Ivan F. Star Comes Out
The influences of the boarding school and the Vietnam War
By Ivarn F. Star Comes Out I have been struggling for many long solitary years with certain facets of my adult life. One was to reclaim my identity as a Lakota person. Another was to come to terms with the fact that I am a military veteran. Mixed in with this is my life-long contention with those popular warrior metaphors propagated by white historians and authors. Yes, I was born Lakota, but was practically raised in a Catholic boarding school from 1954 through 1965. I eventually dropped out but with some critical damage to my Lakota psyche. It appears that most Native people don’t “see” this recent boarding school experience as a problem. Some have even said that theirs was positive. So why did it affect me so adversely? I present a sampling. Although I had both parents, it was my mother, aunt, and grandmother who mostly influenced my life. I knew little of animosity and violence but that school taught me to use my hand to hurt another. From the history lessons, I learned that people have always killed others to advance their own. Thus, I learned to fear and loathe authority, as opposed to respecting it. Eventually I realized that nearly everything that was Lakota was kept from me. My boarding school experience had obliterated my Lakota identity. Since no one was able to help with my situation, I spent most of my adult life searching for my identity and I am still learning. Meanwhile, I endure scorn and derision from my Lakota peers for my cultural deficiency and by non-Lakota for being “Indian” (racism). I am also a military veteran who served in Vietnam many years ago (1968-69). Contrary to the popular warrior perspective, my enlistment was simply to escape the homeland poverty. The military was an opportunity. I volunteered but not because of the Native warrior heritage purported by the newcomer to this continent. I am not impervious to pain and I am not a natural-born fighter/killer. Anyway, people have their own take on life experiences, including war. Some are based on the “big screen” while others were influenced by older war veterans. Undoubtedly, Hollywood influenced my view. Then I learned first-hand that movies are deceptive and tend to glorify war and now know that they are used to serve a bigger cause. I was expecting a Normandy-type of introduction to war. My actual experience was not like that. My group arrived in Vietnam in late 1968 in an air-conditioned commercial airliner complete with movies and drinks. Even among the large group of recruits, I felt a great solitude since I didn’t know any of them. I knew people died in this place and that reality deepened my fear which was already stressed. As the plane circled to land at Bien Hoa Air Force Base, I was mesmerized by the varying shades of jade below. The idea of a war raging within this stunning scenery became fleetingly unimaginable. Then I struggled to keep from losing my nerve as we deplaned into the ruthless 120-plus degree tropical heat and the various “jungle” smells mixed with jet fuel exhaust were overwhelming. Among the many pieces of equipment issued to us were these strange looking black rifles. Some of the guys got new ones still encased in grease and cloth. Some of us were issued used ones. Mine had a flower decal on the left side of the stock and a bullet hole through the hand guard. The weapon was perfectly functional but I was told to replace the hand guard and remove the “hippie” decal. It was the very first time I saw the M-16. I had trained with the older M-14 in basic training and was qualified as a Marksman (lowest rating). I attribute my new Sharpshooter rating to the well-maintained condition of the M-16. I kept the fact that the ejected hot brass sometimes burned my stomach and forearms (I am left-handed) to myself and endured that little inequity throughout my tour. On the third day of that one-week training/orientation process, my group was taken on perimeter patrol to acquaint us with jungle patrols. Unexpectedly, my group walked into an ambush but I naively thought it was part of the orientation. I remember my horror seeing my buddies’ facial and body reactions to the unseen bullets and shrapnel and the only thing I could hear was this hissing-ringing sound. Three days later, as we were formed up to board the big C-130s, a member of the veteran-training cadre, with a piece of his ear missing, told us to take a good look at the two people on either side of us and said, “One of you will not be going home from this place.” This served to intensify my anxiety but forced me to a higher level of attentiveness. That was my actual introduction to war. Now, before anyone takes this the wrong way, I ask for your understanding. I am merely trying to understand my disposition regarding the warrior heritage which many strive to maintain. Also, I spent my adult life struggling to understand my personal outlook regarding my veteran status. I endured and nearly lost my fight with the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder and am now being slighted for it. Throughout all these years, I could not agree with that popular Native warrior image as defined by the Wasicu. I learned that these scholar’s and historian’s comprehension did not include the intimate essence of native thought and philosophy. In other words, that dominant imagery is merely the result of what their eyes saw and perhaps is what they want their “Indian” warrior to be. Contrarily, I learned that our ancestors accepted personal responsibility for their actions. Their duty was to reach deeply within themselves in times of hardship to make appropriate decisions. A Native person walked in the shadow of honesty, justice, courtesy, courage, honor, compassion, sincerity, and loyalty. It is still difficult to be genuinely “proud” of my veteran status and perhaps I will never reach that plateau. I have been scorned but I can never change, retire, or just stop being a veteran or from being a Lakota person or the PTSD symptoms. I cannot change the fact that as a child my ancestral spirituality and Lakota identity had been severed but I am relearning and that is all I can do. I extend my deepest respect to those families who have lost loved ones in any of the wars this country had engaged in. I for one will never forget my friends and fellow natives among the 58,000-plus who were killed in the jungles and mountains of Southeast Asia. Meanwhile, I think rather vainly about a utopian society and continue my solitary walk with thoughts of freedom from my predicament. (Ivan F. Star Comes Out, POB 147, Oglala, SD 57764; 606-867-2448; mato_nasula2@outlook.com) Copyright permission Native Sun News
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