Over breakfast coffee we read of 40,000 American dead in Vietnam. Instead of vomiting, we reach for the toast. Our morning rush through crowded streets is not to cry murder but to hit that trough before somebody else gobbles our share. An equation: 40,000 dead young men = 3,000 tons of bone and flesh, 124,000 pounds of brain matter, 50,000 gallons of blood, 1,840,000 years of life that will never be lived, 100,000 children who will never be born. (The last we can afford: there are too many starving children in the world already.) Do we scream in the night when it touches our dreams? No. We dont dream about it because we dont think about it; we dont think about it because we dont care about it. We are much more interested in law and order, so that American streets may be made safe while we transform those of Vietnam into flowing sewers of blood which we replenish each year by forcing our sons to choose between a prison cell here or a coffin there. Every time I look at the flag, my eyes fill with tears. Mine too. - Dalton Trumbo, Johnny Got His Gun, 1970 addendum to author intro, p. xxix.
Posted on: Mon, 10 Nov 2014 17:48:45 +0000
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