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Tap Code “By tapping covertly on our cell walls using an alphabet code we maintained our unity. We encouraged and cared for each other. We passed information, learned poetry, even learned new languages. I got to know my fellow prisoners like brothers, though I’d never even seen them.”
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ONE WALL HAD TO GO UP …
So the other could come down
On the occasion of Memorial Day, 1999, I was honored to be included in the ceremony welcoming the "Moving Wall", the mobile, half scale replica of the Vietnam Memorial wall in Washington D.C. It had been erected on the lawn fronting the Arizona Memorial Visitor’s Center at Pearl Harbor. The morning was a sparkler, the sun reflected brightly off the black panels of the wall, and the light Trades fluttered the American and Hawaiian flags posted just behind the apex of the shallow "V". Already there were a few leis draped - randomly it seemed, but not really - over the wall, notes and scattered flowers at the base. And, honestly, it seemed like God had preblessed the occasion.
The ceremony included an invocation and a benediction, the posting of the colors with our national and state anthems, a gentle and most aloha-ful Hawaiian blessing, a gun salute, and echo Taps. After the anthems and before the blessing I said the following, which is as applicable this Memorial Day as it was the last. As often as I'm called upon to speak all over our wonderful country, none of those opportunities mean more to me than this one on Memorial Day, to share my thoughts with you--my friends and neighbors, and my fellow veterans. For me, it is humbling to simply help honor the men and women whose names appear on this wall. As you might imagine, every time I visit our nation's capital I go to the Wall there to revisit the memories of friends whose names are there; but especially that of my crewman, Ltjg Robert Taft Hanson of Toledo, Ohio--Plaque 4 East, Line 135. In the violent confusion of our shoot-down over North Vietnam on February 3rd, 1966, Bob was killed and I was captured, beginning my seven year ordeal as a POW in North Vietnam. But for a split second or a fraction of an inch somewhere along the way it could be my name there on that wall along with his, or maybe instead of his. I know many of you can relate to that.
The wall represents a sort of summary of a very painful chapter in the history of our country, and for many of us, a painful chapter in our personal histories as well. The release of the POWs in early 1973 seemed to represent an end to that chapter. I believe that's why we received the incredibly warm and heartfelt "Welcome Home" that every Vietnam Veteran deserved, and should have had. It has been said that this wall represents not only a painful chapter but also a shameful chapter in our history. It has been said--and still is in many quarters--that we should have never been in Vietnam, that it was an "unwinable war", and "a waste of lives and treasure"; in short, that the fifty eight thousand two hundred and thirteen names on this wall were sacrificed in vain. This morning, let me offer a different perspective on that.
Every single day of my captivity in the Communist prisons of North Vietnam, my convictions were strengthened that we were, in fact, right to be there and that our cause was just. The pervasive evil of Communism was manifested not only in our treatment--liberal use of physical torture, solitary confinement, degrading and inhumane living conditions, and the constant pressure of exploitation for military information and propaganda--but also in the repression and indoctrination of the Vietnamese officers and guards who kept me there. Their lives under the iron-fist of Communism were based upon a constant litany of lies, slander, and deceit. I began to appreciate that the people on the outside of the prison walls there in downtown Hanoi were no better off than I was on the inside. I soon realized--even if I hadn't before--that the sacrifices I and my comrades were making to stop the spread of Communism to South Vietnam and to ultimately defeat it totally were worth it, even should I have died in the cause.
When I go to the Wall in D.C. and see my own reflection among the names engraved in that shiny black marble, I am reminded that this Wall had to go up so that hated, grafittied wall, across the middle of Berlin would come down. Yes, in part, and in effect, one had to go up so the other would come down. We need to make that connection more often than we do. Yes we lost the battle for South Vietnam. But even with a flawed strategy we won it hands down militarily. General Vo Nguyen Giap, the Commander-in-Chief of the North Vietnamese forces has said as much. Then, shamefully, our political leaders snatched defeat from the jaws of our victory, and broke our promises to our friends in South Vietnam, abandoning them to the non-mercy of the Communists.
But in the process, we actually won the war for Southeast Asia. Today, millions of people in those otherwise "domino" countries (Laos and Cambodia were the first two dominoes); Thailand, Malaysia, Singapore, Indonesia, possibly the Philippines, and probably Taiwan are living in free, prosperous, and -- by their standards -- democratic societies primarily because of America's (Aussies, South Koreans, and of course, South Vietnamese fought with us) ten years of holding action against the momentum of Chinese and North Vietnamese aggression. In more simple terms, given the Communist manifesto of exporting "revolution" from one country to the next (domino to domino), think what Southeast Asia and perhaps Central Asia, and who knows about the rest of the world would look like today if we hadn't been there. President Reagan had it right on both counts. Vietnam WAS a "noble cause," and the Soviet Union -- i.e., Communism -- WAS an "evil empire." Having experienced first hand the evils of Communism and seeing what it does to the survivors of the bloody exterminations required to impose it, I am convinced America's commitment to the freedom of the people of South Vietnam was indeed a noble cause. And it helped provide the impetus for all those fallen dominoes of Eastern Europe to stand up again and to finally knock down the wall in Berlin.
On this Memorial Day we should honor not only our Veterans whose names are inscribed on the plaques of this wall, or on the walls of the Korean Veterans Memorial, or on the walls at Arlington and here at Punchbowl, but also those whose names are not engraved on any memorial save their own in family plots and small town graveyards, and military cemeteries all across America, those men and women killed in the "routine training accidents" over the decades, all in the cause of the military readiness essential for the defense of our nation and values, and for the perpetuation of freedom and democracy everywhere.
But now, the presence of the this Wall in Hawaii brings our focus to the Vietnam Vets in our lives -- our relatives, friends, and neighbors; people just like we Vets who are gathered here this morning. Although the nature of our service varied from conscript to career, and our individual experiences and reactions to them differed greatly, we still have one calling in common. I'm reminded of that calling by the verse in the poem "Invictus" which says; "In the fell clutch of circumstance, I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeoning of chance, my head is bloodied but unbowed ." As America’s Veterans our heads may be "bloodied" but they need not be "bowed." In fact, every Vietnam Vet in America should hold his or her head high with dignity and pride in their service and the victories it won. Let's hold our heads high today and from now on, not only for ourselves but also for our fallen comrades whose names are on all the walls. We honor them today!
Thank You!
Jerry Coffee
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