Called or shunned by Vietnam war conscription

10 November 2015

Remedies They belong to centuries smothered in myth and mist, ruled by ritual and attendant priests. A woman and a man, deformed and unprepossessing, were paraded along the pathways of a settlement, he decked with dark figs, she with white, all the while pelted, cursed for every evil, damned for every ailment, then dragged beyond the gates, lashed to propitiatory stakes and burned alive, purifying all who dwelt within the walls' embrace. When superstition evolved from prophylaxis into blame, the Pharmakoi were cursed no more and misfortune's maledictions, cultivated in disregarded darkness, were flung upon others: dissenters, the different, disturbers of stained silences, cranky prophets, strangers importuning on the borders — no garlands of figs and fire, instead denigration and stigma, sometimes bullets, blades and wire, always a clang of iron clamping safe the heart. Sortition Between May 1964 and February 1972 Australian men, after turning 20, became eligible for conscription by lottery to serve in the Vietnam war. I'd never met a Vietnamese, needed an atlas to find the place, couldn't figure what we had against them. But we were raised in shadow of returned men, the shimmer of lapelled bronze, a presumption we in our turn would go when ordered. Suddenly it was fortunate to be too old or too young, to not find your birthday plucked from the Tour of Duty Sortition, a practice nurtured in Athenian democracy reprised to coerce the unfranchised to arms. My brother was called but ultimately rejected; a shunning that broke no hearts. Ian studied year after year, submitted his doctoral thesis on Monday after Whitlam won in '72. Lucky John was too young — his mother insisted every man's duty was to serve if summoned. Kevin, a Chinese Australian, deferred until he taught away the bond of his studentship. A pupil in his fourth form maths class asked, 'How will they know you from a Slope, Sir?' Most of us dodged gap years of sweat and khaki, missing madness, maiming, napalm, agent orange, learning how to kill and to piss ourselves out of fear. Instead we were granted head starts with women, front marks in the greasy pole dash, a less congested clamber to unremarkable lives. How we quaffed the heady booze of freedom, the privilege of stuffing up without military intervention, never obliged to contrive answers to questions we knew would never be asked. Chicago '84 Time edits the memory. Maybe it was a block or two west of the shabby end of Michigan Avenue. Cheap, clean, convenient — all things my student guide claimed. I've forgotten the name. A wit suggests The MLK Hotel because I achieved instant, albeit brief, minority status. I arrived in darkness. The desk clerk was young: sharp suit, gold jewellery, rapid-fire speech. I asked where to eat. Go out front, he

ARTS AND CULTURE

Called or shunned by Vietnam war conscription

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