| Commentary and Philosophy Fiction posted September 4, 2016 |
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Prose Potlatch Challenge 9-4
Change It or Lose It
by michaelcahill
“We will not be subjugated by this corrupt government. We are not pawns in their imperialistic plans to rule the world. If they want war, then let THEM go fight the damn thing themselves. The enemy is not two thousand miles away in some rice paddy. The enemy is at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The enemy is America and they aim to kill us, the very future they claim to revere so much. The future arrives in flag draped coffins every day, victims of their own government. Are we gonna be one of these poor souls coming home in a pine box?”
A crowd of at least two-thousand mostly teenaged boys and girls shouted in unison, “Hell no, we won’t go!”
“Are we going to support our government in this illegal war and cross the ocean to kill innocent women and children?” The young man at the podium vibrated with charisma and passion.
“Hell no, we won’t go!”
“America, change it or lose it.” With that Gary Fransen left the podium and joined the crowd below. He was greeted with hugs and pats on the back. Before long the chant, “Hell no, we won’t go!” began again in earnest. It reverberated down the blocked off streets of downtown Los Angeles.
A smaller group of older veterans mixed with men in suits and women in conservative business attire held a more subdued rally of their own. The volume was considerably lower. Their message, “America, love it or leave it”, held sway with an equal number of Americans albeit a quieter membership.
Angry words passed between the two groups, but neither exchanged more than words and gestures. The cops perceived a threat from the more boisterous anti-war crowd and waded in with batons swinging to break up their rally. Skulls were cracked, arrests were made and a special point was made to arrest Mr. Fransen, the perceived leader of the pack.
Whatever status he had as a leader became elevated to near martyr status as the news showed him in handcuffs with blood covering his face being thrown into a paddy wagon.
Like any other teenage boy of the day, he was eligible for the draft. A popular way to avoid the draft was to go to college. The less studious of the group opted for junior college. It served the purpose. Gary was of their ilk.
Eventually the war was lost and what Gary and all of the war protestors dreamed of and marched for came to be. Our boys were coming home. Gary had managed to remain in college long enough to avoid the draft and as it turned out, it became academic with the end of the war.
The protesting continued and Gary continued to be a leader.
For once the planes were bringing living boys home. Gary couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction that perhaps he had played a small part in their return.
The scene was chaotic. It turned out to be shocking to Gary.
“Baby killers!” That was one of the terms of endearment greeting the soldiers deboarding the plane.
Many in Gary’s group rushed the soldiers and spat in their faces.
The return of these men was the goal in Gary’s mind. Now they were being treated like the enemy.
Gary tried to reason with his charges. “What the hell are you doing? These young men are not the enemy. They’re the pawns. These boys are the reason we’ve been fighting. They’re what we’ve been fighting for. Don’t take your anger out on them. They’re not the enemy.”
The crowd turned on him in a heartbeat.
“Why don’t you sign up then, Fransen. You itchin’ to napalm a village or rape some women? These are criminals. You siding with them?”
Gary Fransen had no response. He realized at that moment he was alone. He couldn’t support what his people were spewing out. He also was well aware that as a dirty cowardly hippie, the returning soldiers would show him no quarter. The reality of having convictions hit home hard.
He had choices. He could join these people spitting on these soldiers and call them baby killers. That would solidify his leadership of the group and keep him in the upper echelon. He could abandon the group and attempt to join the other side, the pro-war side as they were known. They would love to have him as a convert.
But, he didn’t believe the soldiers were baby killers. He believed they were courageous men who stepped up for their country. It wasn’t their fault their country betrayed them. He certainly couldn’t support the government that sent those boys to their fate.
He became a man all alone. He couldn’t support either side and neither side would ever accept him. He became a footnote, a casualty of war, but not a dramatic one. A man with convictions that didn’t matter to very many people.
To thine own self be true. As it turns out, it can be a lonely endeavor.
“We will not be subjugated by this corrupt government. We are not pawns in their imperialistic plans to rule the world. If they want war, then let THEM go fight the damn thing themselves. The enemy is not two thousand miles away in some rice paddy. The enemy is at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. The enemy is America and they aim to kill us, the very future they claim to revere so much. The future arrives in flag draped coffins every day, victims of their own government. Are we gonna be one of these poor souls coming home in a pine box?”
A crowd of at least two-thousand mostly teenaged boys and girls shouted in unison, “Hell no, we won’t go!”
“Are we going to support our government in this illegal war and cross the ocean to kill innocent women and children?” The young man at the podium vibrated with charisma and passion.
“Hell no, we won’t go!”
“America, change it or lose it.” With that Gary Fransen left the podium and joined the crowd below. He was greeted with hugs and pats on the back. Before long the chant, “Hell no, we won’t go!” began again in earnest. It reverberated down the blocked off streets of downtown Los Angeles.
A smaller group of older veterans mixed with men in suits and women in conservative business attire held a more subdued rally of their own. The volume was considerably lower. Their message, “America, love it or leave it”, held sway with an equal number of Americans albeit a quieter membership.
Angry words passed between the two groups, but neither exchanged more than words and gestures. The cops perceived a threat from the more boisterous anti-war crowd and waded in with batons swinging to break up their rally. Skulls were cracked, arrests were made and a special point was made to arrest Mr. Fransen, the perceived leader of the pack.
Whatever status he had as a leader became elevated to near martyr status as the news showed him in handcuffs with blood covering his face being thrown into a paddy wagon.
Like any other teenage boy of the day, he was eligible for the draft. A popular way to avoid the draft was to go to college. The less studious of the group opted for junior college. It served the purpose. Gary was of their ilk.
Eventually the war was lost and what Gary and all of the war protestors dreamed of and marched for came to be. Our boys were coming home. Gary had managed to remain in college long enough to avoid the draft and as it turned out, it became academic with the end of the war.
The protesting continued and Gary continued to be a leader.
For once the planes were bringing living boys home. Gary couldn’t help but feel some satisfaction that perhaps he had played a small part in their return.
The scene was chaotic. It turned out to be shocking to Gary.
“Baby killers!” That was one of the terms of endearment greeting the soldiers deboarding the plane.
Many in Gary’s group rushed the soldiers and spat in their faces.
The return of these men was the goal in Gary’s mind. Now they were being treated like the enemy.
Gary tried to reason with his charges. “What the hell are you doing? These young men are not the enemy. They’re the pawns. These boys are the reason we’ve been fighting. They’re what we’ve been fighting for. Don’t take your anger out on them. They’re not the enemy.”
The crowd turned on him in a heartbeat.
“Why don’t you sign up then, Fransen. You itchin’ to napalm a village or rape some women? These are criminals. You siding with them?”
Gary Fransen had no response. He realized at that moment he was alone. He couldn’t support what his people were spewing out. He also was well aware that as a dirty cowardly hippie, the returning soldiers would show him no quarter. The reality of having convictions hit home hard.
He had choices. He could join these people spitting on these soldiers and call them baby killers. That would solidify his leadership of the group and keep him in the upper echelon. He could abandon the group and attempt to join the other side, the pro-war side as they were known. They would love to have him as a convert.
But, he didn’t believe the soldiers were baby killers. He believed they were courageous men who stepped up for their country. It wasn’t their fault their country betrayed them. He certainly couldn’t support the government that sent those boys to their fate.
He became a man all alone. He couldn’t support either side and neither side would ever accept him. He became a footnote, a casualty of war, but not a dramatic one. A man with convictions that didn’t matter to very many people.
To thine own self be true. As it turns out, it can be a lonely endeavor.
 Recognized |
This is fiction, but based on fact witnessed first hand. A couple incidents and a couple characters combined.
Prose Potlatch Topic: 9-4
THE EFFECTS OF WAR
Write a piece describing your character before a war,
then write describing that same character
AFTER the same war.
This CAN be a soldier, but doesn't have to be.
It can be a parent, loved one, a politician, a citizen of the country where the
fighting occurs ... anyone.
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