Way back in January, St.Louis became the first city to host a Welcome Home parade honoring
veterans of the Iraq war. Six hundred vets turned out to march for a crowd of an
estimated 100,000 supporters. That was the good news.
Then came the bad: despite the obvious success in St. Louis,
politicians – and even military leadership – denied the requests for a national
Welcome Home parade in New York. They voiced concerns that a national parade
would be “inappropriate” and “premature” with troops still deployed to Afghanistan and other
regions. (Then the city hosted a parade for the New York Giants after their
Superbowl victory two weeks later . . . don’t even get me started.)
Without national endorsement, the Welcome Home movement was left to
rely on grassroots support from local civic leaders and veterans organizations
like the Iraq andAfghanistan Veterans of America (IAVA). It has been snowballing . . .
slowly . . . with many of the obliging cities expanding the effort to honor both
Iraq and Afghanistan vets. Yesterday the snowball rolled through Portsmouth,
NH. Since it’s showing no signs of coming to Boston, and that Portsmouth
is just a hop, skip and massive liquor outlet away, my veteran-boyfriend Colin and I made the trip.
There was a decent turnout. The main downtown streets were lined two or
three spectators deep. Business owners stepped outside to cheer as we passed,
and families waved from porches and balconies.
Among the marchers were three bands, three (four?) honor guards, two
beauty queens, a motorcycle-riding American legion contingent, The Shriners
(complete with clowns and mini convertibles), a sizable group from the Boston
chapter of the Veteran’s for Peace, a handful of local National Guard soldiers,
and behind a banner near the front, those the parade was hosted to honor, the
Iraq and Afghanistan vets . . . all 10 of us.
That’s right. The only forecasted parade in the entire New England
region was able to draw a whopping 10 people.
Photo by Nathan S. Webster http://waronterrornews.typepad.com |
In Nov, 2010, I joined IAVA for the national Veteran’s Day parade in
New York City. Hundreds of Iraq and Afghanistan veterans marched, along with thousands
more from World War II, Vietnam, Korea and Desert Storm. Hundreds of thousands
of spectators crammed the sidewalks along 5th Ave. The parade was
broadcast nationally. Still new to my “veteran” status, still fresh from my
deployment, the turnout, the sentiment, everything
left me awed. It felt good to be appreciated.
It was good to be appreciated in Portsmouth, too, but the feeling was
more complicated. (Blame the cynicism that inevitably moves in when the
deployment haze wears off.) I can’t help but be disappointed by the veteran
turnout. Granted, New England is one of the most underrepresented regions in the
military, but I know for a fact there are at least 11 of us out here. I
understand not everyone could make it to Portsmouth, not everyone knew about the
event, and certainly not everyone is the parade-marching type. Parades are
awkward (to wave, or not to wave?), especially with such a small crowd of
marchers – yesterday, I felt uncomfortably spotlighted. As a collective, though,
I like to think the 10 of us represented thousands more. Maybe we helped put
faces and names to a generation of veterans, to paint a picture for a community
that otherwise would be left to paint their own (or to leave a blank canvas, as
so many do).
Most veterans don’t seek attention, because most veterans don’t see
themselves as heroes. For them, parades may seem glitzy and unnecessary. Many
veterans rightly feel they’ve given enough; no need to waste precious hours parading
through a community that hesitates to offer support beyond a handshake or a
wave.
But if no one lends their face, their name, their story, we will remain but
a string of policies and numbers. If civilian acknowledgement goes
unacknowledged, we risk negating the effort, however ostentatious, however
small.
Those were my thoughts yesterday, until I returned to Boston to learn
that while we were marching, sevenU.S. soldiers were killed in Afghanistan. And I wondered how many of the Portsmouth spectators would see the headlines,
how many would picture the faces behind the names, how many would feel a pang
of grief – the ripples of lost innocence, lost potential – how quickly they would
go back to their own unscathed lives.
I wondered how I was any different, when I had spent the day getting
sunburned, networking, and drinking beer.
Now that 24 hours have passed, the cynicism has faded, as cynicism
tends to do, and I’m left, while not satisfied, at least grateful.
I’m grateful for New Hampshire Governor John Lynch for supporting a
parade on his soil, and to all those who took the time on a beautiful Sunday
afternoon to stop and wave, make signs and holler “thank yous”. I got chills
when an older gentleman in a Vietnam Veteran hat issued us a crisp salute. He
was never welcomed home, and he personally made sure that we wouldn’t suffer the same
disgraceful fate. He knows the last thing this nation needs is another
generation of disenfranchised veterans.
I’m grateful for the young people who represent the 99% of this
generation that hasn’t in any real way been affected by war, for taking a
moment to acknowledge the 1% who have.
I’m grateful for the parents who, in some small way, helped show their
children what it costs to be free, and how to be thankful for those who pay.
I’m grateful for the handful of my fellow Iraq and Afghanistan veterans,
who collectively could piece together a jagged history of a decade and two
theaters of war.
I’m grateful for the three bands, three or four honor guards, beauty
queens, motorcyclists, clowns and mini cars, the Veterans for Peace, and everyone
else who marched along with us.
I’m grateful for the bagpipes. Bagpipes are always cool.
Perhaps I’m giving everyone too much credit. Maybe I’m not giving them
enough. I just hope that someday I can stand along a parade route, bitter and crotchety
though I may be, and welcome home a new generation of veterans with a crisp
salute.
Because there will be a new
generation of veterans. As much as I’d love to – and do – join my fellow
veterans who advocate peace (that perfect, idealistic, utopian state), I know
that war is inevitable. Sovereignty, freedom, life is a constant shifting of power and control. Whether foreign
or domestic, there will always be a call to serve. Whether by volunteer or requirement,
there will always be an answer.
We can only hope there will always small tokens of thanks, like
parades, to acknowledge the sacrifice that will always come with it.
View additional parade photos by Nathan S. Webster here.
I appreciated your take on this. As a OEF-era veteran, I similarly struggled with whether or not to participate (or write about) a late-June "Salute to our Veterans and Service Members” parade. The Des Moines, Iowa event had also been inspired by the St. Louis parade you mention. In terms of participation, it looks like it hit somewhere between St. Louis and Portsmouth, N.H.
ReplyDeleteSee link:
http://www.redbullrising.com/2012/06/parade-celebrates-veterans-of-all-eras.html
I came to your blog by way of Nathan Webster, by the way, and look forward to following your journey as a veteran, writer, and blogger. Zap me an e-mail at sherpa AT redbullrising.com. I have some writerly information I'd like to share.
In the meantime, like the Army Engineers say, "Essayons!"