Yesterday, I had lunch with one of those people we claim to have plenty of here in Minnesota but in fact are unfortunately very rare—a genuine reader. At one point, the subject of
Chalmers Johnson and his incredible trilogy on USA foreign policy—
Blowback,
Sorrows of Empire, and
Nemesis—came up
. I happen to have had a little personal history with Mr. Johnson—mostly because he is so obviously a member of my tribe. During the days when guys like me were taking to the streets to oppose the USA attack on Vietnam, Johnson was making a name for himself at UC Berkeley by ridiculing our pathetic attempts. At one point, he had gone to the University library to see if the most authoritative works on Asia were being read. They weren't. His conclusion was that we were so obviously uninformed, our acts of "conscience" were nothing more than crude anti-intellectialism.
Johnson was right about us knowing nothing—at least about me. Because the news from official sources were lies made up of whole cloth, we wouldn't have known anything even if we were curious. I didn't BEGIN to understand what had happened until the good books on Vietnam started coming out in the 1980s But I did know
one thing that fueled my passions and gave me courage to take on USA militarism even though I spent most days frightened about what would happen to me for my activism. Let me explain.
When I was living in North Dakota 1965-66, we were about 85 miles from the Minot Air Force base. Drive 25 miles and you began to see the missile silos. And depending on weather conditions, there were the
B-52s in flight patterns over our town. Mutually Assured Destruction meant there were some in the air 24/7. I was seriously into building flying model airplanes in those days. The closest hobby store was in Minot. Apparently not even being in the friggen' Air Force at one of geopolitically most important bases totally satisfied the airplane itch so the hobby store's customer base was almost all from Minot AFB. The guy who owned it insisted I go to an Air show the base put on for their families. Since I was obviously not a military family member, I had to sign up on a list. When I showed up at the gate, they gave me a badge. And what a badge! I got to lay at the controls of a
C-135 refueling rig. I got to handle precision inner parts of a
TF-33 engine and climb all over a B-52—the bomb bay was open! They had found out I was building model airplanes on my own budget. The Air Force has need of such people. Lots of folks had been coached to explain to me (and fellow badge wearers) that the Air Force was the big leagues for airplane nuts whenever I wanted to ask a question about anything.
(MITO Minimum Interval Take Off. These things are so large they barely notice any air disturbance from the plane ahead.)
As the day wore on, some of the fun visitors flew off. A
Crusader, a
T-38 Talon, and then a
F-4 Phantom did high-performance take-offs. The runways at Minot are so long, these fighters could be all cleaned up and gaining momentum by the time they got to our position. The Phantom went vertical and flew out of sight—no small accomplishment in North Dakota. But for me, the most awesome display involved the take-off of a B-52. This was a SAC-mission aircraft—the air show had been fun but now it was back to the business of scaring commies. I walked out as far as I could so that it would take off more or less over my head. The B-52 has eight engines. It taxis along on 4 center-mounted trucks, with wingtip wheels to maintain some balance. Fully loaded with some big fat nukes, it required about ten minutes to lumber down to the end of the runway. With a puff of black smoke, it started to rumble towards us. Soon the wing tips were flying and those drooping wings on the ground were curved up in a graceful arc. And then it was flying. The wheels retracted, the wings cleaned up, and this ugly duckling had become an amazingly graceful swan. It was miraculous—like the hippos becoming ballerinas in
Fantasia. And then it passed overhead with an earthshaking roar and soon was gone.
To say I was utterly awestruck doesn't do the word justice. Human beings, a lot like me, launched giant aircraft on 10,000 mile flights carrying 20 megatons worth of destruction, and they did it routinely through North Dakota winters. Sign me up. I wanted to play with such toys but now I wanted to feel their power.
Only not so fast. Once I knew the B-52 up close, I began to follow it in the news. And sure enough, they were using them to bomb the Vietnamese both North and South. My graceful swans were being used to kill poor peasants working their fields on the backs of water buffalo from altitudes so high, the farmers could neither see nor hear them. I may not have known what Johnson knew about Asia, but I knew this was wrong. And it turned out, this form of analysis was better than his. And in the opening of
Blowback, he admits as much. He has to because when it came to Vietnam, we were right—still are.
And now a new generation has waded into the battle.
Nick Turse was born the year
Saigon fell. As a result, he has no direct memory of Vietnam and so has a lot less baggage than we had. But he is adding to the scholarship and doing a fine job. He has found yet another example of what happens when a superpower decides to use its technological muscle to bully a people who have nowhere else to go.