Here’s Juri on the idiocy of using other people’s countries to fight our wars and believing that we can ever win hearts and minds that way: “I had no resentments against the kids at all with the anti-war stuff. I obviously had mixed feelings myself. I mean, I wasn’t against the war. I thought it was in the wrong place. Literally. Originally it was supposed to be in Laos. I didn’t think that was the right place. They moved it to Viet Nam, really, because of the supply problem, and the access from the sea. But nobody wanted that war to be there. I thought the time to go to war is when the North Vietnamese are landing in Los Angeles. It’s not even a joke. To go to somebody else’s country to have your war, there’s something basically stupid and wrong about this. Forget about the moral question, which is obvious. But the lack of familiarity. You are going off into a culture of which you have no knowledge. A country with 54 minority groups. All of them at each other. Plus all the competing ideologies. A complete vortex.
“The expression I’d always hear was, ‘Well, it’s much better there than here. We don’t want to do this in California. Let’s do it in Korea, let’s do it in Viet Nam.’ What kind of moral position is that, to go and blow up somebody else’s country? Once you bring in artillery and bombing, all hope of winning over a population really ends. There’s no way to control the damage from that. You are creating as much opposition as you are destroying. In fact, I would venture to say you’re probably creating more opposition. The people who survive that, whose families have suffered under the bombing or the artillery, are going to come get you. The politics don’t matter anymore. It’s simply a personal thing.
“The brilliant [North Vietnamese] General Giap had been a history professor turned general who defeated the French. I don’t know how much he’s driven by ideology or by the memory of his beloved dying in a French prison. On the Southern side it was equally bad. Diem had lost his oldest brother and the oldest brother’s son to the Communists, who executed the father and the son by burying them alive. That kind of thing digs much deeper than any ideology. Once the bombs drop and the flesh is rent, no concept is going to hold back the animosity or the opposition of a people.”
Monthly Archives: January 2020
Dick Lit
After the publication of “Red Flags,” Juris spoke about the reality of war versus the literature of war: “The ugly truth is that most of the time it’s boring as hell. Your biggest decision is what you’re going to have for lunch: the thousand-year-old omelet or the powdered eggs. And then it’s just like chores around the house. You know, you go out to put out the garbage and and then somebody stands up out of the garbage can and tries to kill you. And suddenly you have twenty-eight seconds you’re going to tremble over for the next day or more. It bursts out very quickly. But the rest of it’s very ordinary.
“I had to add fiction in – about ten percent – so that nobody would get arrested, and to try and dramatize it. Because the real truth is that most war fiction is incredibly romanticized. There’s almost a pornography of war literature, which I unfortunately refer to as Dick Lit. I’ve been advised not to call it that…. In the war literature, and especially in films, you can always see everything, even at night, everything’s visible. But really, you’re in total blackness. If something happens, about all you see is nothing. And you pull the trigger. And then people ask you, ‘What was it like to kill somebody’ – who? You’re just blasting away.”
Fatalism, reflex
Juris held unorthodox views for a veteran about the meaning of war and its consequences for those who serve: “I distrust nationalism. Patriotism? It seems juvenile, literally: the abstract nostalgia of teenagers mimicking their elders. Courage in war feels like fatalism, reflex. Shell someone with artillery and there is just blind terror. No space for an impulse, much less a thought.
“The popular idea is that you fight for your buddies and yourself. True, I suppose. You cling to whatever is not alien around you that’s not trying to kill you. When you are being bombarded you ratchet down to some reptile brain where there is awareness, but no thought. Worse yet, after several such moments of utter terror, some slip into the experience like swimmers, comfortable and floating and find an odd joy there. They find their calling.
“I’m not a liberal. I’m a pagan. I think if you train people to have disdain for a living enemy, don’t be surprised that it doesn’t go away when they’ve killed the enemy.”
Anonymous moments
Although perennially skeptical about war, Juris was deeply moved by acts of personal heroism he witnessed in Viet Nam: “If they had a medical emergency, Special Forces ignored everything. Any instinct you have for self-preservation, forget it: they would just put their casualty in a jeep, middle of the night, totally black, no stars, and drive him to our airstrip in Cheo Reo. And there’d be GIs standing there in the dark like the Statue of Liberty with their lit flares in hand, visible for miles – this is a place with no electric lights forever – in total darkness, totally vulnerable, guiding a helicopter in to get somebody out. You wouldn’t even know who it was. You couldn’t see their face – it would be averted from whatever was coming off the flare. They were amazing, these anonymous moments.”
The wreckage of war
Both “Red Flags” and “Play the Red Queen” are mysteries about murders that take place in the midst of war. Juris was well aware of the paradox: “Because really what war is is this lawless state. For all the talk about the laws of war, the only law there is is your right to kill somebody legally and your right to survive. Almost everything seems permissible under that heading. Everything is unleashed once a state of war comes into being.” He also knew what having lived in that lawless state meant for returning veterans: “The elevation of such aggression and violence with pomp and admiration is what I find so odd. We honor them perhaps to make ourselves less guilty about what they’ve done for us in sacrificing themselves to the consequences of their acts. Maybe truly honoring them might be accepting that war makes wrecks of its victims and victors.”
Coming out as a veteran
As a Viet Nam veteran, Juris was an anomaly in publishing. He had learned to keep that part of his history quiet, and many of his publishing contemporaries didn’t know he was a vet until “Red Flags” came out. Juris was fascinated by the fact that although 2.7 million Americans had served in Viet Nam, in a recent census, something like 13 million now claimed to be Viet Nam vets. “War was very much glamorized up until Viet Nam, which left the public wondering how to see veterans. For a long time the Viet Nam vet was the psycho walk-on character in TV dramas. Then ever so slowly I noticed the TV private eyes became Viet Nam vets and the image shifted. The vet became chic.”