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Choreographer Robin Becker reimagines this story of the human tragedy of war and the eruption of violence during student protests into a powerful and poignant dance production.
To commemorate the 50th anniversary of the end of the American War in Vietnam, Hofstra University hosted a performance of choreographer Robin Becker’s “Into Sunlight.” Inspired by Pulitzer Prize-winning author David Maraniss’ book, They Marched Into Sunlight,
Becker reimagines this story of the human tragedy of war and the eruption of violence during student protests into a powerful and poignant dance production. Through expressive movement and visual artistry, the performance explores the psychological, emotional, and moral complexities, as well as the historical significance of this tumultuous period.
As a combat veteran of the American war in Vietnam and having yet to “put the war behind me and go on with my life,” as is often advised by those who were not there, I must admit that I was profoundly conflicted by this performance. “Into Sunlight’s” portrayal of the horror and ugliness of war set against the artistic backdrop of Robin Becker’s brilliant choreography and the skilled movements of her dancers, provided a striking contrast that mirrored a personal unease, one that I have long endured and labored to express in my poem "The Rose":
I remember once, in another lifetime,
noticing a lone rose rising defiantly
from beneath the rubble
of a destroyed city North of Danang.
It had no business being there,
adding color to the drabness of war,
beauty to the ugliness of destruction,
and the hope of life
when life held nothing
but suffering and death.
It was a contradiction
and created confusion
amidst the clarity of killing to survive.
...I stepped on it.
There are no flowers in a warzone
nor color, nor beauty, nor hope.
During the talkback that followed the performance, my uneasiness found expression in my rather abrupt request that audience members refrain from applauding my “service” as they had for previous veteran speakers. While I understood that their intentions were sincere—especially at an event intended to honor the "selfless sacrifices" of veterans—I do not believe that my actions as a warrior deserve praise or appreciation. Nor do I believe that participation in war should routinely be met with honor or celebration.
Moreover, after experiencing the horror of war so powerfully portrayed aesthetically in dance, I thought it crucial that the lessons conveyed by the performance not be misunderstood or, worse, glorified. I felt compelled to point out that the common practice of heroizing veterans is not only misguided and dangerous, but perhaps more importantly, fails to serve the interest of both veterans and civilians for several important reasons.
While recognizing that the mythology of warrior worship must be rejected, and that war is not noble, it is equally important to reject its antithesis as well, the mythology of troop blame. This view regards veterans as murderers and places the entire burden of responsibility for illegal and brutal war on their shoulders while backhandedly absolving civilians of culpability. In a democratic society, governance and responsibility for war is a collective burden—by and for the people. Thus, in a very real sense, there is blood on all of our hands.
The genius of “Into Sunlight” lies in Robin Becker’s ability to choreograph the sublime movement of her dancers to provide audience members a face-to-face confrontation with the harsh realities of military violence, human suffering, and death. By blending the visual beauty of dance with the discomfort, awe, pain, and exhilaration experienced by warriors on the battlefield, Becker creates a powerful contrast that evokes, in the realm of art, the intense and complex emotions associated with personal trauma.
“Into Sunlight” is not to be passively enjoyed in the conventional sense. Rather, it is participatory, reactive, and demands personal engagement and interpretation. Such art provides an immersive experience transforming audience members from passive observers into active co-creators of meaning. By blurring the boundaries between creator and audience, this performance encourages personal growth, introspection, understanding, self-forgiveness, and reconciliation, opening a pathway for audience members to begin the difficult task of identifying, processing, and healing the lingering effects of personal trauma and moral injury. Or, at least, it provides a way to come to terms with these experiences—to find a place for it in one’s “being.” It is precisely at this intersection where beauty meets the sublime that anguish is transformed into poignant artistry, allowing “Into Sunlight” to succeed in ways other more conventional therapies may have failed.
Though the performance is undeniably unsettling, I know I have benefited from the experience and am confident that other “victims” of war or of personal trauma, will benefit as well. Facing the demons we have for so long tried to suppress, though uncomfortable, is a difficult, though necessary, prerequisite on the path to healing.
There is a truth that many of those who think themselves untouched by war are unable or unwilling to understand. War never goes away.
Not long ago, I received a Facebook "friend" request from Jean, an individual I had known in grammar school. It was nice to hear from her, that she was in good health, and doing well. Over the subsequent weeks, we exchanged pleasantries, read each other's posts, and caught up somewhat with how our lives had progressed over the past 50 or so years.
The pleasantries were rather short-lived, however, as Jean rather quickly became disenchanted, perhaps annoyed is more accurate, with my "preoccupation" with politics, social issues, and the "fact" that my Facebook commentaries and analyses—"rants" she called them—were, in her opinion, "unhealthy, self-destructive, and downright anti-American." She expressed what I took to be a heartfelt concern for my well-being, that I was such a sad and angry man, unhappy with my life and my country, and obsessed with a war some 50 years gone. She knew I had been a Marine in Vietnam, had heard over the years that I had been affected by the experience, but only now realized the severity of my condition—a Facebook diagnosis.
"As a friend," she counseled me that I should stop with the politics, protests, and dissent, put the war behind me and go on with my life. None of this, of course, was new to me, and, I would guess, to many others who had participated in war. So, I politely thanked her for her concern and advice, and continued with my protests, dissent, and "rants" about politics, issues of social justice, and war.
Not long afterward, however, having grown frustrated, I guess, with my unwillingness to follow her advice and make the necessary "positive" changes in my life, she wished me well. After a final expression of concern for my well-being (she was aware of the 17.6 veterans who committed suicide each day), Jean terminated our interaction, “unfriended me” in Facebook jargon.
She was right, of course, at least about how the war had seriously impacted my life, how I had become both sad and angry. Sad that upon returning home to the "world," I no longer fit in. How I felt alone, alienated from friends and family members and how for the longest time, I was unable to maintain a relationship or keep a normal job. She was right as well about my being angry. Angry about how I felt used by my country, lied to about the necessity and justice of the cause for which so many lives were devastated. Angry that the hopes and dreams I had for my life were never realized, and, most tragic, angry that many of our leaders and fellow citizens learned nothing from the debacle... and we are doing it all again.
She was wrong, however, in her assumption that in a life amidst the chaos and unrest, I hadn't tried to achieve a sense of normalcy and well-being. Damn, I had tried a whole lot. Perhaps Jean was right, however, and my inability to heal was the result of a choice that I made, to recognize and accept responsibility and culpability for the crimes perpetrated upon the Vietnamese people. That I had no right to “come home” when so many others were never afforded the opportunity; the 3.8 million Vietnamese, the 58,281 fellow Americans whose names are inscribed on the Wall of Remembrance in D.C., and the over 50,000 Vietnam Veterans who died by their own hand.
Eventually, I realized a truth that many of those who think themselves untouched by war are unable or unwilling to understand. War never goes away.
Perhaps the best that can be hoped for, I think, is to continue the struggle to accommodate the trauma, the pain, and the suffering (the PTSD); the guilt, the sadness, and the anger (the Moral Injury); and to find a place for it in one’s being. Easier said than done, of course, a Sisyphean task I will struggle with for the rest of my life.
"U.S. military service is the strongest predictor of carrying out extremist violence," noted one expert.
As right-wing figures blamed factors ranging from Islam to the Biden administration's nonexistent "open borders policy" for the deadly New Year's Day attacks in New Orleans and Las Vegas, progressive observers noted Thursday that the men who carried out those attacks both served in the U.S. military, which one historian called "a consistent incubator of violence that returns home."
Republican U.S. President-elect Donald Trump was among those weighing in on the New Orleans attack, in which authorities say 42-year-old Shamsud Din-Jabbar—who was killed at the scene during a shootout with police—plowed a pickup truck into a crowd of New Year's revelers on Bourbon Street, killing 15 people and wounding dozens more.
Apparently misinformed by an erroneous Fox News report, Trump falsely called Jabbar a career criminal and recent immigrant and attributed the New Orleans attack to President Joe Biden's "open border's (sic) policy."
"That Mr. Trump persists in deploying the politics of hate and bigotry is a bad sign for the U.S."
Jabbar was born and raised in Texas. He was an active-duty U.S. Army soldier from 2007-15 and a veteran of the war in Afghanistan.
"He was, in short, a patriotic American who did his part in fighting the War on Terror," Juan Cole wrote Thursday on his Informed Comment site. "He was not an immigrant or a member of a foreign criminal gang."
"That Mr. Trump persists in deploying the politics of hate and bigotry is a bad sign for the U.S.," Cole continued. "Even if Jabbar had been a immigrant, his actions would have said nothing about immigrants, who have low rates of criminality compared to the native-born population and whose productivity has been one key to American economic success."
"Nor is Jabbar's religion a reason to engage in Muslim-hatred," he asserted, decrying the New York Post for "ominously" reporting that "Jabbar referenced the Quran" and had animals including sheep, goats, and chickens in the backyard of his Houston home.
"D'oh," Cole added. "He was a Muslim. He also referenced the Quran when he was in Afghanistan as part of the U.S. Army's fight against the Taliban."
Matthew Livelsberger, the 37-year-old suspected driver of the Tesla Cybertruck blown ups outside the Trump International Las Vegas Hotel on Wednesday, was an active-duty U.S. Army soldier. The explosion of the truck, which was laden with fireworks and fuel canisters, injured seven people. Authorities said Livelsberger fatally shot himself inside the vehicle before the blast.
While given scant in-depth coverage in the U.S. corporate media, numerous observers highlighted the attackers' military backgrounds.
The Intercept's Nick Turse on Thursday published a piece asserting that "U.S. military service is the strongest predictor of carrying out extremist violence." Citing a new, unreleased report from researchers at the University of Maryland's National Consortium for the Study of Terrorism and Responses to Terrorism (START), Turse, who viewed the publication, noted that "from 1990 to 2010, about seven persons per year with U.S. military backgrounds committed extremist crimes," and that "since 2011, that number has jumped to almost 45 per year."
Turse continued:
From 1990 through 2023, 730 individuals with U.S. military backgrounds committed criminal acts that were motivated by their political, economic, social, or religious goals, according to data from the new START report. From 1990 to 2022, successful violent plots that included perpetrators with a connection to the U.S. military resulted in 314 deaths and 1,978 injuries—a significant number of which came from the 1995 bombing of the Murrah Federal Building in Oklahoma City.
"Military service is also the single strongest individual predictor of becoming a 'mass casualty offender,' far outpacing mental health issues, according to a separate study of extremist mass casualty violence by the researchers," Turse added.
Both Jabbar and Livelsberger were once stationed at Fort Liberty, formerly Fort Bragg, in North Carolina. Although their time there overlapped, there is no indication that the men knew each other. Turse called Fort Liberty "an exceptionally troubled Army base."
"Investigations found, for example, that 109 soldiers assigned there died in 2020 and 2021," he wrote. "Ninety-six percent of those deaths took place stateside. Fewer than 20 were from natural causes. The remaining soldier fatalities, including macabre or unexplained deaths, homicides, and dozens of drug overdoses, were preventable."
The issue of violence committed by soldiers and veterans gained national attention during the height of the so-called War on Terrord—which is still ongoing—amid a wave of domestic and other killings and suicides attributed to post-traumatic stress disorder. According to the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs (VA), more than 1 in 6 veterans of the Afghanistan or Iraq wars screened positive for PTSD, compared with about 1 in 10 nondeployed vets.
The VA also reported in 2018 that 1 in 4 male and 1 in 5 female veterans deployed during the War on Terror who received care from the agency had PTSD.
There is also the issue of who the military allowed to enlist. In an effort to fill the military's ranks during the War on Terror, some service branches lowered recruiting standards and allowed neo-Nazis, gang members, and other violent criminals to serve.
"This policy, which was behind many atrocities abroad, is now coming home," author Matt Kennard said Thursday on social media.
In 2022, Democratic U.S. lawmakers led by Rep. Brad Schneider (D-Ill.) introduced an amendment to 2023 military spending bill requiring the Pentagon and federal law enforcement agencies to publish a report on countering white supremacist and neo-Nazi activity in the armed forces.
The measure passed—without a single Republican vote.