to get in
touch
with other Vietnam veterans again, particularly women veterans. I
wanted to
remember,
to reclaim, and validate that experience. I needed to give meaning
to it,
and I wanted
to understand what those 15 months "in country" meant to
me.
In quest of answers, I instantly went from one extreme to another.
From
being detached,
to being a "joiner". First I joined the League of Families
of
POW/ MIA's; then Vietnam
Veterans of America; the Vietnam Womens' Memorial Project; the Army
Special
Services Reunion Committee; and finally The Circle of Sisters...Circle
of
Friends. I was
so busy, that for years my entire personal and social life revolved
around
"Vietnam"
and veteran's activities. Vietnam, once so easily forgotten, seemed
to come
back
into my life with a vengeance!
About a year ago, I met another non-military veteran of Vietnam.
Jolynne
like me,
had gone to Vietnam in the 60's as a civilian volunteer. I went with
Army
Special
Services, she with the American Red Cross. We shared many of the
same
ambiguous feelings
about our "tour of duty" in Vietnam. We also both worked
as State
Coordinators for the
Women's Memorial, and we felt civilian service, and especially the
American
female
civilian casualties of the war were being totally ignored. We decided
something had
to be done about it.
First we went to our Vietnam Veterans of America Inc. national
convention
with a resolution
asking for voting membership in our organisation instead of associate
member status.
We hoped that being accepted and recognised for our service, by our
peers,
would help validate civilian contributions to the war effort, and
help
bring healing
and closure to that experience for many of us. The subject was addressed
by
the WA
delegates at the national convention but turned down. We had shared
that
experience
with them, and had gone to Vietnam in support of them, but we weren't
welcome as equal members.
If anyone would understand, we expected they would. What a disappointment!
We then approached the Vietnam Women's Memorial Project (VWMP). Jolynne
had
done research
and determined that 56 American civilian women died in Vietnam in
the line
of duty.
Wouldn't it be a great idea to somehow recognize these women and
their
sacrifice, at the same time as the dedication of our nation's first
memorial honoring women?
We felt that honoring our dead too would be a way of acknowledging
civilian
service
in general, and their loss of life in particular. We asked the VWMP
to plan
something
special to honor these 56 forgotten casualties of the Vietnam war.
They
turned us down
also.
It was then we realized if anything was to be done to recognise civilian
service--we
the civilian women who had served in Vietnam--would have to do it
for
ourselves!
Jolynne and I organized the Circle of Sisters...Circle of Friends,
and with
no money,
no D.C. contacts, very little time, and alot of determination, accomplished
what many
told us was the impossible. We were able to convince the powers that
be in
D.C. that
we weren't two crazy women from the West; we really had been in Vietnam
during the
war; that 56 additional American women--not just the 8 military nurses--had
also died in
Vietnam, and they too deserved to be remembered.
Finally, 90 days prior to dedication of the Women's Memorial, we
prevailed.
Permission
was granted, and permits issued for a special memorial ceremony at
the Wall!
With yards of red tape trailing behind us, we hastily finalised
our
plans. Jolynne
and I then set out for D.C. with a great sense of accomplishment,
to proudly dedicate
the Women's Memorial, and to honor our civilian sisters at the Wall.
What should have been a joyful and exciting day for me turned into
a
nightmare.
I was to present the floral wreath for Army Special Services at the
dedication ceremony
on November 11th. The day turned out to be a gorgeous sunny day,
bursting
with autumn
colors. I was so excited walking down the walkway toward our memorial
carrying those thick, waxy, crimson red antherium, and golden birds
of
paradise. I thought,"At
last! We've worked long and hard to get here, but finally, those
who come
here will
know that women, military and civilian have served their country
too!"
Just then a short, baby-faced, D.C. motorcycle cop stepped in front
of me,
barring
my way, and said I could go no further. The immediate area around
the
Women's Memorial
was roped off and accessible to VIP's only, he said. I tried explaining
to
him that
I had an invitation and a pass to enter the area, but in my excitement
had
stupidly
left it behind in my purse. He didn't care. No pass. No admission.
His
attitude said
it all. His stony indifference to my pleas was so very apparent,
and so
infuriating.
At that moment something strange happened. It was a though I stepped
back
from the confrontation
and totally out of my own body!
I could see myself at a distance arguing with the officer. Then I
saw the
orange flames!
They came up out of the ground beneath my feet. Boiled up through
my body,
and shot
out from my shoulders--straight out over my head with such force
that it
startled
me. I was engulfed in orange flames. But at the same time, I was
aware of
myself coolly
looking into those baby-cop eyes, barely visible below the rim of
his
helmet, and
thinking "Sweetpea, you weren't even born when all these men
and women
were dying
in Vietnam, and I'll be damned if I let you stop me from presenting
these
flowers in their
memory. I'm coming through." I heard the voices of common sense
saying, "Don't do
it. It's not worth it. The chief won't like it". (The chief
being my
boss the Police
Chief). But another unfamiliar voice said, "Fuck it! He's not
expecting it. Hit him!"
So I did.
And from a distance--as far away as Vietnam perhaps--I watched
"her" as she lifted
the floral wreath, and using it as a battering ram, knocked that
unsuspecting officer
of the law out of her way.
BOILING, ROILING, ORANGE FLAMES ! Where did they come from?
Cathleen Cordova
Vietnam 1968-1969
Army Special Services
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