Mar 11, 2014
Speaking Truth on the Fifth of July
Posted on Aug 19, 2012
NEW YORK—It was late at night on the fifth of July, and the sound of firecrackers going off in a continuation of the previous day’s celebrations could still be heard in the outer boroughs of New York City. I was sitting at a small table at the London Hotel in midtown Manhattan with Vietnam veteran and anti-war activist Ron Kovic and his girlfriend of five years, the spirited and elegant Terri Ann Ferren. We had just come from the Museum of Modern Art where we watched “Born on the Fourth of July,” the Academy Award-winning film about Kovic made by Oliver Stone, himself a veteran, in the late 1980s and based on Kovic’s memoir of the same name. The crowd came to hear the two men talk about the film, the United States and war—then and now.
Kovic remains a major figure in the anti-war movement since midway through the Vietnam War. His childhood played out against a backdrop of widespread national optimism that came as a consequence of America’s emergence from two decades of economic depression and the conclusion of a brutal world war. Confident that his government would not mislead him, the young Kovic became convinced of the threat of communism, and after graduating from high school in 1964, enlisted to fight in Vietnam as a United States Marine. He was 21 years old and serving his second tour of duty when he was shot in the shoulder while leading a charge across a field in the country’s Demilitarized Zone. He spent the intervening 44 years in a wheelchair, a seat from which he became one of American imperialism’s most well-known heroes and critics.
There is a scene in “Born on the Fourth of July” where Kovic, played by Tom Cruise, and a small group of veterans enter the 1972 Republican National Convention in Miami Beach, Fla. They’re speaking loudly against the war, drawing nasty denunciations from the crowd, and succeed in getting the attention of a television news crew.
“Why are you here tonight? What do you have to say to these people?” the reporter asks Kovic.
“My name is Ron Kovic. I am a Vietnam veteran,” Kovic says as he attempts to stand up from his wheelchair. “I am here to say that this war is wrong, that this society lied to me. It lied to my brothers. It deceived the people of this country, tricked them into going 13,000 miles to fight a war against a poor peasant people who have a proud history of resistance, who have been struggling for their own independence for 1,000 years, the Vietnamese people. I can’t find the words to express how the leadership of this government sickens me.
We are here to tell the truth. It is a line Kovic has repeated in some form or another throughout his career as an activist. Truth telling, I realized while sitting and listening to him, is an electric practice that Kovic admires most in others. Calling this thought a “realization” may sound silly or contrived, but of how many of our public figures would you, reader, say this statement is true? The theme, always steeped in a mixture of pity and conviction, surfaced in our conversation again and again, and was especially conspicuous when Kovic spoke about Pentagon whistle-blower Daniel Ellsberg, the imprisoned Army intelligence leaker Bradley Manning and the late American historian Howard Zinn.
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