The Lingering Legacy of Vietnam: The War That Changed Us

This post explores the lingering impact of the Vietnam War through personal memory, cultural reflection, and historical context. From Bruce Springsteen’s protest anthem to Ron Kovic’s memoir and the Vietnam Veterans Memorial, Jean revisits the emotional terrain of a generation shaped by conflict. With fresh reflections sparked by recent books and films, she connects past and present—reminding us that war doesn’t end when the fighting stops. AI...

“Records are often auditory Rorschach tests,” Bruce Springsteen wrote in his memoir. “We hear what we want to hear.” His song Born in the U.S.A.—often mistaken for a patriotic anthem—was actually written as a Vietnam protest song. Springsteen’s interest in veterans affairs and this song were inspired by Ron Kovic’s memoir Born on the Fourth of July, the story of a paralyzed veteran turned anti-war activist. That autobiography was published in 1976 and it became a best-seller. Fate brought these two men together shortly after and they became life long friends.

The 1989 film adaptation of the book, starring Tom Cruise, took some creative liberties—adding a high school girlfriend, placing Kovic at a protest he only watched on TV, and dramatizing a visit to the family of a fellow soldier he accidentally killed (in real life, he wrote them a letter). But overall, the movie stayed true to the spirit of Kovic’s account.

According to Wikipedia, Ron wrote the book in three weeks and two days. He described the process like this:

“I wrote all night long, seven days a week, single space, no paragraphs, front and back of the pages, pounding the keys so hard the tips of my fingers would hurt. I couldn't stop writing, and I remember feeling more alive than I had ever felt. Convinced that I was destined to die young, I struggled to leave something of meaning behind, to rise above the darkness and despair. I wanted people to understand. I wanted to share with them as nakedly and openly and intimately as possible what I had gone through, what I had endured. I wanted them to know what it really meant to be in a war — to be shot and wounded, to be fighting for my life on the intensive care ward — not the myth we had grown up believing. I wanted people to know about the hospitals and the enema room, about why I had become opposed to the war, why I had grown more and more committed to peace and nonviolence.”

Netflix was showing Born on the Fourth of July recently, and knowing it was a classic Vietnam film, I decided to watch. I couldn’t remember seeing it before, but I had read the book. Back in the late ’70s I read around twenty books about the war—memoirs and fiction by recent veterans like Ron. I was obsessed, trying to understand how we, as a nation—and I, personally—could go from naive supporter of the “conflict” to understanding why so many of us turned against it.

I thought I’d long ago made peace with that terrible chapter of American history. But seeing that movie on the heels of reading Kristin Hannah’s book The Women (about the U.S. Army Nurse Corp during the Vietnam War) a bunch of memories surfaced. Like the night Don and I tried to talk a friend of his nephew out of running off to Canada because his draft number was close to being called. Right or wrong, we didn’t succeed and he became a draft dodger. No matter what choice those teen boys made it was life altering. It wasn’t until 1977 when drafter dodgers were pardoned by Jimmy Carter, in an attempt to heal the nation, that those who fled could come back to The States.

We visited the Vietnam Wall Memorial twice—once in Washington, D.C., shortly after it was built in 1982 and again a decade later when its traveling replica came to town. Our local newspaper called the replica ‘The Wall That Heals.’ It was 250 foot long, ½ scale replica of the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall on the National Mall and its 24 panels contain more than 58,000 names of those who didn’t make it home. When we saw the actual Wall in Washington D.C. it was an emotional experience for me. I had penpal relationships with over fifty servicemen over in ‘Nam spread out over four-five years and I planned to look them all up in the index book by the Wall, but after finding a few listed I just couldn’t continue.

When we saw the traveling replica it was my husband who was left haunted by the experience. As I pushed Don’s wheelchair past the 24th panel there was a homemade sign on a stake that contained the name of a work friend of Don's. It said he’d died of Agent Orange. This was in the ‘90s, just after our government finally got around to acknowledging the connection between Agent Orange and all the medical problems the guys who were exposed to those chemicals suffered. My husband’s friend had taken his own life just weeks before his wife placed that hand-painted sign at the replica Wall. The war hadn’t ended for him. It just changed shape. 

During my caregiving years (2000–2012), The Vietnam War played in our living room every night in the form of VHS tapes of M*A*S*H. When the series originally aired (1972–1983), Don was working nights and never saw it. But he had the entire series on tape and watched the episodes repeatedly. The whoop-whoop of helicopter blades and Alan Alda’s voice gave him the comfort of ritual while I was in the kitchen becoming a blogger.

I don’t entirely understand why we humans find comfort in watching the same shows over and over again, but I do it now with Sex and the City. Watching an episode after a movie each night acts like a palate cleanser for my brain. I’ve probably seen the entire series a dozen times.

And now I need that palate cleanser after watching the nightly news. With two wars raging and a president I don’t trust holding the reins, I’m angry again—angry that humanity remains so divided that we risk blowing up the whole kit and caboodle. Did Vietnam not teach us anything? I know what 45/47 wants out of one of those wars. He wants to develop the Gaza Strip into a high-rollers resort. And with Netanyahu’s latest plan to take over the area and relocate its people, it sounds suspiciously like an off-the-books deal is brewing. If so, it better not involve our tax dollars! If we can’t fund USAID to support the poorest people in the world then we sure as hell can’t fund billionaires on vacation!

My mother used to say, “Don’t borrow trouble from the future.” How she could say that so often—when she was the longest-range planner I’ve ever known—is beyond me. Maybe that’s the answer. She didn’t borrow trouble. She saw its potential and planned contingencies.

Anyone want to help me dig an underground fallout shelter? ©

Until Next Wednesday.