The Brothers' Vietnam War: Black Power, Manhood, and the Military Experience

The Brothers’ Vietnam War Black Power, Manhood, and the Military Experience

Herman Graham III

The Brothers’ Vietnam War

Florida A&M University, Tallahassee Florida Atlantic University, Boca Raton Florida Gulf Coast University, Ft. Myers Florida International University, Miami Florida State University, Tallahassee University of Central Florida, Orlando University of Florida, Gainesville University of North Florida, Jacksonville University of South Florida, Tampa University of West Florida, Pensacola

The Brothers’ Vietnam War Black Power, Manhood, and the Military Experience

Herman Graham III

University Press of Florida Gainesville Tallahassee Tampa Boca Raton Pensacola Orlando Miami Jacksonville Ft. Myers

Copyright 2003 by Herman Graham III Printed in the United States of America on acid-free, TCF (totally chlorine-free) paper All rights reserved 08 07 06 05 04 03

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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Graham, Herman, III, 1967– The brothers’ Vietnam War: Black power, manhood, and the military experience / Herman Graham III. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8130-2646-6 (cloth: alk. paper) 1. Vietnamese Conflict, 1961–1975—African Americans. 2. Black power—United States. I. Title. DS559.8.B55G73 2003 959.704'3'08996073—dc21 2003048426 The University Press of Florida is the scholarly publishing agency for the State University System of Florida, comprising Florida A&M University, Florida Atlantic University, Florida Gulf Coast University, Florida International University, Florida State University, University of Central Florida, University of Florida, University of North Florida, University of South Florida, and University of West Florida. University Press of Florida 15 Northwest 15th Street Gainesville, FL 32611-2079 http://www.upf.com

To My Parents

Contents

Acknowledgments ix 1. The Fight of Their Fathers 1 2. The Draft and the Allure of Military Service 15 3. Basic Training 30 4. Combat and Interracial Male Friendship 45 5. Muhammad Ali and Draft Resistance 67 6. Black Power GIs 90 7. Black, and Navy Too 120 Conclusion 135 Notes 139 Bibliography 163 Index 173

Acknowledgments

In the course of researching and writing this book, many people helped me along the way, and I am eager to acknowledge them. I wish to express my appreciation to Mary Frances Berry, Carroll Smith-Rosenberg, Tony Fuentez, and Kris Rabberman for their thoughtful feedback on drafts of various chapters at various stages of the writing process. I am especially grateful to Nancy Watterson for encouragement and for her willingness, on short notice, to respond quickly to drafts. I thank the veterans who shared their time and their experiences with me. I learned a great deal from these men. I thank the following institutions and their staffs: the Van Pelt Library at the University of Pennsylvania; the Charles L. Blockson Collection of Temple University; Doane Library at Denison University; and the William Oxley Thomas Memorial Library at the Ohio State University. Thanks to the Columbia University Oral History Research Office Collection (CUOHROC) and Dr. Clark Smith for the use of selected quotations throughout this book. I am grateful for the financial assistance that I received from the Mellon Foundation and from Denison University’s Fairchild Fund. Finally, I want to thank everyone at the University Press of Florida, especially Meredith Morris-Babb and Gillian Hillis. An earlier version of chapter 7, entitled “Black and Navy, Too: How African-American Sailors of the Vietnam Era Asserted Manhood through Black Power Militancy,” appeared in the Journal of Men’s Studies 9, no. 2 (Winter 2001), copyright 2001 by the Men’s Studies Press.

1 The Fight of Their Fathers

While each war is unique, the experience of African American men in U.S. wars from the Revolution to the Second World War can be summarized as follows: White officials exclude African Americans from the armed forces in the beginning phase of the war because they doubt that African Americans make competent warriors; because they fear the repercussions of having armed black men train in their communities; and because they want to avoid treating black veterans as citizens. Confronted with white opposition, African Americans wage a “fight for the right to fight” with the expectation of trading loyal wartime service for a better life in the postwar world. Barriers to black participation later give way when the government fails to meet its troop requirements from the available pool of white males. This familiar pattern of exclusion and segregation began to unravel in the middle of the twentieth century. The turning point was the Korean War. In 1948, President Truman ordered the desegregation of the armed forces. Although the presidential mandate came two years before the beginning of the Korean War, implementation was uneven due to resistance from conservative military leaders. Some blacks served in Jim Crow units, while others fought in integrated ones. With integration of the armed services completed in 1954, a new era in wartime race relations commenced during the Vietnam era. In fact, many contemporary observers contended that black men then had greater opportunities in the military than in the private sector. Although it failed to leave a lasting legacy of integration, the Revolutionary War was fought by nonsegregated troops. Indeed, African Americans were involved in the first battles of the war at Lexington, Concord, and Bunker Hill. The southern states disapproved of the black presence in the army, however. In September 1775, South Carolina’s Edward Rutledge introduced a bill in the Continental Congress that called for the expulsion

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of blacks from the Continental army, but the legislature defeated the measure. Nevertheless, General Washington decided to make a concession to southern sensibilities by curtailing black enlistment. The military brass included black men among the classes of males deemed unsuitable for military service: “Negroes, Boys unable to bear Arms nor Old men unfit to endure the Fatigues of the Campaign.”1 Changing circumstances forced Washington to rethink his ban on new recruits of color. John Murray—the royal governor of Virginia who is better known to history as Lord Dunmore—issued a proclamation promising freedom to slaves who were willing to defend the interests of the British crown. Dunmore, a slaveowner himself, was motivated not by morality, but by military considerations. African Americans comprised approximately 20 percent of the population in the colonies at the time of the Revolution, and most of them lived in the South.2 The slave population was an untapped resource. In addition to the manpower that blacks could provide, they could also be used as a tool of psychological warfare. Dunmore’s proclamation magnified southern fears of slave insurrection. Meanwhile, a delegation of free blacks called upon Washington to protest their exclusion from the Continental army. They warned the general that they would volunteer to serve in the British army if the ban continued. Washington faced another problem: How would the commander-in-chief replenish the Continental army when large numbers of white males refused to reenlist? In light of these factors—Lord Dunmore’s proclamation, an anticipated shortfall of white soldiers, and pressure from free blacks—Washington relented, but only partially. He allowed free black veterans to reenlist. Opportunities for free blacks and slaves to enlist in the Continental army increased after Congress authorized a draft and established state quotas. Northern and mid-Atlantic states began permitting blacks to serve as substitutes for white conscripts. Wealthy whites hired free blacks as their replacements; and in the northern states and Maryland, slaves’ enlistments satisfied their masters’ military obligations.3 Inspired by the abolitionist movement and the egalitarian rhetoric of the Declaration of Independence, African Americans had hoped that the Revolutionary War era would be an engine for social change. But northern abolitionism proved essentially conservative. Some slaves obtained their freedom when they were discharged from the military, but others—whose owners reneged on the promise of manumission—remained in bondage. Only Vermont and Massachusetts liberated enslaved blacks outright during the Revolutionary era. The other northern states opted for gradual

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emancipation.4 In the South, the slave system remained deeply entrenched. The dream of universal emancipation would have to wait for another day. To ensure that the Civil War would become a war of liberation, the black leaders agitated for black enlistment in the Union army. Speaking to African Americans, Frederick Douglass articulated the connection between manhood, military service, and citizenship: “The opportunity is given us to be men. With one courageous resolution we may blot out the handwriting of ages against us. Once let the black man get upon his person the brass letters U.S.; let him get an eagle on his button, and a musket on his shoulder, and there is no power on earth or under the earth which can deny that he had earned the right of citizenship in the United States.”5 Most northern whites did not share Douglass’s enthusiasm for black enlistment because they believed blacks were cowards. Or, as President Lincoln asserted: “If we were to arm them, I fear that in a few weeks the arms would be in the hands of the Rebels.”6 Taking the polar opposite view, other white northerners argued that blacks would fight like savages and massacre white slaveholding families as slave rebels had during Nat Turner’s insurrection. And one congressman did not want to concede that a Union victory required the participation of black men. He insisted that “to confess our inability to put down this rebellion without calling to our aid these semi-barbaric hordes” would be “derogatory to the manhood of 20 millions of freemen.”7 As military and political events evolved from 1862 to 1863, so too did Lincoln’s thinking on African American men and the Union army. Two battlefield experiments carried out by Union generals proved the mettle of black soldiers under fire. Acting without the blessing of the commanderin-chief, General David Hunter organized a regiment of slaves in South Carolina to perform labor duty, and General James H. Lane recruited a regiment of free blacks in Kansas to hunt down rebel guerrillas in Missouri.8 In July 1862, President Lincoln issued a call for 300,000 troops, but because the response of white men was lukewarm, Congress amended the militia law to empower the president to use blacks as soldiers.9 Though Lincoln approved of the use blacks as laborers, he was not yet ready to see them serve as combat soldiers because he feared that that move would unsettle the border states. The refusal of the border states to accept compensated emancipation in 1862 and a military stalemate in early 1863 led Lincoln to use his Emancipation Proclamation to prepare the nation for the advent of black combat troops. Although Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation called only for the intermediate step of using blacks as noncombatants in the army, the president became a champion for the enlist-

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ment of African American men as combat soldiers after Congress passed the Conscription Act of 1863, which established a national draft, because he believed that black participation would bring about a speedy end to the war.10 Serving in the Union army, however, did not mean equality. Black soldiers received more menial work, poor medical care, and defective weapons.11 Even though blacks served in segregated units, most of their officers were white. But the indignity that most irritated black soldiers was the disparity in pay. White soldiers received thirteen dollars a month plus clothing, whereas blacks received ten dollars, out of which the government deducted three dollars to buy their clothing. The pay inequity violated black soldiers’ sense of manhood. So outraged were men of the Fifty-fifth Massachusetts Regiment that they almost mutinied; the Massachusetts Fifty-fourth refused to accept Jim Crow wages. “When the 54th left Boston for the South,” a trooper explained, “they left many white men at home. Therefore, if we are good enough to fill up the men’s places and fight, we should be treated then, in all respects, the same as the white man.”12 Massachusetts offered to make up the shortfall, but the men declined. They insisted that the federal government recognize them as the equals of white soldiers, and their protests paid off. In 1864 and 1865, Congress passed legislation that retroactively equalized their pay.13 Indeed, the contributions of black soldiers to the Union victory paid dividends for the entire black community. The Reconstruction amendments ratified the end of slavery, established the principle of equality before the law, and made men of African American males by empowering them with the right to vote. Unfortunately, these gains were short-lived. African American political participation in the South began to unravel after federal troops were removed as part of the deal that was struck between Republicans and Democrats to settle the disputed presidential election of 1876. The compromise allowed Rutherford B. Hayes to become president, and it removed the last obstacle to southern Democrats reestablishing “home rule.” In the absence of federal troops, southern conservatives orchestrated the disfranchisement of black men through the use of poll taxes, literacy tests, and Klan violence. It was during this period of extreme race subordination—which historian Rayford Logan described as the “nadir in race relations”—that the USS Maine exploded in Cuba’s Havana Harbor in 1898, triggering the Spanish-American War. The arguments articulated by imperialists and anti-imperialists in the debate over black participation foreshadowed

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those formulated by prowar and peace activists during the Vietnam War. The imperialists argued that the war was a prodemocracy crusade that would free the Cuban people from the domination of the Spanish crown; that black men, as citizens, were obligated to serve; and that their loyal service would lead to their better treatment.14 Although the Spanish had employed harsh measures in their war against the Cuban insurgents— including the herding of civilians into concentration camps in order to deprive guerrillas of safe havens—the anti-imperialists did not believe that an American presence in Cuba would differ significantly from Spanish rule, since the U.S. government had failed to demonstrate a strong commitment to human rights at home. Americans still tolerated lynchings and other crimes against southern blacks. Outspoken black nationalist leader Henry McNeal Turner—champion of the early Back-to-Africa Movement—decried the notion that white Americans would grant greater rights to black men in return for fighting against Spain. He argued that it was foolhardy for black men to go “rushing into a death struggle for a country that cares nothing for their rights and manhood.” Using provocative language to emphasize his point, the militant Turner asserted that “Negroes who are not disloyal to the United States deserve to be lynched.”15 The Spanish-American War ended in August 1898, just four months after Congress had declared war. As part of the peace settlement, Spain ceded the Philippines to the United States. After President McKinley decided to annex the Philippines, the U.S. Army became enmeshed in a protracted war against Emilio Aguinaldo and his guerrilla forces. Leading black newspapers were outraged by the notion of disfranchised black men aiding in the subjugation of another people of color.16 White officials consequently feared that African American men would not take up arms against Filipino rebels. Black leaders, fearful that militancy during wartime would spell trouble, reassured skeptics that African American men would in fact fight for their nation. Once the employment of black troops was imminent, the dissenting newspapers set aside their opposition.17 Service in the Philippines did not spare African American men from racial indignities. White servicemen insisted on having segregated public accommodations, refused to show proper respect to black officers, told Filipinos that African American men were sexual predators, and derided both black soldiers and Asians as “niggers.”18 Aware of the racial division in American society, rebel leader Emilio Aguinaldo and the Philippine resistance made racial appeals to black soldiers.19 Using rhetoric that would later be echoed in North Vietnamese propaganda, a Philippine boy

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asked: “Why does the American Negro come from America to fight us when we are much a friend to him and have not done anything to him [?] He is all the same as me and me all the same as you. Why don’t you fight those people in America who burn Negroes, that make a beast of you?”20 Except for the infamous David Fagen—who became an officer in the Philippine rebel army—and four other men, black soldiers remained loyal.21 What did black veterans receive in return for their loyal service to the nation? Initially, they were universally praised for their meritorious service, even by white southerners. Singled out for special recognition was the all-black Tenth Cavalry, the unit that came to the aid of Theodore Roosevelt’s Rough Riders at San Juan Hill. The future president lauded these men as “an excellent breed of Yankee.”22 Roosevelt later changed his mind. In an article in Scribner’s, Roosevelt accused black soldiers of cowardice, a charge vigorously denounced by black veterans. Even before the praise died down, many black Americans realized that a peace dividend was unlikely to materialize. In the aftermath of the Cuban campaign, the War Department still excluded African Americans from appointment as commissioned officers in the regular army, and African American servicemen became targets of white violence in military towns. Race riots erupted in Wilmington, North Carolina; Phoenix, South Carolina; and Pana, Illinois; and the frequency of lynchings increased.23 “[T]he Negro’s valor has intensified the prejudice against him,” a black Georgian observed.24 Repression in the South was so severe around the turn of the century that many African Americans quit the South for better wages and the chance to exercise political rights in the North. Since European immigration was substantially curtailed after the outbreak of World War I, cutting the steady supply of white immigrant workers to northern industries, black migration increased dramatically as African Americans moved to take advantage of the new employment opportunities.25 Yet mob violence against African Americans continued during the prewar mobilization and afterward. The number of lynchings increased from fifty-four in 1916 to seventy in 1917.26 In light of the pervasive racial violence and the anti-immigrant hysteria that emerged as America prepared to enter the First World War, African American leaders were troubled by rumors suggesting that German agents were trying to sabotage America’s agricultural output by persuading oppressed southern blacks to migrate to Mexico. Even though most southern leaders did not believe that there was any merit to these rumors, mainstream black leaders understood that they had to reassure the government that African Americans were loyal to the nation lest black people become

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targets of government repression as had socialists and other unpopular dissidents.27 Most black people probably agreed with the position taken by the NAACP at its national conference in 1917. The premier civil rights organization encouraged African Americans to assist the war effort in any way that they could—whether serving as a soldier in the army or as a worker in the war industries—but the NAACP reserved the right to continue its mission as an advocate for social justice: “Absolute loyalty in arms and in civil duties need not for a moment lead us to abate our just complaints and just demands.”28 Politically ahead of the times, A. Philip Randolph and Chandler Owen—the socialist editors of the Messenger—took a more militant stance. The young editors exposed the hypocrisy of President Wilson’s idealistic war aims in light of the subjugation of black Americans: “Lynching, Jim Crow, segregation, discrimination in the armed forces and out, disfranchisement of millions of black souls in the South—all these things make your cry of making the world safe for democracy a sham, a mockery, a rape on decency and a travesty on common justice.” Advocating draft resistance, Randolph and Owen asserted that a new day had arrived in which the “gospel of obey and trust has been replaced by one of rebel and demand.”29 W.E.B. Du Bois, the nation’s most distinguished race man, took a more moderate position. Concerned that racial militancy would exacerbate the troubles of black people, Du Bois encouraged African Americans to set aside their “special grievances” and “close our ranks soldier to solider with our white fellow citizens and the allied nations that are fighting for democracy.”30 Although conservative southerners feared that allowing black men to wear the uniform would upset the racial hierarchy, the 1917 draft law did not establish a color bar.31 The Selective Service, however, discriminated against black men. Since local draft boards often assumed that the medical problems of black registrants were racial deficiencies shared by all black men, they classified a larger percentage of African Americans than whites as fit for military service. The power to draft was also used to accommodate the interests of whites and to hinder black advancement. Black fathers with large families were drafted when single white men were available, and land-owning black farmers were drafted ahead of black agricultural operatives employed by whites. Perhaps the most egregious abuse of the draft occurred in Fulton County, Georgia. That county’s draft board exempted 526 of 815 white draft registrants from military service, but it excused only 6 of 202 African American registrants. These inequities in the administration of the draft resulted in a disproportionately high per-

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centage of black men serving. While blacks represented 9 percent of registrants, they composed 13 percent of World War I–era military troops.32 The military experience of African American men was largely confined to the army. Safeguarding their elite status, the navy limited black men to service in the mess stewards’ branch, and the marines excluded them altogether. The civil rights community debated how to ensure that black men would have adequate opportunities to serve as officers. Since General Leonard Wood excluded African Americans from the prewar training camp at Plattsburg, New York, W.E.B. Du Bois reasoned that the only way for black men to become commissioned officers would be to fight for the establishment of a separate training facility for African Americans. William Monroe Trotter, the militant editor of the Boston Guardian, believed that this concession to the Jim Crow system would undermine the longterm goal of the integration of the military.33 Military leaders still resisted the creation of a separate training facility for black officers because they firmly believed that “our colored citizens make better soldiers if commanded by white officers.” Despite the opposition of the military brass, Secretary of War Newton D. Baker established an officer training camp for black men in Fort Des Moines. The 639 men who graduated from the program in October 1917 were assigned to all black units; they comprised less than 1 percent of all officers who served during World War I.34 African American men were largely confined to low-status jobs that were similar to those they performed in civilian society; they served as quartermasters, stevedores, grave diggers, and cooks.35 Only 20 percent of black soldiers served in combat units; these men served in the Ninetysecond and Ninety-third Divisions. Seeing black combat troops as something of an anomaly in a white man’s army, General John J. Pershing— commander of the American Expeditionary Force (AEF)—happily transferred the Ninety-third to the French, who needed to replenish their depleted ranks.36 Fearing that if they were treated fairly by the French, black soldiers would become unruly when they returned home, an AEF officer sent a paper entitled “Secret Information Concerning Black American Troops” to French military and civilian leaders. The paper advised the French to limit interactions with black troops to only what was absolutely necessary for military efficiency; to keep praise of black troops to a minimum; and to realize that familiar relations between black men and white French women would upset the social order. Despite the American primer on race relations, the men of the Ninety-third, fighting under French command, received humane treatment from their European ally. “I have never before experienced what it meant to be really free,” a black officer said of

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his experience in France, “to taste real liberty—in a phrase, ‘to be a man.’”37 The Ninety-third Division performed so valiantly on the battlefield that the French awarded unit citations to three of its four regiments. The men of the Ninety-second, in contrast, could not overcome the handicaps of racist American officers and inadequate training, and their battlefield performance suffered.38 The resentments of black soldiers over racial discrimination occasionally erupted into open protest, as in the Houston riot. Not long after the riot in East St. Louis, the Third Battalion of the Twenty-fourth Infantry Division was transferred to Houston, a city with elaborate segregation statutes. Professional soldiers of the regular army, many of these men were northerners who expected to enjoy all of the rights that their uniform conferred. As a War Department investigator reported in the aftermath of the riot: “Certain men of the 24th Infantry apparently resolved to assert what they believed to be their rights as American citizens and United States soldiers. They failed, and in some cases refused to obey laws and regulations affecting their race, they resented the use of the word ‘nigger.’ . . . On the other hand, the Police Department and many citizens of Houston resented the presence of colored soldiers and resented on the negro [sic] the badge of authority of the United States uniform.”39 The initial event that triggered the riot was a confrontation between a soldier and a police officer. A member of the Twenty-fourth had happened upon a white police officer who was beating a black woman; he intervened and was arrested. A corporal who came to the police station to check on the soldier was also beaten. Though the corporal was allowed to return to the base, rumors spread among the black soldiers that he had been killed while in police custody. A confrontation ensued that left seven white men and two black soldiers dead. Thirteen of the black men were summarily courtmartialed and executed, and another six were executed later. Most of the other accused men received life sentences.40 Those African Americans who had hoped that the war would become an engine for social change were sorely disappointed. While the federal government exercised expanded wartime powers to raise a modern army, manage the economy, and stifle dissent, President Wilson refused to use his war powers to promote racial justice.41 Since the beginning of the Wilson administration, the pleas of African American leaders for the president to take a stand against lynching had been largely ignored. Fearing that his continued silence would make African Americans receptive to German propaganda, Wilson eventually condemned the practice of lynch-

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ing on July 26, 1918, calling it an atrocity inconsistent with a democratic society. In the absence of federal legislation, however, Wilson’s belated condemnation was little more than symbolic.42 Once again, violence against African Americans increased after the end of a war. In 1918, the last year of World War I, fifty-seven African Americans were lynched. In 1919, the number of victims increased to seventy-seven, and race riots erupted in twenty-six cities. White vigilantes often targeted black veterans because they refused to observe customs of racial deference. The government’s indifference toward black aspirations during the World War I era engendered a new spirit of militancy that made African Americans unwilling to subordinate their civil rights to the war effort during the Second World War.43 Several high-profile draft refusal cases demonstrated the dissatisfaction of African Americans with service in a segregated military. Ernest Calloway and Lewis Jones served jail sentences rather than serve in a segregated military, and Winfred W. Lynn tried unsuccessfully to argue in federal court that separate draft calls for blacks and whites and racial quotas violated the Selective Service Act of 1940.44 In light of the pervasive racial injustice in America, members of black nationalist groups such as the Black Muslims, the Ethiopian Pacific Movement, and the African Nationalist Pioneering Movement probably would have refused to serve even in an integrated military. They believed that the world war was a white man’s war in whose outcome black Americans had no stake. Identifying with the Japanese as another people of color, some hoped to see the Asian nation prevail. Elijah Muhammad—a leader of the Nation of Islam and future mentor to heavyweight boxing champion Muhammad Ali—became the target of government harassment due to his racial militancy. Arrested in May 1942 for failing to register for the draft, Muhammad later spent three years in prison rather than serve in the white man’s army.45 Sensing the militant mood of its readers, the black press devised the “Double V” campaign—victory against racism at home and against fascism abroad—to articulate war aims in language that was meaningful to African Americans. After Congress passed the Selective Service Act of 1940, a delegation of black leaders—A. Philip Randolph, then the president of the Brotherhood of Sleeping Cars; Walter White of the NAACP; and T. Arnold Hill, interim secretary of the Urban League and an advisor to the National Youth Administration—met with Franklin Roosevelt to lobby the president for desegregation of the armed forces and for an end to employment discrimination in the defense industries. The black leaders outlined a seven-point

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program that called for the assignment of African American enlisted men and officers to military specialties based upon qualifications rather than race and for the participation of African Americans in the Selective Service. Nothing substantive came out of the meeting, but presidential press secretary Stephen Early provoked a political maelstrom when he issued a press release that implied that Randolph, White, and Hill had consented to a policy that expanded segregation in the military services. With the presidential election inching closer and Republicans eager to exploit the administration’s missteps, Roosevelt tried to make amends by promoting Benjamin O. Davis to become the first black general in the U.S. military; announcing the creation of a black aviator group that later became the Tuskegee airmen; and appointing William H. Hastie of Howard Law School as the civilian advisor to the secretary of war.46 Randolph was not satisfied. Segregation continued in the armed forces, and the war industries still excluded African Americans from nontraditional jobs even though they desperately needed workers. So Randolph organized the all-black March on Washington Movement (MOWM) and issued a call for participants to congregate at the nation’s capital on July 1, 1941. Fearing that the march would turn violent and undermine national unity when America’s entry into the war appeared imminent, Roosevelt agreed to issue an executive order in return for the cancellation of the march. Issued just days before the scheduled beginning of the mass march, Executive Order 8802 mandated the desegregation of federal agencies and the defense industries; it also established a Fair Employment Practices Committee (FEPC) to ensure compliance. Some MOWM activists were disappointed with the outcome; the executive order did not address the segregation in the military, and FEPC lacked adequate enforcement powers. Nevertheless, the executive order marked an important development in the struggle for political and economic empowerment.47 Continuing to pursue the goal of integration after the war, A. Philip Randolph established the Committee against Jim Crow in 1947 to lobby Congress to make integration a requirement of any new draft law to replace the recently expired Selective Service Act. Randolph announced that if the government failed to make a commitment to desegregate the military prior to the resumption of the draft, he would encourage young men to boycott the draft. Dissatisfied with the tenor of meetings with Defense Department officials and President Truman, Randolph formed a new organization called the League for Nonviolent Civil Disobedience against Military Segregation to prepare for the draft resistance campaign. A poll

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by the NAACP of black college students revealed that there was considerable dissatisfaction with segregation in the military, with 71 percent expressing support for Randolph’s campaign.48 President Truman’s desire to keep the black vote in the Democratic fold in the upcoming 1948 presidential election strengthened Randolph’s position. Henry Wallace, who had exemplary civil rights credentials, was the candidate of the Progressive Party, and Thomas E. Dewey, the Republican candidate, had established a good record on civil rights as governor of New York. So for political reasons—and perhaps out of personal conviction as well—Truman issued Executive Order 9981, which called for equal opportunity in the military.49 Integration proceeded most swiftly in the air force, followed by the navy. The army and marines resisted desegregation until the exigencies of waging war in Korea forced them to integrate.50 During the Korean War, the performance of the Twenty-fourth Infantry Regiment figured prominently in the debate over integration. The men of the Twenty-fourth achieved the first victory for the United Nations forces by recapturing the crucial city of Yechon, but over the next two months their performance deteriorated. White officers accused these black soldiers of “bugging out” and running “like rabbits” when confronted with enemy fire power. In light of the poor performance of the Twenty-fourth, Major General W. B. Kean recommended that the regiment be disbanded, stating that he believed that its continued existence threatened the entire war effort of U.N. forces in Korea. Although Kean was careful to emphasize that his criticism applied to the Twenty-fourth Regiment as a Jim Crow unit and not to the competence of individual black warriors, others did not make such distinctions. These military officials used the performance of one regiment in a particular phase of the Korean War to draw conclusions about the martial aptitude of all African American men for all time. They tried to use the performance of the Twenty-fourth as the basis for an argument for maintaining segregation, insisting that integration of black GIs into predominantly white units would undermine the military fitness of white soldiers.51 Individual men of the Twenty-fourth also had to grapple with the charge of cowardice. Thurgood Marshall—then special counsel for the NAACP—traveled to the Far East at the behest of desperate GIs and their worried relatives, who believed that black men accused of crimes had been treated unfairly. Marshall’s investigation centered on the Twenty-fifth Division—the parent organization of the Twenty-fourth Infantry Regiment—and two white regiments. His findings revealed troubling dispari-

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ties in the administration of justice. Even though about a fifth of the men serving in the Twenty-fifth Division were African American, black soldiers constituted nearly two-thirds of the men who were brought before courtsmartial.52 These men were typically charged with violating the Seventyfifth Article of War—“misbehavior in the presence of the enemy,” or cowardice. Courts-martial accepted cases that consisted of trumped-up charges, refused to consider exculpatory evidence, and hastily decided the fate of African American defendants. Thirty-two blacks and only two whites were convicted under the Seventy-fifth Article of War. The most lenient sentence given to a black defendant was longer than the most severe punishment given to a white. To put it differently, fifteen black defendants—almost half of the convicted men of color—received life sentences, whereas the two white defendants received sentences of a year and three years.53 “The unanswered question is why so many Negroes are charged with cowardice and so few white soldiers,” Marshall opined. “No one has given me any answer on this yet. I have maintained that Negroes are no more or less cowards than anyone else.”54 If military officials were unwilling to provide satisfactory answers to Marshall’s query, the NAACP lawyer had some explanations of his own. Marshall asserted that allegations of cowardice reflected the prejudices of some whites who resented the Twenty-fourth for winning the initial U.N. victory at a time when white units were faltering. More important, Marshall argued that white officers prosecuted black soldiers for cowardice as a way of shifting blame for their own leadership failures. There were serious tensions between officers and enlisted men, and the regiment suffered disproportionately high death rates for both officers and enlisted men, so scapegoating black GIs enabled white officers to conceal their own shortcomings. Indeed, both black officers who served with the Twenty-fourth and revisionist historians have identified poor leadership as a major cause of the failures of the Twenty-fourth in the early part of the war. But there were other organizational problems. As had the white regiments of the Twenty-fifth Division, men of Twenty-fourth had been trained for occupation duty in Japan rather than for combat duty in Korea. When the initial American forces landed in Korea, they were outgunned and outnumbered by the North Koreans. In addition to these handicaps shared with their brother regiments, segregation created other hardships for the men of the Twenty-fourth. Having attended segregated schools with limited resources, a majority of black men scored poorly on the military aptitude exam; the army then channeled these men into Jim

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Crow regiments. Black units, therefore, had a disproportionate number of educationally deprived soldiers, whereas white GIs with low test scores were distributed across a larger number of units. Moreover, the overall performance of the Twenty-fourth did not differ dramatically from comparable white regiments, but white officers never attributed the failures of white units to race.55 Limited integration began in August 1950. Battlefield casualties had depleted many white units that were fighting in Korea, while African American GIs remained stationed in Japan because there were no spots for them in black combat units. Without official sanction from Washington, field commanders began using black soldiers as replacements in white units. These early Korean War experiments in racial integration went smoothly. Official sanction for integration in the Far East came after Matthew B. Ridgway replaced Douglas MacArthur as supreme commander of American forces. Ridgway opposed segregation because he believed it was “both un-American and un-Christian for free citizens to be taught to downgrade themselves in this way as if they were unfit to associate with their fellows or accept leadership themselves.”56 The general understood that integration would boost the morale of black troops and solve his manpower shortage problems, so he asked the Pentagon for permission to integrate American forces in Asia. The case for integration was buttressed by the initial positive results of Project Clear, a comprehensive study of integrated units in Korea, commissioned by the army. After the Department of the Army approved Rigdway’s initiative in July 1951, the general dissolved the Twenty-fourth and transferred the men to white units; Ridgway also made use of transfers to integrate African American men from other historically black units into white ones. In May 1952, desegregation of the army was achieved in the Far East, and all services at home and overseas were integrated by 1954.57 While African American warriors of the Vietnam era were the beneficiaries of the sacrifices of their forefathers and the lobbying of the civil rights community, many of the problems that had confounded previous generations of black military men—inequities in the draft and military justice, assignment to unpleasant occupations, and difficulties advancing in the ranks—burdened the Vietnam generation as well. These GIs, however, had greater resources at their disposal. Within the military institution, their numbers and their collective identity—shaped by the civil rights and Black Power movements—gave them a sense of power. In addition, the civil rights lobby, stronger in the 1960s than ever before, enjoyed greater success in pressuring the government to ameliorate inequities in military life.

The Fight of Their Fathers | 15

2 The Draft and the Allure of Military Service In the U.S. Army you get to know what it means to feel like a man. —U.S. Army advertisement, quoted in Rainwater and Yancey, The Moynihan Report

Carrying a rifle in the infantry is just like pushing a broom in civilian life. You don’t escape it in the infantry for the same reason you don’t escape it on the outside . . . inferior education and no alternatives, the whole bit. —A black artillery officer, quoted in The Philadelphia Inquirer

The U.S. military was selling manhood during the Vietnam War, and African American men were eager to buy. Recruiters enticed them into the military with the “manhood hustle.”1 They promised young blacks generous benefits, marketable skills, and the opportunity for personal growth in a homosocial world.2 With higher incomes and greater prestige in the military, many African American GIs certainly felt like real men. But, as the artillery officer noted in the quotation above, African American servicemen were frequently assigned to low-status jobs in the armed forces that corresponded to those they had held in the civilian world. In short, racial inequality remained largely unchanged. Because draft laws favored middle-class white males, black men were drafted at disproportionately high rates. Overrepresented in the infantry, black men also suffered high casualty rates. Despite the risks of war, many black men enjoyed military service. With high unemployment and racial discrimination in the civilian society, soldiering gave them a chance to express themselves through a familiar masculine occupation. When the black community became disturbed by the disproportionate burden that the war placed on African American men, radical activists devised counterhegemonic notions of masculinity through antiwar rhetoric.3 As black enlisted men developed a heightened racial consciousness, they defined their gender identities largely based upon these alternative notions of manhood.

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The Draft Through its draft classification system, the Selective Service “channeled” the labor of young men to support the interests of older government officials and corporate managers. While obtaining access to youthful labor, these elite men designed the system to favor young men who shared their social background. Rather than fight in an unpopular war, many white, middle-class men of draft age chose college, designated professions, and the reserves as acceptable alternatives to regular military service. The reliance on the draft by the Johnson and Nixon administrations during the Vietnam War to supply the military shows the power that elite older men held over young men in general and over poor and African American men in particular. The government could have mobilized the reserves for service in Vietnam, but this alternative carried greater political risks. Middleclass reservists would have undoubtedly resented the war if they had had to interrupt their careers and leave their families to fight in Vietnam. Moreover, the government avoided using the reserves under pressure from business. The Selective Service exempted certain classes of men so as not to deprive industrial managers of employees whom they deemed important to their operations. As marginal men in American society—men who often lacked marketable skills—African American males were left extremely vulnerable to the draft. The shifting of the financial burden of the war to the poor also underscores the power that elite men exercised over marginal men. According to a study by Milton Friedman and Walter Yoi, governments acquire labor at a discount in draft armies since they do not have to compete with the private sector as they would with a volunteer force. In other words, working-class and poor draftees not only were forced to risk their lives fighting the Vietnam War, but they were compelled to subsidize the cost as well. Although class status substantially affected draft classification, a thorough understanding of the position of African American men in the social order requires an examination of draft vulnerability that considers race and class together.4 Because of general economic inequality between blacks and whites and discriminatory implementation of draft laws, the class bias of the draft imposed a special burden on black men. Approximately 12 percent of draft-age men were African American, yet black men were drafted at rates that exceeded that number for much of the war. In 1963, the percentage of black men who were drafted reached a high of 18.5 percent. In 1967, the 37,000 black draftees comprised 16.3 percent of the total. These numbers, however, do not adequately convey the bur-

The Draft and the Allure of Military Service | 17

den that the draft placed on qualified black men. As a result of growing up in impoverished settings, many African Americans lacked the academic skills and health requirements to qualify for military service. These social disadvantages meant that in 1967, only 29 percent of black men were eligible for the draft compared with 63 percent of whites.5 Despite the smaller pool of qualified men, 64 percent of eligible black men were conscripted, while only 31 percent of eligible whites were drafted. Stated differently, eligible black men were drafted at twice the rate of qualified white men. While the imbalance of draft rates was startling on the national level, it was horrifying in particular black communities. In New Haven, Connecticut, African Americans comprised 4.2 percent of the general population, but they constituted 9.2 percent of the draftees. In Shreveport, Louisiana, blacks made up 32.7 percent of the city’s residents, but they comprised 41.3 percent of the draftees.6 A white priest who ministered to a black neighborhood in Chicago assessed the disparate impact of the draft: “Knock on any door and you will probably find a family that has a son, nephew or cousin in Vietnam,” he observed. “Add them all up and you have a community that is fighting more than its share of the war in Vietnam. It’s a brutal fact.”7 This burden that the draft placed on able black men troubled the black community and prompted outspoken activists to charge that the government was conspiring to exterminate black men. Several factors contributed to the overrepresentation of blacks among draftees. Most of the numerous ways that middle-class white Americans could legally evade the draft were not realistically accessible to African American men. Since African Americans were systematically excluded from local draft boards, it was difficult for blacks to receive a fair hearing when seeking exemptions. Primarily white, middle-aged veterans, draft board members were generally unsympathetic to young blacks who asked to be excused from the war, and they occasionally abused the draft laws in order to harass black activists.8 The National Guard and the reserves similarly discriminated against black applicants.9 The popular college deferment would not likely provide draft relief either, since only about 5 percent of African American men were enrolled in college at the time. Sepia, a mainstream black magazine, noted that resentment over this class privilege could cause “a draft crisis at home with the same explosive potentiality as the war in Vietnam.”10 Since the Selective Service granted academic deferments only to fulltime students at four-year colleges,11 lower-income students frequently paid a high price for their low economic status. A southern black from

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Louisiana, Lee Ward Jackson quit high school to support his ailing mother but continued his studies at night school. When Jackson received a draft notice, he asked to delay his induction. Rejecting his request, his draft board explained that “night school wasn’t good enough for a student deferment.”12 Another working-class African American who enrolled at a community college, Morris Lewis complained about the class bias of the student deferment: “I don’t think it is fair that I should be drafted because I had to work to pay my tuition and couldn’t go to school full time.”13 To ease the draft inequities, the president of the NAACP in Michigan proposed that the Selective Service allow poor men to defer military duty while working or attending school.14 Two Howard University students reached similar conclusions. Testifying at draft hearings held by Senator Edward Kennedy, they argued for a category of deferments specifically for African Americans.15 Even Whitney Young, the Urban League’s moderate executive director, denounced the inequities of the draft. Young deftly evaded the moral and political issues of the American involvement in the war until 1969.16 Prior to that year, Young had espoused the view—shared by many African Americans—that black soldiers could create opportunities for themselves and blacks in general through military service. In light of this perspective, Young devoted his energies to monitoring the military’s commitment to racial equality.17 In “The Negro Draftee,” he acknowledged the responsibility of male citizens to serve in their nation’s military, but he insisted that the student deferment contradicted the idea of a universal burden. Young questioned the need for student deferments in an age of “mass education.” It was contrary to the idea of a universal obligation, Young wrote, that the black male “is more liable to be drafted—not because everyone else is being drafted, but because he is poor and because he is a Negro.” These deferments meant that privileged whites could evade military service while poor African Americans were drafted in large numbers. Already confronting a significant draft risk, the poor became more vulnerable when the Department of Defense launched Project 100,000. In August 1966, Robert McNamara first presented the program as an opportunity for the military to “salvage” previously rejected young men from the miseries of poverty. These men would be given the opportunity to attain marketable skills that they could take with them to the private sector after their military duty.18 McNamara further elaborated on the goals of Project 100,000 in “Social Inequalities: Urban Racial Ills,” a speech that he delivered to a group of Colorado broadcasters in 1967: “[Disadvantaged young men] can be rehabilitated, both inwardly and out. They

The Draft and the Allure of Military Service | 19

are men, we concluded, who given the benefits of the Defense Department’s experience in educational innovation and on-the-job training, and placed in an atmosphere of high motivation and morale, could be transformed into competent military personnel. Beyond that, after their tour of duty, they could return to civilian life—equipped with new skills and attitudes—and thus break out of the self-perpetuating poverty cycle.”19 According to the defense secretary, the military would transform troubled youths into productive men. Daniel Patrick Moynihan, the policy expert and future senator, enthusiastically endorsed McNamara’s plan.20 Moynihan argued that the government should make the military more accessible to underprivileged groups such as African Americans so that they could acquire skills and earn healthy incomes to improve their social status. The military also could be used to inculcate men with the social values of Middle America and to improve racial harmony. “History may record that the single most important psychological event in race relations in the 1960’s,” Moynihan opined, “was the appearance of Negro fighting men on the TV screens of the nation.”21 Citing the examples of the Irish and Japanese Americans in previous wars, Moynihan further noted that “[a]cquiring a reputation for military valor is one of the oldest known routes to social equality.”22 Pessimistic about the prospects for greater social progress, Moynihan explained that the current political climate further justified the use of the military for social advancement of marginal groups. Since the civil rights movement had peaked and Congress no longer considered antipoverty legislation a major priority, the military became an indispensable employer of jobless men. Moynihan’s view of the benefits of military service for black men seemed to overlook the “military valor” that they had demonstrated in prior wars. While soldiering often resulted in greater rights for black Americans, military service certainly was not the panacea for economic inequality. The male roles that the public admires are typically associated with the middle class, and middle-class men of draft age were trying to stay in college. In an age of increasing automation, moreover, average combat soldiers were not likely to acquire skills that would lead to attractive job opportunities. A contemporary critic of Project 100,000, Marc Pilisuk identified the shortcomings of using the military for remedial training.23 Pilisuk questioned whether the values that the military instilled in its enlisted men were the kind that would make them the model citizens that McNamara expected. More important, Pilisuk exposed the stark realities that were glossed over by the Defense Department’s clever sales pitch: The govern-

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ment could hardly be committed to educational opportunity if it relied on the military to teach basic skills to the poor, since remedial education was not central to the military’s mission. Other critics concentrated on the disparate racial impact of the military program. The Selective Service had already tapped the black community’s most promising men. Now the agency was about to draft its most disfranchised men. If the Johnson administration had been genuinely interested in the welfare of poor blacks, Congressman Augustus Hawkins pointed out, it would have required that educationally disadvantaged black men be given remedial training before they were drafted.24 Wisconsin’s Congressman Robert Kastenmeier was concerned about how the manpower project would affect the already heavy representation of blacks among combat troops.25 With so many blacks vulnerable to the draft and dying in Vietnam, it appeared to some that the Johnson administration had devised a solution to the nation’s racial problems. Musing aloud about Project 100,000, Stokely Carmichael alleged “that the [white] man is moving to get rid of black people in the ghettoes.”26 In spite of the lofty rhetoric about social uplift through military service, the Johnson administration wanted to mobilize enough men to meet its troop needs without drawing widespread attention to its escalation of the war. Project 100,000 permitted the administration to meet its manpower needs without unduly irritating politically powerful constituencies.27 As a result of this program, the Selective Service eliminated the national test that it gave to determine eligibility for college deferments, which further insulated middle-class men from the draft. While the Selective Service liberalized student deferments, it increased the vulnerability of poor and working-class men—particularly African Americans and southerners—by lowering the minimum test scores.28 Moreover, Congress never appropriated additional funds to deal with the special needs of the so-called “New Standards Men.”29 Because of their limited education, about 40 percent of the blacks admitted under the lower standards received combat specialties in the army and marines where there was little likelihood that they would acquire transferable skills.30 With only meager resources devoted to remedial education, large numbers of the New Standards Men caused disciplinary problems, received less-than-honorable discharges, and met death on the front lines.31 While these men were treated unfairly by their government, it would be a mistake to view them solely as exploited victims. Some managed to avoid becoming victims of their social condition by devising both individual and collective strategies to resist their subordination. Through their

The Draft and the Allure of Military Service | 21

own steadfast determination, some individuals exploited their hegemonic role in order to learn useful skills, attain promotions, and provide for their families. Along with individual solutions, other New Standards Men gained a sense of validation from affirming friendships with other black servicemen.

Casualty Rates In early 1966, the Department of Defense released casualty figures that stunned the black community.32 These statistics revealed that African American GIs were dying out of proportion to the approximately 12 percent of black men who were of eligible age for military service. In 1965 and 1966, the black army death rate approached 21 percent.33 Responding to complaints from civil rights leaders, the Department of Defense began to reduce the number of black troops on the front lines, resulting in a fatality rate for African Americans in the army for the entire war, from 1961 to 1972, of 13.1 percent.34 With heavy concentrations of African Americans in elite combat units, black men died at rates of around 25 percent in the paratroopers and other front-line units in 1968.35 In fact, the African American presence was so noticeable on the battlefront that it became known as “Soulsville.” To black men who were constantly fighting and seeing their friends wounded and killed, precise numerical statistics belied the psychological impact of these casualties. An African American marine serving in Dong Ha estimated that black fatalities comprised 60 percent of the total. “I think we’re being killed off,” he explained. “I think we’re being used.”36 The distribution of black death rates across the armed services highlights the dilemmas that young blacks faced as marginal men. African American men were most likely to serve in the army or marines—the services that endured the heaviest casualties—either because of their draftee status or their lack of technical training. In general, both black and white soldiers in these services faced greater risks of dying than did their counterparts in the air force and navy.37 Regardless of their branch of the armed forces, most enlisted men wanted to express their manhood through gainful employment in the military. Yet depending upon their branch of the armed forces, servicemen grappled with significantly different circumstances in their quest for manhood. While army soldiers and marines affirmed their manhood through their role as warriors, they risked their lives defining their gender identities by this occupation. On the other hand, low-ranking sailors and airmen often traded hegemonic occupa-

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tions for safety. Chris Smith, a ship-fitter on the Intrepid, realized his “chances of being a ground troop were humongous” so he enlisted in the navy when he received his draft notice. “I still went to Vietnam,” he stated, “but if I had to go, I would rather have gone the way I did, and I went by boat.”38 Many African American men in these elite services were relegated to uninspiring jobs that had historically been reserved for “the male other” or to work traditionally performed by women in the civilian world. As the disturbing fatality rates became a source of concern to the black community, Pentagon officials initially tried to deflect attention away from the troubling injustices that produced them. These spokesmen interpreted the death rates as a sign of progress and portrayed African American soldiers as manly patriots. Pointing out the obvious, Jack Moskowitz, the assistant secretary of defense for civil rights, stated that high black casualty rates “should prove that there is no [racial] bias on the front lines.” Alluding to charges of cowardice against black soldiers in previous twentieth-century wars, Moskowitz expressed his belief that the black combat deaths would “dispell [sic] the myth that the colored American is inferior in the Armed Services.”39 Another spokesman explained the statistics as “perhaps a measure of Negro valor in combat.”40 Although these attempts to obscure tragedy in the language of heroism ultimately failed, some black Americans initially believed that combat deaths and patriotic service in Vietnam would translate into an expansion of civil rights at home. In “When the Negroes in Vietnam Come Home,” Whitney Young discussed the benefits of an integrated military and downplayed the high casualty rates that so outraged other black leaders.41 “Inevitably, the Mainland myths of the God-given superiority of the white man and of the Negro’s inadequacy are beginning to crumble,” Young noted. He also suggested that white Americans would develop greater racial tolerance as result of their experiences as a racial minority in Southeast Asia. Addressing the high black death rates, Young asserted that black men volunteered for elite combat units to prove their valor to white GIs rather than for the extra pay. That black GIs would feel the need to demonstrate their courage did not seem to concern Young. Along with his conciliatory interpretation of black battlefield deaths, Young called upon white Americans to treat black servicemen fairly. He asked the Defense Department to promote African American soldiers who had been unfairly passed over. Similarly, he entreated corporations, labor unions, realtors, and educational institutions to genuinely aid black veterans in making a smooth transition back to the civilian society. Clearly, Young expected that loyal military service would make white Americans more sensitive to racial injustice.

The Draft and the Allure of Military Service | 23

The Allure of Military Service Pervasive racism in the civilian world and high unemployment led many black men to seek a better life in the armed forces.42 Promising young blacks genuine opportunities for upward mobility, military recruiters enthusiastically welcomed them. Although the military’s reputation as a model of successful integration was overstated, it nonetheless functioned as an imperfect refuge from racism that shielded African American men from many of the offensive racial indignities of black life in America. For the first time in their lives, many African American GIs experienced meaningful equality and male power. Indeed, the racial hierarchy of the military could differ dramatically from that of the civilian world. While black enlisted men interacted with white GIs as peers, many black noncommissioned officers (NCOs) commanded white men as their superiors.43 Another attraction to military service was the experience of life in a homosocial world. The young black who wanted to test himself against his peers or to enjoy their company found a home in the armed services. The services supplied plenty of gender models—from fellow enlisted men to commanding officers—to emulate. Each branch offered elaborate rites of passage, rituals, and symbols by which a young man could measure masculine achievement. Reginald Edwards was one such adolescent who looked to the military to define his gender identity. He describes how his enlistment in the Marine Corps marked his transition from a boy to a man: I knew I couldn’t go to college because my folks couldn’t afford it. I only weighed 117 pounds, and nobody’s gonna hire me to work for them. So the only thing left to do was go into the service. I didn’t want to go into the Army, ’cause everybody went into the Army. Plus the Army didn’t seem like it did anything. The Navy I did not like ’cause of the uniforms. The Air Force, too. But the Marines was bad. The Marine Corps built men. Plus just before I went in, they had all these John Wayne movies on every night. Plus the Marines went to the Orient. Everybody laughed at me. Little skinny boy can’t work in the field going in the Marine Corps. So I passed the test. My mother, she signed for me ’cause I was seventeen.44 A young man from a family of limited means, Edwards realized that he would not be able to express his manhood as a college student. The world of work was similarly inaccessible to him since prospective employers saw

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Edwards as a “skinny boy” rather than an able man. Excluded from higher education and civilian work, Edwards consciously chose to define his gender identity through military service. The marines appealed to Edwards because of their reputation for toughness and their esprit de corps. In his eyes, the marines conferred distinction, whereas the army assured anonymity. Wearing the marine uniform enabled the diminutive Edwards to identify with John Wayne, an enduring icon of hegemonic masculinity. At the end of the passage, Edwards marks as the beginning of his manhood and his entry into the homosocial world of the Marine Corps the moment when his mother gave her permission for him to join. Edwards’s narrative illuminates the ways that the military seduced young recruits by appealing to their yearning for gender fulfillment. By the late sixties, the rising cultural consciousness that emerged from the Black Power movement led many black enlisted men to reject the hegemonic masculinity that so captivated Reginald Edwards. Radicalized by their heightened racial consciousness and their frustration with racial discrimination in the armed forces, many black GIs turned to cultural celebrations of blackness and collective demonstrations of racial solidarity to define their masculinity. But in the mid-sixties, most young blacks and their relatives held positive views of military service because it meant a steady job when few were available. In fact, a 1966 opinion poll revealed that African Americans viewed the draft more favorably than did white Americans.45 In light of the obvious inequities in the draft system, it is very likely that black American respondents interpreted the question differently than pollsters intended.46 Rather than answer the question, Do you think the draft is fair?, African Americans probably interpreted the question as, Has the military provided opportunities for black men you know? Given the dearth of jobs available, the obvious response was a resounding yes. Like their community as a whole, individual black soldiers generally felt good about their military experience in the mid-sixties. Many African American servicemen who worked in noncombat specialties believed that they could acquire valuable skills that would make them more attractive job candidates in the civil job market.47 The steady pay and opportunities for advancement enticed significant numbers of black men to reenlist at the end of their first tour of duty rather than risk the uncertainties of finding work in the private sector. For much of the war, black men reenlisted at twice the rate of white men. In 1966, two-thirds of black servicemen chose to remain in the military. While their reenlistment rate decreased to 32 percent the next year, it still significantly surpassed the white

The Draft and the Allure of Military Service | 25

rate, which declined from 20 percent to 12 percent in 1967.48 The extended terms of black servicemen resulted in their being disproportionately represented in the ranks of junior NCOs.49 Indeed, African American NCOs who acquired administrative and technical skills during their tours of duty could expect corporations to court them once they finished their responsibilities to the military.50 Unfortunately, such a bright future did not await most black enlisted men, especially combat soldiers, once they returned to civilian life. At least while in the military, black servicemen usually received a significant increase in their incomes. To enhance their incomes even beyond base pay, many black men volunteered for elite military units such as the paratroopers. In addition to the extra money, joining an elite unit conferred prestige on its members. Because of the financial and psychological rewards, African Americans manned 40 to 45 percent of some paratrooper units.51 Lawrence Harkness, a specialist with the 173rd Airborne Division in Pleiku, explained why elite units attracted African American men: “We join because of pride and the $55 extra a month. It’s a challenge. The brother likes the challenge. We’re tough and we want everybody to know it.”52 Moreover, men who endured the rigorous training required for combat units undoubtedly attained a heightened gender consciousness as their bodies became conditioned to the demands of their new jobs.53 Believing the military came closer to being a meritocracy than any other American institution, many black men expected to test their mettle against white men without worrying about racial bias. A marine staff sergeant, Leon Thomas clearly believed that the armed forces offered black men genuine opportunities for advancement. “I don’t know if I could live as a civilian,” Thomas stated. “I could work at a job for eight years and no one would give me a promotion and I’d probably have no recourse. But here in the Marines, you can see your progress and you can have responsibility.”54 Expressing a similar sentiment, another African American NCO observed: “‘The [white] man’ can’t overlook talent when he wants the job done.”55 Deprived of outlets to express their manhood in the civilian world, black soldiers gained a sense of prestige and masculine achievement in the armed forces. Rebuffed from hostile housing markets in countless American cities, a number of senior enlisted men and officers provided quality housing for their families on military bases. Through the GI bill, low-ranking servicemen could eventually realize the American Dream of home ownership. A draft-motivated volunteer, Chris Smith explained how he worked the military: “I had a plan going in: I knew that if I came out honorably that I

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could buy a home through the GI bill, which I did; I knew that I wanted to work in some capacity for the government and have a good job, because I was thinking family in there and I knew that that time [in the navy] would be tacked on to any government job and I did that.”56 Even though Smith entered the military under duress, he profited from the access the military gave him to male privileges. Conscious of his identity as a headof-household, Smith purchased his first home in his early twenties with the assistance of a low-interest loan. As a veteran, Smith applied for government jobs with seniority, a privilege of tremendous psychological and economic value to a young African American in a tight job market. Other black veterans who returned to the labor market were not as fortunate as Chris Smith. Lonnie Alexander returned to civilian life only to discover how scarce good jobs were for young black men. Even though Alexander was ambivalent about combat duty—he had exaggerated the seriousness of an injury in order to escape the front lines—he later concluded that “we [black GIs] was really fucking up our lives, you know, by coming out of the bush.”57 At least in the military, Alexander enjoyed job security and strong friendships with male peers.

Antiwar Rhetoric and Counterhegemonic Masculinity Troubled by discrimination against black men in the military, African American activists used radical antiwar rhetoric to encourage them to reconsider the warrior role and to imagine alternative masculinities. Black rhetoric about military service took on a more militant tone during the Vietnam era than it had had during other twentieth-century wars. In World War I, W.E.B. Du Bois encouraged African Americans to “close ranks” behind the war effort in spite of racial discrimination. During World War II, however, black newspapers advocated a “Double V” campaign, urging victory against racism at home and fascism abroad. In other words, they insisted that improvements in civil rights coincide with black service in the armed forces rather than being granted at the war’s end. Antiwar rhetoric was particularly militant in the Vietnam era, since black activists not only discouraged black participation but questioned the morality of the nation’s cause.58 Militant critics of the war created an awareness of black men’s oppression by castigating the war as “the white man’s war.” Speaking to anxieties in the black community about the disproportionate percentage of black war dead, they circulated rumors that the government was simultaneously waging a war of genocide against the black male. As Third World consciousness evolved alongside black na-

The Draft and the Allure of Military Service | 27

tionalism, African Americans pondered the striking similarities between the subjugation of the peoples of Asia, Africa, and Latin America and their own oppression at home. These feelings of solidarity led many African Americans to recognize the peoples of the developing world as brothers in the fight against white supremacy. Radical African Americans began to see themselves as citizens of the Third World because their rights as citizens in the United States had been continually violated. On NBC’s Meet the Press, Stokely Carmichael captured black Americans’ dissatisfaction with race relations by referring to the black GI as a “mercenary”: “A mercenary is a hired killer, and I think that when this country says to a black youth in the ghetto and to black youths in the rural South that their only chance for a decent living is to join the Army, and they throw in all sorts of rationalizations about how you can get skills, and there is a chance for them to advance, et cetera, et cetera, it is saying to that black man that his only chance for a decent life is to become a hired killer because that’s the sole function of an Army.”59 By describing African American servicemen as mercenaries, Carmichael underscored the economic factors that produced the overrepresentation of black men in the armed forces. His use of the word mercenary, rather than patriot, also suggests that black men were not first-class citizens, a view shared by many of his peers.60 It was also a very powerful critique of the military’s integrationist rhetoric. African Americans’ critique of racial inequities moved beyond calling attention to their status as second-class citizens. Black leaders equated the disparate impact of military service on black men with racial genocide. Cleveland Sellers of the Student Nonviolence Coordinating Committee (SNCC) charged that the draft fell heavily on “Negroes as part of a plan to commit calculated genocide.”61 Sellers’s comment was not merely a young radical’s rhetorical excess; his anxieties had currency in the black community. Some African Americans described black combat soldiers as “cannon fodder” because they suffered such high fatality rates. Harlem’s congressman, Adam Clayton Powell, spoke in terms of genocide when he attacked the exclusive deferments that penalized many black men for their impoverished upbringing. He compared the draft to “Hitler’s twin system of eugenics and education.” “First we provide an inferior education for black students,” Powell began. “Next we give them a series of tests which many will flunk because of an inferior education. Then, we pack these academic failures off to Vietnam to be killed.”62 This militant rhetoric very trenchantly challenged the military’s claims of genuine integration and expressed black Americans’ feelings of powerlessness in the draft process.

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A Harlem group that called itself Black Women Enraged suspected the government’s intentions as well, but they encouraged draft resistance by inventing a positive identity for black men.63 Articulating their pleas in gendered language, these women activists appealed to the manhood and cultural consciousness of the young draftees. Demonstrating outside of army and air force recruiting offices, these radical women distributed leaflets that implored black men to remain in America “to protect us, their women and children, from murder and rape of the white rapist.” Another flyer warned black men of what lay ahead if they joined the military: “Black Men! Whitey’s plan for you is death in Vietnam. Choose jail. Stay here and fight for your manhood. Black women will not allow you to stand alone in your decision.” The leaflet then advised the young men to contact SNCC and the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) for draft counseling.64 While it is difficult to determine how the antidraft campaign impacted black men, their protest nonetheless shows that African Americans challenged the notion that manliness was tied to the role of soldier. Like other draft critics in the black community, Black Women Enraged argued that military service for black men often meant exploitation rather than selfactualization. By incorporating black nationalist themes into conservative gender rhetoric, the activists of Black Women Enraged sought to persuade African American men to forgo the warrior role. Rather than serve as defenders of the nation, these women invited their men to claim the traditional male role as protectors of the black family. They further opposed hegemonic masculinity by positioning resistance as the honorable choice and military service as the cowardly one. Black antiwar activists created another major counterhegemonic identity. They encouraged African Americans to imagine themselves as Third World citizens. In 1965, Robert Browne, an economist and antiwar activist, wrote an article exploring the relationship between the civil rights movement and the emerging peace movement.65 Disturbed by the role of black soldiers in the subjugation of the Vietnamese, Browne speculated that the U.S. government sent large numbers of black Americans to Vietnam to mute “accusations of whites killing non-whites” and to foster animosities between blacks and Asians. On the other hand, he applauded early antiwar organizations that called on black men—in the language of the civil rights movement—to “boycott” the war. He described one such group that organized in the Deep South: “The Mississippi protest was based primarily on the inappropriateness of American Negroes going off to kill unknown Vietnamese with whom they had no quarrel at a time

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when they had real, visible enemies who were murdering their families and friends in Mississippi, Alabama and Georgia.”66 In a letter to the New York Times, James Bevel—the national director of the antiwar Spring Mobilization Committee—compared the repression of American racial minorities and Asians. Having been denied rights at home, these disfranchised groups “are compelled to voice their outrage at the calculated destruction of their Vietnamese brothers.”67 Pointing to the economic deprivation that African Americans and Vietnamese continually suffered, the Nation of Islam’s Muhammad Speaks described Vietnam as “a war which pits Negroes from the slums of northern cities and southern rural areas against a poor, impoverished Asiatic people fighting for their own right to self-determination.”68 In a piece entitled “The Black Man’s Stake in Vietnam,” Eldridge Cleaver drew parallels between the oppression of African Americans in the United States and the war in Vietnam. He declared that the overrepresentation of black soldiers in Vietnam was “no accident.” Agreeing with Robert Browne’s analysis, he argued that the government mustered large numbers of black combat troops for duty in Vietnam as a strategy to foster enmity between African Americans and Asians. Black Americans needed to maintain friendly relations with Asians, Cleaver believed, since their plight improved in the United States as the peoples of the Third World gained greater autonomy in their own countries. “The black man’s interest lies in seeing a free and independent Vietnam, a strong Vietnam which is not the puppet of international white supremacy,” the Black Panther concluded.69 In short, militant antiwar rhetoric defined black male identity as being based upon on race and Third World consciousness rather than on American citizenship. The meaning of African American masculinity evolved considerably during the Vietnam War. The enduring appeal of military service explains why Department of Defense officials attempted to justify Project 100,000 and the high fatality rates by praising black GIs in the language of manhood and heroism. Although Whitney Young and others used similar rhetoric to portray black GIs as loyal patriots who were entitled to full citizenship rights, the more militant segments of the black community were beginning to renounce hegemonic masculinity. The new black man that radical African Americans imagined defined his manhood through black consciousness and resistance to racial subordination. Thus, military culture and black nationalism presented African American GIs with two major conceptions of masculinity that they blended innovatively as they explored the meaning of manhood.

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3 Basic Training It’s a very well defined power structure that exists in the military. It’s hierarchical, rigid. All the power comes down from the top. If you’re at the bottom, which most people are, there’s not very much you can do. . . . And if you’re a private or sergeant or just a peon, you don’t really have any rights. —Vince Dijanich, Between Men

[I]t’s a brainwashing process, I think, because a great deal of them [marine recruits] who were rebellious the first few nights or days, in the end, they were the most gung-ho, who would walk up to a sailor or a soldier, if they say something about the Marines, and demand that they apologize, [or else] they were going to mop up the streets with them. —Tim Bluitt, Vietnam veteran

The Vietnam-era military was comprised of large numbers of workingclass whites, southern whites, African Americans, and Latinos. These men came with their own loyalties, politics, and prejudices. The mystery of basic training is that drill sergeants can incorporate such a diverse group of American men—men who cherish individual rights—into cohesive military units. Many drill sergeants were so successful at this undertaking that they managed to coerce and cajole both street toughs and antiwar draftees into internalizing the values of the military establishment. Though divided by social background and politics, late adolescent males shared a common sex and a common need to define themselves as men. The military was uniquely positioned to manipulate that need for gender definition, since historically the military has been a common male experience with elaborate rites of passage. By privileging the warrior role as the epitome of manliness and by promoting homosocial ties between recruits, drill sergeants prepared their men for the demands of war. Through the regimen of basic training, they taught recruits how to work together as a

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team, to endure hardships, and to commit acts of violence that would be inconceivable in the civilian world. Drill sergeants used masculine rhetoric to seduce recruits into complying with their regimen. The power of this gender rhetoric was its familiarity, since recruits had already been exposed to the notion of the warrior as hegemonic male through Hollywood films, relatives’ war stories, and military literature. Thus the image of the warrior personified by cinematic characters played by male icons such as John Wayne and Audie Murphy as well as by the drill sergeant himself motivated many recruits, making them want to strive to become better soldiers.1 Becoming a solider gave young men a connection not only to their fellow recruits but also to their fathers and grandfathers who had fought in the wars of their day.2 Reflecting years later on his stint in the military, Steve Borrowman realized that he underwent a tremendous personal transformation from prep school student to gung-ho marine.3 As a product of private schools and a middle-class upbringing, Borrowman was not the typical recruit. “[T]hey were teaching us to be warriors,” he said about his fascination with the marine mystique, “and it was an apolitical kind of thing. I guess I was more aware that it was a mythology being created for us, although I bought the whole thing, lock, stock and barrel.”4 Borrowman’s infatuation with the marine mystique testifies to the powerful allure of military notions of masculinity.

From Civilian to Soldier In the first part of basic training, young men shed their civilian identities, or at least the most visible manifestations of their previous lives. The process of becoming manly soldiers began by transforming civilian bodies.5 Using heavy-handed, quick strokes, military barbers shaved the heads of recruits as a way of erasing their individuality. “As soon as they shaved my head,” a white midwesterner explained, “I no longer wanted to get out, because there wasn’t anywhere to go. It was psychologically just defeating.”6 David Parks, a middle-class African American, described how the military cut blurred racial and social lines: “I never saw so much hair in all my life. It was all mixed up on the floor together, white hair, Spanish hair and soul hair—all going the same route. I kept looking for the beatnik the rest of the day. I wanted to see what he looked like without the beard and long hair. I never saw him again, or maybe I just didn’t recognize him. I busted out laughing when I saw Lopez. He reminded me of a soul brother now.”7 If the clumps of hair, which reflected the ethnic diversity of the

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company, were going the same route, so too were the recruits in their journey to manhood and to war. The first shower at boot camp served as a military baptism—the death of the civilian and the rebirth of the new man. Showing his contempt for outsiders, Ron Kovic’s drill sergeant barked, “I want you maggots to wash all that civilian scum off your bodies.”8 The recruits’ ambiguous identity—no longer civilians but not yet soldiers—was exaggerated by their voluminous clothing. Private Ehrhart felt that the “oversized green utilities” made him “feel puny and lost and awkward and identical to everyone around you.”9 Drill instructors also made their men feel disoriented by rushing them through their daily routines as a way of breaking their will to resist: Steve Borrowman described how he was disoriented by this process: “[Y]ou’re going through buildings really quick, like one building to another, and you’re losing all track of where you’ve come from or who you are. You don’t recognize anybody that was on the airplane with you any more [sic], because you’ve all had your hair taken off.”10 Isolated from civilian support networks and alienated from former identities, recruits quickly understood that they would have to work together to survive the disorienting experience of boot camp. The goal was to have recruits derive their entire identity from the military or at least to minimize civilian influences that would impede soldiers from achieving their mission. One drill instructor (DI) advised a group of young men: “The Marine Corps is your father and mother. The DI is your priest and your doctor and your lover. The Marine Corps will give you everything you’ll ever need.”11 Knowing that other recruits shared similar feelings about their common experience fostered a sense of camaraderie between men. Commiserating with others helped men survive the grueling environment. Stan Goff and Bob Sanders—who wrote a joint memoir about their experiences in the army—supported one another through the boot camp. When Sanders considered going AWOL because he was concerned about his pregnant girlfriend, Goff persuaded Sanders that he would be in a better position to help his family if he delayed his visit until he completed his training.12 There was certainly greater equality among recruits during basic training than in the civilian world. Nonetheless, a few recruits enjoyed special status because they possessed qualities that the military valued, such as physical strength, martial knowledge, and leadership abilities. Drill sergeants, for example, often used brawny recruits to police their peers. “Every body understands brute force,” a white middle-class veteran stated. “Some body six-foot-two, 275 pounds, is your new squad leader and no matter how dumb he is, he’s in charge. The sergeant is the authority figure

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in the background and this big kid is the bully on the block.”13 His statement also explains why many middle-class recruits resented military service: They lost the privileges of their class. Previous military training could also be an advantage in basic training. Because Manuel Valdez, a Chicano marine, was skilled at drilling, he was made a squad leader. He clearly understood that his power was “tenuous,” but he appreciated that marginal power because it enabled him to avoid some of the hardships of basic training. Living with men from different backgrounds was definitely an adjustment for many men. David Parks—a middle-class African American and the son of renowned photographer Gordon Parks—was shocked by the fact that other men whom he lived with during advanced infantry training (AIT) did not observe middle-class standards of personal hygiene. In a diary entry, Parks revealed his elitism: “I don’t know where most of these guys in my barracks were trained. They have the worst habits I’ve ever seen. Three-fourths of them are from the South and they have lousy diction. I thought Allgood, the soul from Mississippi, spoke bad enough, but these crackers make him sound like an English major from Oxford. They pick their noses and wear the same socks and underwear all week. The place really smells terrible.”14 Race relations in the military often reproduced patterns of inequality that were institutionalized in the civilian world. But the military’s rhetoric of racial equality and its emphasis on homosociality created the space for young men to form genuine friendships across racial lines. Some veterans often referred to the chance to meet people from different ethnic, regional, and class backgrounds as an important benefit of basic training. Boot camp, for example, gave Manuel Valdez the chance to get to know black and white Americans. “[T]he marines made me realize that we were all a team,” he explained, “and for that reason, there was very little discrimination in my training company.”15 Race, however, remained an important determinant of status and identity. Terry Whitmore recalled a DI who claimed that the Corps was a raceless society since there was only one color—“Marine green.” Whitmore’s personal experience, however, suggested that “[t]hat green color can wear off pretty fast sometimes. It even faded a bit in boot camp.”16 Army Specialist Gene Woodley noticed racial separation during basic training: “We Bloods [African Americans] slept on separate sides of the barracks,” he recalled. “And it seemed like the dark-skinned brothers got most of the dirty details, like sweepin’ up underneath the barracks or KP [kitchen duty], while the light-skinned brothers and Europeans got the

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easy chores.”17 Race also affected male friendships. When Reginald Edwards went through marine boot camp in 1963, there was only one other African American in his platoon. “So I hung with the Mexicans, too,” he explained, “because in them days we never hang with white people.”18 After being rebuffed when he tried to strike up conversations with whites during basic training, David Parks became cynical about the likelihood that shared experiences in basic training would translate into interracial understanding: “It’s strange, all these guys gathered here from all over the States. It’s stranger still when you think that we are all going supposedly for the same cause—when half of us don’t have a decent word for the other half. When we stand out there and salute that flag, or march down the road to cadences, we’re together. Other times—forget it. I can’t imagine some of these Southern cats liking me any better than they’ll like the Vietcong.”19 Parks’s observations about race and homosociality underscore two important characteristics of basic training. First, they show the importance of military rituals in promoting a common identity for soldiers of diverse backgrounds. Second, they suggest that civilian identities—particularly race and regional identities—were not easily erased.

A Model Man Drill instructors made a commanding presence with their trademark Smokey-the-Bear hats. From the harsh language of the drill instructors, recruits quickly realized that they were entering a new world with values that differed sharply from those of civilian life.20 Drill instructors used gender rhetoric to convey both the institutional power that superiors held over recruits and the ideals of the institution. They forced recruits to realize their subordinate status by belittling their masculinity. Drill instructors addressed their recruits by feminine, animal, scatological, and other terms intended to indicate their powerlessness and insignificance. They demeaned their recruits as girls, ladies, assholes, hogs, turds, and other names that young males found offensive.21 The DIs’ language shocked many young recruits who were not accustomed to hearing profanity as a major component of public discourse. “I remember the time where you cursed,” Reginald Edwards recalled, “but you didn’t let anybody adult hear it. You were usually doing it just to be funny or trying to be bold. But these people were actually serious about cursing your ass out.”22 Some of the dehumanizing names that DIs used to degrade recruits were racially specific. White DIs called African Americans names such as “nigger,”

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“Brillo head,” and “chocolate bunny”; they derided Latino GIs as “wetback” and “beaner.”23 What drill instructors promised men as the reward for enduring harassment and conforming to military rules was an appealing masculine identity. Tim Bluitt, an African American marine, recalled his drill instructor saying, “You come in a bunch of girls, you gonna leave, men.”24 It was not unusual for hazing rituals to become extremely personal and violent. A black marine, Terry Whitmore understood why drill instructors emasculated recruits by insulting their mothers and girlfriends as ugly women and whores: “Your mother is a whore. I know. I fucked her. She knows how to throw some hump on my dick. You know that, turd?” Now if any fool said that back on the block, he’d be looking at a switchblade before he could finish. The DI knows this. So he keeps it up, just hoping for an excuse to kick that boot’s ass. Street stuff wouldn’t work in boot camp.25 A street tough in Whitmore’s platoon who accepted the DI’s challenge and defended his mother’s honor was publicly humiliated by the DI, an expert in karate. “A punch or two was always expected,” Whitmore observed, “[b]ut being beaten up or shit on in front of a whole platoon was too much for any man to take.”26 The lesson from such spectacles was clear: Whatever power a recruit wielded in the civilian world, he was an inferior male—lacking even the ability to defend his mother’s reputation—in the Marine Corps. Submission to authority was the only safe option. Though drill sergeants tried to make being a soldier and being a man seem inseparable, some recruits understood that these two identities were in fact distinct. In another diary entry, David Parks pondered about how suitable his new roommate was for the military: “My roommate is a white kid from Missouri. Nice but strange. No liquor, no smoking, no women. He’s very shy and soft-spoken and reads the Bible every night. Somehow I feel he’s not cut out for army life, but who is? He’s absent-minded, so he catches hell all the time. I feel sorry for him. But who knows, he’s liable to make a damn good soldier when combat time comes around.”27 Parks’s roommate seemed to personify the nonhegemonic male. He did not indulge himself in many of the pleasures—“No liquor, no smoking, no women”—which fostered a sense of homosociality among his male peers. When on liberty, men sought these male pleasures in groups and easily formed friendships by spending time together. Parks’s roommate was clearly an outcast because of his asceticism and “feminine” demeanor.

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Nonetheless, Parks realized that an unassuming male could become an effective and courageous soldier. In light of the menacing image that drill sergeants projected, most recruits probably did not consider the possibility that some of their instructors were also apprehensive about boot camp.28 Experience taught DIs the level of pressure that most people could tolerate, but they never knew for sure. Recruits occasionally lashed out against their superiors. Tim Bluitt witnessed an incident in which a friend struck back at a drill instructor who had hit him. Refusing to permit a public challenge to his authority to go unpunished, the drill instructor ordered the recruit into a duty hut and roughed him up with the assistance of three other DIs. The four drill instructors reemerged from the duty hut along with the belligerent recruit, who was visibly battered. They issued this warning to the other men: “This is what happens to people who like to beat up on drill instructors.”29 Drill instructors had other means of forcing rebels to conform. According to Bluitt, rebellious recruits were sent to correctional custody, where they had to demolish rocks with sixteen-pound sledge hammers and pile the debris onto hills that met the drill instructors’ specifications. African American GIs often had ambivalent feelings about training under a black drill sergeant. Terry Whitmore was initially elated to have a “brother as my DI.” After the DI punched a black recruit, Whitmore realized that “[i]t ain’t going to be no big happy family.”30 To Stan Goff, all army drill sergeants were “bastards,” “really nasty”; but race made a difference in the training experience nonetheless. “Even though [Sergeant Payne] was hollering and saying the same bullshit as the other sergeants, I got a different feeling about him.”31 The demands of basic training were sufficiently dehumanizing without introducing the burden of racial subordination. At least with black drill instructors, it was easier for African American GIs to believe that there were legitimate reasons for the physical and psychological harassment. Following boot camp, GIs went on to AIT. While the training was still challenging, men enjoyed greater privileges and experienced less harassment. Goff recalled that African American drill sergeants in AIT were plentiful. Aware of the disproportionate black presence on the front lines, these NCOs were particularly committed to equipping their men with the skills they needed to survive. Goff admired his AIT drill sergeant because of his status as combat veteran, his professionalism, his even temperament, and his accomplishments in the military. In this less tense environment, Goff more readily identified with his black drill sergeant.

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It was not unusual for young men like Goff to admire the DI. The drill sergeant often became their most prominent role model.32 Over the course of basic training many recruits went from loathing to respecting the DI. Though recruits resented the harassment, they also marked their personal accomplishments. They shattered the limitations of civilian life and became stronger and more mature military men. Stan Goff credited his drill sergeant with pushing him so that he could do more push-ups and run farther and faster than before basic training.33 Chris Smith had a similar experience in the navy: “I couldn’t swim when I went to the Navy and I think those instructors must have a degree in psychology because by the time I left boot camp I could swim on my back, all four corners of the pool.” Smith met a new challenge and raised his self-esteem.34 These personal and bodily transformations seemed to support the military’s rhetoric about making men of boys. Militarized bodies were more powerful than their civilian versions. Men also became invested in the training regimen because of their admiration for their drill instructors. Stan Goff had this to say about one of his drill sergeants: “[Sergeant Tadlock] was a very slim, very solid, middle-aged guy. He was about forty years old and fit as a taut fiddle. I really admired the guy as a great specimen of a man. I mean on the inside too. He could convey his inner spirit to us. . . . Even though he was very, very mean, we could tell that he was sincere. He felt that it was his responsibility whether we made it through Nam or not.”35 “Middle-aged” drill instructors like Tadlock captivated Goff and other young soldiers because their well-conditioned bodies made them appealing masculine models. They literally looked like the kind of man a young recruit aspired to become. Their appeal was not limited to their athletic bodies. Since many DIs were combat veterans, young recruits held them in high esteem for their special knowledge about how to survive in Vietnam. Carefully listening to these seasoned veterans could literally make the difference between life and death.

Military Homosociality Basic training was designed to familiarize soldiers with weaponry and military tactics and to socialize them into military culture. Drill sergeants tried to promote unit solidarity, or what military sociologists call “primary group cohesion,” by rewarding and punishing soldiers as a group. They also provoked competitions between different platoons and units in order to foster group identities. “The one thing I remember from boot

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camp in the Navy,” John Harrison recalled, “was that everything we did that got any credit or any blame was as a unit. So we had to work for the unit[’s] good. Submerge any personal dreams, plans, aspirations, whatever. Nothing mattered but what the unit did.”36 Performing military drills was an essential introduction to military life. These drills were designed to make men see themselves as soldiers and make military tactics second nature, so that individual men would serve the mission and react instinctively in the chaos that arises in combat.37 Drills and marches also made recruits feel like manly soldiers. By marching lock-step in unison, recruits learned what it felt like to be part of a group. Cadence calls provided yet another opportunity for the drill sergeants to inculcate their recruits with the masculine values of the military.38 Shouting these chants, recruits explored who they were as military men by defining themselves and naming their adversaries. Drill instructors encouraged soldiers to see themselves as men with a unique identity by marking their civilian peers as a rival male group. Civilians, the veteran soldiers suggested to their recruits, challenged the male power of soldiers by wooing their women while they fulfilled their commitment to the military.39 Recruits identified “Jody” as their civilian adversary in a popular cadence call: Ain’t no use in lookin’ down. Ain’t no discharge on the ground. Ain’t no use in going home. Jody’s got yo’ gal and gone. Ain’t no use in feelin’ blue. Jody’s got yo’ sister too. Ain’t no use in lookin’ back Jody’s got your Cadillac.40 The message of this cadence call was that men should be satisfied with military life because the civilian world no longer had anything to offer them. The cadence call also provoked feelings of suspicion and resentment of male civilians. By wooing GIs’ girlfriends and female relatives and appropriating a prized possession, Jody challenged their collective manhood. Men could commiserate about the loss of their former lives and compensate for lost relationships by forming new social ties with fellow recruits. Many aspired to male power not only through soldiering but through sexual prowess. Some DIs spoke to this desire for masculine virility

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through cadence calls in which recruits imagined themselves as sexually potent men: “Up and down the hill we go, soon I’ll be with Mary Jo. If I find that she’s not in, I’m going to go and bang her friend.”41 Promoting an esprit de corps, other cadences simply identified and extolled unit virtues: Lift your head and hold it high. Third Platoon is passing by. Standing tall and lookin’ good, We belong in Hollywood. Am I right or wrong? —You’re right. Am I right or wrong? —You’re right.42 Chants not only celebrated unit identities but also prepared men for what lay ahead in Southeast Asia: I want to be an aireborne [sic] ranger, [L]ive [a] life of blood and danger; I want to go to Vietnam, [J]ust to kill a Vietcong.43 If the cadence calls promoted homosocial ties between troops and helped them understand the mentality they would need to survive in combat, so too did a repugnant training exercise that Scott Camil experienced as a marine. The purpose of the activity was to desensitize recruits to unpleasant sights and smells in preparation for the gore of war: [S]omeone didn’t flush the commode in the head, and the first guy had to go in and take out some shit in his hands and bring it back and smell it and pass it to the next guy, and those turds went all the way around, to 80 guys, and each guy had to smell it. A person will say, “That’s really sick.” But you do something like that, and you get a harder stomach. Then when you see a guy laying there, bleeding all over the place, you can pick him up and carry him. It ain’t gonna bother you. You ain’t gonna get sick. I mean, there must be a better way to do it. But those things do count. They do help. And I definitely think, I’m back here and I’m alive because of my Marine Corps training. I’m proud that I was in the Marine Corps—which is hard for a person to say and face the [antiwar] movement. I think that it made me a better person. I think

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that as far as my self confidence goes, my stamina, and my knowing that you can really accomplish anything you want if you try—and I think that I’m a much stronger person because of the Marine Corps. I’m not saying that there’s not an easier way to learn it [self-confidence]. Or that it can’t be learned without the expense of killing a bunch of people just because of where they live.44 This exercise mimicked the unpleasantness and interpersonal dynamics of the battlefield. Peer pressure forced men to participate in a repulsive activity that few would participate in outside of the military or a similar fraternal setting. What recruit would refuse to smell the excrement and have his buddies think that he lacked the stomach for this unsavory task, that he was too fastidious and feminine? Surely not a nineteen-year-old who would join the marines. Camil’s discussion of this training ritual is particularly telling because of his later involvement with the antiwar movement. In spite of his opposition to the war, he still saw this bizarre exercise as a useful preparation for the realities of combat. Drill instructors used peer pressure to encourage compliance with the military regimen in other ways. Steve Borrowman recalled a group penalty given to a unit as punishment for an individual infraction at boot camp. To punish the recruit who broke a regulation, the DIs eliminated the daily ration of three cigarettes a day for everyone except the offender. They ordered the wayward marine to sit in a chair and smoke a cigarette while flanked by two fellow recruits. One shielded his head from the sun with the lid of a trash can, while the other marine caught the ashes that dropped from his cigarette with a second lid. Deprived of their daily tobacco allotment and exposed to the sun, the rest of the platoon stood at attention and watched the recruit consume his cigarettes. The message of this spectacle was not lost on the recruits: Deviance was a form of personal privilege that caused misfortune for everyone, and men who disregarded the welfare of the group would be ostracized and punished. Recruits often retaliated against a slacker with a “blanket party” during which men covered the wayward soldier with a blanket (to muffle noise) and beat him. Though GIs used collective violence in order to force slackers and rebellious recruits to conform to the requirements of basic training, they also offered friendly assistance to help out struggling recruits. James Daly— who was awkward and maladapted to physical activities—received friendly support from a fellow African American who was a candidate for “soldier of the cycle,” an honor bestowed upon an exemplary recruit.45

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After hours, even drill sergeants occasionally assisted recruits who were having difficulty.46 Having created a group identity for their men, drill sergeants manipulated the men’s competitive impulses to further cement homosocial bonds. Each week, for example, soldiers at Fort Hamilton vied for a plaque that went to the best platoon.47 Marine Terry Whitmore recalled unofficial competitions that were orchestrated by the drill sergeants: “The DIs were always trying to turn us against each other. Each platoon was supposed to hate every other platoon. The DIs would place us in competition with each other no matter what it was about. If someone didn’t belong—to your platoon, to the Marines, to your country—he had to be hated on principle.”48 Whitmore related an incident in which a drill instructor from a rival platoon challenged Whitmore’s platoon with a “my-men-are-betterthan-your-men routine.” Whitmore and his buddies understood that the challenge had to be carried out between equals. The test of manhood could not compromise the military hierarchy. Whitmore’s platoon could not touch the instigator because “he was a DI and we were not about to kick his ass, as much as we might like to.”49 Group competition could be very useful in getting men to feel a sense of responsibility toward one another and in training them to stick together in battle. But it could easily lead to hatred for outsiders. “I remember being aware of the fact that the Marine Corps came before country or anything else,” Steve Borrowman recalled. “You know, that if we had to off the President of the US, for the Commandant, why, we would have done it.”50 This intense group chauvinism had the potential to become a serious danger when combined with aggression and racism. In the stressful and chaotic environment of war, it occasionally led to wanton violence. As civilians, recruits had been socialized to believe that killing is immoral. In addition, many came to boot camp with misgivings about the military establishment.51 Civilian morality presented problems for military authorities, since soldiers must be prepared to kill on command in battle without hesitation. Aware of these civilian inhibitions, drill instructors organized two-man “pugil-stick” fights in order to teach recruits to be aggressive. The men were properly protected with head gear and padded poles, but without these safeguards the combatants would have injured each other.52 Such training can release violent urges that some men cannot easily control. While watching one such fight in which the stronger combatant savagely beat his victim, Steve Borrowman felt a sensation that he likened to a “sexual kind of high.” This sensation became ever more

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exhilarating as the beating continued.53 Borrowman’s sexual metaphor certainly speaks to the sense of power that he and other spectators experienced through identification with the victor. After the My Lai Massacre and subsequent atrocities against Vietnamese civilians came to light in the New Winter Soldiers Investigation, many observers attacked this type of training for promoting aggressive masculinity.54 Some drill instructors also encouraged soldiers to speak of the Vietnamese in derogatory language as a way of dehumanizing them. If GIs did not think of the Vietnamese as people like themselves, they would be less reluctant to kill them. Haywood Kirkland remembered how instructors used racial epithets and stereotypes to teach recruits to see the Vietcong as subhuman people who deserved death: Right away they told us not to call them Vietnamese. Call everybody gooks, dinks. Then they told us when you go over in Vietnam, you gonna be face to face with Charlie, the Viet Cong. They were like animals, or something other than human. They ain’t have no regard for life. They’d blow up little babies just to kill one GI. They wouldn’t allow you to talk about them as if they were people. They told us they’re not to be treated with any type of mercy. . . . That’s what they engraved into you. That killer instinct. Just go away and do destruction.55 Racial prejudice coupled with the strong group loyalties that men developed in boot camp were often a deadly combination when Americans encountered Vietnamese in stressful situations. Teaching the troops to dehumanize Asian adversaries was a problematic strategy in light of America’s history of racial oppression. This racist indoctrination probably undermined the homosocial ties between enlisted men by provoking racial tensions. When soldiers participated in war exercises at Camp Pendleton, Asian Americans played the role of the Vietnamese, according to Reginald Edwards. Even when the connection between the Vietnamese and American racial minorities was less explicit, racist indoctrination undoubtedly made some men of color consider how vulnerable they were to racial stereotyping.56 Though the influence of basic training was powerful—recruits often described it both positively and negatively as brainwashing—it neither completely nor permanently changed a soldier’s moral values or his sense of self. Men did not come to the military as blank slates. Some GIs had internalized the antiauthoritarian ideas of contemporary social movements prior to boot camp, which made them less receptive to the mili-

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tary’s gender ideology. Peter Cameron, a white recruit from a workingclass family, had attended SNCC meetings before he was drafted. Because of his experience with the freedom movement, Cameron resented the strict regimen and aggressive mentality of basic training. To preserve a sense of his civilian identity, Cameron ventured onto the campus of nearby Augusta College when he had liberty. The friendships he made there provided the relief that he needed from the regimented life of the army.57 Other recruits sought refuge from military life at nearby GI coffeehouses that were run by peace activists.58 Even highly motivated recruits looked for ways to evade the constant surveillance of their demanding drill instructors. A marine volunteer, W. D. Ehrhart eagerly sought a respite from boot camp every Sunday: “[E]verybody always wanted to go to church because it was the only hour in a 168 hour week when you weren’t doing push-ups or close order drill or bayonet training while livid DIS swarmed all over you like horseflies.”59 Attending these Sunday services was reassuring for Ehrhart because it gave him a sense of dignity and humanity that reminded him of his civilian life. A black Jehovah’s Witness who felt the pressure of the draft, James Daly intended to obtain a noncombat assignment as a conscientious objector by volunteering for the army. Because of misinformation he received from an army recruiter, Daly found himself in basic training along with everyone else. Staying true to his religious beliefs, Daly refused to answer the drill sergeant’s call of “What’s the spirit of the bayonet?” with the expected shout, “Kill!” He likewise refused to respond to the Jody cadence calls because he thought they were “insulting.”60 Antiestablishment views and military achievement were not always incompatible. John Harrison held latent antiwar views before he enlisted in the navy and later became involved with the Black Panthers’ social programs. His misgivings about the military establishment did not prevent him from becoming an exemplary navy recruit. Thinking back on his experience at the Great Lakes naval installation, Harrison proudly recalled that he was always properly dressed and never received a demerit for any reason. In fact, Harrison—one of only a handful of blacks in his battalion—became a recruit chief petty officer. Through his position, Harrison developed a close relationship with his commanding officer. Because the two were on friendly terms, Harrison’s commanding officer (CO) felt comfortable giving him extra leisure time on occasion. Observing the rules, for Harrison, was not only a strategy for minimizing racial discrimination but also a means of obtaining status and special privileges.

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Other recruits coped with their powerlessness by devising schemes to obtain medical discharges. Men speculated about various folk concoctions that would mimic serious ailments, such as lacing cigarettes with iodine to make spots appear on the lungs or walking with soap in their shoes to induce a feverlike rise in body temperature. A few desperate men attempted suicide.61 Some recruits discovered a way out through the military’s gender ideology. In light of the military’s demonization of homosexuality, some men adopted, or revealed, homosexual identities in order to obtain early discharges.62 A few bold individuals resisted their subordination by talking back to their drill instructors, but perhaps the most common way that disgruntled recruits coped with their low status was to commiserate with one another and make fun of drill sergeants behind their backs. Drill instructors did their best to make their recruits believe that boot camp was a test of manhood, a test that separated the men from the boys. The reality was that the overwhelming majority of recruits became soldiers. After several weeks of exercising their bodies, enduring psychological harassment, becoming immersed in military values, and bonding with other men, recruits felt a tremendous sense of achievement and accomplishment at graduation. Finally they had become men, and confident men at that. Reorienting their thinking to identify with the group, many new soldiers insisted that they belonged to the best platoon of the best company of the best branch of the armed forces in the history of war.

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4 Combat and Interracial Male Friendship We do everything together. It’s like being brothers for a year. —A combat solider, Newsweek

Sure, we fought together with the whites. We fight with ’em and we fight against them. —Pfc. James Barnes, quoted in Washington Evening Star

The Vietnam War was the first American war fought in which integration was the official policy from the outbreak of hostilities.1 In previous wars, African Americans were segregated in Jim Crow units and had to fight for the right to fight because of racist assumptions about their inferiority as combat soldiers. Young African Americans of the Vietnam era were also burdened by racial discrimination that hindered their advancement in American institutions, both civilian and military. The battlefield, however, even with all of its horrors, was a place of relative equality. Blacks and whites formed unique friendships that were rarely seen in the rear—the relatively secure area away from the fighting—or back home in the United States. To be sure, these friendships were certainly brought about by the necessity of survival and mutual dependence. Men understood that in order to effectively fight the Vietcong and NVA there had to be a level of trust so that each soldier would do his individual part to make the collective effort work. Since on a very basic level every American GI had the same goal—survival—soldiers understood that they had to overcome, or repress, their prejudices for the good of the group. As Stan Goff explained, The buddy system has to happen. You start realizing that you can’t get through not communicating. Guys started opening up. Blacks realize, “I’m stuck out here in the boonies, and the white guy from the South is stuck out here, and it’s life and death, we’d better begin to erase all this coloration immediately.” At first guys are strangers:

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they’re from different backgrounds. Their parents taught them that a nigger ain’t shit, a nigger can’t do shit. You can see it in their eyes.2 Living in close proximity with white soldiers enabled black men to debunk some of the myths about white superiority. After fighting side-by-side with whites, black GIs could see that both groups displayed courage, fear, cowardice, and uncivilized behavior on the front lines. As a result of the closeness of the battlefield, the black combat soldier who had succumbed to a poor self-image because of racial stereotypes could now regard himself as the equal of the white GI. As one black soldier observed in 1968, the white soldier “[i]s just another dude without all those things to back him up and make him bigger than he is—things like a police department, big job or salary.”3 In fact, some blacks undoubtedly felt a sense of enhanced status when, for the first time in their lives, they met whites who were less well off than they. White Americans also benefited from serving in an integrated military. Jim Peachin, who served in the army in Vietnam from 1969 to 1970, grew up in Lafayette, Indiana, in a middle-class family and attended a few years of college. He cited the opportunity to relate to African Americans on an equal basis without a lot of the racial baggage present in the United States as something that he treasured about his Vietnam experience. “I felt I was one with my black brothers,” Peachin recalled, “while I was in Vietnam.”4 Peachin’s sense of racial justice led him to challenge the racism of the military brass. As a chaplain’s assistant, he delivered character guidance speeches to the troops. Rather than lecture to the troops as instructed, Peachin used the opportunity to criticize the brass for their racism. The positive effects of interracial contact were even more dramatic on other soldiers. Donald L. Dietrich, for example, recounted how the combat experience changed his attitudes toward black people: When I first entered the Army, I was a prejudiced young boy. I called myself a boy at that time because I was pretty immature. To tell the truth, I regarded all colored people as “niggers,” although I was pretty friendly with them in person. Now that I’ve fought side by side with them, lived with them and understood them, I have changed my mind. I’d like . . . to . . . tell the Negro people that I’ll soon be home and that they are welcome to live on either side of me.5 Dietrich did not reveal his regional background in his letter to the black magazine Sepia, but some southern GIs certainly underwent similar per-

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sonal changes. Both military and civilian observers often speculated that white southerners would have the most difficult time working in a multiethnic setting.6 While many white southerners never adjusted to the diverse environment, others not only worked well with African Americans but formed genuine friendships with them. Many poor black and white GIs, including southerners, realized that they had much in common despite racial differences.7 Stephen Howard befriended a white from the Deep South nicknamed Rosey. “It was like I will show you what rednecks are like,” Howard said in explaining how two very different men became close friends, “then I’ll show you what niggers are about.” Indeed, Rosey became Howard’s window into the culture of young southern whites. Through this friendship, Rosey and his white buddies welcomed Howard into their male circle by including him in their drinking games.8 Though these combat friendships were intense, they were often fleeting.9 Leslie Drexler, a white GI from Alabama, drew a sharp contrast between the interracial homosociality of Vietnam and the racially charged environment back in the United States. Drexler gained a new sense of respect for black GIs by serving with them in an airborne unit, but he honestly admitted that he likely would not associate with African Americans once he returned to the United States. Most of these friendships did not have the chance to be tested back home, however. Once American GIs returned to the rear and the immediate need for survival passed, racial animosities resurfaced that had been suppressed on the front lines.

Initiation Rites Young American men gained a measure of status in the military hierarchy upon promotion from recruit to soldier at the end of basic training. But the military environment in Vietnam was a distinct male world with its own pecking order, values, and culture; new arrivals had to learn the mores of this new setting. These neophytes would typically have to wait a few months to be fully initiated into the cliques of seasoned soldiers, who often maintained social distance between themselves and their inexperienced counterparts. Some veterans would converse with their peers while shunning untested GIs. The names that the veterans used to describe the new soldiers indicated their low regard for them. Using sexual imagery to demean them as inexperienced soldiers, veterans often referred to new arrivals as “cherries.” Other terms such as “green” and “FNG”—an abbreviation for “fucking

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new guy”—also emphasized the untested and uninitiated status of new soldiers. If not made conspicuous by their clean battle fatigues, the new guys stood out by their unfamiliarity with the argot of the old timers. Their fluency in the language of combat soldiers corresponded to their incorporation into the new male world. Blending words from English, French, Vietnamese, and military jargon, Vietnam soldiers articulated their worldview in their own idiom. They defined who they were in contrast to other men they encountered, both Vietnamese and American. Though some minorities refrained from using derogatory names for the Vietnamese, American GIs generally expressed their disdain for Asians through racist terms such as “dink,” “slope,” and “gook.” Combat soldiers demonized career soldiers who identified too closely with the military system as “lifers.” They likewise expressed their contempt for the privileges and safety enjoyed by soldiers who served in the rear by deriding them as “remfs”—“rear echelon motherfuckers”—and impugned their manhood by labeling them “Saigon warriors,” “fountain pen fighters,” and “paper pushers.”10 Combat soldiers resented rear soldiers because they lived in relative safety and had better accommodations.11 They also felt that rear soldiers looked down on them because they were grunts—men with the dirtiest jobs in the military.12 At the same time, some combat soldiers cultivated a macho image and enjoyed intimidating their rear-echelon counterparts.13 In spite of their resenting the conveniences to which rear soldiers had access, some combat soldiers preferred combat duty to a rear assignment because life in the field was less hierarchical, more democratic. Bob Sanders did not like the culture of the rear, where he felt vulnerable to enemy artillery: “There wasn’t nothing in the rear but a bunch of shit, plus every other night you got mortared. You were like a fucking sitting duck.” In fact, Sanders was so eager to return to his friends in the field that he ignored his doctor’s suggestion that he stay in the rear for another week to continue his recovery from a wound caused by a pungi stick.14 Some units had special initiation rituals to bring new arrivals into the fold. Lonnie Alexander, an African American marine, described an initiation prank that his unit pulled on him. Alexander’s squad leader sent him to find an important “mortar cable.” To the amusement of his squad, Alexander went around asking several of his superiors and fellow soldiers for this nonexistent piece of equipment. Innocuous pranks of this kind were designed to make neophyte soldiers conscious of their lack of knowledge about life in Vietnam and of how dependent they were on the old-

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timers for their survival. They likewise used practical jokes for the same purpose. In one unit, an old-timer unleashed a magazine of machine gun fire outside of the enlisted men’s club. Frightened at the prospect of being under attack, the new soldiers ran outside and the veterans came in and drank their beer. Old-timers also enjoyed their insider status by scaring rookie soldiers with horror stories about combat.15 Such harassment worked as a way of forcing the new guys to conform to the established values of the group. According to Steve Borrowman, “real shitheads” were the primary targets of practical jokes.16 Men were often given nicknames to mark their membership in the new group. Naming practices were a way of building bonds between the men because the nicknames originated from within the group and defined personalities in ways that provided useful information to group members. Nicknames frequently marked racial, ethnic, and geographic background,17 but they also reflected common experiences and group humor. Lonnie Alexander’s buddies called him “Papa Sweetfoot” because he lacked foot odor. A member of Stan Goff’s platoon earned the moniker “Hardcore” with his intimidating demeanor and his skill as the point man. One platoon derisively dubbed a GI “Killer” after he mistakenly shot an elderly Vietnamese man whom he had initially believed was a VC guerrilla. Despite the rigors of basic training, one could not tell how a soldier would react under fire. In order for a combat unit to gel as both a military unit and a homosocial group, individuals needed to believe that they could depend upon other infantrymen to hold their positions in a firefight. Unseasoned soldiers were often apprehensive about battle because of what they had heard from veterans. Many GIs worried about how they would handle combat. Would they be afraid? Would they let their buddies down? After the initial combat experience, most GIs typically felt more comfortable about soldiering as their anxieties were often worse than actual warfare. New soldiers relied heavily on the old-timers to acclimate them to life on the battlefield. Using a sports metaphor, Danny Branham explained his first night patrol: “[W]hen I first went out, [it] was just like going to a baseball game, you know—the first time you ever played. You just sorta watched, and you just sorta tried to understand what each individual’s doing. That was the first thing that really happened to me, besides me bein’ skeered.”18 The fear of death and unknown horrors overwhelmed some infantrymen, even old-timers. Overcome by premonitions of their early demise, some combat soldiers maimed themselves rather than face

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another battle.19 Nonetheless, fear was an integral part of the war, and most men learned to deal with it. Looking back on his Vietnam service, Mike Nicastro was pleased that he had made contact with the enemy early in his tour, so that he could develop the survival skills that were necessary for battle: At first it was really acute, acute fear. You know, this is no fucking good, some dude is out there with a rifle and that dude wants to dust you—and that’s the attitude I started to develop initially: personal survival. Whether this war is right or wrong or anything else, this is no fucking place for philosophizing. It’s great to do that back at Berkeley. . . . But t[h]is is, no fucking around, this is the real McCoy, and you don’t have the opportunity to sit down and have a chat with the enemy about whether or not this is all a good ideal.20 That so many men returned to the field even though they experienced such fear testifies not only to the power of the military establishment to coerce but also to the power of masculine myths that were instilled during basic training and the homosocial ties between platoon members. Nicastro’s comment about “philosophizing” is undoubtedly a response to moral criticism of the war by the antiwar movement. His comment also reflects an important aspect of the ethos of American infantrymen. Although these combat soldiers generally believed in American political institutions and capitalism, they tended to eschew ideology. In the midst of warfare, the immediate concerns of survival superseded abstract ideas and debates. Infantrymen of the Vietnam War were suspicious of ideology, just as their fathers and uncles had been during World War II.21

Combat and Masculinity Jim Peachin’s personal fascination with cultural icon John Wayne sheds light on the reasons why men are generally intrigued by combat. While Peachin admired the male icon, he was not initially interested in becoming a real-life John Wayne. After talking to combat soldiers, Peachin realized that the life of an infantryman did not appeal to him, so he applied for the coveted noncombat position of a chaplain’s assistant. Eventually Peachin and the chaplain, a conservative Christian, came to conflict over the assistant’s liberal approach toward his ministry. When this strained working relationship came to an end, Peachin was faced with the choice of being a clerk or a soldier. But Peachin, even though he had been trained as a clerk, was not ex-

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cited about the prospect of being an army bureaucrat. When the opportunity arose for him to become a helicopter door gunner—a military occupation with a high fatality rate—he jumped at the chance. Although his middle-class background probably did not match that of the typical helicopter door gunner, Peachin wanted to see if he could pass the manhood test. Like so many of the men of his generation, the young serviceman measured his masculinity against that heroic standard-bearer of American manhood, John Wayne: One of the reasons I really wanted to be a door gunner was, I wanted to find out about John Wayne. John Wayne really fascinated me. You know, I wanted to know if he was a real person. I wanted to know if men actually act that way in combat situations—you know, with all this bravado, and making little jokes under their breath, and shooting guns and pulling triggers and laughing, ha ha, “watch me blow that person away”—and the total impersonality of combat situations—as I’d been exposed to . . . basically on TV and in the movies. So I was curious. . . . I said, “I’m actually going to find out. I’m going to know, what a combat situation is like. I’m going to know how men react in that kind of situation, and I’m going to find out for myself whether or not I have what it takes to be a John Wayne. You know—am I a hero?”22 Other soldiers who were new to combat wanted to explore the John Wayne experience. According to Richard Ford, new guys often asked for extra grenades, bandoliers, and ammunition in imitation of the American hero. Ford and others eventually dumped the extra firepower in nearby bushes and rivers after marching for several miles because the extra weight was too much for them to bear.23 “We were so in the spirit that we hurt ourself,” Richard Ford realized. Such displays of masculine bravado could still serve an important purpose. African Americans in Richard Ford’s unit created a tough image by wearing sunglasses and bragging that “[t]he Communists haven’t made a bullet that can kill me.” Though Ford considered this machismo “ridiculous” in retrospect, he realized it was important to GIs because it made them feel “luckier than the person that was scared.”24 Experience soon taught GIs that the image of combat depicted by John Wayne was a mirage. In contrast to the self-confident, heroic John Wayne, typical American infantrymen were, according to Peachin, “a bunch of kids, maybe 19 or 20 years old, and they’re crying and they’re shitting [in] their pants and they’re pissing [in] their pants and they’re pulling the trig-

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ger repeatedly, and they’re terrified, they’re scared. They don’t want to do what they’re doing. They’re shooting at somebody because somebody’s shooting at them. They feel like victims. They feel really helpless. And that was my impression of combat. That was what I saw.”25 Many men, in other words, felt powerless and confused in battle rather than manly. As GIs gained experience, they developed more realistic attitudes toward warfare and became increasingly critical of soldiers who suffered from the so-called “John Wayne complex.” Less zealous soldiers regarded this type of bravado as reckless, egotistical, and potentially dangerous to the welfare of the unit.26 If GIs became skeptical of exaggerated displays of masculine bravado in combat, they still defined their gender identities through their jobs. Men who served in particularly dangerous combat specialties enjoyed special status and special privileges. Helicopter door gunners received better accommodations in the rear than most enlisted men, and they also enjoyed a reputation for being able to woo the most desirable Vietnamese women.27 Point men and forward observers made rank quickly.28 Some men wanted to be forward observers because they valued the greater personal freedom that the job allowed compared to other combat occupations: Forward observers avoided the close surveillance that typical combat soldiers experienced, and they were exempt from inspections and unpleasant work assignments while they were in the rear. In addition to enjoying greater independence, Scott Camil liked the job of forward observer because he reported directly to an officer rather than a senior enlisted man. For Camil, this was a better arrangement because he believed that officers were more flexible and willing to listen to his ideas.29 Another important feature of a man’s military occupation was that it placed him in a distinct fraternal subculture. Comprising a pilot, a crew chief, and a gunner, crews of helicopter gunships forged tight homosocial bonds. Because crew members depended upon one another to operate their gunship, much of the hierarchy of the military rank system was minimized. Crewmen easily internalized their mission and viewed their work as honorable. Rather than having to deal with morally troubling combat duty on the ground in Vietnamese villages, helicopter crews saw themselves as essentially helping other Americans: They transported troops and supplies and evacuated the wounded. The equality of helicopter crew was also facilitated by the way the military construed authority on a gunship. Once the helicopter was airborne, according to Jim Peachin, the pilot became the commanding officer of the gunship and outranked passengers who were his superiors in the

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normal chain-of-command. The airborne pilot’s authority superseded that of both a colonel and a major, though a general maintained his superior rank. The pilot’s authority could be used to ensure safety on the ship. For example, Peachin’s crew never allowed anyone, regardless of rank, to fire a gun on the helicopter because of the danger it posed to the pilot. The statutory authority of their pilot over senior officers gave the men a sense of power. Peachin recalled a time when the crew had to ferry a contingent of senior officers to the field to inspect the troops. Sympathizing with the desire of infantrymen not to be bothered by meddling officers, Peachin decided to scare them. He shouted, “Engine failure, Engine failure.” Since the crew had played the practical joke on lifers and senior officers before, the pilot immediately recognized the prank. He placed the engine in the auto rotations function, which mimicked engine failure. “[E]verybody in the ship except the crew members knew they were going to die immediately, because you just drop out of the sky, and you go down—and he pulls it out at the last minute.”30 By using their insider knowledge to have a laugh at the expense of the brass, the crew humanized their superiors by making them experience fear. As in many combat units, their esprit de corps created the climate for workplace friendships to form that crossed the racial divide.31 Not everyone who was accepted in the combat fraternity was a traditional warrior. Trained in basic emergency medicine so that they could provide immediate critical care to wounded soldiers, medics played a special role in the fraternity of men.32 In fact, many medics were conscientious objectors who stood out from other platoon members both because of their unique job and their principled refusal to carry weapons. Most earned the admiration of fellow platoon members. Combat soldiers respected them for their courage and their willingness to risk their own lives to care for wounded soldiers. Combat soldiers looked to medics to treat not just their physical ailments but their emotional problems as well. They affectionately called field medics “Doc” and sought them out for counsel and support when they received “Dear John” letters and other troubling news from back home. A Seventh Day Adventist, Charles Taliaferro was an army medic who developed such strong ties to the men he served with that he declined his right to leave the field after six months.33 He offered support to troubled GIs by appealing to their sense of dedication to their fellow men: “My advice wasn’t that much. . . . I did tell them one thing, though. . . . ‘[W]e need your support. If you go on us now, who else would replace

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you?’ You know. ‘Somebody who doesn’t even know us. We need you, because you know us. You know how we are and think and stuff, and we would lose you and miss you.’ etc.”34 By appealing to their sense of homosociality—their affinity for the group and their duty to sacrifice for the benefit of the group—Taliaferro gave the young GIs a reason to persevere.

Male Friendship Living together in close proximity, depending upon one another for survival, and experiencing deprivation and hardship together fostered close bonds between combat soldiers. An African American marine rifleman, Tim Bluitt explained how close platoon members became. After spending so much time with a man, “you know an individual’s whole life story,” he said. “You know probably as much about him as his own blood brother will, maybe even more, because he might trust you with things he wouldn’t even tell his own relatives.”35 The homosocial relations of the battlefield enabled GIs to experience a level of intimacy that would have been socially unacceptable for men in the civilian world. Scott Camil describes the genuine affection that he felt for other men in his unit: It was just—people really become tight, they really become friends. You get a “Dear John” from your girl and, you know, here’s a Marine sergeant crying, to one of the other guys, about being upset. A lot of understanding. People—there were three of us who shared a tooth brush [sic]. Before that time, in high school I would have been called a queer for something like that—you know? We washed each other’s backs. Just all kinds of stuff, that isn’t sexual, but in a peace time situation, it is sexual.36 Ironically, the circumstances of war expanded the possibilities for male interpersonal relations. The GIs of Camil’s platoon had more intimate male ties with one another than most probably experienced in their civilian lives. In light of the lack of material comforts and the ever-present possibility that someone could die, meal time was an important event in the day of American GIs. Bob Sanders described how shared hardship brought men of his platoon together: Sometimes it takes tragedy to bring people together. . . . Little things happened. Guys ran out of cigarettes; they shared. We ran out of

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food during the monsoon season up in the mountains. Whoever had any salt left or a little cocoa, maybe a package of coffee, shared it. That one little package of coffee went around to four or five guys. By the time it got to you, the coffee looked like tinted water, but it was something liquid. Being in a hell hole just automatically brought every guy together as one. It was a good feeling. That was the only thing that was good about Vietnam, as far as I’m concerned.37 Because the men wanted for these coveted consumer goods, sharing them was a powerful demonstration of group solidarity. Storytelling not only provided relief from the monotony of “humping the boonies,” but it also fostered a sense of community. Men told stories about firefights, but they covered other topics as well. Inevitably, men shared stories about sex. Lonnie Alexander enjoyed hearing stories by a fellow marine named Gonzales, who was a skilled raconteur. Alexander recalled being entertained by one of Gonzales’s convoluted stories about his pursuit of a beautiful teacher back home. After captivating his listeners with “this fantastic story,” Gonzales confessed that his tale of sexual conquest was fictitious. Realizing that they—like the teacher in Gonzales’s tale—had been seduced, Alexander recalled that “everybody just fall out and want to kick his ass.”38 Nonetheless, it was all in good fun, and the men appreciated the entertainment and the vicarious experience of sexual power. Not everyone who was a member of the fraternity of combat soldiers was an American. American GIs often included Vietnamese guides known as “Kit Carson scouts” in their brotherhood. These guides—many of whom were former NVA and Vietcong soldiers—assisted American troops in both navigating the rough Asian terrain and understanding Vietnamese culture. John Starr and the men in his platoon relied heavily on the advice of a Kit Carson scout named Cam, who had served as an NVA soldier for nearly two decades. Cam read the landscape for signs of snipers and ambushes. The men respected Cam’s judgment so much that it was like “the Word of God.” The Americans also enjoyed Cam’s company during leisure hours. They included him in their group when they went out for drinks and conversation.39 On the other hand, American GIs had few warm feelings for their South Vietnamese allies, the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN). Americans deeply resented the ARVN because they felt that the ARVN was not upholding its share of the burden of fighting a war waged to free its own country. “The ARVN would have the best made U.S. weapons and their

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weapons would stay shiny because they never used them,” Bob Sanders recalled. “All they did was profile with them.”40 Karl Maska expressed a similar view: “We’re not heroes, but we stay and fight if we have to. If there’s a trouble today, you just watch the ARVN’s. They’ll ‘didi mow’ [run away].”41 This resentment was also expressed in unfavorable comparisons between the ARVN and the Vietcong. The Americans excluded the ARVN from their male friendship circles because their behavior did not conform to American notions of manly conduct. Whereas the Americans had learned to be aggressive soldiers in basic training, the ARVNs were passive and—according to their western allies—cowardly. For Vietnamese men, hand-holding was an acceptable expression of male friendship, but that practice indicated homosexuality to American GIs. These different conceptions of masculinity led Americans combat soldiers to deride their South Vietnamese allies as “faggots.”42 The Americans, in contrast, thought highly of the Vietcong and NVA. They respected their courage, ingenuity, and determination. “They’re good fighters,” stated an American GI, assessing the Vietcong. “I saw a couple of them once. The ARVN’s were taking them away for interrogation. They looked like the meanest guys you ever saw.”43 In light of the close friendships that developed between men in the same platoon, combat soldiers frequently came to hate the enemy after seeing their buddies die. Some hoped to ensure the safety of the group and avenge the deaths of their friends by committing atrocities. American soldiers experienced different levels of frustration over fighting in a counterrevolutionary war. They also differed in their willingness to commit atrocities. Scott Camil, for example, was squeamish about dismembering a dead enemy soldier or physically abusing a prisoner. He had no problems, however, with killing a prisoner or having his picture taken while he was smiling over a dead Vietcong soldier. The boot camp experience was obviously an important factor in forming Camil’s callous attitude toward killing. Camil—who later became active in the antiwar movement and testified before the Winter Soldier Investigation, a forum organized by the Vietnam Veterans Against the War to explore the relationship between military training and the prevalence of atrocities committed by American forces in Vietnam—understood how civilian and military perspectives on killing differed. To the civilian, killing is abhorrent because the civilian sees the humanity of the enemy, while the soldier sees him as a “target.” “And when you don’t equate the enemy with anything human,” Camil explained, “it’s really easy.”44 In spite of his connections to the antiwar movement, Camil defended his participation in wanton violence as neces-

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sary in war. For Camil, war required a different morality. Camil asserted that “war is really stupid,” but he insisted that “having rules on how to do it is even stupider. If my life is on the line, I’m going to do what I think is going to best protect my life and my buddies.”45 The battlefield became a site of competition between the Americans and the NVA and Vietcong. The competition was partly encouraged by the brass but also originated among the GIs themselves. Desperate military commanders demanded evidence of victory measured in the body count, and they offered incentives to get the desired numbers. Units with the highest body counts were rewarded with exemption from guard duty, beer parties, and extra R&R.46 Zealous warriors sought to kill their quota of enemy soldiers because they were motivated by the chance to receive combat medals. These GIs left pictures of themselves and playing cards symbolizing their units on the bodies of dead enemy soldiers as a way of intimidating the enemy, documenting their prowess as warriors and demonstrating their fearlessness. In this environment, it was easy for American soldiers to become enmeshed in the culture of violence. Men mutilated the bodies of dead Vietnamese in retaliation for Vietcong-NVA abuses of American bodies that they had seen or heard about. Gung-ho American GIs collected the ears, teeth, and fingers of dead Vietnamese soldiers as trophies. Other infantrymen asserted their power over the enemy through symbolic rape. These men castrated dead Vietnamese and inserted the severed penises in the mouths of the deceased. At least the dead suffered no physical pain, but some Americans abused their prisoners as well. Sometimes it was simply a matter of roughing them up a little—controlled revenge for fallen buddies and an expression of their frustrations over the war. But other times the torture was more violent and sadistic. Women prisoners were especially vulnerable to sexual abuse. Guards and interrogators occasionally penetrated female captives with various objects such as Coke bottles and machine guns.47 One company invented a game of torture ironically called “Guts,” a perverse bonding ritual. After capturing an NVA soldier, the men in Richard Ford’s company were called upon to participate in the exercise of collective torture. Men in the company tied the NVA prisoner, stripped him of his clothes, and tied him to a tree. The purpose of Guts was to harden new soldiers to the sight of a dead Vietnamese. So the two hundred men lined up before their prisoner, and each man had to abuse the enemy soldier. If unwilling to torment the soldier, they had to stand before him and look at him. Some GIs had become so accustomed to violence that

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they laughed while the torture was taking place. Others found the spectacle so gruesome that they vomited and fainted. As if to justify their excesses, the officer in charge warned: “That could be your best friend on that tree. That could be you. You ever get captured, this could be you.”48

Women and War Women villagers who were ostensibly under the protection of the Americans were in a perilous situation when they came into contact with young American GIs. In fact, Emmanuel Holloman described the rape of Vietnamese women as “standard operational procedure.” His platoon commander, a young lieutenant, allowed rapes to occur because he did not want to alienate his men: “He’s about their age, not experienced enough to control them. He goes along with it. He’d be crazy if he went against his own platoon. He doesn’t want to criticize his men; he wants one big happy family. So he’s right in it. He got his first.”49 Susan Brownmiller has argued that American troops were more likely to rape as a gang than as individuals because they had become accustomed to using the “buddy system” in combat. Some men were coerced into participating out of fear that their masculinity would be questioned if they refused. If everyone participated, then the primary aggressors did not have to worry about military authorities finding out about the crime. The rank of a unit’s leader often determined whether or not men were allowed to rape villagers. Career officers were less likely to tolerate rape than were NCOs or regular enlisted men.50 As a low-ranking officer who lived in close proximity with enlisted men, Holloman’s lieutenant had to negotiate working relationships with them daily. So the young lieutenant tried to compensate for his own precarious position by not only permitting but participating in the gang rape. But his superior rank was reflected in the fact that “[h]e got his first.” The vulnerable female body, in effect, became the currency the lieutenant used to win acceptance from his men. But those who did protest were often powerless to change the behavior of the group. While on patrol in a Vietnamese village, Tim Bluitt happened upon two marines who were raping a teenage girl. Bluitt left the hut to inform his lieutenant about the rape. The lieutenant’s response was to ask Bluitt whose side he was on. Bluitt responded, “I’m wearing the same uniform that you’re wearing, but there are some things that I basically can’t accept.”51 The image of American marines raping the young Vietnamese woman was so unsettling to Bluitt that he began to question many of the values and principles he had been exposed to in boot camp. As a

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result of the incident, Bluitt began to read leaflets dropped by the North Vietnamese, looking for a different perspective on the war. It is important to keep in mind that these soldiers raped because they were men in a position to do so, not because they were Americans. Informed observers state that Americans raped less frequently than had the French and Japanese as foreign military powers in Vietnam. Rape was not typical of sexual contact between American GIs and Vietnamese women. Only a minority of combat soldiers patrolled isolated villages with large numbers of women, the conditions in which rape was likely to occur.52 More common were sexual relations with prostitutes, girlfriends, and mistresses. Even in the field, combat soldiers were not surprised to find enterprising Vietnamese who came to sell sex along with desired goods such as Coke, drugs, and pornography.53 The difference in power between the Vietnamese and Americans is evident in the currency that GIs used to pay for sex. Sometimes they traded C-rations for sex; other times they paid the equivalent of a few dollars. Sharing prostitutes during breaks from their patrols was yet another way that infantrymen developed a sense of fraternity. As Robert Holcomb’s platoon approached a Vietnamese village, he was approached by a boy who offered to arrange a sexual encounter with his beautiful sister. The beautiful woman whom the boy described turned out to be a scared girl, perhaps in her early teens. After seeing the frightened girl, Holcomb lost his desire, but he did not discourage his buddies from satisfying theirs: Our guys wanted to know how it was. This is a communal thing between all guys who were in the war. I said, “It was all right.” I didn’t say that I couldn’t do it. Partly because of pride. Partly because I didn’t want to blow their heads about it and turn them off so they didn’t get any. A lot of troops came to Vietnam, eighteen- and nineteen-year-olds, and had never slept with a woman before. And they could die before they ever did. Or that girl would be the last one any of us would ever screw.54 Given that money was almost always a factor in relationships between American GIs and Asian women, romantic relationships were rarely egalitarian. Nevertheless, many men were turned off by the commercial sex scene and sought more permanent, nonexploitative relationships with Asian women. Bruce Humphrey shared a monogamous relationship with a Vietnamese woman name My Lee. Through his relationship with My Lee, Humphrey gained a more sophisticated understanding of Vietnamese culture and Buddhism.55

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American GIs expressed their anxieties about their precarious position in a foreign country in which it was difficult to discern allies from enemies through rumors about contamination, murder, and the Vietnamese female body. GIs circulated rumors about Vietnamese hiding glass and other contaminants in the drinks of Americans and about Vietnamese barbers slashing the throats of their GI clients.56 Two combat legends about the perils of sexual relations with Vietnamese women speak to GIs’ fears of the other. According to one legend, Vietnamese prostitutes concealed razor blades in their vaginas in order to castrate unsuspecting GIs: Oh, and there’s another story, about how the whores would have a razor blade, stuck up their cunt, you know—and, you’d get in there, and you’re dead, you know. Ain’t nothing you can do. . . . You get paranoid. But I guess you know, you take your rifle there [to brothels]. You’re all alone. And you don’t know the area like the natives do, you know. They can just come around and just blow you away. So you always went with two or three people. But like you’re vulnerable and you know it.57 Though he pursued sexual liaisons while he was on R&R in Japan, Lonnie Alexander refrained from sexual relations in Vietnam because of the rumors about “black gonnerrhea [sic]” and “Black Syphillus [sic].” According to Alexander, if a man caught one of these diseases, he would be banished to a remote island, and communication with his family members would be restricted to seeing them through a glass window because the disease was so highly contagious. Such folkloric expressions of emasculation are not unique to the Vietnam War; men have told them for centuries.58 Perhaps these particular legends were popular among American GIs because they were a metaphor for the dangers that warfare in Vietnam posed to their masculinity. Americans had been trained to be aggressive warriors, but land mines, booby traps, and enemy ambushes frequently made aggressiveness self-destructive.59 So these legends about dangers that lurked within the loins of Vietnamese women spoke to fears about unseen enemies that lay in Vietnamese jungles waiting to harm American GIs. Moreover, by circulating these legends that spoke to common anxieties, American GIs forged male bonds that cut across racial lines.

The Americans and the Vietnamese Encounters between the two peoples—American and Vietnamese—usually occurred under less than ideal circumstances. GIs, often behaving as

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“ugly Americans,” formed their opinions of Vietnamese based upon their impressions of bar girls, pimps, street peddlers, and other figures who worked in vice districts that catered to soldiers. Vietnamese civilians resented the Americans for their brazen demeanor, extravagant spending, and disregard for the sanctity of Asian lives. Tran Quang Phuoc explained: “The Americans used to have fun by pulling our hats as they drove past. We stopped wearing our hats. I was also stoned by them from time to time, but that did not hurt much. We are like mice and the Americans are like cats. We are their playthings.”60 Stephen Howard recalled a gruesome killing of a water buffalo that American soldiers used as a demonstration of their superior military and technological power in order to intimidate Vietnamese villagers. A helicopter crew dropped a water buffalo onto a minefield three hundred feet below with Vietnamese farmers watching the grisly spectacle unfold. The purpose of the incident was to show “the farmers around that you were almighty,” Howard explained. “That you would take their prized possessions. That we’ll come and get your shit.”61 Exerting their power over their Asian hosts, American soldiers abused Vietnamese in other ways. Some GIs walked off from Vietnamese barbers without paying. Annoyed by Vietnamese begging for their cigarettes, African American GIs in An Khe rigged the Kools that they gave them to explode.62 Vietnamese families despised Americans for defiling their women.63 “American soldiers have much money and it seems that they are all sexually hungry all the time,” observed Nguyen Thi Khao, a hootch maid. “Our poor girls. With money and a little patience, the Americans can get them very easily.”64 The Americans resented the Vietnamese because they felt that they did not appreciate the sacrifices that they were making to defend their nation. Still more troublesome to American GIs was the possibility that any Vietnamese civilian—whether a middle-aged employee on a U.S. military compound or a child in a rural village—could be active in the Vietcong guerrilla war against Americans. Waging a counterrevolutionary war was particularly stressful precisely because of the lack of a clearly demarcated front and the difficulty of distinguishing civilian neutrals from those civilian abettors who supported the Vietcong-NVA. “The rear echelons can afford to coddle gook kids in hospitals and so forth,” an infantryman opined. “But we’ve seen too many kids setting mines and too many women feeding the NVA. Most of the guys hate the gooks because they kill their buddies.”65 Moreover, the emphasis that military officials placed on the body count as a measure of the war’s progress encouraged combat soldiers to devalue Asian lives. It became easy for GIs to rationalize the

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death of any Vietnamese killed by American weaponry with the maxim “If he’s dead, he’s VC [Vietcong].” By designating certain areas as “freefire zones” and utilizing the tactic of “harassment and interdiction”—the practice of indiscriminately shelling hostile areas with artillery—these officials demeaned Vietnamese humanity.66 Reginald Edwards, who served in the marines during the mid-sixties, discussed how American men took the “free-fire zone” policy as a license to kill: “See, it wasn’t s’posed to be nobody out at night but the Marines. Any Vietnamese out at night was the enemy. And we had guys who were frustrated from Korea with us. Guys were real gung ho, wanted a name for themselves. . . . People get out of line, you could basically kill them.”67 The “free-fire zone” was a flawed policy. It assumed, unrealistically, that the Vietnamese could be easily separated into “friendlies” and VC sympathizers. The policy also conveniently allowed Americans to reassure themselves that they did not target civilians. Another problem was that enforcement was often left to young men—most in their late teens and early twenties—who were intoxicated by having the power to kill. While many Americans never managed to bridge the cultural divide that separated them from the Vietnamese, some did. Soldiers who served in highly motivated special units often worked closely with Vietnamese and lived as they did in their villages. These men became better acquainted with the people and developed an appreciation for their culture. Sympathetic rear-echelon servicemen volunteered their time to work with orphans and on other humanitarian projects.68

Drug Culture Men in Vietnam took drugs for a variety of reasons: to escape the pressures and monotony of war, to remain alert during combat, and to forge homosocial ties with men in their units. With the exception of amphetamines, which soldiers used to remain alert while on patrol, soldiers tried to confine their drug use to rear. “As much grass and heroin, as much stuff that’s passed around in the rear,” Jay Peterson observed, “the bush was amazingly free from that sort of thing.”69 Even with such unwritten rules, certain infantrymen indulged themselves on duty. Other drug users suffered the effects of withdrawal while they were in the field and had to return to the rear.70 Drug use in Vietnam was widespread.71 Actual drug use is difficult to measure. Army statistics show an increase of drug investigations in Viet-

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nam from 5,774 in 1969 to 6,432 in 1970.72 But investigations certainly understate the actual level of drug use. John Steinbeck IV, a Vietnam veteran and the son of the famous writer, claimed to have come into contact with 350 marijuana users during his tour of duty. He estimated that threefourths of the men there smoked pot.73 As for hard drugs, one military official estimated that between 10 and 15 percent of low-ranking enlisted men used heroin.74 Whatever the specific numbers, it is clear that drug preferences marked generational and social identities. The “heads” were a community of young, low-ranking enlisted men who used marijuana and heroin, and their friends. Heads detested “juicers”—older, career noncommissioned officers, often southerners, who centered their social life on alcohol. Jim Peachin explained the distinctions between the juicers and the heads: “You couldn’t be a juicer and a head at the same time. Some people that smoked a lot of grass would despise you if they saw you drinking beer. Say, ‘What are you doing to yourself?’ You know, it got that over-exaggerated.”75 Heads prided themselves on their ability to function while high on marijuana and heroin, unlike alcoholic juicers who lost control of their faculties when under the influence. They also felt superior to the juicers because of the different effects that drug consumption had on the two groups. Heads claimed to experience a sense of greater perceptiveness and serenity, whereas juicers became disorderly and belligerent.76 As in the male combat friendship circles, the head community valued equality, reciprocity, and sharing. Young GIs socialized in “pot parties” in which they passed around marijuana or heroin-laced cigarettes and shared their food. It was not unheard of for black and white GIs to fraternize together in this way. Men complemented their drug consumption by embracing other aspects of the drug culture such as hanging psychedelic posters in their barracks and adopting its lingo.

Interracial Conflicts Once troops returned to the rear, racial animosities that were suppressed on the front lines reemerged. Black and white GIs still had a sense of strong ties with the men they had fought with, but they were not particularly friendly toward outsiders. Though racial conflict was always present, it became more pronounced as the war progressed. As the military fortunes of the American side worsened and the war became unpopular, American troops were on edge, and it was easy for men to take their frustrations out

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on each other. Moreover, when the Black Power movement got under way, African Americans became more interested in racial solidarity than interracial friendships. Working together in interracial settings did not always promote racial unity. According John Helmer, white veterans said that their racial attitudes hardened after being exposed to men from different backgrounds during the Vietnam War.77 Although Art Turner had come to the Vietnam experience with an open mind, he said that he became prejudiced after being harassed by African Americans: “[T]hey’d travel around in packs. They’d harass you. You know, you walk along, they say, ‘Hey, you fucking Whitey, blah blah blah.’”78 According to Turner, most of the racial strife came to a point of violent conflict over minor issues such as cutting in mess lines, which were interpreted as violations of personal dignity.79 John Starr’s views on race and his relationships with black soldiers shed light on the complexity and fragility of interracial combat friendships. Starr’s platoon was racially and regionally diverse. In his platoon of thirtysix men, eighteen were African American, three were Chicano, and the rest were white. These men came from a cross section of states. In spite of their different social backgrounds, Starr insisted that “we were all green.”80 In other words, their common situation as army soldiers made them equal and created similar values that superseded social differences. Though the men in Starr’s platoon forged close relationships in the field, these relationships were tested in the rear. Starr had a close relationship with a black man named Ramsey; the two men slept in the same hootch. Nonetheless, black and white men who were friends typically spent their leisure hours separately because they listened to different music and traveled in different social circles. Starr recalled the tension that arose when he and white friends returned to the hootch to find Ramsey and about two dozen blacks from another unit playing cards and smoking dope while they listened to music by Isaac Hayes. To the whites, the majority of these blacks “were foreigners.” They had not humped the boonies with them. They were unfamiliar, and they appeared intimidating. On the other hand, the African Americans worried that the white GIs might turn them in to the brass for using illegal drugs. Ramsey, who knew both groups of soldiers, easily diffused the tension when he warmly greeted his hootch mate by saying, “How’s it going [Starr]?”81 That friendly greeting dispelled suspicions on both sides. By the late sixties, racial fights erupted periodically among black and whites in the United States and abroad. In 1969, there were racial skirmishes in Camp Lejeune and Fort Bragg in North Carolina; the Quonset

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Point Naval Air Station in Rhode Island; and the Marine Air Station in Hawaii.82 In early 1971 at Camp Baxter in Da Nang, Vietnam, racial tensions intensified. Following a gunfight between a black and a white soldier, African American GIs organized a protest. Even though military authorities had disarmed most of the soldiers, white GIs managed to arm themselves in response to the black protest. After obtaining a few M-60 machine guns, they barricaded themselves in their barracks with their firepower readied.83 Another black protest turned ugly in Camp Tien Sha after white GIs cursed the demonstrators. A gunfight was narrowly averted when a black GI persuaded other African Americans to lay down their weapons.84 A racial skirmish broke out in the former West Germany over control of the mess hall jukebox. White GIs wanted to listen to country music, whereas African Americans wanted to listen to soul music. When the base commander punished a lone black and no one else, a group of African American GIs—later known as the Darmstadt 53—requested a meeting with their commanding officer. Rebuffing this show of black solidarity, the CO offered to meet with the men only as individuals.85 Tensions between American troops intensified following the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. With the men living in such close proximity, it was difficult to conceal strong feelings about a major national event like an assassination. African American GIs coalesced to comfort one another during their time of mourning, and white GIs who were hostile to the civil rights movement and to African American soldiers used the event as an opportunity to express their antiblack views. Rebellious whites burned crosses at Cam Ranh Bay, paraded in Klan garb in Que Viet, and raised Confederate flags at Da Nang.86 More common, perhaps, were the snide racial remarks that these white GIs made about King.87 John Harrison, for example, got into a fight with a white soldier who goaded him by saying, “Number one soul got a six-foot hole.”88 King, who had become an outspoken critic of the Vietnam War, had personified the hope that African Americans had for a peaceful resolution to racial divisions. His death deeply affected many black GIs. “If anybody was the liberator,” Reginald Daniels said, “he was the man.”89 The assassination forced black soldiers to contemplate King’s antiwar message and rethink their own views about black participation in the war. Don Browne, an air force staff sergeant, wrote President Johnson searching for an explanation as to “how I could be trying to protect foreigners in their country with the possibility of losing my life wherein in my own country people who are my hero, like Martin Luther King, can’t even walk the streets in a safe manner.”90 Medic Charles Taliaferro recalled that he and

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other African Americans were politicized by the assassination. It also gave sympathetic whites a greater awareness of the anguish that the war caused for black GIs.91 As African American GIs became alienated from the military establishment and white soldiers, they became increasingly interested in forming their own separate brotherhood based upon the culture of the Black Power movement. Muhammad Ali was a male icon whom Black Power GIs sought to emulate.

5 Muhammad Ali and Draft Resistance Now men they really have to think a lot before taking a stand. Refusing the draft is like refusing manhood. —Florika, Sisterhood Is Powerful

Like other men of the sixties generation, Muhammad Ali, the heavyweight champion, faced the draft.1 On April 1, 1967, the government ordered Ali to report for induction into the army. Citing religious opposition to the Vietnam War, Ali refused military duty at the Houston induction center later that month. A four-year legal battle ensued between Ali and the Department of Justice over the boxer’s draft resistance. While the lawyers argued the nuances of the Constitution, black and white Americans debated the responsibilities of citizenship, the inequities of the draft, and the state of race relations in light of Muhammad Ali’s draft case. African Americans closely followed Ali’s battle with the government because they measured racial progress by the treatment that black celebrities and politicians received in the national arena. Consequently, young blacks protested when the government prosecuted Ali for draft resistance while white celebrities were allowed to enjoy the privileges of their elite status. Coming at a time when civil rights gains were difficult to attain and the Vietnam War excessively burdened black communities, the coercive tactics marshaled against Ali confirmed the worst fears of many African Americans about “the establishment.” In their eyes, only a racist conspiracy could explain the government’s attack against this outspoken black man. These public discussions of Ali’s draft case revealed what Americans thought about race, the Vietnam War, and manhood. Opposition to the Vietnam War was expressed by numerous voices. Vietnam War opponents often articulated their opposition to the war in ways that reflected their gender and racial identities.2 Muhammad Ali’s draft refusal was particularly important to African American GIs because it suggested that they could define their manhood with militant antiwar politics rather than the hegemonic warrior role.

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Ali and Racial Consciousness Muhammad Ali grew up in the border state of Kentucky, where he quickly learned how the racial caste system of the Jim Crow South circumscribed the lives of black males. As an adult, Ali recounted two childhood memories of racial subordination and terror that taught him the extensive power that white men wielded over black men. First, the heavyweight champion recalled his father working as a commercial sign painter to earn his livelihood, even though he was a talented artist.3 This memory shaped Ali’s racial consciousness, because he believed that the Jim Crow system had diminished the career opportunities available to his father. As a result of his father’s occupation, Ali spent his youth in working-class poverty like many blacks who faced the military draft. The second critical memory was the death of Emmett Till: “When I was growing up, a colored boy named Emmett Till was murdered in Mississippi for whistling at a white woman. Emmett Till was the same age as me, and even though they caught the men who did it, nothing happened to them. Things like that went on all the time. And in my own life, there were places I couldn’t eat. I won a gold medal representing the United States at the Olympic Games, and when I came home to Louisville, I still got treated like a nigger.”4 The brutal murder of this African American teenager opened the future champion’s eyes to the reality of the powerlessness of black males in the face of white terror. It also demonstrated that the law was often used to preserve white privilege rather than to uphold justice and civil rights when African Americans were involved. In 1960, Muhammad Ali—then known as Cassius Clay—represented the United States at the Olympic Games in Rome. When a Soviet reporter asked young Clay about the racial situation in the United States, he responded patriotically. “America is the best country in the world,” the young Olympian asserted, “including yours.” Clay added that he preferred his own country to Africa, “’cause at least I ain’t fightin’ off no snakes and alligators and livin’ in mud huts.”5 After the Nation of Islam heightened his racial consciousness, Muhammad Ali regretted that he had uncritically extolled the American way of life and had disparaged Africa in stereotypical language. Not long before becoming a Black Muslim, Clay’s personal experiences with racial discrimination in the South shattered his romantic views of his native land. As an Olympic boxer, Ali willingly accepted the role of symbolic warrior; and he brought back a gold medal to America. This achievement did not matter, however, when Ali wanted to eat at restaurants in his hometown or elsewhere in the South, because

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white proprietors refused him service just as they would have refused it to any other African American. Understanding that many white Americans accepted assertive black men only in the sports world, Clay remarked, “You’re just another ‘boy’ when you come out of the ring.”6 In other words, white Americans acknowledged Clay’s masculinity as an athlete but not his manhood as a male who was their equal. Realizing that his status as an Olympian would not save him from the indignities of black life in the South, Clay soon became attracted to the racial chauvinism of the Nation of Islam. In the early 1960s, he began to attend Black Muslim meetings. An especially male-centered religion, the Nation’s teachings spoke directly to the concerns of young black men.7 During a visit to a Miami mosque in 1961, the young athlete heard a sermon “on the subject of why are we called Negroes” that provided “good answers” to questions about the black man’s true identity.8 Clay was captivated. Charismatic ministers typically preached these timely messages to the Muslim faithful. Indeed, Black Muslims like Malcolm X presented Clay with a model of the kind of assertive man that he could become. Ali later recalled his initial fascination with the preeminent spokesman of the Nation of Islam: “My first impression of Malcolm X was how could a black man talk about the government and white people and act so bold, and not be shot at? How could he say these things? Only God must be protecting him.”9 Clay’s religious, political, and cultural transformation was intricately tied to his new faith. Whereas Ali had previously associated blackness with impotency and oppression, he now viewed it as a source of power and beauty. As one sportswriter observed, the Nation of Islam gave Clay a compelling reason to be black.10 In essence, the Nation permitted Ali to fashion a psychologically satisfying gender identity and to validate his manhood independently of white America. As a religious convert, he adopted new symbols and ideas that testified to his new identity. Elijah Muhammad supplanted Clay senior as the father figure in young Clay’s life. After Clay renounced his slave name to become Cassius X, his spiritual father renamed him Muhammad Ali. Ali’s friendships also reflected his new identity. He became a member of the Fruit of Islam, the Nation’s elite male fellowship, and he filled his boxing entourage with his Muslim brothers. In addition to forging new male social networks, Ali’s new faith changed his perceptions of women. In 1966, Ali divorced his first wife, Sonji—an attractive, independent-minded model who was a year Ali’s senior—because she questioned Black Muslim teachings and refused to conform to their dictates. A year and a half later,

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he married a modest, devout Muslim teenager. Ali’s Muslim bride enhanced his stature with his Muslim brothers by demonstrating his commitment to the religion and his control over his marriage. The teachings of the Nation of Islam compelled Ali to think critically about his role in the sports world. Although Elijah Muhammad obviously took advantage of Ali’s popularity as heavyweight champion to give his sect a national platform, he frowned on boxing because it was often influenced by organized crime, and the sport exploited black men. Muhammad Ali loved boxing, but he now realized how the sport dehumanized its practitioners. “We’re slaves in that ring,” he once remarked. “The masters get two of us big ones and let us fight it out while they bet, ‘My slave can beat your slave.’”11 As a Black Muslim, Ali reconciled his profession with his religion by bringing black nationalism to the ring. Ali’s black nationalism carried over into his business relationships as well. As soon as his contract with a group of white sponsors from Louisville expired, Ali selected Herbert Muhammad—the son of Elijah Muhammad—as his manager. In these ways, Ali enabled himself to maintain a considerable measure of independence and manhood in a world that remained largely dominated by whites. By the mid-sixties, the charismatic champion had evolved from a symbolic warrior for the nation to a standard bearer for racial militancy. Infusing his boxing matches with political meaning, Ali envisioned himself fighting for the liberation of the black masses when he competed in the ring.12 Shortly before his rematch with Sonny Liston, the previous champion, Ali revealed his membership in the Nation of Islam. Ali now found himself cast in the role of white America’s nemesis. Ignoring Liston’s criminal past, many white Americans cheered for the challenger to defeat the Muslim champion. White critics interpreted Ali’s fight against Floyd Patterson as a holy war between Islam and Christianity, between patriotism and anti-Americanism. Black Panther spokesman Eldridge Cleaver, on the other hand, interpreted the contest as a symbolic battle between two competing visions of manhood.13 According to Cleaver, African Americans placed their hope in Ali in order “to see Uncle Tom defeated, to be given symbolic proof of the victory of the autonomous Negro over the subordinate Negro.”14 Using the gender-specific epithet “Uncle Tom” to characterize Patterson, Cleaver insisted that Ali’s model of manhood inspired by racial militancy was more appropriate for the new era.

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The Draft In January 1964, Ali failed the Armed Forces Qualifying Test (AFQT). Many educationally deprived African American men could relate to Ali’s reaction to the exam: “When I looked at a lot of them questions,” Ali recalled, “I just didn’t know the answers. I didn’t even know how to start finding the answers.”15 When later asked about his failure, Ali explained, “I said I was the greatest, not the smartest.”16 Two months later, Ali was retested under the supervision of three army psychologists to ensure that he did not intentionally fail. After Ali was originally classified as 4–F, or “mentally” unfit, a skeptical public demanded an explanation. In a letter to the chairman of the House Armed Services Committee, Army Secretary Stephen Ailes explained why the heavyweight champion was unfit for military service. Although obviously physically fit, Ali did not meet the educational requirements. Since he had failed the AFQT, the army secretary disapproved of drafting him “simply because of his national prominence.”17 Public uneasiness about the unpopular war and the class bias of the draft was reflected in discontent with special treatment for celebrities.18 Ali’s draft situation was not the only one to come under public scrutiny. Some people complained because actor George Hamilton received a hardship exemption to support his socialite mother, who lived in a mansion. The fact that Hamilton was dating Lynda Bird Johnson, the president’s daughter, increased public ire about privileges reserved for the well-connected.19 Americans also complained that Joe Namath received a medical exemption because of his knee, yet he was able to quarterback the New York Jets football team. In the minds of many working-class parents and their sons, Ali’s appeal for an exemption based on conscience fit the pattern of special treatment for celebrities. While these conversations among white Americans about the draft correctly identified class biases inherent in the system, they largely overlooked racial inequities that made Ali’s case similar (but not identical) to that of average black men.

Reclassification as 1–A As American involvement in Vietnam deepened and manpower needs increased, President Johnson searched for unobtrusive ways to enhance troop strength without drawing unnecessary public attention to his escalation of the war. Johnson worried that a dramatic step such as a call-up of the reserves would lead to greater public scrutiny of America’s involve-

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ment in the Southeast Asian nation and to his having to scale back his Great Society programs at the insistence of conservative congressmen who would argue that the nation could not afford to pay for both guns and butter at the same time. The solution to this dilemma was Robert McNamara’s Project 100,000. This program purported to aid disadvantaged youths who desperately needed marketable skills but were excluded from military service because of low AFQT scores.20 Like a majority of black men, Ali had failed the AFQT. Nonetheless, the Department of Defense was determined to exploit this previously untapped draft pool, and it lowered the minimum test score from 30 to 15. On February 17, 1966, Ali received notification that his draft status had been changed to 1–A, or ready and eligible for military service. Facing a draft notice like many other men of his generation, Ali wondered how to handle this major life decision that had implications for his faith and his career. To make the situation more trying, a battery of reporters descended on his Miami home and peppered him with questions about his views on Johnson and the war in Vietnam. Irritated, Ali unleashed his oft-quoted line: “I am a member of the Black Muslims, and we don’t go to war unless they’re declared by Allah himself. I don’t have no personal quarrel with those Vietcongs.”21 Following Ali’s now public declaration of his opposition to military service, some reporters wondered about the origins of Ali’s antiwar views. Even one of his fellow Muslims observed that Ali had not thought very much about antiwar issues prior to the impromptu press conference with reporters that day. “Muhammad wasn’t a serious student of history and politics,” the Muslim friend recalled. “He never studied day-to-day current events like the thousands of white kids who opposed the war. But even though he was unsophisticated in his thinking, he knew it was a senseless unjust war.”22 A sentimental explanation for Ali’s abhorrence of the Vietnam War comes from an interview in which Ali said he opposed the war because of his love for children. He explained that had seen pictures of Vietnamese children who were disfigured by the war. The moral incongruities of the war offended Ali, and he wanted no part of it. While the maudlin story that Ali told to the reporter made good copy, other factors explain Ali’s opposition to the war. As a pious convert, Ali undoubtedly was aware of the example of Elijah Muhammad, who had served a three-year jail term for draft resistance during the Second World War. When America intervened in Southeast Asia, the Muslim leader’s Muhammad Speaks became an early critic of the war. Not only did Elijah Muhammad influence Ali’s thinking, but his son Herbert Muhammad

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advised the boxer that the war in Vietnam was a civil war “inside the Vietnamese’s own family.”23 Islamic teachings also factored into Ali’s thinking. According to Ali, the Koran allowed Muslims to fight only in holy wars in which they were defending their faith. Ali realized, moreover, that many African American men who went to fight in Vietnam would return to the United States—as he had after the 1960 Olympics—without a positive change in their status. Ali’s racial critique of the Vietnam War gave voice to the thoughts of many African Americans. Like other blacks, Ali insisted that racial oppression meant that the interests of black and white Americans differed. His statement that he had “no personal quarrel with those Vietcongs” highlighted how his perspective as a black man contrasted with that of middle-class whites. Elaborating this point, Ali later stated that African Americans should refuse to fight their “Asian brothers” because “they never lynched you, never called you nigger, never put dogs on you, never shot your leaders.”24 Linking the plight of African Americans to that of Asians, Ali articulated themes that were commonly expressed by less famous and charismatic African American peace activists. By rejecting anticommunist rhetoric, he called for a measure of self-determination for African Americans. As other black militants maintained, freedom meant exercising the right to choose not only friends but also enemies.25 When Ali returned to his hometown to express his solidarity with demonstrators protesting for open housing, he charged the government with hypocrisy: “Why should they ask me and other so-called Negroes to put on a uniform and go 10,000 miles from home and drop bombs on brown people in Viet Nam while so-called Negro people in Louisville are treated like dogs and denied simple human rights?”26 Along with student activists, Ali believed his struggle should be at home in America, not in Asia. Led by the New York State Boxing Commission, white elites in the sports world tried to censure Ali for his no-quarrel declaration by excluding him from the ring. Ali had been scheduled to fight Ernie Terrell in Chicago on March 29, 1966, but the Illinois State Athletic Commission revoked its approval of the bout, and fight organizers had difficulty finding another site. In the hope that Ali would apologize for his comment and smooth things over with boxing authorities, fight promoters scheduled a meeting with the Illinois State Athletic Commission and the heavyweight champion. Trying to negotiate his responsibilities to his promoters and maintain his dignity, Ali apologized for making his comment to reporters rather than his draft board, but he refused to make the apology that the commission demanded.

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Determined to stage the contest, fight organizers tried to get the bout moved to Ali’s hometown of Louisville, Kentucky. When veterans groups protested, however, the city refused to host the heavyweight bout.27 The fight eventually moved to Canada, but Terrell backed out of the fight and was replaced by George Chuvalo, the Canadian champion. Terrell added his voice to the chorus of criticism against Ali. He described Ali’s noquarrel remark as “unbecoming” and said that Ali “made it sound like the Army was picking on him.” Exempt from the draft because he exceeded maximum height limits, Terrell asserted, “No matter how much money you make, when you’re called you have to go.”28 Seizing an opportunity to score political points with their constituents by defending the flag, numerous white politicians rebuked Ali for his lack of patriotism. Pennsylvania congressman Frank Clark spoke for many white leaders when he asserted that Ali was “a complete and total disgrace to the land that has provided him with the opportunities to make millions of dollars.” Clark also questioned Ali’s manhood. “I feel that each man,” the congressman asserted, “if he really is a man, owes his country a willingness to protect it and serve it in time of need.”29 Clark’s description of Ali as a spoiled millionaire exaggerated the extent of “opportunities” available for African American men and ignored the persistent racial discrimination they faced. In questioning Ali’s manhood, Clark tapped into trusted cultural notions of gender that war makers have exploited to persuade young men to accept the role of soldier. Ali’s opposition to the war, however, challenged the link between manhood and military service, especially for black men. As the world heavyweight champion and a symbol of black masculinity, Ali’s possessed the authority to make opposition to the Vietnam War a manly act. On March 17, 1966, Ali petitioned his local draft board for an exemption from military service based upon his religious convictions. The draft board denied Ali’s request because it did not believe that Ali’s membership in the Nation of Islam justified a religious exemption. In appealing his case before the draft board, Ali and his lawyers argued that Ali should be given an exemption based upon conscience, hardship, and the lack of black representation on draft boards. But his appeal was rejected by the local draft board.30 In preparation for Ali’s appeal hearing, the U.S. attorney sent a letter to the FBI requesting a background check on the heavyweight boxer. Ali’s influence in the black community and his racial militancy concerned officials at both the Justice Department and the FBI. Especially since other Black Muslims sought exemptions from military duty, a favorable out-

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come for Ali might encourage believers and nonbelievers alike to apply for draft exemptions.31 In addition to requesting the background check, the FBI placed Ali under surveillance. As a target of FBI surveillance, Ali joined the company of other outspoken African American men such as Martin Luther King Jr., Elijah Muhammad, Malcolm X, and H. Rap Brown, whose activities were monitored during the Vietnam War era.32 Prior to bringing his case before the appeal board, Ali testified about his Muslim beliefs before Judge Lawrence Grauman, a retired jurist and a special hearing officer for the Justice Department. In presenting Ali’s case before Judge Grauman, the boxer’s attorney, Hayden Covington, modified their legal strategy. Rather than request an exemption as a conscientious objector, which would require a civilian service duty of two years, Ali requested a ministerial deferment, which would absolve him of any service obligation.33 His testimony at the hearing provides further insight into the origins of his antiwar thinking. It also reveals the spiritual and psychological journey he undertook to define himself as a black man in America. After recounting his conversion experience, Ali addressed the issues that were central to his appeal for a ministerial exemption. He explained to the judge that he did not initially request a conscientious objector exemption because the army had twice rejected him and he was not familiar with the procedures at that time. To demonstrate that the ministry was his primary occupation, he told Judge Grauman that he typically spent six hours a day speaking at mosques and to student groups on college campuses on behalf of the Nation of Islam. In his testimony, Ali addressed his critics who wondered how a star boxer could claim to be offended by violence and war. Ali drew a distinction between boxing as a tightly regulated sport and war, where “you kill babies and you kill old ladies and men and there’s no such thing as laws and rules and regulations.”34 Ali also defended his faith against charges that it was a hate organization and explained its view of violence. He told Judge Grauman that the Black Muslims generally eschewed violence but reserved that natural right of a free people to defend themselves. He then suggested that the only war in which the Nation of Islam expected to participate was Armageddon. Since the war would be “a real nuclear war” that could not be won militarily, the Muslims hoped to prepare themselves spiritually to face Allah. Ali justified the essence of his request for a ministerial exemption: Sir . . . I’d like to again make that plain, it would be no trouble for me to go into the Armed Services, boxing exhibitions in Vietnam or

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traveling the country at the expense of the Government or living the easy life and not having to get out in the mud and fight and shoot. If it wasn’t against my conscience to do it, I would easily do it. . . . [But] the teachings of the Honorable Elijah Muhammad tell us and it is that we are not to participate in wars on the side of nonbelievers, and this is a Christian country and this is not a Muslim country. We are not, according to the Holy Qur’an, to even as much as aid in passing a cup of water to the wounded. I mean, this is the Holy Qur’an, and . . . not me talking to get the draft board or to dodge nothing.35 On August 23, Grauman acknowledged Ali’s “good character” and advised the appeal board to exempt Ali from the draft. Typically, appeal boards followed the recommendation of the hearing examiner, but Muhammad Ali—a Black Muslim and the world heavyweight champion—was not an ordinary petitioner. In a letter to Ali’s appeal board in Kentucky, the Justice Department ignored Judge Grauman’s recommendations and advised the appeal board to deny Ali’s petition. Justice Department officials asserted that the racial politics of the Nation of Islam rather than a philosophical distaste for war itself explained Ali’s antiwar views.36 Furthermore, the Justice Department questioned Ali’s sincerity, since “his conscientious-objector claim was not asserted until military service became imminent.”37 On March 6, 1967, the Appeal Board refused to grant a ministerial exemption to Ali. This ruling left Ali exposed to the draft, and he received his induction notice the following month. The Justice Department’s campaign to enlist Ali in the U.S. armed forces was clearly politically motivated. Ali, however, was not willing to allow the government to exploit his popularity to justify the Vietnam War as a patriotic cause, even though he would have been spared hazardous duty.

Induction Day and Aftermath After the army changed Ali’s draft classification, the public wondered what Ali would actually do when his name was called at the army induction ceremony. Back in Louisville, Ali’s parents felt intense pressure because of their son’s antiwar statements, and his mother clearly wanted him to relent.38 What were his options? If Ali decided to change his mind, he could have served in the army as a noncombatant with special services. The Illinois National Guard was also an option for Ali. Since his lawyer was a colonel

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in that state’s National Guard, Ali had a spot reserved for him if he wanted it. While these alternatives would have conveniently resolved the legal impasse, Ali maintained that accepting them would violate his conscience. Before the government seized his passport, Ali could have chosen exile in Canada or some other nation. In fact, while Ali was in Toronto for his fight with George Chuvalo in 1966, he could have remained there and successfully evaded the draft. When a reporter queried Ali about his intentions following his title defense, Ali vehemently insisted he would return. “Of course, I’m going home. The United States is my birth county. People can’t chase me out of my birth county. I believe what I believe, and you know what that is. If I have to go to jail, I’ll do it, but I’m not leaving my country to live in Canada.” Years later, Ali admitted that he had considered exile in a foreign country but had decided against it because he dreaded separation from his family and community.39 In the months surrounding Ali’s confrontation with the military, black student activists criticized the draft system and the Vietnam War while they expressed their solidarity with the Black Muslim boxer. When General Lewis Hershey, the Selective Service director, visited Morgan State College shortly before Ali was scheduled to appear at the Houston induction center, students asked the draft official why the government had conscripted their hero. The next day, when Hershey spoke at Howard University, students taunted him, chanting “America is the black man’s battleground.”40 A month later, a group called the Black Power Committee brought Ali to the Howard campus. Handsome and articulate, Ali delivered an outdoor lecture to an enthusiastic crowd of over one thousand students. He captivated his audience with a one-man show that included comedy, social commentary, and sermon: He amused the young men and women with a critique of black Americans’ insatiable appetite for consumer goods associated with the word “white”; he reiterated his willingness to go to jail rather than submit to the draft; and the Muslim minister encouraged the young men in the audience to defend the honor of black women against sexual exploitation by white men.41 Along with Howard students, young African Americans across the country were drawn to the Muslim pugilist because he so compellingly personified what it meant to be a culturally conscious black man. Donald Reeves, a Cornell University student, spoke for many of his generation when he described his own admiration for the boxer from Louisville. For Reeves, Ali was Br’er Rabbit incarnate, “who got into confrontations with every animal in creation and who on occasion whipped the entire animal kingdom.”42 By identifying with Ali’s racial militancy, African American

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students not only avenged, vicariously, injustices committed against them because of their skin color, but they also contemplated what freedom from racial oppression could mean in their own lives. On April 28, 1967, college students demonstrated their support for Ali and their disapproval of the Vietnam War by picketing against the government when Ali appeared at the Houston induction center.43 A majority of demonstrators outside the induction center were African American students from Texas Southern University, yet several white students assembled there as well. As Ali entered the induction center at 8 a.m., he noticed H. Rap Brown, and the two men exchanged black power salutes. Elsewhere, a group of young African Americans sporting “Black Power” buttons stood outside the federal building. Five young African American men demonstrated their solidarity with the heavyweight champion by burning their draft cards. While disagreeing with the heavyweight champion on religious issues, a group of white Quaker students expressed their support for peace and civil rights. A few hours later, outside the center, a handful of African Americans displayed handwritten signs emblazoned with, “Burn, Baby, Burn” and “Draft Beer, Not Men,” while others sang “Nothing kills a nigger like too much love.” Other activists dressed in voluminous white clothing that was modeled on African fashion.44 Inside, Ali passed through the normal procedures of filling out forms and undergoing a physical examination. After lunch, Ali and thirty-five other men entered the induction center’s ceremony room to be inducted into the U.S. armed forces.45 Taking the oath of induction can be a powerful moment for young men. It symbolizes their transformation from civilians to soldiers.46 Certainly the ceremony meant no less for Ali: “You will take one step forward as you are called,” Lieutenant Steven Dunkley, the induction officer, told the men, “and such step will constitute your induction into the Armed Forces.” When he called “Cassius Clay,” Ali did not move.47 To ensure that the boxer was given ample opportunity to cooperate with the U.S. military, Dunkley tried again, but this time he summoned Ali by his Muslim name. Ali still refused to step forward. By refusing induction, the devout Muslim officially became a draft resister. After rejecting the army’s draft call, Ali became entangled in legal battles not only with the government but with boxing authorities as well. Shortly after news of the events at the Houston induction center broke— and before Ali had been formally charged with a crime—the New York State Athletic Commission revoked Ali’s title. The trustees of professional boxing alleged that Ali’s draft resistance violated the best interests of the sport. After a three-and-a-half-year exile from boxing, Ali finally won his

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suit against the commission because his lawyers—provided by the NAACP Legal Defense Fund—had documented numerous instances in which boxing authorities had licensed men who had previously been convicted of rape, theft, and military offenses.48

The Black Community Reacts While the controversy that Ali’s draft resistance generated made the mainstream black press reluctant to defend his cause without reservations, few directly condemned Ali; he was immensely popular with their readers, and his situation raised concern about racial discrimination and religious intolerance. Even skeptics denounced boxing authorities for revoking Ali’s title before he had been convicted of a crime. In an editorial entitled “Boxing Bosses Ghoulishly Kill Clay,” the Philadelphia Tribune chastised boxing commissions for passing judgment on Ali too hastily. Similarly, the New York Amsterdam News declared that Ali was “Still Champion” and questioned the boxing world’s “holier than thou attitude” in light of “its sordid history of crime and criminals.” Ollie Harrington, an editorial cartoonist for the Pittsburgh Courier, expressed what most African Americans suspected about the intentions of both the boxing world and the military. Harrington’s cartoon depicts the street outside Madison Square Garden congested with tanks and troops protected from the air by more than a dozen fighter jets. The caption reads: “The white folks has finally went and stole the title from Mohammid [sic] Ali, but dig that scene. Brother Bootsie, sure took a lot of ’em, didn’t it?” The message of the editorial cartoon was clear: The government was going to extraordinary measures to humble a proud black man.49 While the editors of Cleveland’s leading black newspaper bemoaned the injustices that surrounded Ali’s draft case, they regretted his decision to refuse induction. While acknowledging persistent racial discrimination in the United States, the Call and Post declared that Ali had prospered under the American system and was consequently obligated as a citizen to serve his country. As a role model, Ali needed to set an example for the “thousands of young colored youth who worship him.” A commentator at the Call and Post, Charles Loeb stated that Muhammad Ali had exposed an inequitable draft system that discriminated against African Americans and the poor. Nevertheless, Loeb claimed that Ali “would have better served the cause of the American Negro in his quest for first-class citizenship” by ignoring his own conscience and accepting the draft call.50 Sportswriters for the Norfolk Journal and Guide appeared more con-

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cerned about the preservation of Ali’s boxing career than about the constitutional issues that his draft resistance raised. Cal Jacox noted that Ali’s noncooperation demonstrated his religious devotion, but he deplored the destruction of “a career that could have become one of the most magnificent individual achievements ever recorded within the ranks of the manly art of self defense.”51 Similarly, Harvey Johnson wished that Ali had accepted a compromise with the army that would have “put his critics to shame.”52 In contrast, Milton Richman, another Journal reporter, attacked the dissident athlete. He accused the former heavyweight fighter of having a martyr complex, and he questioned the genuineness of Ali’s devotion to Islam. Richman gleefully insinuated that boxing was Ali’s real priority, since his athletic career was the first topic he mentioned at his Houston press conference.53 Discussions of Ali’s antidraft case in other black periodicals centered on the government’s failure to protect the human rights of African Americans. For example, Baker E. Morten argued in the Afro-American that the government’s denial of Ali’s appeal for a religious exemption revealed a racial bias against an unpopular black religion. In his article, Morten asked rhetorically, “Has a judge or Congress or the President the right to determine what is and what is not religion?”54 An unsigned editorial in Freedomways entitled “Muhammad Ali—The Measure of a Man” argued that the treatment Ali received was yet another instance of government persecution of black leaders, and the civil rights journal commended Ali for his commitment to his religious principles. It pointed out the hypocrisy of the U.S. government in drafting Ali and other African Americans when their rights were continually violated at home. “In taking his stand as a matter of conscience,” the editorial board concluded, “the world heavyweight champion may be giving up a small fortune, but he has undoubtedly gained the respect and admiration of a very large part of humanity. That, after all, is the measure of a Man.”55 In its commentary, Freedomways embraced a model of manhood that valued honor and concern for community over income. In its allusion to government persecution of black male leaders, Freedomways raised an issue that resonated with African Americans. During the 1960s, African Americans had already witnessed white politicians attempt to exclude Julian Bond from the Georgia legislature and Adam Clayton Powell from the U.S. Congress. The harassment of Ali by the Department of Justice suggested a pattern of political repression. In 1969, the Norfolk Journal and Guide captured these anxieties about political persecution in a telling editorial cartoon that asks whether black leaders

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faced “Elimination by the Establishment . . . Because They Encouraged a New Day?” The editorial cartoon features a sketch of Martin Luther King Jr. and two columns with the names of black leaders and their corresponding “fate.” The list consists of the names of eleven black men including Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, and Cassius Clay. While the fate of Evers and Malcolm X is listed as “Assassinated,” Ali’s appears as “Awaiting Trial.”56 The cartoon voices black resentment toward white America and black suspicion that “the establishment” refused to accept the leadership of African American men whose power emanated largely from the black community. Through harassment and assassination, enfranchised whites denied the right of these African American men—and by extension the black community—to exercise power. The New York Amsterdam News similarly explored the plight of black men in an article and cartoon that appeared shortly after Ali’s draft resistance in May 1967. The editorial entitled “American Tragedy” discusses how Muhammad Ali, Martin Luther King Jr., and the average black combat soldier demonstrated “true courage” and a “whole range of styles in valor” in order to deal with the legacies of racism that the Vietnam War exposed.57 The newspaper further portrayed the similar plight of Ali, King, and the black grunt in “Victims—At Home and Abroad,” the companion cartoon. The cartoon depicts racism as a giant bird, with King and Ali in the clutches of one claw and a black GI grasped in the other.58 Complementing the written editorial, the cartoon portrays the Baptist civil rights leader, the Muslim draft resister, and the ordinary black combat soldier caught in a perilous situation because of the war. It insists that black men, regardless of class background, shared a similar predicament. Many African American leaders and civil rights activists rallied to Ali’s side following his dramatic stand in Houston. In a sermon at Ebenezer Baptist Church on April 30, Martin Luther King praised Ali for resisting the draft.59 Mindful of the protests against segregated housing in Ali’s hometown,60 Stokely Carmichael denounced the government for drafting Ali: “[He] is a black man who can’t live where he wants to live. And they want to send him to Vietnam. It’s about time we’re going to tell him [the white man], hell no, we won’t go.”61 Citing the lack of black representation on draft boards, SNCC leader Cleveland Sellers refused induction into the military a few days after Ali had.62 The Brooklyn branch of CORE announced plans to protest against the government’s refusal to recognize Ali’s right to a ministerial exemption. An organization of African American sports activists, the Olympic Project for Human Rights, called upon powerful boxing commissions to restore Ali’s heavyweight title.

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In 1968, black civil rights activists from CORE, the National Black Anti-War Draft Union, and other organizations assembled outside Madison Square Garden to protest the title fight that was arranged between Buster Mathis and Joe Frazier to replace the exiled heavyweight champion.63 This response from civil rights activists seemed to confirm the prediction that a Norfolk Journal and Guide reporter made shortly after the Houston confrontation. William Worthy argued that Ali’s induction refusal represented the emergence of a determined antiwar movement in the black community.64 Though wary of political activism at times, Ali now found that he was fingered by his community to be the point man for the opposition. Ordinary African Americans also took an interest in Ali’s fight with Selective Service. Following Ali’s induction refusal, Harlem’s Amsterdam News solicited comments from more than thirty New Yorkers from variety of occupations that included barmaid, photographer, and clergyman.65 Ali sympathizers supported the boxer because they admired his individualism and integrity. They also felt that the principles of religious freedom and fairness required the government to grant Ali an exemption from the draft. While Leon Lewis did not see himself as a draft resister, he extolled Ali as a “rugged individualist.” A Connecticut housewife, Lucy Lee praised Ali as “[a] man of his word” because he had acted on his publicly stated intention to refuse induction. Joel Frazier pointed out that Ali had practiced the Muslim faith long enough to demonstrate his religious devotion and worthiness for a conscientious objector exemption: “He didn’t just jump up here and claim to be a minister when the government pointed a finger at him for armed service.” Frazier also agreed with Ali’s “belief that . . . man should not kill his brother, no matter what part of the world he’s in.” Many African Americans probably agreed with Mary Stowe, who suggested that it was unfair to draft Ali while white celebrities received exemptions. “When Lynda Bird’s movie actor boyfriend, George Hamilton, goes and some of these football players go,” the college student proclaimed, “then I’ll be angry with Clay for refusing to go, but not until.” While some Americans with family in the armed forces resented Ali for seeking an exemption from military service, Rosalind Murphy did not. Even though her soldier-brother faced the prospect of a tour of duty in Vietnam, Murphy withheld criticism of the affluent pugilist because “deep in my heart, I agree with Mr. Clay and only wish that many more of our young men would do the same as he did.” Allen Moore also praised Ali for encouraging young blacks to refuse service in order “to overcome this

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gambit of social extermination.” Finally, many African Americans like those questioned by the Amsterdam News sympathized with Ali’s plight because they disapproved of the Vietnam War.66 African American critics of Ali’s decision to resist induction into the armed forces generally believed that black men were obligated as citizens to serve in the military just like everyone else, even if they had to tolerate racial discrimination. Charles Butler responded to the interviewer’s request for an opinion with a question of his own: “He’s an American boy, isn’t he?” A World War II navy veteran pointed out that “there’s nothing physically wrong with him.” Another critic who asserted that Ali had “played right into the white man’s hands” did not believe Ali’s claim that he opposed war and violence since he was a professional boxer. The patriotic response of Joe Louis during World War II came to mind for other critics. John Silvera, an urban policy advisor to New York’s Governor Nelson Rockefeller, contended that Ali’s example would have limited impact on the black community because “he’s not a Ralph Bunche or a Roy Wilkins whose views on foreign policy would carry weight as far as Negro opinion is concerned.”67 Both the occupational backgrounds of these critics and the nature of their comments about Ali suggest that they were a generation older than Ali and adhered to middle-class understandings of duty to country that made them wary of Ali’s racial militancy. As did people on the home front, African American servicemen used the Ali draft case as an opportunity to reflect on their participation in the U.S. military. Many black GIs believed that Ali was entitled to an exemption and considered Ali a model of a strong black man. Yet a number disapproved of Ali’s stand because they either harbored promilitary sentiments or believed that all men should honor the call to service. In discussing Ali’s opposition to the draft, black GIs criticized the Kentucky draft board overseeing Ali’s case and stressed the importance of freedom of religion. Speaking about the deposed heavyweight champion, a soldier from the Army’s 25th Division in Vietnam stated that Ali had a constitutional right to refuse induction into the service, and that consequently he should not “be persecuted and ridiculed because of his beliefs.”68 After Muhammad Ali derided the Vietnam War as a white man’s war, many black servicemen were compelled to contemplate the racial implications of the war. These GIs appreciated Ali’s demonstration that black men could affirm their own manhood by challenging the authority of “the white man.” In a letter to Sepia, Specialist Richard Swann grouped Muhammad Ali among the elite fraternity of “real black men” such as Adam Clayton Powell, Elijah Muhammad, and Eldridge Cleaver. According to Swann, Ali was a real

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black man because he “refuses to be bullied or tricked into this war. Also, he’s showing the white man that he doesn’t have to jump every time he moves his finger.”69 Other black men in uniform interpreted Ali’s legal battle as a cautionary tale about the persistence of white control over black men rather than as a saga about the triumph of a black hero. A black officer who never took liberties with military regulations as white officers did drew parallels between his own situation and Ali’s. “If they can go to such length and bend the rules to kick Adam Powell out of Congress,” he explained, “and take Clay’s title, they can certainly get to me. I don’t intend to give them the chance.”70 This reaction to Muhammad Ali’s draft experience illustrates the anxieties that life in America during the 1960s created for black men. Like this cautious African American officer, many black men steadfastly conformed to social norms in order to protect themselves from the whims of powerful whites. As large numbers of African American servicemen became disillusioned with the slow pace of racial progress, they realized that military service would not validate their manhood as they had expected. For these GIs contemplating their status, Muhammad Ali’s draft protest created a symbolic crisis that demanded that they rethink the meaning of manhood. “You know there must be something more to the man [Ali],” Richard Strothers, a young marine private, reasoned. “How could he be a champion of the world and be a coward?”71 In essence, Ali’s public opposition to the Vietnam War validated latent antiwar sentiments of black soldiers. As a folk hero, a world-class athlete, and symbol of black masculinity, Ali articulated antiwar politics in an idiom that appealed to black soldiers of his generation. Moreover, Ali’s example of draft resistance probably meant more to enlisted men like Strothers than did the philosophical opposition of established black leaders like Martin Luther King Jr. Closer to their age than leaders of traditional organizations, Ali grappled with the draft issue on a personal level. Nonetheless, a contingent of black soldiers categorically disapproved of Ali’s antiwar positions. At a time when the military still prided itself on its racial equality and opportunity, Clyde Brown, an army staff sergeant, chided Ali for his membership in the separatist Nation of Islam and his opposition to the draft. Ali “gave up being a man when he decided against getting inducted,” Brown asserted.72 Brown’s position as an army NCO partially explains his disapproval of Ali’s politics and religion. Because many black NCOs invested themselves in their military careers and experienced a measure of power in the army, they were more likely to adopt its

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values and culture. From the military perspective, real men accepted the call to service. For young African Americans who were rank-and-file soldiers, college students, and activists, however, Muhammad Ali was a model of a new black man who was not intimidated by government coercion. Ali captivated his generation by redefining traditional models of American manhood for the new era of black consciousness. Like the traditional American male, Muhammad Ali was decisive, self-confident, and unwavering on matters of principle. While the Vietnam War bedeviled many government experts and men of draft age alike, Muhammad Ali possessed the wisdom and courage of the “common man” to articulate what some knew but were afraid to admit to themselves and the world. In his steadfast pursuit of a religious exemption, this African American pugilist personified a “rugged individual” standing alone in his opposition to the war. Ali’s individualism took a different form from previous versions because of its communitarian dimension. Muhammad Ali’s relations with celebrated black athletes, the antiwar movement, and the Nation of Islam over the next two years elucidated his role as a latter-day rugged individual. Several weeks after Ali refused to join the army, Jim Brown, the former star running back, called Ali in Chicago and asked him to meet with a group of African American athletes in Cleveland to discuss his draft predicament. After his retirement from football, Brown had become involved in business and had been a member of the group of businessmen that promoted Ali’s fights. In addition to their business relationship, the two men had developed a friendship, so naturally Ali agreed to attend the meeting. On June 4, 1967, some of the nation’s preeminent African American athletes met for two-and-a-half hours at the headquarters of Brown’s Negro Industrial Union (NIU) in Cleveland. Participants included Bill Russell and Kareem Abdul Jabbar, then a college student known as Lew Alcindor, in addition to football players from several professional teams. Prior to the meeting, news reports speculated that Jim Brown had organized the meeting in order to persuade Ali to join the army. The athletes denied that they intended to pressure Ali but said they convened the gathering instead to learn firsthand about Ali’s battle with the Selective Service and to offer their support at a difficult time. Behind closed doors, the men discussed Ali’s situation and other related issues that concerned the plight of black men in America in the late sixties. In spite of their vehement denials, it seems that Brown and a few others

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wanted Ali to accept a compromise that would allow him to satisfy his military duty, perhaps as a noncombatant. Several participants later recalled that the meeting became “heated” at times. Whatever the intent of the meeting, Ali maintained his refusal to be a soldier in any form. “I’m doing what I have to do,” he told the group. “I appreciate you fellows wanting to help and your friendship. But I have had the best legal minds in the country working for me, and they have shown me all the options and alternatives I could use if I wanted to go in.”73 After their private discussions, the black men spoke at a press conference to answer reporters’ questions. The picture of these eleven athletes along with NIU lawyer and mayoral candidate Carl Stokes made an impressive portrait of black male solidarity. “We’re all buddies, friends— what we call soul brothers,” Ali told the media.74 Nevertheless, the apprehensions of Ali’s peers about being too closely identified with his militancy clearly undercut the image of racial unity. While some stated the obvious—that Ali was a genuinely religious man—they distanced themselves from Ali’s politics by insisting they were merely a group of individuals sharing views. Jim Brown assured the media that “[w]e don’t feel that Muhammad Ali is an image for other colored athletes.” He also expressed his view that “[a] man’s religion is a personal thing.”75 Although the group of black athletes failed to embrace Ali wholeheartedly, Bill Russell and Kareem Abdul Jabbar sympathized with his plight and admired his courage. A longtime friend of Ali, Russell admired Ali’s unwavering commitment to his principles. “Philosophically, Ali was a free man,” Russell observed, “at a time when historically it was very difficult to be free.”76 Ali was able to attain a level of independence that other men envied because he was willing to challenge social and political norms. While Ali may have had admirers within the fraternity of professional athletes, the Cleveland meeting proved that even the most celebrated black sportsmen were either disinclined, unprepared, or powerless to move beyond perfunctory testimonials of Ali’s piety to join his opposition to the Vietnam War. Antiwar activists, on the other hand, rallied to Ali’s cause and viewed him as a crucial link between the civil rights and antiwar movements. Hoping to exploit Ali’s popularity and latent resentment over the Vietnam War in black communities, the Spring Mobilization Committee organized a rally in support of the boxer in Washington, D.C., on July 15. Dagmar Wilson of Women Strike for Peace proclaimed Ali “one of the great heroes

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of our time” and a person worthy of “two Nobel Prizes.” Rather than personally attend the rally of three hundred demonstrators who assembled before the Washington Monument, Ali sent letter of appreciation from Chicago.77 Because of the bold stand that Ali took, many antiwar leaders and scholars have too conveniently described Ali as an antiwar activist. It is true that Ali gave a powerful critique of the war that appealed to many Americans and that he allowed himself to be used as a symbol of the antiwar cause. Characterizing Ali as an antiwar activist who was a participant in the larger movement, however, obscures the nature of his opposition to the war, which was based on the racial politics and theology of the Nation of Islam. Ali most likely missed the Washington rally because during the sixties the Nation of Islam generally opposed participating in demonstrations of any kind. In his public comments, Ali often distanced himself from the antiwar movement by distinguishing his respectful behavior from the unruly conduct of antiwar protesters. Ali’s style of protest reflected his racial and gender identity. He opposed the war based upon his experiences as a black man in America who belonged to the Nation of Islam. Just as Ali was under heavy pressure from the Selective Service, Elijah Muhammad suspended him from the Muslim fellowship. During a television appearance in March 1969, Ali said that he intended to resume his boxing career for financial reasons, an understandable admission in light of his mounting legal expenses. After Ali publicly announced his plans, Elijah Muhammad published a diatribe against him in Muhammad Speaks and suspended his famous disciple from the Nation. The Muslim patriarch claimed the suspension was punishment for Ali’s spiritual weakness. According to Muhammad, his wayward pupil had committed the sin of investing his future in money rather than Allah. Suspension from the Nation of Islam meant that Ali could not associate with other Muslims except for his wife. It also meant that Elijah Muhammad revoked Ali’s Muslim name just as the New York Boxing Commission had stripped Ali of his boxing title two years earlier. Always concerned about the image of his organization, Muhammad probably grew weary of all the attention that Ali’s draft case brought. Moreover, fear of government surveillance of the Nation may have influenced Muhammad to cut ties with Ali. Ironically, when Ali greatly needed the support of his faith community, Elijah Muhammad, his role model, excommunicated him from the brotherhood that meant so much to him.78

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Supreme Court Decision In 1971, after Ali had sparred with the Justice Department for four years, the Supreme Court finally dismissed Ali’s conviction for draft evasion on a technicality. The decision underscored how dramatically Americans’ attitudes about the Vietnam War had changed since Ali had initially refused induction. Following the trial, Ali thanked his divine maker and the federal tribunal. “I thank Allah for giving me the Honorable Elijah Muhammad and I thank the Supreme Court for recognizing the sincerity of the religious teaching that I’ve accepted,” Ali said.79 Ali’s lawyer, Chauncey Eskridge, essentially echoed his client’s sentiments. When queried about the case, Eskridge said that the ruling would probably lead more black Muslims to apply for conscientious objector status, and that it “proved . . . that the Nation of Islam . . . is a legitimate religion.”80 For Ali’s fans in the black community, the Supreme Court decision justified their admiration for Ali and suggested that “the establishment” had finally recognized the legitimacy of their hero. In another letter to Sepia, Specialist Richard Swann concluded that the Supreme Court verdict “made certain key figures in the government, particularly the Department of Justice, look like a group of racists.”81 The Philadelphia Tribune contended that “[a]bout 25 million non-white citizens breathed a prayer of relief” when the court announced its unanimous decision. The Tribune also interpreted the Ali victory as the triumph of a successful African American male over attempts by “the establishment” to deny him the rewards of his achievements: “Many Black citizens saw the deprivation of Muhammad Ali’s means of livelihood and vacating of his championship as another persecution of a Black man whose physical prowess was testimony to the fact that the ‘American Dream’ is not always a nightmare to those who wear the sun-kissed livery of color.” The Tribune also echoed Eldridge Cleaver’s view that the Ali model of manhood and racial militancy was more appropriate for the new era. In conclusion, the Philadelphia paper compared the fate of Ali with that of his predecessor Joe Louis, who “was exploited on behalf of the Armed Forces and later slapped down by finance-sapping income taxes that even to this day have left their vicious impact upon his personality.” Since Ali emerged from his legal struggle with his virility and self-confidence fully intact, his model of manhood was clearly the preferred one.82 While African Americans were elated about Muhammad Ali’s judicial triumph, they remained skeptical about the impartiality of the American legal system. The New York Amsterdam News, for instance, described

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Ali’s victory as bittersweet. Draft resisters who shared Ali’s distaste for the Vietnam War would not be able to pursue vigorously their legal rights without adequate financial resources. Vernon Johnson, a New Yorker, similarly observed that Ali’s affluence “enabled him to accomplish something that a poor man could never do.”83 In addition to uncovering the social biases of the judicial system, Ali’s draft controversy exposed the conflicts between racial solidarity and individual interests. Social and political pressures caused Ali’s associates in the Muslim brotherhood and the sports world to maintain a safe distance from the Louisville Lip during his crisis. Fearing the Ali controversy would result in government intrusion into his cherished refuge, Elijah Muhammad severed ties with Ali. Similarly, star black athletes did not assist Ali in any meaningful way; they rejected his racial politics to safeguard their popularity. Black men were searching for manhood in a white world during an era of rising racial consciousness. Naturally, Ali’s personal journey and his discovery of a positive gender identity provided guidance for these men. Specifically, he popularized draft resistance in the black community by creating an image of a conscientious objector that many African American men wanted to emulate. When discussing the government’s campaign to conscript the heavyweight champion, African Americans easily expressed their anxieties about the challenges that black men encountered as they struggled to fulfill their traditional gender role. For the black community, this draft case evoked many of the problems that frustrated black men, such as civil rights violations, housing discrimination, and racial persecution. Through his individual fight with the Selective Service, Muhammad Ali captivated African Americans during the Vietnam Era because he embodied qualities that they admired. In light of their frustrations, young black men looked to Muhammad Ali’s dramatic showdown with the armed forces for guidance on how to maintain their manhood when confronted with difficult circumstances. Ali, in essence, helped to redefine opposition to the Vietnam War as a manly pursuit.

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6 Black Power GIs Black Power is the best thing that has happened to our people. We are standing up for what’s rightfully ours, not kneeling and begging for handouts and token rewards. We do have a cause to rebel at the white race because of our misled, brainwashed elders who were afraid to speak out against an unjust system. —John Schmidt, quoted in Sepia

Black Power—I don’t know what that is. But I know what American power is. Our [tactical fighter] wing isn’t a white wing or a green wing—it’s technicolor all-American. —Commander James, quoted in Warren Tribune Chronicle

African American enlisted men initially regarded military service as an opportunity for upward mobility and a means of defining their manhood. Black men expected to display their manhood through a masculine occupation and a steady paycheck that would enable them to provide for their families. By the late sixties, however, they grew increasingly frustrated with the continued racial discrimination in the military that made them feel like second-class citizens. These men confronted problems obtaining promotions, securing suitable housing, and receiving fair treatment in the military justice system. Resisting their marginal position in the military hierarchy, young African Americans redefined their masculinity through the liberating ideas and cultural practices of the Black Power movement.

Marginal Men Searching for valuable skills in the military, African Americans discovered that the same race-sex hierarchy that circumscribed their lives as civilians continued to hamper their ambitions as soldiers. Because many black men scored poorly on the Armed Forces Qualifying Test (AFQT), the military

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often assigned black men to combat units.1 These jobs, of course, did little to provide young blacks with the vocational training that would improve their ability to find civilian employment at the end of their military duty. If not risking their lives on the front lines, black men frequently worked in so-called “soft-core” occupations in the service and supply fields.2 Technical specialties—unlike these semiskilled, “soft-core” vocations—might have later translated into higher incomes for black servicemen when they became private-sector employees.3 Soldiers with few skills who were stationed outside of the war zone were often denied both the psychological and vocational benefits of military service. At the Quantico military base, for instance, the Marine Corps continually channeled low-skilled black men into custodial work.4 Inadequate educational opportunities do not entirely explain the subordinate status of black men in the Vietnam-era military. African American GIs also complained that white commanders assigned them to the dirtiest, least appealing jobs rather than distributing the undesirable tasks evenly between whites and blacks of the same rank. According to Haywood Kirkland, white combat soldiers on rotation in the rear were given jobs as mess hall workers and supply clerks, while black infantrymen “got the jobs burning shit in these 50-gallon drums.”5 Chris Smith recalled that black sailors on the Intrepid did not receive choice assignments because they were not “in cahoots with the big guys . . . who were really running the division.”6 As one African American stated, white commanders seemed to believe that “the colored man is supposed to be his labor team. They put the crush on you constantly, asking you to do things they’d never do, and unless you speak up they take advantage.”7 Some outspoken African American soldiers believed that their white superiors gave them hazardous assignments because they equated blacks’ complaints about discrimination with racial militancy. Other blacks felt that they were more likely to receive dangerous assignments whether they voiced radical views or kept their politics to themselves. Another common complaint was that white platoon commanders often singled out black men for the dangerous job of point man. “Where you’re out on patrol and moving into an area, it’s always the Negro who’s walking point (up front). That means he’s the first to get [hit] if a mine explodes,” Private James Barnes explained. “That’s the kind of assignment we get from the whites. Harassment. Nothing but harassment. Look at the guys who go out on the sweeps, who protect hills. Brothers, as many brothers as they can find.”8 One soldier alleged that white officers sent

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African Americans on risky assignments so that “there would be one less nigger to worry about back home.”9 Black combat soldiers also complained that they were kept on the front lines longer than white soldiers.10 To make matters worse, black servicemen continually noticed that white soldiers received promotions more quickly than they did, even when they were equally or better qualified than their white counterparts.11 L. J. Moore felt that blacks in his unit were getting the run-around: “I’ve seen individuals moved from one position to another in order to avoid promoting them.”12 Commenting on his commander’s promotion practices, Joel Davis remarked that “you’re one-fourth of a white, because you have to do twice as much to get one-half of what he has.”13 Skeptics doubted these claims of a dual racial standard, as did a black military psychiatrist who said that many blacks used race as a “crutch” to compensate for their own personal failings.14 A Congressional Black Caucus report, however, confirmed the accuracy of the black GIs’ complaints of pervasive disparities in promotions.15 Figures for 1971 document the problems that black men faced when trying to advance in the army. In that year, black men comprised 12.1 percent of all enlisted men in the armed forces. They represented 15.7 percent in the second-lowest rank category, but only 4.2 percent of the servicemen in the highest-ranking group.16 Charles Griffin, an enlisted man, described how the slow rate of promotion disappointed blacks in the 1st Air Cavalry Division: The little rank we get we have to do twice as much as the white man to get it and we have to wait twice as long. For instance, we have soul brothers who have been here in the field and jungle over six months and are still Pfcs [privates first class]. Many whites come over as Privates and when they leave, they are Sgt. (E-5) or higher. That’s why, today, the brothers are coming out of the field every chance they get because the white man is misusing them.17 Although military regulations allowed soldiers who believed they were victims of racial discrimination to bring their complaints to their equal opportunity officer or the inspector general, the responses of these officials usually did not satisfy black servicemen. Since the designated officials were responsible to the base commander, they generally upheld the modus operandi rather than vigorously enforcing antidiscrimination regulations.18 While exceptional equal opportunity officers sympathized with complaints of racial bias, they usually lacked the power to sanction the

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offenders. These problems with promotion and an unresponsive military hierarchy continually troubled black servicemen. Many African American GIs agreed with Specialist W. H. Cooper’s explanation of how the system emasculated black men: A number of us have written to superior officers and congressmen but they have turned a deaf ear to our pleas. I am a man, a citizen, a soldier prepared to give my life for a way of life that I believe in, but I am not allowed to live the way I believe. I see a lot of tension building up in the Army, and if people don’t try to come to some understanding with each other and deal fairly with every man, regardless of the color of his skin, this tension might turn into something else. The black man should receive his just promotions. He should be given the same opportunities in recreation and entertainment. In other words, he should be treated like a man. I am disgusted and sick of being a second class soldier because of my black face. I am a man!19 Distressed by their marginal status, many African Americans like Cooper looked to black nationalism as a means of discovering the gender validation that the military had denied them. As Cooper predicted, some disappointed black men found a sense of male power through violence against fellow Americans. While black men were overrepresented among the ranks of the enlisted men for much of the war, they were always severely underrepresented among the ranks of the officers. For example, Defense Department figures for 1970 show that only 2.1 percent of all officers were African American, even though blacks comprised 10.5 percent of all enlisted personnel in that same year.20 The economic and educational problems that produced a disproportionate number of black combat soldiers in the mid- to late sixties similarly diminished the number of African Americans who were qualified to be commissioned officers. According to Pentagon officials, the armed services had to compete with the private sector for the small pool of black male college graduates. Unlike poor and working-class families, middle-class black families preferred that their sons pursue other career options.21 Like men in the lower ranks, African American officers repeatedly had to deal with discriminatory assignment and promotion practices. Advancement was just plain difficult. Most black officers remained at the junior level below the rank of major. A number of black officers suspected

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that military racism was so ingrained that they were denied a higher rank when appearing before a promotion board simply because of their skin color.22 The old-boy network posed other obstacles for African American officers who wanted to rise in the ranks. Too often, white senior officers provided crucial mentoring and reserved coveted command positions only for their white protégés, while leaving African American junior officers to fend for themselves in demeaning “soft-core” fields.23 Having an advocate was a crucial ingredient for a successful career. Mentors typically introduced young officers to social networks that helped them gain entry into competitive training schools that prepared men for senior assignments. Junior officers who were exposed to these male networks also had the chance to have early introductions to members of promotion boards. Needless to say, such candidates would have a distinct advantage over men who were excluded from these networks. Deprived of these important professional contacts, many black men lingered as junior officers while their white peers climbed the ranks. At hearings sponsored by the Congressional Black Caucus, Captain Burns explained how racially discriminatory promotion practices and racially exclusive old-boy networks undermined his career. After recovering from severe combat wounds that he suffered in Vietnam, the Silver Star recipient was surprised to learn that he would be promoted—to snow removal officer at Fort Devens in Massachusetts. In his testimony, Burns criticized the military for failing to prepare black officers for the responsibilities of leadership: [T]he difference in a Black officer who all of a sudden wakes up one day and gets his set of orders and he is a captain is that nobody has bothered to tell him anything. He is given these menial jobs except when he is in combat. Then one day you are a captain, and they say okay, you are a captain, here is a company and it is yours. Whereas a white officer, he is constantly, every time he makes a mistake no matter how menial it may be, he is counseled on his mistake, told what he has done wrong and what not to do. Whereas a Black officer, he makes a mistake, nothing is said to him about it until efficiency report time comes around.24 By withholding knowledge about how to succeed in the upper echelons of the military, the senior brass guaranteed that African Americans would remain on the margins of power. These discriminatory practices suggest

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that the military would allow black men to command other blacks and low-ranking whites but not hegemonic whites. In spite of very different experiences with their daily work routines, black officers and enlisted men shared the burden of race. White commanders also administered military justice in ways that perpetuated white hegemony. They often used their discretionary powers to penalize black soldiers for minor infractions of military rules and to discharge blacks whom they considered troublemakers. Base commanders had the option of meting out administrative punishments called Article 15s against soldiers accused of violating base rules. A Congressional Black Caucus investigation revealed that white commanders often warned white servicemen of rules violations while penalizing blacks with Article 15s for similar offenses. As a nonjudicial punishment, the Article 15 appeared to be a relatively innocuous penalty, but in reality the negative effects of this discretionary judgment extended beyond military duty. Soldiers with Article 15s rarely received promotions, and they became easy targets for lessthan-honorable discharges. In addition to using Article 15s inequitably, base commanders abused their power to imprison suspects prior to trial. The brass targeted suspected militants, military critics, and counterculturalists who wore Afros, rings, armbands, and other symbols of their racial identity. Racial harassment in the guise of military justice created a dilemma for cultural nationalists. They could either strictly obey military dress codes and thus violate their sense of manhood, or they could express their black identity through their hairstyle and cultural paraphernalia and so jeopardize their livelihood. In a letter published in the “Our Men in Vietnam” section of the black monthly Sepia, Anthony Edmondson warns young black men of these cultural predicaments and implores the magazine’s readers to urge their congressmen to exert political pressure on military authorities. After detailing how military commanders in the former West Germany used Article 212 to discharge men they deemed undesirable “for little or no reason,” the army specialist described the racial climate on his base: There are commanders in the Army that don’t care about black men as people. All they care about is whether you’re a good nigger or not. This means falling out everyday in starched uniforms, and spitshined shoes, keeping your hair cut down to where white people like it, constantly getting messed over and never opening your mouth against oppression, and most of all messing over your black brother to gain goody points with the white men.

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As long as you remain a good nigger, you won’t catch hell so bad, but you’re always going to catch hell, good nigger or not. Now on the other hand if you’re the type of person who does not love the white man’s Army, a person who will speak and act to protect himself and his people from racism and oppression, you had better stay clear of the white man’s Army. Because for those type people, like myself, the white man knows best one thing . . . a jail cell.25 For many young blacks then, resisting the military regulations involved more than typical conflicts between enlisted men and officers. African American servicemen resisted the military regimen as a way of asserting their independence from white authorities. Lacking proper advice about the negative consequences of Article 15 to their careers, many black men accepted the penalty rather than have their cases go to trial. Though an accused GI could be exonerated through a court-martial, it was a risky alternative, since the base commander selected the judge and the prosecutor, and conviction brought severe punishment. With the system heavily biased against them, many black servicemen simply wanted out of the military. Unfortunately, they too often based their decisions to accept less-than-honorable discharges on the inaccurate advice that the classification could easily be changed in the future. Although released from the service, these black veterans felt the repercussions of their military problems in civilian life. The military withheld benefits to undesirably discharged veterans. With any less-than-honorable discharge—general or undesirable—on their records, low-skilled black veterans bore an additional burden in their search for gainful employment. “Employment is already a big problem if you’re black,” Specialist Anthony Edmondson explained; “with a 212 [undesirable discharge] it is almost impossible to get hired anywhere.”26 Although many black GIs chafed at the strict regimen of a white institution in an era when African Americans shared the antiestablishment values of the Black Power movement, they still depended on the military for their livelihood and for its imprimatur as they entered the civilian workforce. Another problem was the challenge of finding suitable housing. African American noncommissioned officers discovered that low efficiency reports administered by prejudiced superiors undermined their ability to compete for housing on base. With better evaluations and higher rank, white NCOs edged out their black peers for limited housing on base. Off base, many local landlords discriminated against black servicemen. Ironi-

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cally, racial segregation occasionally posed greater problems for black servicemen than it did for black civilians. Since most military bases are isolated from cities, black servicemen could not easily retreat to nearby racial enclaves. In addition to forcing black men into commuting longer distances, housing discrimination posed other challenges. Segregated housing forced some career soldiers to seek additional employment to supplement their incomes, so that they could afford a decent place to live. On the other hand, African Americans who possessed the financial resources still encountered obstacles in their quest for the good life. Seeking the fruits of suburban life—comfortable homes and quality schools for their children—black soldiers who served at Andrews Air Force Base and at Fort Meade were denied the American Dream by hostile rental agents.27 As a result of these restrictive housing markets, it was not unusual for white enlisted men to live in better areas than did black officers. It was pointless for victims of housing discrimination to expect any more help from their base commander with this problem than they could expect to receive with racial discrimination on base. The Congressional Black Caucus found that base commanders often “conspir[ed] with local agents in an effort to circumvent open housing regulations.”28 Base commanders essentially chose a policy of white privilege over fairness.29

Black Power Ideas In the civilian world, young African Americans became disillusioned with the mainstream civil rights movement and its goal of racial integration only a few years before black GIs lost patience with the promise of racial equality in the military. Young blacks, both civilian and military, looked to the Black Power movement for explanations of their oppression and for strategies for their liberation. In light of the close connection between the Black Power movement and its GI counterpart, a brief overview of key ideas of the civilian movement will help place the GI movement into historical context.30 Black Power sentiment gained favor among young activists as a result of their frustrations with interracial politics and the government’s inability—or unwillingness—to curb white violence against black people. After a summer of tireless voter registration on behalf of the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party (MFDP), the Student Nonviolence Coordinating Committee (SNCC) lobbied the Democratic Party to seat the MFDP delegation in place of the all-white state delegation at the Atlantic City con-

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vention. Rather than support SNCC’s petition, the national Democrats offered the MFDP two seats “at-large.” Feeling betrayed by the political compromise, SNCC activists became suspicious of interracial alliances. In addition, the shooting of James Meredith on his “March against Fear” made the moderate civil rights movement less appealing to restless young African Americans because it suggested how vulnerable black people were to white vigilantism, and because it exposed the limitations of Martin Luther King’s nonviolent approach. After continuing Meredith’s journey along with other leaders and activists, Stokely Carmichael made “Black Power” a popular rallying slogan.31 Having inaugurated a new movement, Black Power thinkers launched an attack on integration. According to Carmichael, integration was “a subterfuge for the maintenance of white supremacy.”32 Alvin Poussaint, a noted African American psychiatrist, essentially agreed with Carmichael’s assertion.33 In practice, integration allowed only a few blacks limited access to predominantly white institutions while the plight of the black masses remained unchanged. By accepting the status and material benefits of white institutions, “token” blacks became unwitting allies of a racial system that oppressed their segregated brothers and sisters. Black Power advocates also criticized integration because of the psychological costs to African Americans. Since desegregation worked in one direction—a token number of blacks integrated white institutions but not vice versa—black institutions were stigmatized as inferior. Integrated blacks were forced into the dehumanizing position of having to deny their cultural heritage. Conscious of the white gaze, they often adopted white cultural values in order to be accepted by their peers. Assessing the psychological impact of white cultural hegemony, Carmichael pointed out that “[n]o person can be healthy and mature if he must deny part of himself.”34 African Americans, the Black Powerites concluded, would be better off strengthening their own communities rather than subjecting themselves to the psychological wounds of racial integration. Central to the new black identity was the development of black consciousness based upon an appreciation for black history and culture in both the New World and Africa. By reclaiming their culture and history, blacks could develop an identity that was self-affirming, that reflected the values, needs, and interests of African Americans. Black Power meant rejecting mainstream American values that did not facilitate liberation. Seeing the white middle class as the source of black oppression, Carmichael derided bourgeois whites as hypocrites who gave lip service to the idea of an egalitarian society, but who jealously guarded their class privi-

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leges. Because of its preoccupation with materialism, Carmichael derided it as “anti-humanist” and “a social force that perpetuates racism.” On the other hand, Poussaint pointed out that black middle-class consumerism and status consciousness fostered class tensions within the black community, thus weakening racial ties.35 In order to reverse their powerlessness, African Americans would have to replace middle-class notions of individual achievement and acquisitiveness with the Black Power ideal of racial solidarity. In calling for racial consciousness, the Black Power movement sought to create a collective black identity that emphasized agency. The historical memory of slavery greatly affected the ways that Black Power sympathizers defined black masculinity in the sixties. According to the Black Power reading of the past, white Americans robbed black men of their African heritage and stripped them of their “manhood” by reducing them to the status of property. In order to survive bondage, black men had to adopt the passive role of an Uncle Tom and could not establish an identity separate from their white masters. During the Jim Crow era, whites maintained racial subordination through an elaborate racial etiquette that required black people to address whites with terms that reinforced deference, while whites ignored the manhood of grown black males by calling them “boy.” Moreover, whites stigmatized African Americans as a negative other by attributing inferior characteristics to black people. Still worse, many blacks internalized these racist images. Since hegemonic masculinity had placed blacks in positions of passivity and powerlessness, the Black Power movement valued an assertive masculinity that was independent from white control. Within the brotherhood, however, black men valued interdependence and equality. The Black Power movement encouraged African American men to feel a sense of empowerment through their connections to other black people. Rather than looking to the white community for validation, African Americans could expect positive acceptance from the black community.

Racial Solidarity in the Military Stimulated by Black Power thought and culture, young African American GIs developed counterhegemonic notions of masculinity as a strategy for overcoming their marginal status. Their collective power enabled them to counteract some of the problems that they could not deal with as individuals in their relationships with white peers and superiors. With the Black Power influence, black soldiers redefined homosociality to emphasize ra-

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cial ties over military affiliations. In other words, these men—especially rear-echelon soldiers—stressed their identities as black men rather than their identities as marines and army soldiers. The Black Power movement called for a fundamental change in the way that black men perceived themselves and their relationship to white America. Bobby Guider suggested the need for racial consciousness by describing how white hegemony destroyed black men’s self-image: To my brothers aware To the ones that just don’t care, To the ones with the brainwashed minds, Thinking the white man has been so kind . . . He gives you water, you pretend it’s wine, Telling yourself he’s mighty fine. God, I know my brothers are blind. To my brothers who still believe, Without the man, you can’t achieve.36 Black consciousness offered a way for racially “brainwashed” GIs to deprogram their ingrained attitudes so that they could experience a sense of personal power through their own culture and their relationships with their black brothers. Black homosocial circles created a space for African American men to redefine their collective identities through their social interactions. Black men explored the meanings of manhood through sharing bonding rituals, language, and leisure pursuits. Black soldiers often congregated informally in their hootches to participate in “soul sessions” in which they socialized together and discussed racial issues. They also established more formal counterhegemonic organizations in the United States and Southeast Asia. Many of these groups were cultural awareness societies while others were politically oriented antiwar groups and quasi-unions. The names of these organizations reflected their goals and sources of inspiration: The Malcolm X Association, Unsatisfied Black Soldiers, Better Blacks United, De Mau Mau, and so forth. The Malcolm X Association worked to raise political and cultural consciousness at Vandenberg Air Force Base in California. The founders named their organization for Malcolm X because his “ideas . . . were sufficiently suggestive of the continuing struggle for change, cultural mobilization of the brothers and sisters and prevention of our going back to sleep.”37 To many base commanders, even the most innocuous manifestation of racial consciousness—such as GIs calling themselves “black” instead of “Negro”—threatened the status quo.38 Faced with a more mili-

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tant challenge by the Malcolm X Association, the commander at Vandenberg refused the group’s requests to meet on the compound and discouraged GIs from attending meetings off base. According to one member, the commanding officer resented the association because it represented organized black resistance that could not be easily dismissed like the “many acts of individual rebelliousness” that frequently occurred on the air force base.39 Although the group valued its assertive posture, it tried to make sure that the military command did not mistake racial militancy for advocacy of violence. Using women as peacekeepers in the midst of a male rivalry, the Malcolm X Association invited wives of servicemen to join their organization to reduce the likelihood that the group would become the target of violent repression. In their homosocial enclaves, insurgent African American GIs appropriated liberating concepts from Black Power rhetoric in order to interpret their oppression and to redefine masculinity according to the values of their brotherhood. The language that blacks used to talk about racial solidarity shows the importance of both racial consciousness and equality to them. Reginald Edwards described how black GIs helped awaken him to a new identity: When I went to Quantico, my being black, they gave me the black squad, the squad with most of the blacks, especially the militant blacks. And they started hippin’ me. . . . [T]hey hipped me to terms like “exploitation” and “oppression.” And by becoming an illustrator, it gave you more time to think. And I was around people who thought. People who read books. I would read black history where the white guys were going off on novels or playing rock music. So then one day, I just told them I was black. I didn’t call them blanco, they didn’t have to call me Negro. That’s what started to get me in trouble. I became a target. Somebody to watch.40 Edwards’s preference for “black” over “Negro” indicates the transformation of his racial identity. Negroes accepted the status quo and preferred white values; black men challenged racial subordination and embraced black consciousness. The new verb—“to blackenize”—that black GIs invented to describe the process of cultural transformation underscored the symbolic meaning of “black” to their rhetoric. These men frequently used terms such as “togetherness” and “unity” to describe their friendship circles. They also used words that suggested symbolic kinship ties like “brothers,” “soul brothers,” and “bloods” to describe their homosociality. This language emphasized the communitarian values of the brother-

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hood. A young black man did not need rank for the brothers to accept him. For men who felt alienated from a predominantly white military, these African American networks gave black enlisted men an affirming connection to their black brothers.

Intraracial Tensions While solidarity rhetoric stressed the power of collective action, many black men—particularly older career soldiers—thought of themselves as individuals, subscribed to hegemonic notions of masculinity, and scorned black unity as counterproductive. Young black soldiers typically referred to senior noncommissioned officers with this perspective as “Uncle Toms.” For their part, the elder soldiers refused to accept the younger generation’s definitions of manhood. Rather than seeing the armed forces as a source of racial oppression, older blacks thought of military service as a career path toward upward mobility. Individualism—the idea that a man could succeed through his own strong character and diligent work— resonated with these men. According to Sergeant Ronald Coleman, black solidarity was racist and stifled individual freedom: Many people use the term [Uncle Tom] because they see an INDIVIDUAL who wants to do his thing without having to prove to anyone how black and proud he is. To me an “Uncle Tom” is more of a man than those who use the term. At least he has what it takes to make it over here in the Vietnam conflict.41 Many younger black enlisted men, however, spurned individualism because their experiences with racial discrimination taught them that it was a ruse.42 When they imagined the new black man of the Black Power era, they envisaged an African American man who derived his identity from his commitment to his black brothers. The noncommissioned officer who defined himself as an individual and rejected communal masculinity did not live up to this image. Not all older NCOs were hostile to the idea of Black Power. Black Power meant something different to the career NCO than to the young enlisted man, however. Black Power NCOs preferred to work within the institutional framework of the military, but they strongly rejected accommodationist politics. For them, Black Power meant caucusing to magnify their individual power or quietly wielding their influence behind the

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scenes. With the help of a sympathetic white captain, a group of black NCOs built a power base at Fort Lewis. These men, Joel Davis explained, had a [h]igh level of [racial] consciousness, plus they had, at that level, they had a lot of weight, actual weight because they was all sergeants. So they had consciousness and the rank to go with it. . . . That’s what I mean by a Black Power bloc, because we really controlled our unit.43 According to Davis, his commanding officer tried to thwart their power by transferring members of the group to other units. The discussions of Uncle Toms reflected traditional conflicts between officers and enlisted men, but race made managing these familiar tensions more difficult for African American NCOs. They had to deal with special expectations from both white superiors and black subordinates. Though black NCOs were charged with the responsibility of enforcing military discipline, many young blacks expected preferential treatment from them. Hoping to avoid racial strife, white commanders placed militant blacks in platoons led by black NCOs. Sergeant Walter Ambrose spoke for many black NCOs when he described the difficulty of training black enlisted men. “First of all they see me as a brother,” Ambrose explained. “Right away they get me in trouble. They feel I should be more lenient.”44 On the other hand, young African American GIs complained that black NCOs and officers treated them more severely than white soldiers to show that they were not partial toward their own race.45 Given the obstacles that had prevented blacks from advancing in the military hierarchy, Black Powerites suspected that NCOs had compromised their blackness in order to advance. Corporal Warren Moore, for example, denounced a staff sergeant who had asserted that black GIs exaggerated the extent of racial discrimination in the military: “He’s worse than an Uncle Tom. He’s the kind of man we can’t use. First of all, he’s a lifer, so therefore, he’s brainwashed about the U.S. military and the white man runs the military. The white man has brainwashed him against his own brothers.”46 Always conscious of the white gaze, moreover, Black Power soldiers feared that their white superiors would use these men to discredit them as racial extremists. The black nationalists also felt that these men promoted their own personal advancement at the expense of other black men: “We are being defeated internally by informers, better known as ‘Toms.’ They either go directly over to Whitey’s side or strike secretly. The slightest misstep and we will be prosecuted. The informer

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sells his soul for a few stripes.”47 In brief, many young blacks complained about “Uncle Toms” because they considered them race traitors who conspired with whites to oppress black people.48 Taking a more sympathetic perspective, R. J. Swann acknowledged that blacks often had to make concessions as a part of life in an integrated military, but he insisted that “some brothers overdo it.” He further pointed out that individualistic strategies associated with “Uncle Tomism” were ultimately self-defeating. In his letter to Sepia, Swann recounted a tale of a black sergeant who ingratiated himself with his white superiors only to be demoted for a minor infraction. “Just imagine all that Tomming, all that kissing backsides and look what it got him,” Swann wrote. Along with showing that the sergeant’s servile conduct failed to produce a better job, Swann’s story reinforced the idea that black men must be assertive and independent. While some cultural nationalists despised men who did not subscribe to their worldview, others were not willing to abandon the “Uncle Toms” altogether. Their interpretation of racial solidarity dictated that they attempt to redeem their alienated brothers from the white world. Specialist Lawrence Wallace strongly cautioned fellow blacks to refrain from labeling other blacks, since “the name ‘Tom’ is the lowest you can call a black man.”49 Wallace insisted that black men respect the right to disagree in the hope that greater openness would foster understanding and unity. In light of his view that “[o]nce planted in the soul, blackness cannot be erased,” Willie Aaner believed that the racial consciousness of a distant black need only be awakened by a sympathetic African American: “[I]f each brother and sister could bring one Uncle Tom around to seeing the light, just think how many potential warriors that would be fighting along in our struggle.”50

Ritual of Unity Lower-ranking young black men symbolically expressed their homosociality through ritual handshakes consisting of a series of interactive gestures—the slapping of hands, finger-snapping, and “pounding” the upper body of another man. Black GIs called their ritual greetings “the dap,” and its abbreviated versions “the power” and “the power check.” Although the dap was a ritual of unity, its complexity allowed participants to express their individuality. Men from different regions and different branches of the military shared their own variations of the dap, but when they encountered a stranger they would become acquainted by teaching

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one another their specific variation of the handshake; sometimes they syncretized the two forms to create a new version. The difficulty of the handshakes also preserved the integrity of the brotherhood by guarding against cooptation by white soldiers.51 Evoking the English phrase “Black is beautiful,” the Vietnamese word dap means beautiful. A central idea of black solidarity—strength through unity—was conveyed in the phrase “to give power,” which was one of the ways GIs described the exchange of handshakes. The dap challenged the hegemonic values of the military. Military regulations required enlisted personnel to salute their officers. Since there were very few black officers during the Vietnam War, the military salute was often a ritual of racial deference for black GIs. The dap was a more intimate greeting than either the military salute or the traditional civilian handshake because it required men to actually touch one another and it could last several minutes. This black military greeting differed from other handshakes in another important way. Other handshakes concentrated on dyadic relationships, but the dap fostered community. “If you came into a mess hall,” Lamont Steptoe explained, “you would go around to all the tables and give up this dap to every black man in the place before you would sit down to eat.”52 In short, the traditional military salute emphasized rank and white privilege, while the dap expressed black homosociality.53 African American men often explained the symbolic importance of their ritual greeting in the language of heterosexual love.54 The dap represented shared intimacy, love, and trust. Men revealed their aspirations and vulnerabilities through exchanging their convoluted handshakes. Lonnie Alexander explained the intimacy that the dap represented: Instead of grabbing the old hand and shaking hands and pulling and yanking, you do the [dap], because it was very hip you know . . . to do this . . . was . . . like making love to the brother. . . . [I]t’s like . . . telling a brother: “Now, look OK—I can talk to you about whatever I want to talk about.” You know all this comes out of a dap. You’re naturally free with him. You understand? He’s your brother, and like I say if you’ve got an emotional problem, you feel like crying or carrying on, he won’t laugh at you. Because he’s not there to laugh at you, he’s there to help.55 Alexander’s interpretation of the dap suggests how African American GIs remade military homosociality to suit their evolving gender consciousness. It explains the popularity of the dap. In contrast to the stodgy civilian handshake, the dap was “hip,” a countercultural ritual that marked Alex-

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ander’s generation. His description also suggests that African American GIs tried to move beyond the narrow survival interests that often defined the homosociality of interracial platoons. Black men created a sense of brotherhood and collective male power by embracing self-disclosure, a process of “feminine” interpersonal relations.56 Estranged brothers, moreover, resolved interpersonal conflicts by dapping. A GI explained: “If you give a pound to the man, you are saying, ‘stop this horrible fight between ourselves and come to your senses, Black Brother Me; you and I have been down too long and something should be done about it.”57 African American GIs dapped not just to promote racial harmony but to demonstrate their racial militancy as well. Seeing the dap as a threat to their authority, some commanders banned the ritual.58 Nonetheless, black men challenged hegemonic masculinity by dapping in mess halls, a space controlled by military authorities. These incursions into this public space gave black men a sense of power. They resisted the hegemony of the military institution by disrupting orderly mess lines with their time-consuming ritual, and they gained the upper hand in their rivalry with their white peers by making them wait to get their meals. John Harrison explained the protest function of the dap: “It was a way to piss white people off, and anytime we could do that, we felt good.”59 Wilton Persons, an army officer, described an instance when white GIs retaliated: There had been a group of blacks who had sat at the same tables in the mess hall, and some of them carried swagger sticks. At that period in the county’s history there seemed to be a need for blacks to greet one another in an extravagant and noisy way. One day a group of white soldiers decided that they were tired of this same group of blacks coming in and always sitting at the same three tables, very ostentatiously, dapping and dancing around and what not. The whites came in and sat at those tables used by the blacks, they were carrying swagger sticks, and they dapped, and from this a [fight] erupted.60 Why was this particular group of white soldiers bothered by the homosociality of their black peers? From the officer’s recollection of the interracial confrontation, it does not appear that the blacks had intended to provoke their white peers by taking a hostile action such as delaying the mess lines. Though not necessarily directed at them, these white soldiers saw the “extravagant” solidarity of the black soldiers as a threat to their own power. The blacks were apparently indifferent to the presence of the white soldiers, and they disregarded military notions of decorum. By claiming the

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three tables in the cafeteria as their own, the black soldiers effectively segregated the whites. It was as if the African Americans were saying “no whites allowed.” The rivalry between the two male groups manifested itself in a battle for control over the contested territory in the mess hall. Offended by the conspicuous displays of black solidarity, the white GIs responded by mocking Black Power culture. By defending the dap, the black soldiers were defending their manhood. Like many whites, some black soldiers were uncomfortable with the counterhegemonic meaning of the dap. Older and better positioned in the military hierarchy, black officers and career NCOs shared neither generational ties nor the same conceptions of masculinity with Black Power GIs. Feeling a sense of brotherhood with the white GIs with whom they had bonded in basic training, combat, and other military experiences, some young black servicemen shunned the dap and black solidarity as well, because they did not want to choose between black and white friends. These black critics contested the meaning of the dap. They denied that it was a manly act, and they contended that black solidarity stifled individual freedom and that it was racist. The dap was so central to black masculinity that advocates and critics alike frequently wrote letters to Sepia to express their views on the meaning of the ritual. One black critic, Sergeant William H. Green, declared that the Black Power greeting did not befit grown men: It “looks like some kind of game you see kids playing.”61 The pressure to conform to black solidarity was certainly more intense for African American enlisted men who were continuously in contact with Black Power GIs. Ignoring peer pressure, some black GIs spoke out against the burden of racial unity. In two letters to Sepia, Specialist Charles Andrew condemned the dap as oppressive and charged his fellow black soldiers with racism: “I’m supposed to be a mindless slave and do these things because every black man does them and because I don’t want to be considered an Uncle Tom.” Noting that “[r]ace is an accident,” the specialist disapproved of the ritual celebration because it arbitrarily excluded whites solely based upon their skin color. In his follow-up letter, Andrew accused the brothers of using the dap as a weapon of intimidation in order to avoid heavy work assignments. Like Sergeant Green, he questioned the manhood of the black nationalists: “Anyone who . . . has a mature mind will tell you [the dap] is childish.”62 Bristling at these criticisms, several GIs fired off passionate responses. Some respondents reminded Andrew and Sepia readers that racial discrimination demanded that African American servicemen close ranks.

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Although Black Power GIs acknowledged that many poor and workingclass whites faced similar problems, they insisted that racial oppression was unique and therefore necessitated their exclusive brotherhood. “If white people had suffered what we have as black people together with us,” Sergeant Ric Leatherwood explained, “then perhaps we [would] have cause to exchange the dap with them.”63 Ronald L. Simms rejected the idea that the brothers coerced other black men into dapping: “Do you feel discriminated against when you are forced to salute your white officers, or when you sprinkle each sentence with ‘sirs’ as you address your so-called superiors?”64 As for the charge of racial intimidation, Sergeant M. C. Menzies maintained that blacks worked hard like everyone else, but he conceded that the dap “does put fear in the hearts of those white people who wish to off load their workload on black servicemen or in other ways inflict racism.”65 Critics were not the only source of concern for Black Power GIs. They also worried about the lack of sincere commitment to black consciousness among some dapping GIs. One letter writer, for instance, complained about blacks in Germany who exchanged the dap but had no sense of the cultural significance of the handshake.66 Marc Scott and Allen Scudder, two marines who were stationed in Okinawa, penned a jeremiad lamenting the cultural immaturity of recent arrivals to the Japanese island. “These black ‘boots,’” the men complained, “come here ignorant of blackness and simply because they are afraid of being labeled ‘uncool’ by others, they give the dap and make noises about a revolution they know nothing about.” And others violated the trust that Black Power rituals symbolized. “It hurts me to see brothers give one another the power salute,” a marine at Camp Lejeune confessed, “then turn around [to] stab this same brother in the back.”67 Still other black GIs were torn between their commitment to the brothers and the pressure to conform to military culture. Warren Groham bewailed “part-time brothers in Vietnam” who “will give you the power when there are no whites around, but ignor[e] your power sign when there is.” Reminding his community that collective action engenders power, the African American private wrote that “[t]he whites have their eyes on the brothers, and we must show them we’re together.”68 Groham’s observations about “part-time brothers” suggest the challenges that these GIs encountered in their efforts to negotiate life as black men in a predominantly white institution.

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Protest Culture Along with the dap, the Afro signified black masculinity.69 By wearing Afros, young black GIs resisted hegemonic definitions of masculinity, since the military regulations forbade long hair for much of the war. Black men—soldiers and civilians alike—valued the Afro because it visibly distinguished their masculinity from that of white men.70 By embracing their long, bushy hair and glorifying their black bodies, black men rejected white aesthetics.71 For many black nationalists of both sexes, the Afro signified black masculinity. As one black woman observed, black men who sported Afros “just look more male.”72 In light of the cultural importance of the revolutionary hairstyle, black GIs waged a continual battle for control of their bodies. A few conservative commanding officers attempted to humiliate radical GIs by ordering their Afros cut in public.73 Some blacks risked jail sentences in order to display their cultural identity through their hairstyle.74 Perhaps the most publicized defender of the Afro, Airman August Doyle accepted a courtmartial rather than violate his masculinity by conforming to military standards.75 Because the Afro appealed to large numbers of black men and they were willing to defy their superiors, the military eventually changed its policy to allow a modified Afro and became more sensitive to black hair care needs. In spite of these concessions, a military Afro was not a black Afro to many radical GIs.76 Nonetheless, their agitation induced the military to recognize an alternate, “blackenized” image of the American soldier. In addition to the Afro, black men adorned their bodies with blackcolored accessories to showcase their manhood. They wore black sunglasses, black armbands, black shirts, and black gloves. They carried walking sticks with black panther heads on the handles. They even made subtle style choices to distinguish themselves from their white peers. In John Harrison’s unit, blacks wore their boonie hats with the rim turned up; whites, with the rim turned down. African American serviceman also expressed their homosociality with a tri-colored black, red, and green flag. Black symbolized African and black American culture. Red represented the blood that African Americans had shed throughout history. Emphasizing the importance of their own generation, the soldiers interpreted the color green to symbolize “youth and new ideas.” The flag also addressed the race problem: A wreath on the flag called for “peace if possible,” whereas crossed spears warned of “violence if necessary.” The Swahili words “Hofu Ni Kqenu” printed on the flag were essentially a motto for black solidarity: “I will stand by you brother if you want my help.”

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During leisure hours, black GIs had the chance to spend time building their fraternal ties. African Americans enjoyed listening to the latest soul music together on their tape players, playing basketball, and just talking with one another in their hootches. They went out for soul food and entertainment together. In Saigon, whites sought their relaxation on Tu Do Street, while blacks frequented bars in the Khanh area, which was known as Soul Alley because of its clientele. Soul Alley offered black GIs reminders of their black culture in the United States. Black servicemen enjoyed soul food—turnips, barbecued ribs, and chitterlings—at popular restaurants such as the L&M and the C.M.G. Guest House. They also sought the company of Cambodian and Senegalese-Asian women, whose dark skin reminded them of the black women they left behind. While Soul Alley provided an escape from white hegemony for active-duty black servicemen, it also served as a refuge for black deserters who, surviving on the underground economy, lived in self-imposed exile. This served as a good place for them to evade authorities because whites, even MPs (military police), rarely ventured into Soul Alley.77 Just as food reflected a man’s gender identity, so too did his choice of drug. Older whites drank alcohol, whereas young men from diverse backgrounds smoked marijuana and heroin.78 Smoking these substances gave black men a communal escape from the pressures of the Vietnam War. While many GIs depended on drugs to get them through the day, politically minded Black Powerites realized that men who retreated to the world of drugs would not be reliable members of the brotherhood. To discourage drug abuse among black soldiers, radical GIs appealed to their sense of manhood. Worried about the welfare of their brothers, these soldiers denigrated drugs as a dangerous substance that feminized militant black men. “To resort to opiated drugs to overcome Negrophobia is emasculating ourselves,” Louis Vinson explained. “I have seen the white ghost [heroin] turn our black brothers into everything,” Specialist Edward E. Frazier observed, “but the new black man.”79 Private Jack Walker agreed: “I think it’s time for us to rise from the bottom and fight like the mighty men that we’re said to be.”80 Unwilling to concede defeat, Specialist Henry Rollins developed a novel Black Amnesty Drug Program at Long Binh that combined consciousness-raising, homosociality, and antidrug instruction to help brothers overcome their addictions. Rollins and other activists tried to convince addicts that “Black brothers do not skag” because heroin addiction undermined racial advancement. To support the brothers who were suffering from withdrawal, nationalist drug counselors sat with their brothers during their time of need.81

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Committed to black aesthetics and the belief that lifestyle choices should reflect racial politics, black men discouraged one another from becoming involved in interracial sexual relationships. Renouncing white women as symbols of beauty, black men insisted that culturally informed GIs direct their sexual desire exclusively toward black women. While only a small number of black GIs in Southeast Asia had to worry about the implications of dating white women, these interracial relationships were an important concern for most GIs just as they were for black civil rights activists in the United States.82 In fact, Michelle Wallace observed that many black men pursued white women at the same time that nationalist sentiment was spreading in the black community. She explained this apparent contradiction by suggesting that these black men measured their civil rights in terms of their sexual freedom. If truly liberated from the limitations of racism, they could freely choose any sexual partner they desired.83 Whatever the preferences of their brothers back home or their own sexual behavior during their leisure hours, Black Power GIs decried interracial sex. They saw black women as signifiers of their own racial consciousness and their helpmates in the struggle for black liberation. To address tensions between the sexes, they stated that black solidarity called for them to develop new attitudes toward black women. Showing “respect” for black women meant not only eschewing physical and verbal abuse, but it meant venerating the black female as the standard of beauty and sexual desire.84 Phrases like “black queen,” “beautiful black women,” and “beautiful sisters” became favorite phrases of solidarity rhetoric. As distant but important subjects of this discourse, black women occasionally wrote their own letters to Sepia to encourage Black Power GIs and to censure their wayward brothers. Many black women certainly agreed with the views of Private Neal Bailey: “[A] black man can’t marry a white woman and be totally active in the black movement because she will only pull him down and endanger our progress.”85 Black Power advocates believed that white women threatened the liberation movement for several reasons. Since they believed that a man’s mate reflected his self-image, black men who dated white women were denying their blackness. In addition to compromising a black man’s identity, white women created sexual tension between black men and women and competition between black men. Gail Hall, the daughter of an airman, praised a group of black GIs stationed in Germany who had vowed not to date white women. Hall found the racial commitment of these men reassuring because she was distressed, “especially when a brother won’t even speak for the idea of unity and togetherness because he is so hung up on getting close to the

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white man’s so-called sex symbol.” Agreeing with Hall’s assessment of the problems created by interracial relationships, Kenneth Sullivan, a marine, stated that “we need to get ourselves together and stop trying to outdo each other by running to the white man or woman for love, happiness, etc. because we are only fooling and hurting ourselves.”86 For these two individuals, true happiness came not from individual sexual freedom but from the shared commitments of a supportive community and psychological independence from the white world. Black Power not only changed the way African American GIs understood their collective manhood, but it also influenced the way they interpreted the war.

Race and War Antiwar sentiment was always noticeable among African American GIs. Prior to the Tet Offensive however, most either backed the war enthusiastically or were willing to give the nation the benefit of the doubt. These soldiers expected that their loyal service would bring them the rewards of full citizenship when they returned to the United States. Many believed that the example of black and white Americans fighting side-by-side in a war against communism would positively influence race relations at home. Lawrence Waggoner eloquently captured this view: What disturbs me even more [than antiwar protests] is the fact that some Negroes say this isn’t [our] war. Why not? Are we not Americans before we are Negro or white? As soon as more people act this way, there will be a change for the better. When I return home soon, my fight . . . for equality will begin. I say “begin” because here there are no color lines—I am a marine, period! I say this to all my fellow soldiers, Negro and white alike: When you leave Vietnam, don’t undo all the good you’ve done. You’ve fought together and lived together as brothers for over a year. When you do return home, continue to work together. I am sure it will make our great country even greater.87 Waggoner’s positive experiences with interracial brotherhood allowed him to finesse racial tensions by positioning himself as a raceless “marine.” Airman Sidney Hamilton reminded black GIs, “As Negroes, we too, are part of the team that helps our nation keep free” from “the clutches of communism.”88 James Johnson, who identified himself as “a Negro, a volunteer in both the U.S. Army and Vietnam,” wrote a letter to Sepia to correct misconceptions about the war. Johnson believed not only that the

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war was just, but that African Americans would defeat racial prejudice through loyal service: “[W]e know we are winning both the war here, and specifically, equality for the colored man at home. We are proving that we stand just as tall and brave and dignified as any other man.”89 Less sanguine GIs remained skeptical about the prospects for meaningful equality at home. “I don’t expect to hear no static for nothing from nobody,” Specialist Johnny Raines warned. “I am going to start enjoying some of these freedoms they tell me that I’ve been fighting for over here.”90 Upset by the slow pace of promotions, inequities in the administration of justice, and unpleasant assignments, young black soldiers like Specialist Raines who insisted that they were entitled to fair treatment became increasingly receptive to black nationalism and antiwar ideas. In Black Power rhetoric, these marginal soldiers found the language to critique the military establishment and express their opposition to the war. Denouncing the war, black soldiers rejected anticommunist rhetoric used to justify black participation. As racially conscious black men, young African American GIs reevaluated their place in American society and the world. They also resisted their marginal status by positioning themselves as Third World subjects, allied in common cause with the Vietnamese against white domination. Black soldiers expressed their outrage at the idea that they should fight to bring democracy to Vietnam when African Americans were denied freedom at home. Many began to question the war as Private James Barnes did: “They say we’re fighting to free the people of South Vietnam. But Newark wasn’t free. Was Watts? Was Detroit? I mean, which is more important, home or here?”91 In a letter to Sepia, Private Wendell Hill chided black soldiers for displaying a willingness to fight to free other peoples but demonstrating a lack of commitment to the black struggle. Hill declared that oppressed black people should be the “first loyalty” of black GIs rather than a country that had betrayed them. Articulating his counterhegemonic critique of official rhetoric, Hill insisted that black soldiers had no quarrel with the communist world: “It was not a Communist society that degraded you and made you hate yourself. It was not a Communist society that lynched your fathers and brothers, and raped your mothers and sisters.”92 In other words, African American servicemen should devote their energies to the freedom movement since hegemonic whites rather than distant communists had emasculated black men. Black Powerites also described Vietnam as a “race war” and a twofront war against the Vietcong on one side and prejudiced whites on the other: As Specialist Nickson Dudley stated, “We definitely have two en-

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emies—Charlie and Whitey. The white man over here is the same white man out of Mississippi and Alabama who has tried all of his days to keep my people down, but it’s going to be a different version of the story when we brothers come back home.”93 African American servicemen had reached a sense of political awareness by looking beyond the military uniform to expose the white man as their enemy. Rumor was a specific rhetorical genre that African American GIs used to critique hegemonic masculinity. Folklorist Patricia Turner has observed that African Americans have historically used rumor to resist hegemonic institutions such as the slave regime, the FBI, and corporations. Black Americans articulate their anxieties about racial tensions by telling rumors that involve violations of black bodies through cannibalism, murder, and contamination. In these folk expressions, whites usually target the black male body, a metonym for the race.94 During the Vietnam War, rumors circulated that the government had conspired to wage a war of genocide against young black men. The antiwar rhetoric of outspoken civil right activists such as Stokely Carmichael and Adam Clayton Powell probably stimulated the genocide rumors in Vietnam. For black soldiers, these rumors spoke to their need to explain their high casualty rates and their marginal position in the military. Stan Goff related a version of the genocide rumor in his memoir: Advanced Individual Training was predominantly black. That was why they had all those black drill sergeants, probably. Nothing but black guys in the whole fucking company. That was particularly alarming to [my friend] Bob and me. In fact, word was going around, and it wasn’t a quiet word, that blacks were being drafted for genocidal purposes. Just to get rid of us—to eliminate the black male. And we believed it. There was a general consensus in 1968 that there was a conspiracy against black youth.95 To further substantiate the rumor, Goff pointed out that the black drill sergeants who had trained him “earned their stripes the hard way in Vietnam” rather than from attending a NCO school. Keith Freeman described a different version that had the same theme. According to Freeman, the Pentagon had selected what he considered inferior weaponry as “a form of genocide to get rid of a certain age level of blacks in Vietnam.” Unlike the NVA’s AK-47 machine gun, the American M-16 was not reliable for jungle warfare, since it jammed too easily. The government gave the GIs a second-rate machine gun so that it could “experiment with different weapons like the M16 which is a fine weapon for probably the states for riots and

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the police department.”96 Outgunned and imperiled in Vietnam, African American GIs were placed in the unenviable position of testing weapons that the government would use to maintain white hegemony at home.97 Rumors gave black soldiers a sense of power. By circulating these rumors, they exposed the realities of the war—that the draft, Project 100,000, and combat service impacted black men disproportionately. Black servicemen used this knowledge to modify their conception of masculinity. Protest masculinity devalued heroism while making it acceptable for black men to become antiwar warriors.98 With greater flexibility in defining manhood, black GIs could evade risky missions without worrying about their peers calling them cowards. The genocide rumors also fostered racial solidarity.99 Each time a brother circulated the rumor, he voiced his concern for the welfare of other black men and endorsed the Black Power worldview. For many black soldiers, racial consciousness meant that they regarded the Vietnamese with a special sensitivity because both blacks and Asians shared common hardships as people of color. This sensitivity influenced the way that black soldiers looked at poor Vietnamese. Blacks like Emanuel Holloman believed that their experiences growing up in working-poor families made it easier for them to identify with the Vietnamese: I think blacks got along better with the Vietnamese people because they knew the hardships the Vietnamese went through. The majority of the people who came over there looked down on the Vietnamese. They considered them ragged, poor, stupid. They just didn’t understand them. I could understand poverty. I had five brothers and three sisters. My mother worked, still works, in an old folks’ home. An attendant, changing beds and stuff. My father works in a garage in New York. They are separated, and I had to leave school after the eighth grade to work in North Carolina.100 Many Vietnamese women did menial service work cleaning up after Americans in the same way that Holloman’s mother did at the retirement home. Because of their background, it was easy for Holloman and other blacks from poor and working-class families to respect Vietnamese workers. Having experienced poverty in the United States, they did not demean the Vietnamese because they were dirt poor. In fact, many blacks were touched by severity of the poverty in Vietnam compared to the United States.101 Black servicemen imposed the American racial schema on Vietnamese society in order to understand its particular version of inequality. Their

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experience in America fostered a special affinity for the Montagnards, a mountain-dwelling ethnic group of dark-skinned Asians who were marginal to Vietnamese society. The discriminatory treatment that the Montagnards encountered in Vietnam reminded African Americans of their own oppression in the United States. “The Montag[n]ards are the black men of Viet Nam,” Ralph Johnson observed, “and they are treated by the Vietnamese the same as the Negro is treated in the States.” Feeling a symbolic kinship with the Montagnards, some African Americans took steps to aid them and ensure that they were not abused by American troops.102 Racial consciousness also led some blacks to sympathize with the “enemy.” Gerald Merity identified with a Vietcong soldier who had been captured and handcuffed and was surrounded by Americans: “[W]hen you looked at him and he looked at you, the only thing you could say was, “I know what you’re going through brother.”103 Perhaps the image of the captured Vietcong guerrilla evoked memories of the power that white police officers exerted over black people in the United States. Not all black GIs identified with the Vietnamese, however. Uncertain about Vietnamese loyalties, many American soldiers were wary of close relationships with them. Some of the same Vietnamese who worked in American military compounds during the day waged guerrilla warfare against the Americans as Vietcong insurgents at night. Other Vietnamese workers who were not guerrillas shared intelligence about their American employers with the Vietcong. Witnessing friendly American GIs become the targets of grenade-throwing children, U.S. troops quickly learned that kindness toward the Vietnamese could result in American casualties. As a result of such dangers, many Americans kept their distance from all Asians. African American hostility toward the war and the Vietnamese people surfaced in complaints about Asian war profiteers. A Black Power GI, R. J. Swann complained that American troops—blacks, Chicanos, and poor white GIs—had become the victims of not only powerful whites but also greedy, ungrateful Vietnamese. Another soldier suggested that the South Vietnamese take greater responsibility for the war effort since “[t]he black marketeers are making a mint.” The disgruntled GI concluded that the money that government earmarked for Vietnam “could much better be spent helping the poor at home.”104 Staff Sergeant Joseph Dyson was more blunt. He asserted that the Vietnamese were not being cooperative at the Paris peace negotiations so that they could continue to milk America for aid. As black GIs sensed their vulnerability as foreigners in an Asian country, they were reminded of how American they were. If the Vietnamese felt any goodwill toward African Americans, it was

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probably because sympathetic blacks did not patronize them as had some French nationals and white American GIs.105 Since the relationship between most Vietnamese and African Americans was commercial and hierarchical, the Vietnamese had economic incentives for befriending African Americans and supporting the idea that the two peoples shared Third World ties. Nevertheless, Vietnamese had their own color prejudices, as their treatment of the darker-skinned Montagnards suggests. Like many Americans, they preferred light skin to dark skin. An American journalist speculated that the friendliness that many black Americans experienced may not have been a sign of Third World solidarity but rather of racial chauvinism. Since some Vietnamese may have believed that their lighter skin made them superior, they were not intimidated by black servicemen.106 The Third World consciousness of African American GIs made them special targets of NVA propaganda. With coaching from black antiwar activists, the North Vietnamese deployed black nationalist rhetoric in radio broadcasts and propaganda leaflets that called upon African American infantrymen to abandon the war.107 A typical leaflet equated the Vietnam War with the race struggle in the United States: “U.S. Army Men! You are committing the same ignominious crimes in South Vietnam that the KKK is perpetuating against your family at home.”108 In the aftermath of the assassination of Martin Luther King, Hanoi Hannah—the siren of communist radio propaganda—preyed upon the gender anxieties of black soldiers: “Soul brothers, go home. Whitey raping your mothers and your daughters, burning down your homes. What you over here for? This is not your war. The war is a trick of the Capitalist empire to get rid of the blacks.”109 Hanoi Hannah’s broadcast spoke to black soldiers’ disappointment with racial inequality, but few combat soldiers seriously considered desertion. Desertion was neither feasible nor desirable for most soldiers.110 Because many black GIs believed that men must honor their obligations, even if unpleasant and unfair, desertion violated their sense of manly commitment. Infantrymen also worried about their buddies, both black and white, whom they would leave behind. Would their buddies be killed because of their absence? Realistically, they understood that they could not return to their families or help the black community by becoming fugitives. While tormented by the image of fighting for the white man to suppress an Asian war of liberation, many antiwar blacks accepted that there was little they could do to escape their predicament. John Harrison recalled how he resolved this quandary in his own mind: “We were like, ‘We

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have to deal with the white man in our own way. When we get home, we have to deal with him there.’”111 Even though African American GIs were not willing to lay down their arms, they liked to entertain the idea that the NVA and Vietcong identified with their plight. Rumors circulated widely among African Americans that the NVA and Vietcong tried to minimize black fatalities.112 African Americans told stories about Vietcong ambushes in which the guerrillas killed all of the white GIs but allowed the blacks to pass through unharmed. They also shared stories about their personal encounters with the Vietcong. While visiting a whorehouse, Thomas Belton happened upon an armed Vietcong guerrilla. He recalled discussing the war in “plain English” with the soldier over dinner. What remained inscribed in his mind about the conversation was the familiar question that the guerrilla had asked in the language of Third World Solidarity: “Black GI same same like me why you here?”113 The high casualty rates among black soldiers shows that there was little truth to these rumors of preferential treatment of black soldiers by the Vietcong except perhaps as an occasional tactic of psychological warfare designed to exacerbate racial tensions. So what explains the currency of these rumors among black GIs? By circulating these rumors, black infantrymen cultivated a sense that poetic justice was being served in compensation for the hardships they suffered as marginal men. Affirming blackness as a positive quality, these rumors gave black soldiers a sense of symbolic power because they forced white GIs—who believed that their white skin might have been making them targets of enemy weapons—to experience the anxiety of race. A final purpose of the rumors was that they absolved African American GIs of moral responsibility for the destruction that the war caused. Since black Americans were the “same” as the Vietnamese, how could they be held accountable for the prosecution of the war? Denied rank and the perks of military service, young African American GIs embraced racial solidarity as source of power and gender identification. Along with bodily adornment, they cemented their homosocial bonds through ritual, rhetoric, and rumor. Instead of accepting official explanations of the war, they denounced the Vietnam War as a race war that oppressed people of color. These young GIs sought not to replicate mainstream American values but to challenge them head-on. Rejecting hierarchy and individualism, these men formed cliques based upon mutual interdependence and black nationalism.

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Serving in the least integrated branch of the armed forces, African American sailors grappled with problems similar to those that black servicemen encountered elsewhere in the military. Events aboard the Kitty Hawk in the early seventies provide insight into the naval experience of African American men during the final period of the war. Singled out by the ship’s investigative office for questioning following an on-shore racial brawl, black Kitty Hawk sailors felt emasculated by this partial treatment as well as by previous experiences with the administration of discipline on the aircraft carrier. These men reasserted their manhood through both Black Power militancy and violent protest.

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7 Black, and Navy Too Now if an officer comes along and he may not like me, you know, not because I said anything to him or done anything to him, but . . . simply because I am who I am. The way I find this out is by the response he takes. He walks up to me and a white man and he speaks to the white man and not me. He will look at the white man and not me. He will address the white man with respect but when it’s me it is, “Why don’t you do this?” If the white guy and I have the same rate, pay classification, he will put the white guy in charge of me. That is if I am senior to him or not. —Lonnie Brown, a Constellation sailor

Mom, I refuse to be anything less than a man. Before I go to jail for six months I’d rather die. No marines or whites were arrested, just Blacks. I’m serious Mom. I’ll fight till my death and on my feet before I live on my knees the way some people have. Please do everything humanly possible to help me and my brothers. —Terry Advenger, a black sailor, in a letter to his mother discussing the Kitty Hawk riot

In October 1972, racial unrest erupted into open conflict in the navy. Angered by inequitable discipline on ship, menial work, and racial harassment, black sailors traded blows with marine guards on the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk. Other racial confrontations followed. A few days after the Kitty Hawk incident, a racial brawl occurred on the oiler Hassayampa.1 Dissident black sailors protested racial discrimination by staging a sitdown strike on the Constellation in early November.2 These protests came at a time when the racial consciousness of African Americans had been transformed by the Black Power movement and American servicemen had

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grown resentful of the Vietnam War. The sentiments expressed by navy dissidents Lonnie Brown and Terry Advenger in the above quotations indicate how young African American males who had internalized black nationalist values experienced manhood as black sailors.3 These lowranking seamen insisted on asserting themselves as efficacious black men. Being a black man in this era meant refusing to accept the white man’s worldview—celebrating black cultural aesthetics and critiquing white privilege. As men, black sailors not only felt that they were entitled to all of the privileges of their rank, but they expected white men to respect them as equals, extending the same social courtesies to them that they did to members of their own race. Manly honor was so important to their masculine identities that Advenger and others fought marines and white sailors on the Kitty Hawk in order to defend it. Sensing the restive mood of America’s youth, Admiral Elmo Zumwalt, the chief of naval operations, had previously issued a series of directives, or “z-grams,” designed to ensure equal opportunity for blacks and to eliminate paternalistic restrictions directed at all enlisted navy personnel.4 The z-grams that dealt with black issues ranged from the symbolic to the substantive—from requiring military posts to carry black consumer products to minority recruitment initiatives. Zumwalt set a goal of increasing black representation in the navy to match the proportion of blacks in the general population.5 In 1971, African Americans were seriously underrepresented by that measure. There were 13,200 black enlisted personnel out of a total of 567,000 sailors, and black officers numbered 540 out of a total of 77,600 officers.6 Black sailors, in other words, comprised about 5.5 percent of all enlisted personnel in the navy, while black officers constituted a paltry 0.67 percent of the total number of all naval officers. To attract African Americans, the navy trained recruiting specialists to court African Americans and established ROTC programs at Georgia’s Savannah State and Louisiana’s Southern University. The navy also launched an advertising campaign that was designed to convince young blacks that they would be welcome in an institution that had been so closely associated with southern white Protestant males. One ad, suggesting that the navy would provide a hospitable environment to urban blacks, asserted that a black man could easily make the transition “From the Street to the Fleet.” Another assured these young men who were proud of their racial heritage that, yes, “You can be Black, and Navy too.” The navy further promised these young blacks the opportunity to learn a trade that would lead to good jobs in the private sector. Under the new recruiting policies, the percentage of new black sailors reached 12 percent in

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1972—approximating the percentage of blacks in the general population.7 The reality of the navy experience differed substantially from the rhetoric, despite Zumwalt’s personal commitment to an inclusive navy. In the wake of the Kitty Hawk and Constellation incidents, navy officials acknowledged that there had been considerable obstacles to the implementation of Zumwalt’s program for equal opportunity. Though no longer pigeonholed as stewards waiting on officers in dining rooms, African Americans nonetheless found themselves performing menial jobs. Low test scores on the AFQT—the military’s classification test—and racial discrimination militated against black sailors’ achieving their vocational goals. Lieutenant Commander William Norman—an African American and Zumwalt’s chief race-relations advisor—described how race shaped the navy’s two-tier occupational structure: “You could go aboard a carrier with 5,000 people, and you would find the overwhelming majority of the blacks in the lowest level in jobs, in the dirtiest jobs, down in the laundry room, down in the bowels of the ship,” the senior officer explained. “You walk in the areas where I work with all the sophisticated computers, and it would look as if there were no blacks on the entire ship.”8 This striking image of a caste system reminiscent of slave ships likewise troubled young sailors of the Black Power era. The navy brass cited the skills deficit documented by the AFQT as justification for the low-status occupations of black men. “It’s a tough situation,” stated the Constellation’s executive officer, Commander John Schaub, “and I think that the system we have that encourages the recruiting of educationally deprived personnel and then places them in competition with others more fortunate is poorly conceived and totally unfair.”9 The skills gap, however, does not adequately explain why white supervisors denied promotions and leadership responsibilities to black crewmen who were not seeking jobs in technical specialties. Even low-ranking, “unrated” white sailors benefited from white privilege. Lonnie Brown, the Constellation dissident, again explains how the stigma of race relegated African Americans to the least desirable jobs: “Two men have to chip down a wall. The black man will be told to get up on the ladder and chip above his head. The white guy will chip from the waist down. When that happens constantly, you know what’s happening.”10 Zumwalt’s reforms were often undermined by white commanders and midlevel supervisors who failed to implement them as intended.11 Many of these older whites resisted change because they had been socialized under the old system and had prospered under it. In other words, they inter-

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preted social gains for young sailors in general and African Americans in particular as a threat to their institutional power and status. David Cooper, a white sailor, recalled that the majority of petty officers he encountered were “out and out racists, and what you would characterize as your typical Redneck—they were George Wallace types. They would be Ku Klux Klan people, had they lived 30 or 40 years ago when the Klan was certainly more alive than it is today.”12 The old guard expressed hostility to the z-grams by asserting that these reforms fostered “permissiveness.” The notion of permissiveness connoted both generational and racial animosity. In general, it meant Zumwalt’s program was too sympathetic and conciliatory toward the demands of young enlisted personnel in ways that undermined tradition and patriarchal authority. When white officers and petty officers complained of “permissiveness,” they were saying that there were too many blacks—especially unruly militant ones—in the navy, a situation that threatened the racial hierarchy.13 The resistance of middle management was further hardened by external factors related to the Vietnam War that created status anxieties for these men. Since the nation had turned against the war, military men were put on the defensive. The public associated career military men with a dirty quagmire; average Americans no longer admired them as they had as recently as a decade earlier. Navy lifers also felt slighted by Congress, which essentially cut the navy’s budget by not increasing its funding to meet its expanding role in the Vietnam War, further intensifying their status anxieties.14 A smaller budget meant less state-of-the-art military hardware and less comfortable working and living conditions. Feeling under siege by the public and the Congress, these white males did not want to yield any institutional power to young black sailors. Needless to say, a number of young white sailors were no more eager to see greater opportunities for their black peers, since equality would undercut their racial privileges. In essence, racial conflict—between assertive young blacks, on the one hand, and their white peers and supervisors on the other—created the climate for the rebellion on the Kitty Hawk and elsewhere in the navy. In fact, racial violence and defiance of military authorities’ orders had increased significantly in the armed forces as a whole after the Tet Offensive. Frequently occurring in social arenas such as enlisted men’s clubs and mess halls, interracial violence solidified homosocial ties between servicemen of the same race. Violence was also a form of protest for black GIs who were fed up with second-class treatment. These racial brawls often involved only a few GIs in shoving matches, but they occasionally erupted into full-scale race riots involving a few hundred combatants fighting for

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several hours. Because combat soldiers relied on one another for survival, U.S. ground forces rarely allowed racial hostilities to explode in the field; the rear military camps and domestic bases were the typical sites of interracial violence. In 1969, racial violence erupted in the army at Fort Dix, New Jersey; at Fort Hood, Texas; and at Fort Bragg, North Carolina. The Marine Corps experienced the same at the Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Station in Hawaii and at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina.15 The race riot at Camp Lejeune, which began over interracial dancing, left one soldier dead. The racial brawl at Kaneohe Air Station suggests how Black Power gestures shaped black militancy and provoked racial confrontation. Newsweek described the fight at the Honolulu marine installation: “At the lowering of the colors, some 50 blacks suddenly thrust their fists skyward in the militant black-power salute. With that, an estimated 250 leathernecks, white and black, went at each other with sticks, pipes and entrenching tools in a fourhour, base-wide battle that left sixteen injured and sent three of them to the hospital.”16 A nonviolent protest staged by Constellation sailors on a San Diego dock similarly indicated the antiauthoritarian meaning of the Black Power salute. Having brought the black dissidents ashore following their first sit-down strike aboard the aircraft carrier, navy officials ordered them to return to the ship by 0800 November 9, 1972, or risk being charged with unauthorized absence. The sailors assembled along the pier and raised their clenched fists in the Black Power salute before television news crews, and most refused to report for duty. This image of black defiance so enraged President Nixon that he asked Admiral Zumwalt to summarily dismiss the protesters with dishonorable discharges.17 Just as the Black Power salute signified racial militancy at the Kaneohe Air Station brawl, the dockside demonstration by Constellation sailors, and other protests, so too did black nationalist gestures inform the gender identities of African American sailors who participated in the Kitty Hawk riot. In this chapter, I explore how African American seamen used violence to protest their marginal position in the military hierarchy and to assert their masculinity.

A Climate of Conflict Racial unrest was not the only problem that the navy confronted in the early seventies. As the focus of American participation in the Vietnam War shifted from the army and marines to the navy, GI dissidents and civilian activists redirected their antiwar campaign to give greater attention to the

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navy.18 These two pressures—greater responsibility for combat support and antiwar activities—added to the stress placed on sailors and exacerbated tensions between enlisted men and their officers. Shouldering a greater burden in the war meant that many sailors had to work eighteento twenty-hour days. Opportunities for liberty became less frequent, and when sailors did receive a brief furlough from duty, most had to compete with other sailors for a place to relax. Since the navy brass did not want ships to venture far from the war zone, Subic Bay, the Philippine port-ofcall, became overcrowded with enlisted men.19 A number of sailors coped with the pressures of the war through antiwar resistance and escapism. They flouted traditional values and military authority by wearing hippie garb, smoking marijuana, and using heroin; and they wrote for and read underground newspapers such as the Kitty Litter, which provided news and critical commentary on events on the Kitty Hawk from the perspective of dissident sailors.20 Several committed acts of sabotage on the Ranger, Forrestal, Anderson, and the Chilton in order to stop the war.21 This political vandalism not only cost the government millions of dollars to replace damaged equipment, but it heightened the anxieties of sailors on ships that were still operational. Because the Ranger and Forrestal were put out of commission, the Kitty Hawk had to remain in the war zone longer than planned.22 This delay demoralized Kitty Hawk sailors, since they had been looking forward to being reunited with their families. Under these conditions, sailors became frustrated with their leaders, and officers worried that nonconformist enlisted men might be saboteurs.23 Along with these general morale problems, African Americans had to grapple with feelings of alienation and emasculation. As in the navy generally, blacks on the Kitty Hawk found themselves confined to menial work because of educational disadvantages and racial discrimination. African American sailors were also frustrated by racial harassment—indignities young blacks faced in their daily encounters with white men that reinforced their marginal status in the military hierarchy: A supervisor allows white sailors to take a break from work, but orders the lone black among them to continue working. White sailors intimidate a black sailor who comes into their compartment while he is on watch duty. After the frightened black sailor returns with two brothers to discuss the matter, the white sailors persuade the master-at-arms to write a referral against the black watchman for threatening them.24 A black sailor who, as permitted by regulations, wears his hair braided while inside his berthing compartment feels that his masculinity has been challenged by a white superior

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who belittles his hairstyle “[i]n front of a crowd of people.” The sailor feels powerless to respond for fear that he will receive a reprimand.25 Race relations on the Kitty Hawk were strained, in part, because homosocial ties between black and white sailors were weak. Unlike infantrymen, their survival did not directly depend upon their ability to forge an interracial brotherhood. The navy further undermined these tenuous homosocial ties by reducing the duration of basic training in the early seventies. Needing more bodies to accommodate the navy’s larger role in the war, Defense Department officials were eager to advance new recruits through basic training quickly. The result of this change was that recruits did not have adequate time to thoroughly internalize their new identities as navy men.26 Enlisted men therefore lacked a strong alternative masculine identity that could foster mutual respect across the color line. While race divided the Kitty Hawk’s enlisted men, rank alienated the crew from the ship’s skipper, Captain Townsend. Having enjoyed an informal relationship with Captain Oberg—Townsend’s recent predecessor— some sailors found the new captain a disappointment. Comparing the two men, the ship’s underground newspaper, the Kitty Litter, asserted that Captain Townsend “hides in his cabin or on the bridge and is never seen without his Marine lackey. Captain Oberg . . . while a super-patriot and war hawk, was always available for anyone in the crew to talk to.”27 Ralph Scott, a petty officer, described Captain Townsend as a “cut and dried” military man who was strict about disciplinary matters, unlike his two predecessors, who displayed “roll-with-the-tide-type attitudes, slap you on the back, ‘don’t you do that no more, we will give you an administrative warning.’”28 Commander Benjamin Cloud, a black officer who came to the Kitty Hawk shortly before the ship’s riot, had heard that Oberg had a reputation for “informality and cordiality”; he was “one of the boys.”29 By contrast, Captain Townsend seemed to be a throwback to an earlier, hard-line navy. Although Captain Oberg had been more personable than his successor, African American sailors had questioned his sensitivity to racial issues, and they actually had hoped for a better relationship with the new captain. As racial conflicts continued after Townsend assumed command of the Kitty Hawk, he met with a group of “concerned blacks” to discuss their grievances. Their conversations led Townsend to create a smaller human relations staff that was more responsive to the needs of black sailors than the existing human relations council. Despite their desire for a better working relationship with Townsend, low-ranking black sailors soon came to believe that the new commanding officer was more distant and

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biased than the previous one.30 Townsend’s mishandling of two widely watched disciplinary cases later ruined any initial goodwill extended to him by black crewmen. Many African American enlisted personnel distrusted the military justice system. A study of military justice published several weeks after the Kitty Hawk incident documented a racial bias against African Americans, particularly when commanding officers had the power to exercise discretion in punishing servicemen for minor violations of military code. In brief, the report found that penalties for blacks were more severe.31 In light of African Americans’ mistrust, the Kitty Hawk’s legal department had instituted measures to promote confidence in its administration of justice. As was standard practice on other ships, the Kitty Hawk’s legal office had a policy of posting in public view the offenses committed by each sailor and the subsequent punishment. Captain Oberg had also instituted a policy of allowing accused sailors to have their captain’s mast—a nonjudicial hearing administered by the commanding officer—televised. Townsend, however, did not like televised masts because he believed that they infringed upon his prerogatives as commanding officer. “I am oldfashioned in the degree I feel a mast—since it is not judicial,” he explained, “is a relationship as a father to a son.”32 Suspicious of white paternalism and believing that a public hearing would discourage bias, most African Americans elected to have their captain’s masts televised; the majority of white sailors chose a private hearing.33 Black sailors were understandably disturbed by the disproportionate number of proceedings involving blacks that they saw on television, although the televised proceedings did not accurately represent the numbers of blacks and whites who were tried at captain’s masts. Already skeptical about the fairness of justice aboard the Kitty Hawk, many unrated African American sailors lost confidence in Townsend after he punished two black sailors for an assault but gave a slap on the wrist to a white sailor charged with the same offense. The blacks were punished for beating a white sailor who had given them the finger. Both men had previous records, and the captain confined one of the black offenders to the brig on a diet of bread and water.34 In the second assault case, the white sailor was brought to captain’s mast for hitting a black subordinate. To black sailors, the two cases presented an ideal opportunity to assess the new captain’s attitude toward racial issues since both cases involved sailors of the same rank and an assault. Much to their dismay, the captain let the white sailor off with a warning. Townsend reasoned that the attack was not really the white sailor’s fault because his division officer had acted

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improperly by placing an unrated sailor in a supervisory position. The captain did not feel comfortable punishing a man who had an otherwise clean record for mishandling a job that he should not have been given in the first place. Townsend further reasoned that the attack was “not assault in the strictest words,” since it was “not deliberate, not a planned assault,” and since the white sailor had acted out of “frustration more than anger.”35 This distinction, of course, was lost on black sailors. African American sailors, whose antisocial behavior was more likely to be documented and criminalized than that of their white peers, believed that each case should be judged on its own merits without taking past infractions into account. The disparate punishment that the black sailors received undoubtedly offended the brothers because it highlighted their powerlessness. Black and white sailors had frequent confrontations on shore and aboard ship, but race privilege gave white seamen a distinct advantage in that rivalry. The second case—despite Captain Townsend’s rationalizations—suggested that white sailors could violate the black body with impunity. “That [decision] clearly marked him,” Commander Cloud observed, “in the eyes of the young blacks aboard ship as being a racist.”36 The Kitty Litter concurred: “Racism, it appears, is all right if the racist is in a position of power.”37 Essentially, the whole judicial process seemed to be a tool for the subordination of black men.

Subic Bay Like servicemen in other branches of the military, black and white sailors usually spent their leisure hours apart. In the Philippines, the black area of Olongapo—the Subic Bay port city—was known as the “Jungle.” Segregated vice districts created an environment in which racial animosities and suspicions festered and spread like a contagion. Racial skirmishes on board the Hassayampa and the Kitty Hawk were preceded by racial brawls that occurred when black and white sailors crossed paths in the entertainment district.38 “It’s a war within a war,” said Seaman Roger S. Gaston, describing the conflict between black and white sailors that was played out in Subic Bay’s recreational areas.39 On October 11, a fight broke out between black and white sailors from the Kitty Hawk at the San Paguita, an enlisted men’s club, apparently after a drunken white sailor engaged a group of blacks in a shoving match.40 Marines had to use tear gas to end the fighting between approximately twenty-five blacks and whites. They arrested five blacks and four whites.41

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In light of the tensions between black and white sailors, it is not surprising that rumors were rife among American troops. As folklorist Patricia Turner has pointed out, people express their anxieties about the other through rumor.42 Black sailors were on edge because they had heard that white sailors had killed an African American in Subic Bay.43 These men continued to express their mistrust of their white rivals and the navy establishment through rumors that circulated in the aftermath of the brawl at the enlisted men’s club. One such rumor warned that white sailors had hired Philippine karate experts to rough up black sailors.44 Another rumor—that the Kitty Hawk had set sail to return to the war zone leaving two black sailors behind in an Olongapo jail—made these enlisted men question whether the navy really considered black men as their own.45 African American sailors circulated these stories to express their feelings of alienation from the navy as well as their mutual commitment to their own group. When the men returned to the Kitty Hawk, only black sailors were called to the ship’s investigative office for questioning. In the context of the unjust treatment that many black sailors had received in the military justice system, the failure of the legal officers to summon white participants indicated to African American crewmen that once again they would be singled out for punishment. Troubled about the fairness of the military justice system, eleven black sailors accompanied one of the brothers to the inquiry to demonstrate their solidarity.46 In a defiant mood, the black sailor refused to make a statement. After the blacks left the investigator’s office, other brothers joined the original group in the mess deck area. The impromptu meeting grew to anywhere from twenty to one hundred African American sailors who, according to one participant, “were rapping and giving the power sign.”47 The assemblage of blacks obstructed the movement of the whites who wanted to get food, and the two groups exchanged insults and began shoving matches.48 Seeing a large gathering of blacks, the master-at-arms became nervous and called in the marines. The presence of the marines inflamed the passions of black sailors, who viewed the marines as an instrument of white power. Commander Cloud explained their resentment: “The Marines are looked upon much like the police establishment in any major metropolitan area. I mean, by the blacks. They are not looked upon with any respect at all. Any time they can be spat upon, rocks thrown, or what have you, while they are in the exercise of their duties, they will do so, and abuse will be accordingly directed to them.”49 The marines attempted to disperse the blacks; but they remained defiant, and a group of

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blacks began dapping (exchanging an elaborate Black Power handshake) in passageways, again impeding traffic.50 “The brothers just said that they weren’t going unless the white boys were told to go,” an African American sailor recalled.51 Determined to carry out their duties, the marines beat the insurgent blacks—further enraging them. Cloud, the highest-ranking black officer on the aircraft carrier, played a critical mediating role that night, and he set aside military custom at several important moments during the melee in the hope that his overtures toward the disgruntled black sailors would avert further violence. The confrontation between blacks and whites on the night between October 12 and 13 exposed the contradictions in Cloud’s identity as a black naval officer. Cloud’s predicament highlighted the very challenge of being black and navy too. Cloud intervened by ordering the whites to leave the mess deck area so that he could talk to the blacks in a less explosive environment. During their conversation with the executive officer, the young blacks—mostly eighteen- to twenty-year-old men—vented their long-standing frustrations with racial discrimination on the carrier as well as their immediate grievances against the marines. The precariousness of Cloud’s position became evident during this meeting with the angry black crewmen. The crisis became a test not just of Cloud’s management skills but also of his blackness: “[O]ne of the problems I had that night was that I, in part, was being put to a test as to whether or not I was white in practice or black in practice. And the big point that I tried to get across to the young blacks was the fact that there need not be a compromise in terms of being an effective naval officer, and being black, that indeed the two are very compatible.”52 The brothers thought otherwise. A proud military man, Cloud became the target of personal attacks and profane language because of his association with the white establishment. Several “hotheads” accused him of being “a boy of the white man” who was no more likely than a white officer to help them in their struggle for equitable treatment.53 The unruly dissidents questioned not only his independence from the white world but whether he, as a black man, really had any influence within it. Cloud recalled that there were “serious doubts as to my credibility” and “whether or not I could effectively convey the[ir] wishes and desires [to] the command.”54 The executive officer and his men addressed other concerns. The black men were intensely angered by the behavior of a white corporal who they believed had reached for his pistol during their earlier skirmish. They also said that they feared that the marines would try to retaliate against them.

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Cloud tried to mollify the sailors by assuring them that the marine corporal would be punished if he were found to have acted improperly. Toward the end of the session, the captain entered the room, and he assured the blacks that they need not worry about any trouble from the marines because “the marines worked for him just as everyone in the room did, and that he would be able to take care of that situation effectively.”55 Those assurances satisfied the men that they would be safe, and the meeting ended. After a lull, the skirmishes resumed between groups of black sailors and their white adversaries. The fighting was so violent that some men required medical attention. By end of the riot the next day, about forty whites and six to ten blacks were injured. Commander Cloud again intervened to quell the fighting, and he encountered a group of angry black sailors on the ship’s forecastle who had readied themselves for combat by baring their chests and arming themselves with chains.56 In the midst of the confusion, rumors spread throughout the ship. Cloud received word that a group of blacks had murdered Captain Townsend. Acting on this information, Cloud used the ship’s public address system to order blacks and marines to retreat to opposite areas of the ship. Just as he finished his impassioned announcement, Cloud saw Captain Townsend, who was not injured. Captain Townsend, asserting that the situation was not grave, immediately reversed Cloud’s order—an action that appeared, ironically, to confirm the dissidents’ suggestion that Cloud was a token black. Even though he understood why Townsend countermanded his order, the executive officer worried that it had compromised his authority since the crew knew that the captain disapproved of his handling of the situation. Meanwhile about one hundred blacks had gathered on the forecastle. Believing that the ship was on the verge of a blood bath, Cloud decided to employ “unorthodox” measures to pacify the belligerent crowd. He began his appeal for cooperation by invoking the names of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X and contrasting their strategies for racial uplift. He implored the men to follow the nonviolent tactics of King in order avoid casualties. He then addressed their earlier queries about his identity: And I indicated, I think, very dramatically, that if they doubted for one moment my sincerity as a black man who was sympathetic to their problems, but completely military and completely desirous of seeing that their situation be rectified within the legal framework of our society, that if they doubted for one moment that I did not under-

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stand . . . their problem . . . they could take a weapon and beat me on the spot and kill me on the spot. At that time I reached down and I took a weapon from one of the men that was there. It was piece of steel about . . . 2 feet long, and held it up. I pulled off my shirt and I said, “The first man in this crowd that for one moment does not believe my sincerity, I hold this weapon and I bare my back for you to take this weapon and beat me into submission right here.” And I challenged them to do that. By this time the crowd was quiet. They laid down their weapons to a man. Weapons went over the side of the ship. The chant went up that, “He is a brother,” and I exchanged with them the black unity symbol, which I used for the first time in my life that evening, as earlier in the evening I had done.57 This narrative shows how Cloud, the naval officer, positioned himself as a “brother” in order to win the acceptance and obedience of the young crewmen. Though Cloud described himself as a man who was “completely military,” he took off his shirt, symbolically stripping himself of his superior rank as naval officer. Shirtless like the young crowd, he became their equal. The executive officer further erased the lines between officers and enlisted men by explicitly asking for their approval. His demonstration of humility also challenged their homosocial values: If they truly believed that he was an “Uncle Tom,” then “beat [him] into submission”; otherwise, welcome him into the brotherhood—and accept his authority. Accentuating his incorporation into the brotherhood, Cloud exchanged the black power salute with the crew. The men affirmed Cloud’s transformation with shouts of “He is a brother” and “We are with you all the way.” The executive officer’s soul brother identity was short-lived, however. Having won the crowd’s acceptance, Cloud then repositioned himself as a naval officer. A small group of black sailors who had heard rumors that whites planned to attack their executive officer offered to escort him around the ship as his personal security detail. Reclaiming his military identity and authority, Cloud told them that he feared neither black nor white sailors and ordered the contingent “to go about their business and leave me alone.”58 Needless to say, Cloud was later criticized for being “too conciliatory” toward the black sailors, but he insisted that he had offered them only a sympathetic ear. In the wee hours of the morning of October 13, Commander Cloud went to white sailors in their sleeping quarters in order to persuade them

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not to retaliate against their black counterparts. Some of the white sailors were furious because they had been attacked in their beds; others, because they felt that the blacks had been given special treatment that evening. The irate white sailors, not in a forgiving mood, directed their anger toward black servicemen at the black executive officer. The whites, as Cloud remembered, “weren’t as noisy as the group of blacks, but they were certainly loud and boisterous, and initially disrespectful to me, saying of course that I was nothing more than a nigger, just like all the rest of them, and that, you know, why . . . did I expect to be able to exercise any kind of authority in this situation.”59 Cloud responded to this particular challenge by asserting his power over them through his superior position in the military hierarchy. This encounter with white crewmen again highlighted the perils of leadership for black men in the U.S. Navy.

Conclusion The Kitty Hawk incident and the courts-martial that followed exposed the particular challenges encountered by black men in the navy. Unrated black sailors had to endure emasculating indignities in their work relationships with white superiors because of their race and rank. In their relationships with white peers, however, they had greater power to demand that they be treated as equals, as men. The Kitty Hawk riot resulted from that desire for equality and manhood. As an officer, Commander Benjamin Cloud possessed institutional power that the black dissidents lacked, but he nonetheless had to finesse his identity as a black man and a naval officer. To safeguard their rights in the aftermath of the interracial clash, the twenty-three black sailors who were charged with participating in the riot requested civilian attorneys from the NAACP and ACLU. The riot drew widespread public attention and scrutiny, but inequities in navy justice persisted.60 Only one white sailor was court-martialed, even though the riot was partly a continuation of the fight that began at the Subic Bay nightclub, and even though groups of whites had attacked African Americans on the aircraft carrier that fateful evening. Toward the end of the season of unrest, Admiral Zumwalt assembled the group of African American officers who advised him on racial matters. In explaining the causes of the racial turmoil, the black officers echoed many of the sentiments of low-ranking sailors: White officers refused to implement zgrams, they demonstrated a lack of sensitivity to blacks’ cultural heritage, and so forth. “The Navy has permitted the situation to exist where there is an incompatibility between being a member of a minority race and being

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a member of the Navy,” the race advisors told the admiral. “The recruiting slogan, ‘You can be black and Navy, too,’ is false advertising.”61 Admiral Zumwalt responded to the racial turmoil by disciplining both flag officers and rank-and-file soldiers. He chastised the brass for halfheartedly implementing his reforms and began the process of expelling “undesirable” sailors—men the navy deemed troublemakers and underachievers—from the service. The navy further signaled its intention to discipline black dissidents by banning the dap, the popular handshake that had become a symbol of racial militancy.62 In order to honor its commitment to diversity, the navy renewed its efforts to recruit African American men to the service, but this new initiative was limited to high school graduates. “It appears that the Navy only wants those blacks that it can control,” one recruiter mused.63 Still hoping to find the perfect race relations seminar that would solve racial conflicts throughout the service, navy officials were forced to shelve a pilot program that became embroiled in controversy after a black facilitator kissed a white woman colleague as a part of a training exercise.64 Despite the new recruitment effort and existing race relations workshops, racial tensions remained largely unabated.65

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Conclusion

During the Vietnam War, most young African American males were marginal men in American society. President Johnson—concerned about a political backlash against the war among the middle class and about maintaining the viability of his Great Society programs—favored a draft system that would allow the sons of privileged whites to evade military service. Only 5 percent of African American men were enrolled in college during the Vietnam War, so few black men were eligible for college deferments. Since the reserves and the National Guard discriminated against black applicants, a typical African American could not realistically expect to avoid going to Vietnam by satisfying his military obligations through alternative service. Many black men were disqualified from serving in the armed forces because they scored poorly on the Armed Forces Qualifying Test. Some of these previously rejected men became eligible for military service under Secretary McNamara’s Project 100,000, which lowered the qualification standards. The program was presented to the public as an opportunity for disadvantaged men to improve their lives, but the real objective was to obtain more men to meet the military’s increasing manpower needs. The African American men who volunteered for military service did so because there were few good jobs available to them in the private sector. High-paying jobs were only part of the appeal for black volunteers. The military offered them status, responsibility, and the camaraderie of a homosocial world. African American soldiers suffered high fatality rates during the midsixties. The high death rate resulted from the concentration of low-skilled black soldiers in combat occupations, including volunteers for elite units. The African American casualty rate for the army reached a high of 20.8 percent, much higher than the approximately 12 percent of African American men who were of eligible age for military service. In response to

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complaints from civil rights leaders, the Department of Defense tried to bring the death rate for blacks to a more acceptable level by reducing the number of black troops on the front lines. Troubled by the high casualty rates, the inequities in the draft, and the persistence of discrimination in American life, outspoken civil rights activists decried black participation in the war. Militant critics such as SNCC’s Cleveland Sellers and Congressman Adam Clayton Powell alleged that the government was waging a war of genocide against the black male. Other critics drew parallels between the freedom struggle of African Americans in the United States and the struggle of the Vietnamese to free themselves from foreign domination, contending that African Americans and Asians should be natural allies rather than enemies. These critics also opposed the Vietnam War for reasons beyond a sense of Third World solidarity with another people of color. They believed that the Vietnam War diverted precious government resources away from the U.S. war on poverty and that it distracted black men from fighting for their own liberation in the civil rights movement at home. In the mid-sixties, most African American recruits were not yet receptive to the antiwar rhetoric articulated by SNCC activists. They expected that their loyal service would advance the civil rights cause, so they gave their nation the benefit of the doubt and went off to boot camp. Arriving as civilians, these American males who came from diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds were reborn as soldiers, marines, sailors, and airmen. The drill sergeant was the male authority figure who fathered this transformation. An object of intense emotions from his recruits that included both hatred and respect, the drill instructor used conditioning exercises, physical harassment, sexual insults, cadence calls, and unit competitions to teach recruits essential military values: identify with the group, obey authority, and be aggressive warriors. Having successfully made the transition from civilian to soldier, combat troops were ready for overseas duty. In Vietnam, the combat setting fostered intimacy between black and white GIs. Since the exigencies of survival required trust and teamwork, black and white soldiers learned to manage and even overcome racial animosities. Men bonded with fellow platoon members while out in the field. Infantrymen spent long hours together patrolling the Vietnamese countryside—“humping the boonies,” as the GIs would say. During firefights, they experienced adversity and tragedy together. Passing the time during long stretches when they did not make contact with enemy, men shared their life stories and commiserated about life in the ’Nam. These interracial friendships were largely confined

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to the battlefield, however. Once troops returned to the rear, latent racial preferences and animosities resurfaced. Combat soldiers remained close to the men with whom they had fought, but they were not particularly friendly with outsiders of a different race. Many African American GIs preferred to spend their leisure hours in the rear with other black men listening to soul music, getting high, and hanging out in Saigon’s Soul Alley. In the late sixties, the frustrations of low-ranking African American enlisted men with the persistence of discrimination in the military led them to embrace the Black Power movement. Black GIs complained that whites with the same rank and training were given better assignments and promoted more quickly. Moreover, the Congressional Black Caucus documented troubling practices in the administration of justice in the military. White commanders only warned white enlisted men when they violated the rules, but the commanders meted out administrative punishments to African Americans who were guilty of similar infractions. These problems made black servicemen feel emasculated, so they looked to the liberating ideas of the Black Power movement for gender affirmation. Black nationalism led black men to challenge American notions of individualism, white cultural hegemony, and military authorities. Black Power GIs admired Muhammad Ali as a role model. Ali’s individual battle with the government over his refusal to comply with the draft spoke to the anxieties of black soldiers about racial discrimination and the persecution of black males by white authorities. When the black heavyweight boxing champion—adored by young black Americans—explained that his opposition to the draft was based upon his Black Muslim faith, the persistence of racial injustice in the United States, and the fact that he had “no personal quarrel” with the Vietcong, black soldiers reconsidered the notion that draft resistance and cowardice were inextricably linked. Ali’s importance to the era is that he popularized opposition to the Vietnam War in the black community, engendered a view of antiwar politics as manly, and empowered black GIs by giving them the language to articulate their thoughts. The most conspicuous symbol of black homosociality in the military was the dap, an elaborate greeting in which black GIs expressed their racial solidarity and racial militancy. The dap figured prominently in the Kitty Hawk incident, a militant protest staged by African American seamen. Feeling oppressed by the familiar problems of slow promotions, unfair job assignment practices, and disparate military justice, black sailors dapped in the carrier’s passageways and blocked the free movement of

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white sailors. The protest provoked a violent clash between the African American sailors, the marines—who acted as the ship’s police force—and the white sailors. In brief, the Kitty Hawk sailors, feeling feminized by racial discrimination in the navy, reasserted their masculinity through racial militancy and violence. So-called vet-watchers wondered what role returning black veterans would play in American society. Would they join black nationalist organizations such as the Black Panthers and US (United Slaves)—Ron Karenga’s gun-hoarding cultural awareness organization—and use their knowledge of warfare to bring about a violent revolution? Or would they become involved in the mainstream civil rights movement and use their talents to help bridge the racial divide? Few veterans became members of black nationalist organizations. The brothers went their separate ways when they returned to the states, and most veterans—preoccupied with the challenges of repatriation and family responsibilities—had neither the interest nor the liberty to join black nationalist paramilitary groups. But these men were disillusioned by the racial turmoil that greeted them when they returned to America. In 1967, there were large-scale riots in Newark and Detroit; and riots in Washington D.C., and Chicago followed the assassination of Martin Luther King in 1968. Concerned about the prospect of alienated black men enlisting in radical organizations, the Pentagon in 1967 announced the establishment of Project Transition, a program designed to provide job counseling and vocational training to assist disadvantaged veterans. This program was not very effective, since black veterans in their twenties typically suffered unemployment rates higher than those of white veterans and nonveterans of both races for the years 1969 to 1972. Both the employment prospects and the morale of black ex-servicemen certainly would have been better if the benefits of the Cold War GI Bill had been as generous as those of the original bill. The lower stipends and tuition assistance grants were insufficient to make college affordable for many African American veterans.1 Without adequate government assistance, many of these men found themselves pigeonholed in dead-end jobs. “The way they treat you when you come back—you never get higher than a broom as far as they’re concerned,” Carl Mack opined in his assessment of black veterans’ limited career opportunities. “I think I’d shoot one of my kids before I let him fight for this country.”2

Notes

Chapter 1. The Fight of Their Fathers 1. Quarles, The Negro in the American Revolution, 15. 2. Foner, Blacks and the Military, 5. 3. Quarles, The Negro in the American Revolution, 58–60; Foner, Blacks and the Military, 10–11; Raphael, A People’s History of the American Revolution, 245–300. 4. Kolchin, American Slavery, 78–80. 5. Quoted in Du Bois, Black Reconstruction, 102. 6. Ibid., 85. 7. Quoted in Litwack, Been in the Storm So Long, 265. 8. Quarles, The Negro in the Civil War, 109–15; Foner, Blacks and the Military, 34–35. 9. Nalty, Strength for the Fight, 34; Foner, Blacks and the Military, 34. 10. Du Bois, Black Reconstruction, 102–4; Berry, Military Necessity, 55–60. 11. Quarles, The Negro in the Civil War, 203–5. 12. Litwack, Been in the Storm So Long, 82. 13. Foner, Blacks and the Military, 43. 14. Gatewood, “Quest for Empire,” 547–49, 554–55. 15. Quoted in Gatewood, “Quest for Empire,” 549. 16. Gleijeses, “War against Spain.” 17. Ibid. 18. Gatewood, White Man’s Burden, 280–83; Gatewood, “Quest for Empire,” 552–53; Foner, Blacks and the Military, 91–92. 19. Gatewood, White Man’s Burden, 287. 20. Quoted in Gatewood, White Man’s Burden, 285. 21. Nalty, Strength for the Fight, 75–76. 22. Smith, Rise of Industrial America, 879. 23. Gatewood, White Man’s Burden, 102–18, 201–4, 241–43. 24. Ibid., 114. 25. Palmer, “Moving North.” 26. Barbeau and Henri, The Unknown Soldiers, 21. 27. Schieber and Schieber, “Wartime Mobilization of Black Americans.” 28. Ibid., 437.

140 | Notes to Pages 7–14

29. Anderson, A. Philip Randolph, 98. 30. Du Bois, “Close Ranks,” 697. 31. Barbeau and Henri, The Unknown Soldiers, 34–35. 32. Foner, Blacks and the Military, 111–13. 33. Fox, Guardian of Boston, 218–19. 34. Lanning, African-American Soldier, 132. 35. Ibid., 131. 36. Barbeau and Henri, The Unknown Soldiers, 111–13. 37. Foner, Blacks and the Military, 122. 38. Kennedy, Over Here, 199–200. 39. Barbeau and Henri, The Unknown Soldiers, 31. 40. Ibid., 26–31. 41. Schieber and Schieber, “Wartime Mobilization of Black Americans,” 453; Zieger, America’s Great War, 57–84. 42. Ellis, Race, War, and Surveillance, 158–59; Barbeau and Henri, The Unknown Soldiers, 186–87. 43. Sitkoff, “Racial Militancy”; Finkle, “Conservative Aims of Militant Rhetoric.” 44. Wynn, The Afro-American, 25–26; Foner, Blacks and the Military, 145. 45. Dalfiume, “‘Forgotten Years,’” 93–94; Wynn, The Afro-American, 103–4; Foner, Blacks and the Military, 146; Clegg, An Original Man, 72–73, 82–87, 92– 97. 46. White, A Man Called White, 186–94; Foner, Blacks and the Military, 137– 38; Wynn, The Afro-American, 23–24. 47. Buchanan, Black Americans in World War II, 22–24; Dalfiume, “‘Forgotten Years,’” 98–99; Maney, The Roosevelt Presence, 157–59; Trotter, “From a Raw Deal to a New Deal?” 442–44. 48. Murray, “Blacks and the Draft”; Anderson, A. Philip Randolph, chap. 18; Foner, Blacks and the Military, 179–82. 49. Dalfiume, Desegregation of the U.S. Armed Forces, 169–74. 50. Mershon and Schlossman, Foxholes and Color Lines, chap. 9; Nichols, Breakthrough on the Color Front, 75–81. 51. Mershon and Schlossman, Foxholes and Color Lines, 226–27, 234. 52. Thurgood Marshall, “Summary Justice,” 177–78. 53. Ibid. 54. Quoted in Rowan, Dream Makers, 167. 55. Dalfiume, Desegregation of the U.S. Armed Forces, 204–5. 56. Quoted in Mershon and Schlossman, Foxholes and Color Lines, 228. 57. Mershon and Schlossman, Foxholes and Color Lines, 219, 223–29, 245– 51.

Notes to Pages 15–18 | 141

Chapter 2. The Draft and the Allure of Military Service 1. Clyde Taylor coined the term manhood hustle. See Taylor, Vietnam and Black America, 18–19. 2. The word homosocial refers to men’s affinity for male friendship in forms that are not necessarily homosexual. See Lipman-Blumen, “Toward a Homosocial Theory of Sex Roles.” 3. The term hegemonic masculinity refers to the myths and images that elite men circulate in order to maintain control over women and marginal men. Although oppressed by hegemonic masculinity, subordinated men often comply with its prescriptions because they benefit from male dominance over women. Counterhegemonic masculinity challenges the dominance of elite men. See Connell, Masculinities; and Carrigan and Connell, “Toward a New Sociology of Masculinity.” 4. Appy, Working-Class War, 17–38; Wilson, “The Vietnam-Era Military Service.” 5. McLean, “The Black Man and the Draft.” 6. House, Representative Kastenmeier, 90th Cong., 1st sess., Congressional Record (February 1967), 113, pt. 3:4172. The figures for the draftees are actually “nonwhites,” so the number of black draftees could be slightly lower. 7. “The Negro View: A Special Anguish,” Newsweek, July 10, 1967, 34, 38. 8. Baskir and Strauss, Chance and Circumstance, 23–24, 99; “Clearing up the Draft Muddle,” Afro-American, March 18, 1967, 4; “KK Klansman Booted as Head of Draft Board,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, April 2, 1966, 2; Alexander, “Black Opposition,” 79; House, Kastenmeier, 4172; “Defiance of the Military Draft,” New Courier, May 20, 1967, 6. 9. National Advisory Commission of Selective Service, In Pursuit of Equality, 9–10. 10. “Why the Draft System May Cause Racial Crisis,” Sepia, December 1966, 54. 11. A man could also receive a deferment to finish high school, but he had to be under age twenty and presumably a full-time student as well; National Advisory Commission of Selective Service, In Pursuit of Equality, 18. 12. Gene Grove, “The Army and the Negro,” New York Times Magazine, July 24, 1966, 48. 13. Louis Cassels, “Few Americans Are Satisfied with Military Draft,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, January 14, 1967. 14. McLean, “The Black Man and the Draft.” 15. Flynn, The Draft, 202–3. 16. Thomas A. Johnson, “Whitney Young, Ending Silence, Condemns War,” New York Times, October 14, 1969, 24. 17. M. S. Handler, “Negro G.I. Hailed by Urban League,” New York Times, August 4, 1966, 16; John W. Finney, “Johnson Backs Negro Promotion,” New York Times, July 27, 1966, 24.

142 | Notes to Pages 18–20

Ironically, Young’s initial reluctance to address the political and moral aspects of the Vietnam War reflects his own subordinate status as a black man, even as a national leader. Many allies and critics of the civil rights movement did not approve of black people voicing criticism of American foreign policy. Julian Bond was censured by the Georgia legislature for his opposition to the war; and Martin Luther King was told, among other things, that he lacked the authority to critique U.S. involvement in Asia since he was not an expert on foreign affairs. These attempts to silence black men suggested that many elite white men wanted to reserve the realm of world affairs for themselves and expected black men to occupy the “feminine position,” restricting their voices to the domestic arena. See Roy Reed, “Georgians Score a Vietnam Critic,” New York Times, January 8, 1966, 3; and Fairclough, “Martin Luther King.” 18. “M’Namara Plans to ‘Salvage’ 40,000 Rejected In Draft,” New York Times, August 24, 1966, 1, 18. 19. McNamara, “Social Inequalities,” 101. 20. As assistant secretary of labor, Moynihan had proposed lowering test scores to allow more young black males into the armed forces. In “The Case for National Action”—more widely known as the “Moynihan Report”—he expressed the hope that the military would provide a ready source of employment and a male environment in which young blacks who were raised in female-headed households could learn the hegemonic male role: “Given the strains of the disorganized and matrifocal family life in which so many Negro youth come of age, the Armed Forces are a dramatic change: a world away from women, a world run by strong men of unquestioned authority.” Rainwater and Yancey, The Moynihan Report, 88. 21. Moynihan, “Who Gets in the Army.” For a glowing assessment of Project 100,000, see Little, “Basic Education and Youth Socialization.” 22. Moynihan, “Who Gets in the Army.” 23. Pilisuk, “Basic Education and Youth Socialization.” 24. House, Representative Hawkins, 90th Cong., 1st sess., Congressional Record (April 1967), 113, pt. 8:10001. 25. House, Kastenmeier, 90th Cong., 1st sess., Congressional Record (March 1967), 113, pt. 4:5195. 26. “Negroes Expected to Make Up to 30 Percent of Draft ‘Salvage,’” New York Times, August 25, 1966, 1, 6. 27. Hsiao, “Project 100,000,” 31; “Pentagon’s Timetable Is Reported to Lower the Mental Qualifications for Military Service,” New York Times, October 26, 1966, 14; Moskos, “The Negro and the Draft,” 155–56. 28. Hsiao, “Project 100,000,” 16–17; Binkin and Eitelberg, Blacks and the Military, 34. 29. “Military Ready to Absorb Influx of Former ‘Rejects,’” New York Times, October 16, 1966, 9.

Notes to Pages 20–25 | 143

30. Sol Stern, “When the Black GI Comes Back from Vietnam,” New York Times Magazine, March 24, 1968, 39; Hsiao, “Project 100,000,” 18. 31. Hsiao, “Project 100,000,” 21. 32. Jack Raymond, “Negro Death Ratio in Vietnam Exceeds Whites’,” New York Times, March 10, 1966, 4. 33. Binkin and Eitelberg, Blacks and the Military, 76. 34. Ibid., 76–77. 35. Glick, Soldiers, Scholars, and Society, 18. 36. Paul Hathaway, “The Problem Is Back Home,” Washington Evening Star, May 7, 1968, 1, A-6. 37. Baskir and Strauss, Chance and Circumstance, 54; “Negroes’ Death Toll,” New York Times, February 15, 1967, 38; George W. Ashworth, “Ratio of U.S. Negro Troops Declines,” Christian Science Monitor, May 18, 1968. 38. Chris Smith [pseud.], interview by author, transcript, Cleveland, Ohio, November 28, 1993. 39. J. Linn Allen, “Congressmen Seek Investigation of Higher Vietnam Death Rate,” Baltimore Afro-American, March 19, 1966. 40. Gene Grove, “The Army and the Negro,” New York Times Magazine, July 24, 1966, 5. 41. Young, “When the Negroes in Vietnam Come Home.” 42. Henry Lieferman, “Employment Hits Peak, but More Negroes Are Jobless,” Washington Post, September 5, 1967, A-4. 43. “Negroes Fighting on the Front,” New York Times, April 9, 1967. 44. Terry, Bloods, 4. 45. “Hostility Is Found to Draft Lottery,” New York Times, November 13, 1966, 3. 46. Ibid. 47. Moskos, “The Negro and the Draft,” 155, 157. 48. Llorens, “Why Negroes Re-enlist,” 92. 49. Moskos, “The Negro and the Draft,” 152. 50. Thomas A. Johnson, “Negro Expatriates, Military and Civilian, Find Wide Range of Opportunity in Asia,” New York Times, April 30, 1968, 18. 51. Gene Grove, “The Army and the Negro,” New York Times Magazine, July 24, 1966, 5. 52. Paul Hathaway, “I’ll Stick with My Country,” Washington Evening Star, May 8, 1968, A-6. 53. Gene Grove, “The Army and the Negro,” New York Times Magazine, July 24, 1966, 48. 54. Paul Hathaway, “I’ll Stick with My Country,” Washington Evening Star, May 8, 1968, A-6. 55. Thomas A. Johnson, “The Negro in Vietnam Strides toward Partnership Contrast with Lag at Home,” New York Times, April 29, 1968.

144 | Notes to Pages 26–32

56. Chris Smith [pseud.], interview by author, Cleveland, Ohio, November 28, 1993. 57. Lonnie Alexander, interview by Clark Smith, July 8, 1974, transcript, Columbia University Oral History Research Office Collection (hereafter cited as CUOHROC), Butler Library, New York. 58. See Jordan, “‘Damnable Dilemma’”; and Finkle, “The Conservative Aims of Militant Rhetoric.” 59. “Excerpts from Interview with Six Civil Rights Leaders on Racial Problems in U.S.,” New York Times, August 22, 1966, 36. 60. McLean, “The Black Man and the Draft”; “Three Youths Charge Draft Law Unconstitutional,” Afro-American, July 4, 1967, 12; “Will Not Kill Asians for Whites,” Muhammad Speaks, July 1, 1966. 61. Gene Roberts, “Rights Leader Refuses to Be Inducted into Army,” New York Times, May 2, 1967, 7. 62. Robert B. Semble Jr., “Powell Charges Draft Test Bias,” New York Times, May 11, 1966, 4. 63. Scholars of the 1960s have become increasingly sensitive to the influence of gender consciousness on antiwar rhetoric and activism. See Gill, “From Maternal Pacifism to Revolutionary Solidarity”; and Swerdlow, “‘Not My Son, Not Your Son.” 64. Jacques Nevard, “Black Power Seen in Two Shadings,” New York Times, July 23, 1966, 9. 65. Browne, “The Freedom Movement.” 66. Ibid., 479. 67. James Bevel, “Dr. King Is Backed,” New York Times, April 12, 1967, 46. 68. “Negroes Beginning to Ask: Why Should Blacks Be Cannon Fodder in Devil’s Unholy Viet War?” Muhammad Speaks, April 14, 1967, 7–8. 69. Cleaver, Soul on Ice, 125.

Chapter 3. Basic Training 1. Anderegg, ed., “John Wayne and Jane Fonda as Discourse.” 2. Karner, “Engendering Violent Men.” 3. Steve Borrowman, interview by Clark Smith, January 16, 1977, CUOHROC, 90. 4. Ibid., 3. 5. Hollingshead, “Adjustment to Military Life.” 6. Jim Peachin, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 3. 7. Parks, GI Diary, 5–6. 8. Kovic, Born on the Fourth of July, 67–68. 9. Ehrhart, Vietnam-Perkasie, 16. 10. Steve Borrowman, interview by Clark Smith, January 16, 1977, CUOHROC, 91.

Notes to Pages 32–41 | 145

11. Ehrhart, Vietnam-Perkasie, 17. 12. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 6. 13. Baker, ed., Nam, 37. 14. Parks, GI Diary, 24. 15. Wilson, Landing Zones, 47. 16. Whitmore, Memphis, Nam, Sweden, 41–42. 17. Terry, Bloods, 232. 18. Ibid., 4. 19. Parks, GI Diary, 30–31. 20. Hollingshead, “Adjustment to Military Life.” 21. Steve Borrowman, interview by Clark Smith, January 16, 1977, CUOHROC, 92; Whitmore, Memphis, Nam, Sweden, 40; Appy, Working-Class War, 99–103. 22. Terry, Bloods, 3. 23. Ibid., 4–5. 24. Tim Bluitt, interview by Clark Smith, 1977, CUOHROC, 3. 25. Whitmore, Memphis, Nam, Sweden, 45. 26. Ibid. 27. Parks, GI Diary, 11. 28. Dyer, War, 110. 29. Tim Bluitt, interview by Clark Smith, 1977, CUOHROC, 7. 30. Whitmore, Memphis, Nam, Sweden, 41. 31. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 12. 32. Holmes, Acts of War, 45. 33. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 6. 34. Chris Smith [pseud.], interview by author, Cleveland, Ohio, November 28, 1993. 35. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 5–6. 36. John Harrison [pseud.], interview by author, October 2, 1993. 37. Holmes, Acts of War, 38–39. 38. On the importance of cadences to military training, see Burke, “Marching to Vietnam”; and Carey, “Airborne Cadence Chants.” 39. Appy, Working-Class War, 106. 40. Rosenberg, Vietnam: GI Songs and Stories. 41. Parks, GI Diary, 18–19. 42. Rosenberg, Vietnam: GI Songs and Stories. 43. John Starr [pseud.], interview by Clark Smith, February 3, 1975, CUOHROC, 2. 44. Scott Camil, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 88–89. 45. Daly, A Hero’s Welcome, 16. 46. Faris, “The Impact of Basic Training.” 47. Daly, A Hero’s Welcome, 14–15. 48. Whitmore, Memphis, Nam, Sweden, 47. 49. Ibid.

146 | Notes to Pages 41–48

50. Steve Borrowman, interview by Clark Smith, January 16, 1977, CUOHROC, 96. 51. Hollingshead, “Adjustment to Military Life,” 440. 52. Dyer, War, 120. 53. Steve Borrowman, interview by Clark Smith, January 16, 1977, CUOHROC, 106. 54. Bourne, “From Boot Camp to My Lai”; Eisenhart, “You Can’t Hack It Little Girl”; Lifton, Home from the War, 238–39, 242–43. 55. Terry, Bloods, 86. 56. Eisenhart, “You Can’t Hack It Little Girl,” 18. 57. Peter Cameron, interview by Clark Smith, November 20, 1976, CUOHROC, 1–2, 4, 6. 58. “Coffee for the Army,” Newsweek, August 26, 1968, 51. 59. Ehrhart, Vietnam-Perkasie, 19. 60. Daly, A Hero’s Welcome, 14–15. 61. Steve Borrowman, interview by Clark Smith, January 16, 1977, CUOHROC, 89. 62. Tim Bluitt, interview by Clark Smith, 1977, CUOHROC; Dr. Edmund Robinson to Congressional Black Caucus, 92nd Cong., 2d sess., Congressional Record (October 14, 1972), 118, pt. 27:36593.

Chapter 4. Combat and Interracial Male Friendship 1. See chapter 1. 2. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 26. 3. Thomas Johnson, “The Negro in Vietnam Strides toward Partnership,” New York Times, April 29, 1968. 4. Jim Peachin, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 80. 5. Sepia, May 1968. 6. Paul Hathaway, “The Negro at War: Disturbing Questions Raised,” Washington Evening Star, May 6, 1968, A-6; John Harrison [pseud.], interview by author, October 2, 1993. 7. Joel Davis, interview by Clark Smith, August 5, 1977, CUOHROC, 116. 8. Terry, Bloods, 115. 9. Both veterans and scholars also have pointed out that veterans rarely pursued these friendships once they returned to the United States. 10. Cornell, “GI Slang in Vietnam,” 195–200; Williams, Just before the Dawn, 33; Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 53, 54; Spencer, Welcome to Vietnam, Macho Man. 11. Terry, Bloods, 34; Mike Nicastro, interview by Clark Smith, February 10, 1978, CUOHROC. 12. Bruce Humphrey, interview by Clark Smith, 1980, CUOHROC, 39–40. 13. Spencer, Welcome to Vietnam, Macho Man, 57. 14. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 100.

Notes to Pages 49–56 | 147

15. Lonnie Alexander, interview by Clark Smith, July 8, 1974, CUOHROC; Steve Borrowman, interview by Clark Smith, January 16, 1977, CUOHROC, 53. 16. Steve Borrowman, interview by Clark Smith, January 16, 1977, CUOHROC, 53. 17. Ebert, A Life in a Year, 112–14. 18. Danny Branham, interview by Clark Smith, 1980, CUOHROC. 19. Russell Campbell, interview by Clark Smith, 1978, CUOHROC. 20. Mike Nicastro, interview by Clark Smith, February 10, 1978, CUOHROC, 10. 21. Moskos, The American Enlisted Man; Stouffer et al., The American Soldier. 22. Jim Peachin, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 26; Herzog, “John Wayne in a Modern Heart of Darkness.” 23. Terry, Bloods, 33. 24. Ibid., 33–34. 25. Jim Peachin, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 27. 26. Moskos, The American Enlisted Man, 154–55; Terry, Bloods, 21–22. 27. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 28–29. 28. The point man leads other platoon members as they walk. He looks for signs of enemy soldiers and ambushes. As the lead man, he may be in the most vulnerable position to be killed by enemy fire. A forward observer is a member of a squad that surveys enemy territory in advance of the rest of the unit. 29. Scott Camil, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 16–17, 26, 28– 29; Jerry West, interview by Clark Smith, 1975, CUOHROC, 59–60. 30. Jim Peachin, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 48. 31. Lee Heyman, interview by Clark Smith, July 17, 1973, CUOHROC. 32. Gioglio, “In the Belly of the Beast,” 220–22; Gioglio, ed., Days of Decision, 68, 158–62. 33. Charles Taliaferro, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC. 34. Ibid., 94. 35. Tim Bluitt, interview by Clark Smith, 1977, CUOHROC. 36. Scott Camil, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 64. 37. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 148. 38. Alexander, “Black Opposition,” 109. 39. John Starr [pseud.], interview by Clark Smith, February 3, 1975, CUOHROC, 60–63. 40. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 150–51. For a similar view, see Art Turner, interview by Clark Smith, October 22, 1975, CUOHROC, 39–40. 41. Tom Buckley, “The Men of Third Squad,” New York Times Magazine, November 5, 1967. 42. Levy, “ARVN as Faggots.” 43. Buckley, “The Men of Third Squad,” New York Times Magazine, November 5, 1967. 44. Scott Camil, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 85.

148 | Notes to Pages 57–63

45. Ibid., 84. 46. Ibid., 36. 47. Terry, Bloods, 66–67, 242. 48. Ibid., 43. 49. Ibid., 79. 50. Brownmiller, Against Our Will, 86–110. 51. Tim Bluitt, interview by Clark Smith, 1977, CUOHROC, 25–26. 52. Brownmiller, Against Our Will, 97. 53. James P. Sterba, “The Hours of Boredom, The Seconds of Terror,” New York Times Magazine, February 8, 1970. 54. Terry, Bloods, 204–5. 55. Bruce Humphrey, interview by Clark Smith, 1980, CUOHROC, 45–46. 56. Appy, Working-Class War, 136. 57. Al Lemke, interview by Clark Smith, 1977, CUOHROC, 15–16; Baky, “White Cong and Black Clap,” 164–69; Appy, Working-Class War, 136. 58. Blazina, “The Fear of the Feminine,” 58. 59. Levy, “ARVN as Faggots.” 60. Alvin Shuster, “Vietnam Riot: Anti-G.I. Feelings Boil Over,” New York Times, December 19, 1970, 1, 2. 61. Terry, Bloods, 124–25. 62. Ibid., 24–25. 63. Gough, “The War against Women,” 29–32. 64. Gloria Emerson, “G.I.’s at Tayninh,” New York Times, June 5, 1970, 4. 65. Gannon, “Up Tight in Vietnam.” 66. “G.I.’s in Battle: The ‘Dink’ Complex,” Newsweek, December 1, 1969, 37. 67. Terry, Bloods, 7. 68. Gannon, “Up Tight in Vietnam.” 69. Jay Peterson, interview by Clark Smith, 1980, CUOHROC, 68. 70. “For GI’s, Different War—But Still Dangerous,” U.S. News and World Report, February 14, 1972. 71. Though many soldiers used drugs because of their easy accessibility and because of changing social values associated with the youth rebellion, drug consumption and addiction among American soldiers was not unique to the Vietnam War. With government approval, thousands of Civil War soldiers used morphine to ease war pain and brought their addictions into civilian life. During World War II, soldiers used amphetamines with government approval in order to remain alert during combat. See Helmer, Bringing the War Home, 72, 74. 72. Johnson and Wilson, Army in Anguish, 97. 73. “U.S. Troops in Vietnam Are Said to Get Pep Pills,” New York Times, March 6, 1968; “Marijuana Termed Big Problem among U.S. Troops in Vietnam,” New York Times, October 26, 1967. 74. Johnson and Wilson, Army in Anguish, 26–27. 75. Jim Peachin, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 78.

Notes to Pages 63–69 | 149

76. Ingraham, “‘The Nam’ and ‘The World,’” 114–28. 77. Helmer, Bringing the War Home, 101. 78. Turner, Heard It through the Grapevine, 27–28. 79. Ibid., 49. 80. John Starr [pseud.], interview by Clark Smith, February 3, 1975, CUOHROC, 67. 81. Ibid., 67–68, 70. 82. “As Race Issue Hits Armed Forces,” U.S. News and World Report, September 1, 1969; Endicott and Williford, “Uptight in the Armed Forces,” 464–66. 83. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military: A New System of Rewards and Punishment, 92nd Cong., 2d sess., Congressional Record (October 14, 1972), 118, pt. 27:36595. 84. Grant, “Whites against Blacks in Vietnam.” 85. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36588. Other incidents outside of Vietnam: “Black, White Soldiers Clash at Two Bases,” Washington Post, August 12, 1969, A-3; “Black Soldiers Wreck Jimcro Clubs in Korea,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, July 17, 1971. 86. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36589; “Black Power in Viet Nam,” Time, September 19, 1969. 87. Jim Heiden, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 41–42. 88. John Harrison [pseud.], interview by author, tape recording, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, October 2, 1993. 89. Bernard Weinraub, “Rioting Disquiets G.I.’s in Vietnam,” New York Times, April 8, 1968, 35. 90. Terry, Bloods, 161–62. 91. Jim Heiden, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 42–43, 46–47.

Chapter 5. Muhammad Ali and Draft Resistance 1. Recent studies of Muhammad Ali’s importance to the sixties have focused on his significance to race relations and the civil rights struggle. While insightful, this scholarship has neglected gender analysis as a tool to explain Ali’s opposition to the Vietnam War. Relevant scholarship on Ali includes: Gorn, ed., Muhammad Ali; Marqusee, “Sport and Stereotype”; Frederic Cople Jaher, “White America Views.” 2. Gill, “From Maternal Pacifism to Revolutionary Solidarity”; Swerdlow, “Not My Son, Not Your Son.” 3. Ali, The Greatest, 40. 4. Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 89. 5. Ali, The Greatest, 63. 6. Ibid., 65–67; Atyeo, Holy Warrior, 51. 7. Lincoln, Black Muslims in America, 24–27. 8. Lynd, ed., We Won’t Go, 227. 9. Hampton, ed., Voices of Freedom, 324.

150 | Notes to Pages 69–76

10. Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 122. 11. “The BlackScholar Interviews: Muhammad Ali,” Black Scholar (June 1970): 33. 12. Steve Cady, “Winner by Decision,” New York Times, June 29, 1971, 24. 13. Cleaver, Soul on Ice, 91. 14. Ibid. 15. Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 143. 16. Ibid. 17. Ibid. 18. “Story of a Controversial Champion,” Afro-American, May 6, 1967, 11. 19. “Draft Exam Ordered for George Hamilton,” New York Times, October 28, 1966, 17. 20. Hsiao, “Project 100,000.” 21. “Clay Plans to Apologize in Chicago for Remarks about Draft Classification,” New York Times, February 22, 1966, 17. 22. Hauser, Muhammad Ali. 23. Ali, The Greatest, 137. 24. “The BlackScholar Interviews: Muhammad Ali,” Black Scholar (June 1970): 32. 25. “Seventy-eight at Morehouse Balk at Being Objects of War,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, April 8, 1967, 3. 26. “Champion Takes Greatest Struggle,” Muhammad Speaks, April 28, 1967, 9. 27. “Louisville Rejects Plans for a Clay-Terrell Title Fight,” New York Times, March 2, 1966, 36. 28. “Clay Plans to Apologize in Chicago for Remarks about Draft Classification,” New York Times, February 22, 1966, 17. 29. House, Representative Clark, 89th Cong., 2d sess., Congressional Record (15 March 1966), 122, pt. 5:5880. 30. Ali’s claim to a hardship exemption was that he had to make alimony payments to his ex-wife, Sonji Clay. 31. Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 150; Marqusee, “Sport and Stereotype,” 19. 32. Like Ali, prominent opponents of the Vietnam War such as Benjamin Spock and William Sloane Coffin were placed under FBI surveillance: Fred P. Graham, “Wide Impact Seen in Wiretap Ruling,” New York Times, March 12, 1969, 20; Martin Waldron, “F.B.I. Agent Testifies at Clay Hearing That Bureau Tapped Dr. King’s Telephone for Several Years,” New York Times, June 5, 1969, 27; Martin Waldron, “Muslim Wiretap Clarified By F.B.I.,” New York Times, June 6, 1969. See also Garrow, The FBI and Martin Luther King; and O’Reilly, Racial Matters. 33. “Clay to Ask Deferment as Muslim Minister,” New York Times, August 23, 1966, 46. 34. Lynd, We Won’t Go, 230. 35. Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 154–55.

Notes to Pages 76–81 | 151

36. Ibid., 176. 37. Clay v. United States, 814. 38. Ali, The Greatest, 159; “Muhammad Seen,” Afro-American, April 29, 1967, 10. 39. Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 168; Ali, The Greatest, 322. 40. Hampton, ed., Voices of Freedom, 436; “General Hershey Jeered from Howard U. Stage,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, March 25, 1967, 1. 41. John Lewis, “One Thousand Howard Students Cheer Muhammad Ali,” Afro-American, April 29, 1967, 1. 42. Donald Reeves, “The Black Prince,” New York Times, May 17, 1971, 35. 43. Ali’s lawyer had his case transferred from Louisville since Ali was training in Houston. They also thought the prospects for an impartial hearing in Houston were greater than in his hometown. 44. Robert Lipsyte, “Clay Refuses Army,” New York Times, April 29, 1967, 1, 12; Zarko Franks, “Cassius Spurns Induction Order!” Houston Chronicle, April 28, 1967, 1, 8; “Taps,” Sports Illustrated, May 1967; Ali, The Greatest, 162. 45. Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 169. 46. Holmes, Acts of War, 32–34. 47. Zarko Franks, “Cassius Spurns Induction Order!” Houston Chronicle, April 28, 1967; Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 169. 48. Gerald Eskenazi, “Clay Wins Round in Court Battle,” New York Times, August 19, 1970; Craig R. Whitney, “U.S. Judge Upholds Clay’s Bid for State Licenses,” New York Times, September 15, 1970, 56; “State Will Grant Clay Ring License,” New York Times, September 18, 1970, 58. 49. “Boxing Bosses Ghoulishly Kill Clay,” Philadelphia Tribune, May 6, 1967; “Still Champion,” New York Amsterdam News, May 13, 1967, 16; Pittsburgh Courier, May 20, 1967, 8. 50. “Heavyweight Ill-Advised,” Call and Post, May 6, 1967, 15; Charles Loeb, “Muhammad Ali Poses Sticky Questions,” Call and Post, May 6, 1967. For a similar view of how Ali’s draft case called attention to the racial imbalances of draft boards, see “Something Else,” New York Amsterdam News, May 13, 1967, 16. 51. Cal Jacox, “Aftermath of a Decision,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, May 13, 1967, 12. 52. Harvey Johnson Jr., “Ali’s Biggest Bout,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, May 13, 1967, 9. 53. Milton Richman, “Clay’s Refusal of Army Duty Draws Mixed Reaction from Boxing’s Fans,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, May 6, 1967, 13. 54. Baker E. Morten, “Muhammad Ali Raises Tough Legal Problems,” AfroAmerican, May 20, 1967. 55. “Muhammad Ali—The Measure of a Man,” Freedomways (Spring 1967): 101–2. 56. Norfolk Journal and Guide, October 25, 1969.

152 | Notes to Pages 81–87

57. “Because They Encouraged a New Day?” Norfolk Journal and Guide, October 25, 1969. 58. “American Tragedy,” New York Amsterdam News, May 6, 1967, 14; “Victims—At Home and Abroad,” New York Amsterdam News, May 6, 1967, 14. 59. “Dr. King Accuses Johnson on War,” New York Times, May 1, 1967, 1. 60. “King Joins Fight in Louisville,” Chicago Defender, May 6–12, 1967, 2. 61. “Dr. King Accuses Johnson on War,” May 1, 1967, New York Times, 1, 12. 62. “Four Are Indicted for Storming Draft Center,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, February 25, 1967; “Seventy-eight at Morehouse Balk at Being Objects of War,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, April 8, 1967, 3; Gene Roberts, “Rights Leader Refuses to Be Inducted into Army,” New York Times, May 2, 1967, 7. 63. Patterson, “In Defense of Cassius Clay”; “CORE Backs Ali,” New York Amsterdam News, May 6, 1967, 21; Marqusee, “Sport and Stereotype,” 20; C. Gerald Fraser, “Fight at Garden Will Be Picketed,” New York Times, March 1, 1968. 64. William Worthy, “Draft Resistance Seen Increasing,” Afro-American, May 6, 1967, 1, 2. 65. “How the People React to Muhammad Ali’s Decision,” New York Amsterdam News, May 6, 1967, 1, 39. 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid. 68. “What GI’s Think about Ali’s Draft Dispute,” Jet, June 15, 1967, 45. 69. Sepia, May 1971, 80. 70. Thomas A. Johnson, “The Negro in Vietnam Strides toward Partnership,” New York Times, April 29, 1968. 71. Paul Hathaway, “There Is Anger at Problems at Home,” Washington Star, May 7, 1968. 72. “Democracy in the Foxhole,” Time, May 26, 1967, 19. 73. “Clay to Attend ‘Mystery Meeting,’” Cleveland Plain Dealer, June 4, 1967, 7–C; Russell, “I Am Not Worried about Ali,” 19. 74. Chuck Heaton, “Cassius Still Won’t Go,” Cleveland Plain Dealer, June 5, 1967, 59. 75. Ibid.; “Muhammad Ali Stands Firm on His Rights, Religious Beliefs,” Call and Post, June 10, 1967, 1, 2. 76. Hauser, Muhammad Ali, 178–79. 77. William Clopton, “Ali Praised at Rally,” Washington Post, July 16, 1967, A-11. 78. “We Tell the World We’re NOT with Muhammad Ali,” Muhammad Speaks, April 4, 1969, 3; “Clarification of Actions Taken by Messenger Muhammad,” Muhammad Speaks, April 11, 1969. Elijah Muhammad may have wanted to be conveniently relieved of his controversial follower. In 1972, long after the Supreme Court had set aside Ali’s conviction, Muhammad welcomed Ali back into the Nation.

Notes to Pages 88–92 | 153

79. Dave Anderson, “A Day for Victory outside Ring,” New York Times, June 29, 1971, 24. 80. “Ali’s Court Win Aids His Sect,” Pittsburgh Courier, July 10, 1971, 1, 4. The view expressed by Eskridge and others that the Supreme Court recognized the Nation of Islam as a pacifist religious institution was a misreading of the case since the Court released Ali on a technicality. 81. Sepia, September 1972, 80. 82. Ibid.; “Hail Ali’s Victory,” New York Amsterdam News, July 3, 1971, 1; “Muhammad Ali Case Has Happy Conclusion,” Philadelphia Tribune, July 3, 1971, 8. 83. “His Biggest Fight,” New York Amsterdam News, July 17, 1971; “Hail Ali’s Victory,” New York Amsterdam News, July 3, 1971, 1.

Chapter 6. Black Power GIs 1. Paul Hathaway, “The Problem Is Back Home,” Washington Evening Star, May 7, 1968, A-6. 2. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36852–53. In 1971, black men made up 12.1 percent of the armed forces. The percentages of black men in combat and in the service and supply fields were 16.3 and 19.3, respectively. David Cortright has argued that military training was not necessarily good preparation for the private sector—even for men who worked in technical specialties. He suggests that military skills were not easily transferable to private sector occupations or were often in low demand there. See Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 194–97. 3. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36582–83. In 1971, African Americans constituted 7 percent of the servicemen in the communications and intelligence category and 4.9 percent of those in the electronic equipment field, but they comprised 12.1 percent of all men in the armed forces. 4. Ibid., 36591. 5. Terry, Bloods, 95. 6. Chris Smith [pseud.], interview by author, Cleveland, Ohio, November 28, 1993. 7. Raymond Coffey, “Negro Banks on His Bravery,” Chicago Daily News, May 14, 1968. 8. Paul Hathaway, “The Problem Is Back Home,” Washington Evening Star, May 7, 1968, 1. 9. Paul Hathaway, “The Negro at War,” Washington Evening Star, May 6, 1968, A-6. 10. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36589. 11. Ibid.; Gene Grove, “The Army and the Negro,” New York Times Magazine, July 24, 1966, 49; Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 204–5. 12. Sepia, August 1967, 67.

154 | Notes to Pages 92–100

13. Joel Davis, interview by Clark Smith, August 5, 1977, transcript, CUOHROC, 110. 14. “Democracy in the Foxhole,” Time, May 26, 1967, 17. 15. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36583. 16. Ibid. 17. Sepia, May 1968, 68. 18. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36853. 19. Sepia, May 1970, 54. 20. Milton White, “Self-Determination for Black Soldiers,” Black Scholar (November 1970). 21. Poinsett, “The Negro Officer,” 137–38. 22. Endicott and Williford, “Uptight in the Armed Forces,” 465. 23. Poinsett, “The Negro Officer,” 139; House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36583, 36593. 24. House, Captain Burns to Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36592. 25. Sepia, December 1972, 80. 26. Ibid. 27. Ed Rogers, “McNamara’s ‘Off-Limits’ Order Powerful Leverage,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, July 15, 1967, 11. 28. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36583, 36590. Army policy helped maintain segregation since regulations prevented black servicemen from using white “testers” to ascertain how open local housing markets were. 29. After protests from the black community, the Pentagon began to rethink its policy of requesting voluntary compliance with open housing rules. In 1967, the Defense Department announced that it would exert more pressure on landlords to rent and to sell to African American servicemen. Targeting Washington, D.C., and nearby vicinities in Maryland and Virginia, Secretary McNamara announced that he would declare the area off-limits to all servicemen if fewer than 75 percent of regional realtors failed to promise to open their rental properties to black men and their families by July 15. Ed Rogers, “McNamara’s ‘Off-Limits Order’”; Robert McNamara, “Social Inequalities,” 100–101. 30. For an overview of the Black Power movement, see Van Deburg, New Day in Babylon; and Carmichael and Hamilton, Black Power. 31. Mills, Like a Holy Crusade; Van Deburg, New Day in Babylon, 31–33. 32. Carmichael and Hamilton, Black Power, 55. 33. Poussaint, “A Negro Psychiatrist Explains the Black Psyche,” 129–38. 34. Carmichael and Hamilton, Black Power, 41. 35. Poussaint, “A Negro Psychiatrist Looks at Black Power.” 36. Sepia, May 1971, 80. 37. White, “Malcolm X in the Military,” 34. 38. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36589.

Notes to Pages 101–109 | 155

39. White, “Malcolm X in the Military,” 32. 40. Terry, Bloods, 10. 41. Sepia, December 1969. 42. White, “Self-Determination for Black Soldiers,” 42–43. 43. Joel Davis, interview by Clark Smith, August 5, 1977, CUOHROC, 124– 25. 44. Endicott and Williford, “Uptight in the Armed Forces,” 465. 45. Gene Grove, “The Army and the Negro,” New York Times Magazine, July 24, 1966, 52. 46. Sepia, May 1969, 68. 47. Sepia, June 1970, 54. 48. Sepia, November 1971. 49. Sepia, February 1971, 80. 50. Sepia, May 1972, 80. 51. Felix C. Anthony, “The ‘Pound’—New Unity Sign,” America, February 13, 1971, 147–48. 52. Quoted in Moser, “From Deference to Defiance,” 93. 53. Although the dap was primarily a ritual for blacks, it was not unheard of for black men to dap with close, sympathetic white friends. 54. The phrase “language of heterosexual love” comes from Ghaill, ed., Understanding Masculinities. 55. Lonnie Alexander, interview by Clark Smith, July 8, 1974, CUOHROC, 105, 107. 56. For a discussion of a black nationalist GI and veteran group that encouraged male intimacy and fair treatment of women, see Pamela Haynes, “An Exclusive Interview,” Philadelphia Tribune, November 18, 1972. 57. Felix C. Anthony, “The ‘Pound’—New Unity Sign,” America, February 13, 1971, 147–48. 58. Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 205–6. 59. John Harrison [pseud.], interview by author, October 2, 1993. 60. Wilton B. Persons Papers, Volume 2 of Oral History, U.S. Military History Institute, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, 353. 61. Sepia, May 1971, 80. 62. Sepia, December 1971. 63. Sepia, March 1972, 80. 64. Ibid. 65. Sepia, November 1972, 80. 66. Sepia, April 1972, 80. 67. Sepia, November 1972. 68. Sepia, January 1971, 56. 69. Ibid. 70. Llorens, “Natural Hair,” 144; Van Deburg, New Day in Babylon, 198– 202.

156 | Notes to Pages 109–115

71. Mercer, “Black Hair/Style Politics,” 35. 72. Llorens, “Natural Hair,” 143. 73. House, Congressional Black Caucus, Racism in the Military, 36589. 74. Ibid. 75. “Airman to Appeal Jail Sentence for Defying Afro Haircut,” New York Times, March 1, 1970, 69; “Airman Put on Trial for Balking at Order to Trim Afro Haircut,” New York Times, December 10, 1969, 24; “Airman Gets Jail on Afro Cut,” New York Times, December 11, 1965, 37. 76. “Official Marines ‘Afro’ Haircut Is Big Joke,” Wilmington Journal, Evans Papers, Box 1968 to 1970, File 1969, U.S. Military History Institute, Carlisle, Pennsylvania. 77. “Democracy in the Foxhole,” Time, May 26, 1967, 17; “Soul Alley,” Time, December 14, 1970; R. W. Apple, “Negro and White Fought Side by Side,” New York Times, January 3, 1966; Terry, Bloods, 24. Barry Kelly, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC; Art Turner, interview by Clark Smith, October 22, 1975, CUOHROC. 78. John Harrison [pseud.], interview by author, October 2, 1993; Turner, I Heard It through the Grapevine. 79. Sepia, April 1971, 80. 80. Sepia, December 1971, 80. 81. Gloria Emerson, “Black Power Group in Vietnam Fights Heroin Addiction,” New York Times, August 12, 1971. 82. Rothchild, “White Women Volunteers,” 481–85; Van Deburg, New Day in Babylon, 260. 83. Wallace, Black Macho and the Myth of the Superwoman, 9–12, 29. For a recent feminist critique of the Black Power movement in the 1960s, see hooks, Black Looks, 99–102. 84. Sepia, May 1972, 80. 85. Ibid. 86. Sepia, January 1973, 80. 87. Sepia, March 1968, 77. 88. Sepia, September 1968, 76. 89. Sepia, December 1967. 90. Mike Davis, “Mixed Viet Units,” Baltimore Afro-American, July 23, 1967, 1, 3. 91. Paul Hathaway, “The Problem Is Back Home,” Washington Evening Star, May 7, 1968. 92. Sepia, December 1969, 30. 93. Sepia, July 1969, 64. 94. Turner, I Heard It through the Grapevine. 95. Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 12. 96. Keith Freeman, interview in Wright, Thoughts about the Vietnam War,

Notes to Pages 115–17 | 157

108–9. For another discussion of genocide rumors, see Williams, Just before the Dawn, 11, 114–15. 97. Frustration over the performance of the M-16 was not limited to African Americans; whites also attributed American casualties to the malfunctioning of the M-16. (Comparative tests of the American M-16 and Soviet AK-47 conducted by the U.S. Combat Developments Experimentation Center in the mid-sixties confirmed what Keith Freeman had suspected: The AK-47 was the more reliable weapon.) A special congressional subcommittee that had been initially empaneled to investigate the complaints of constituents about the shortage of M-16 rifles in Vietnam soon shifted its attention to the performance of these weapons in response to revelations of the rifles’ jamming during firefights. After conducting its investigation, the subcommittee placed most of the blame for the battlefield failures of the M-16 on “army mismanagement.” The M-16 had a design flaw that made it sensitive to high-residue propellants. Rather than utilize the particular low-residue propellant that was appropriate for the M-16 machine gun, the army chose to use its preferred high-residue propellant, which, while having beneficial qualities, caused jamming. Making matters worse, the army failed to teach soldiers how to maintain their rifles properly during basic training and, prior to the congressional inquiry, never equipped soldiers with the necessary cleaning kits to do so. The army eventually modified the M-16 to accommodate its high-residue propellant and disseminated maintenance manuals—including a comic book version—to advise combat soldiers on the proper methods of maintaining their rifles. See Ezell, Great Rifle Controversy, 206–21. 98. The term antiwar warrior comes from Lifton, Home from the War. 99. Turner, I Heard It through the Grapevine, 135–36. 100. Terry, Bloods, 80. For similar examples of blacks seeing color and class parallels between the plight of black Americans and Vietnamese, see Sepia, February 1971, 80; Sepia, March 1969; Parks, GI Diary; and Al Lemke, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC. 101. Sepia, August 1969, 73. 102. Terry, Bloods, 37–38, 81; Booker, “Special Forces Lieutenant Commands,” 69. 103. Gerald L. Merity, interview by Clark Smith, August 6, 1977, CUOHROC. 104. Sepia, May 1971, 80; Sepia, December 1968, 61. For other examples, see Sepia, March 1971, 14; Sepia, August 1969, 72; and Sepia, November 1968, 55. 105. Sepia, September 1969, 66. 106. Thomas Johnson, “Negro Expatriates,” New York Times, April 30, 1968; Raymond Coffey, “Negro Banks on His Bravery,” Chicago Daily News, May 14, 1968. 107. Worthy, “The American Negro Is Dead,” 126. 108. “Red Propaganda Addressed to Tan GIs,” Norfolk Journal and Guide, November 18, 1967, 8. For other examples, see Goff and Sanders, Brothers, 148–

158 | Notes to Pages 117–124

49; Paul Hathaway, “The Negro at War: Disturbing Questions Raised,” Washington Evening Star, May 6, 1968, A-6; and Eugene Brice, interview in Wright, Thoughts about the Vietnam War, 155. 109. Terry, Bloods, 37. 110. Moskos, The American Enlisted Man, 130. 111. John Harrison [pseud.], interview by author, October 2, 1993. 112. Helmer, Bringing the War Home, 101; Paul Hathaway, “The Negro at War: Disturbing Questions Raised,” Washington Evening Star, May 6, 1968, A-6; Freeman quoted in Wright, Thoughts about the Vietnam War, 104; Terry, Bloods, 162; Gerald L. Merity, interview by Clark Smith, August 6, 1977, CUOHROC, 26. 113. Thomas Benton, interview in Wright, Thoughts about the Vietnam War, 67–68.

Chapter 7. Black, and Navy Too 1. Zumwalt, On Watch, 218–19. 2. Henry Leiferman, “The Constellation Incident,” New York Times Magazine, September 5, 1973; Ryan, “USS Constellation Flare-up: Was It Mutiny?,” 46–53. 3. House, Committee on Armed Services, Hearings by Special Subcommittee on Disciplinary Problems in the U.S. Navy, 337; “Local Black Sailors among Those Arrested in U.S. Navy Race Riot,” Philadelphia Tribune, November 11, 1972, 2. 4. Zumwalt, On Watch, 182–96. 5. “Navy Opens Recruiting Drive to Increase Black Enlistments,” New York Times, April 1, 1971, 29. 6. Ibid. 7. Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 119–20. 8. Terry, Bloods, 181–82. 9. Everett Holles, “Black Recruiting Called Navy Flaw,” New York Times, November 23, 1972, 13. 10. “Keelhauling the United States Navy,” Time, November 27, 1972, 20–21. 11. Zumwalt’s program was thwarted not just by negligent commanders and hostile middle managers but also by influential retired senior officers. 12. David Cooper, interview by Clark Smith, April 9, 1974, CUOHROC. 13. Zumwalt, On Watch, 233–34. 14. Seymour Hersh, “Some Very Unhappy Ships,” New York Times, November 12, 1972, sec. 4, 4; Drew Middleton, “Discipline Crisis Is Feared in Navy,” New York Times, November 22, 1972, 1, 28. 15. “Black vs. White,” Newsweek, August 25, 1969, 20-A–20-B; Nalty, Strength for the Fight, 303–17. 16. “Black vs. White,” Newsweek, August 25, 1969, 20-A–20-B. 17. Zumwalt, On Watch, 239–40. Henry Kissinger made the actual request that Zumwalt refused to honor. Since the men had been charged only with a six-

Notes to Pages 125–129 | 159

hour absence, they could not legally be given dishonorable discharges under the rules of the Uniform Code of Military Justice. 18. Seymour M. Hersh, “Navy Acts to Halt Racial Violence and Alleged Sabotage on Ships,” New York Times, November 6, 1972, 14; Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 106. 19. “Keelhauling the United States Navy,” Time, November 27, 1972. 20. Seymour M. Hersh, “Navy Acts to Halt Racial Violence and Alleged Sabotage on Ships,” New York Times, November 6, 1972, 14; House, Committee on Armed Services, Disciplinary Problems, 805; Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 113. 21. Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 112, 123–24; “Keelhauling the United States Navy,” Time, November 27, 1972; Philip Hager, “Two Dozen Acts of Sabotage Aboard Navy Carrier Reported,” Los Angeles Times, November 20, 1972, 3; Seymour M. Hersh, “Navy Acts to Halt Racial Violence and Alleged Sabotage on Ships,” New York Times, November 6, 1972; “The Navy’s New Racial Crisis,” Newsweek, November 20, 1972. 22. House, Committee on Armed Services, Disciplinary Problems, 515; Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 125. 23. House, Committee on Armed Services, Disciplinary Problems, 551, 609, 515; “Keelhauling the United States Navy,” Time, November 27, 1972; Seymour M. Hersh, “Navy Acts to Halt Racial Violence and Alleged Sabotage on Ships,” New York Times, November 6, 1972. 24. A master-at-arms is similar to a policeman. 25. House, Committee on Armed Services, Disciplinary Problems, 1028–29. 26. Ibid., 609. 27. Ibid., 529. 28. Ibid., 632. 29. Ibid., 551. 30. Ibid. 31. “Military Justice Assailed,” New York Times, December 1, 1972, 21. 32. House, Committee on Armed Services, Disciplinary Problems, 514–15. 33. Ibid., 632. 34. Ibid., 551–52. 35. Ibid., 520–21. 36. Ibid., 574. 37. Ibid., 531. 38. Zumwalt, On Watch, 219–20. 39. Jesse W. Lewis, “U.S. Negro at War,” Philadelphia Inquirer, April 16, 1967. 40. “Sailors Describe Racial Battling,” New York Times, November 24, 1972, 17. 41. Page Townsend, “Blacks Demand Probe of Aircraft Carrier,” Philadelphia Tribune, November 14, 1972, 21; George Wilson, “Navy Mobilizing for Racial Reforms,” Washington Post, November 5, 1972, 1, A-6. 42. Turner, I Heard It through the Grapevine.

160 | Notes to Pages 129–134

43. “Kitty Hawk Riot,” Newsweek, December 11, 1972, 30. 44. House, Committee on Armed Services, Disciplinary Problems, 603–4. 45. Ibid., 520. 46. Zumwalt, On Watch, 217–18. 47. Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 120–21; “Local Black Sailors among Those Arrested in U.S. Navy Race Riot,” Philadelphia Tribune, November 11, 1972. 48. House, Committee on Armed Services, Disciplinary Problems, 571–72. 49. Ibid. 50. The dap is a ritual greeting that involves a series of handshakes, handslapping, and finger-snapping. African American GIs used the dap to forge homosocial ties. 51. Earl Caldwell, “Kitty Hawk Back at Home,” New York Times, November 29, 1972, 24. 52. House, Committee on Armed Services, Disciplinary Problems, 573. 53. Ibid. 54. Ibid., 575. 55. Ibid., 571–72. 56. Ibid., 575. 57. Ibid., 584. 58. Ibid., 585. 59. Ibid., 587–88. 60. Earl Caldwell, “Complaints Persist That Black Sailors Accused in Carrier Incident Did Not Receive Equal Justice,” New York Times, April 1, 1973, 59. 61. George Wilson, “Navy Mobilizing for Racial Reforms,” Washington Post, November 5, 1972, 1, A-6; Drew Middleton, “Zumwalt Rebukes Top Navy Leaders on Racial Unrest,” New York Times, November 11, 1972; “Zumwalt Warns Discipline Will Not Be Eased,” New York Times, November 17, 1972; Everett Holles, “Navy Purging Its Ranks of Undesirables,” New York Times, February 2, 1973, 1, 4; Earl Caldwell, “Quiet Crackdown by Navy Aimed at Dissident Blacks,” New York Times, December 25, 1972. 62. Drew Middleton, “Zumwalt Rebukes Top Navy Leaders on Racial Unrest,” New York Times, November 11, 1972; “Zumwalt Warns Discipline Will Not Be Eased,” New York Times, November 17, 1972; Everett Holles, “Navy Purging Its Ranks of Undesirables,” New York Times, February 2, 1973, 1, 4; Earl Caldwell, “Quiet Crackdown by Navy Aimed at Dissident Blacks,” New York Times, December 25, 1972. 63. Earl Caldwell, “Navy Determined to Recruit Blacks,” New York Times, March 12, 1973, 16. 64. “Navy Suspending a Race Program,” New York Times, December 9, 1973, 21. 65. Earl Caldwell, “Carrier, City Afloat, Suffers City Stress,” New York Times, April 11, 1973, 24; Earl Caldwell, “Navy’s Racial Trouble Persists Despite Long

Notes to Page 138 | 161

Effort to Dispel It,” New York Times, May 28, 1973, 5; “Two Days of Racial Unrest on Navy Carrier Reported,” New York Times, July 22, 1973, 30.

Conclusion 1. Sol Stern, “Black GI Comes Back,” New York Times Magazine, March 24, 1968; “Black Power in Vietnam,” Time, September 19, 1969; Moskos, The American Enlisted Man, 131; Thomas A. Johnson, “Negro Veteran Is Confused,” New York Times, July 29, 1968; Young, “Negroes in Vietnam Come Home”; Paul Hathaway, “Just Finding a Job Is Work,” Washington Evening Star, May 9, 1968; C. L. Sulzberger, “The Spin Out,” New York Times, May 21, 1969, 46; McNamara, “Social Inequalities”; Fendrich and Pearson, “Black Veterans Return”; Helmer, Bringing the War Home, 101–2; Pierce, “The Returning Vet.” 2. Thomas A. Johnson, “Negro Veteran Is Confused,” New York Times, July 29, 1968, 14.

Bibliography

Archival Sources Butler Library, Columbia University, New York. The Columbia University Oral History Research Office Collection contains approximately forty transcribed interviews with black and white veterans of the Vietnam War. Charles L. Blockson Collection, Temple University, Philadelphia. This archive contains copies of Sepia dated from 1967 to 1973. During these years, letters from black GIs were printed in the “Our Men in Vietnam” section of the magazine. Fisk University, Nashville, Tennessee. The library contains an archive of taped interviews with African American Vietnam veterans.

Government Sources National Advisory Commission of Selective Service. In Pursuit of Equality: Who Serves When Not All Serve? Washington, D.C.: U.S. Government Printing Office, 1967. U.S. Congress. House. Committee on Armed Services. Hearings by Special Subcommittee on Disciplinary Problems in the U.S. Navy. 92nd Cong., 2d sess., 1972. U.S. Congress. House. Congressional Black Caucus. Racism in the Military: A New System of Rewards and Punishment. 92nd Cong., 2d sess., Congressional Record (October 14, 1972), vol. 118, pt. 27. U.S. Congress. House. Special Subcommittee of the Armed Services Committee. Inquiry into the Disturbances at Marine Corps Base, Camp Lejeune. 91st Cong., 1st sess., December 15, 1969.

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Index

Aaner, Willie, 104 Abdul Jabbar, Kareem, 85, 86 Abolitionism, 2 Abuse: of prisoners, 57–58; of Vietnamese civilians, 61; of women, 57, 58–59 Academic deferment, 17–18 Advenger, Terry, 120, 121 Afro-American, 80 Afro hairstyle, 109 Aguinaldo, Emilio, 5 Ailes, Stephen, 71 AK-47 machine gun, 114, 157n.97 Alexander, Lonnie, 26, 48–49, 55, 60, 105 Ali, Muhammad: antiwar activists and, 86–87; Armed Forces Qualifying Test and, 71; career of, 73–74; case, meaning of, 88–89; civil rights activists and, 81–82; critics of, 83, 84–85; early life of, 68; identification with, 77–78; importance of draft refusal by, 67, 85, 137; on induction day, 78; legal battles of, 78–79; mainstream black press and, 79–81; marriages of, 69–70; Nation of Islam and, 69–70, 87; Negro Industrial Union and, 85–86; as Olympic boxer, 68–69; opposition to war by, 72–76, 87; options of, 76–77; petition to draft board by, 74–75; racial militancy and, 70; reclassification of, 72; as role model, 85, 137; servicemen and, 83– 85; supporters of, 82–84; Supreme Court and, 88; testimony at appeal board by, 75–76 Ali-Patterson fight, 70

Allure of military service, 23–26 Ambrose, Walter, 103 Amsterdam News, 82 Andrew, Charles, 107 Andrews Air Force Base, 97 Antiwar views: of African American activists, 26–29; of African American GIs, 112–19; of Ali, 72–76, 87; military achievement and, 43; as way to define manhood, 67. See also Militancy Armed Forces Qualifying Test (AFQT), 20, 71, 72, 90–91, 122 Army during First World War, 8–9 Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN), 55–56 Article 15s, 95, 96 Bailey, Neal, 111 Baker, Newton D., 8 Barnes, James, 45, 91, 113 Basic training: civilian identity and, 31–32; as disorienting, 32; drill instructors and, 34–37; equality among recruits during, 32–33; homosociality and, 37–44; overview of, 30–31; race and, 33–34 Battlefield: acclimation to, 49–50; combat soldiers vs. rear soldiers, 48; equality of, 45; reaction to being under fire, 49 Battlefield training exercise, 39–40 Belton, Thomas, 118 Bevel, James, 29 Black accessories, 109 “Blackenize,” 101 Black nationalist groups during Second World War, 10

174 | Index Black Power movement: antiwar views and, 113–19; dapping and, 104–8; ideas of, 97–99; intraracial tensions and, 102– 4; in military, 99–102, 137; symbols of, 109–12 Black Power salute, 124 Black Women Enraged, 28 Bluitt, Tim, 30, 35, 36, 54, 58–59 Body count, 57, 61–62 Bond, Julian, 80, 142n.17 Borrowman, Steve, 31, 32, 40, 41–42, 49 Branham, Danny, 49 Brown, Clyde, 84 Brown, H. Rap, 75, 78 Brown, Jim, 85–86 Brown, Lonnie, 120, 121, 122 Browne, Don, 65 Browne, Robert, 28–29 Brownmiller, Susan, 58 Burns, Captain, 94 Butler, Charles, 83 Cadence calls, 38–39 Call and Post, 79 Calloway, Ernest, 10 Cameron, Peter, 43 Camil, Scott, 39–40, 52, 54, 56–57 Camp Baxter, Da Nang, Vietnam, 65 Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, 64, 124 Camp Tien Sha, 65 Captain’s mast, 127 Carmichael, Stokely: on Ali, 81; antiwar rhetoric of, 114; on black GI as “mercenary,” 27; Black Power movement and, 98–99; on Project 100,000, 20 Casualty rates, 21–22, 118, 135–36 Chuvalo, George, 74, 77 Civil War, 3–4, 148n.71 Clark, Frank, 74 Clay, Cassius. See Ali, Muhammad Clay, Cassius, Sr., 68 Clay, Sonji, 69 Cleaver, Eldridge, 29, 70 Cloud, Benjamin, 126, 128, 129, 130, 131–33 Coffin, William Sloane, 150n.32

Cohesion, primary group. See Homosociality Coleman, Ronald, 102 Combat and masculinity, 50–54 Committee against Jim Crow, 11 Competition, group, 37–38, 41, 57 Conflict, interracial: in navy, 120, 128–33; in rear, 63–66 Conflict, intraracial, and Black Power movement, 102–4 Congressional Black Caucus report, 92, 94, 95, 97 Conscientious objectors, 53–54 Conscription Act of 1863, 4 Constellation, 120, 124 Continental Congress, 1–2 Cooper, David, 123 Cooper, W. H., 93 Counterhegemonic masculinity, meaning of, 141n.3 Covington, Hayden, 75 Cowardice, allegations of, 3, 6, 12, 13 Cuba, 4–5 Daly, James, 40, 43 Daniels, Reginald, 65 Dapping, 104–8, 134, 137–38 Davis, Benjamin O., 11 Davis, Joel, 92, 103 Desegregation: of armed forces, 1, 10–11, 12, 14; of federal agencies and defense industries, 11; stigma of black institutions and, 98 Desertion, 117 Dewey, Thomas E., 12 Dietrich, Donald L., 47 Dijanich, Vince, 30 Discharge: less-than-honorable, 96; schemes to obtain, 44 Discrimination: in housing, 96–97; in military, 90, 93–96; in navy, 121–23, 133–34 Double V campaign, 10, 26 Douglass, Frederick, 3 Doyle, August, 109 Draft: academic deferment, 17–18; burden

Index | 175 of, on black community, 16–17; inequities in administration of, 7–8; reliance on, 16. See also Project 100,000 Draft boards, 17 Drexler, Leslie, 47 Drill instructors: disorienting processes of, 32; hazing rituals of, 35; language of, 34–35; masculine rhetoric of, 31, 34; as model men, 34–37, 136; peer policing and, 32–33; pressure on recruits by, 36; race of, 36; surveillance by, 43 Drug culture, 62, 110, 148n.71 Du Bois, W.E.B., 7, 8, 26 Dudley, Nickson, 113–14 Dunkley, Steven, 78 Dyson, Joseph, 116 Early, Stephen, 11 Edmondson, Anthony, 95–96 Educational level of soldiers, 13–14, 20– 21. See also Armed Forces Qualifying Test (AFQT) Edwards, Reginald, 23–24, 34, 42, 62, 101 Ehrhart, W. D., 32, 43 Emancipation Proclamation, 3–4 Employment and military skills, 138, 153n.2 Enemy, view of, 56–57, 116 Equality: of battlefield, 45; of helicopter crew, 52–53 Eskridge, Chauncey, 88 Evers, Medgar, 81 Fagen, David, 6 Fair Employment Practices Committee, 11 FBI, 74–75, 150n.32 Fear: in combat, 49–50; humanization of superiors through, 53; of other, 60, 129 First World War: aftermath of, 9–10; army service during, 8–9; preparations for, 6–8 Flag, tri-colored, 109 Florika, 67 Folklore and expressions of emasculation, 60 Ford, Richard, 51

Forestal, 125 Fort Bragg, North Carolina, 64, 124 Fort Dix, New Jersey, 124 Fort Hood, Texas, 124 Fort Lewis, 103 Fort Meade, 97 Forward observers, 52, 147n.28 Frazier, Edward E., 110 Frazier, Joel, 82 Freedomways, 80 “Free-fire zone” policy, 62 Freeman, Keith, 114–15 Friedman, Milton, 16 Friendship: interracial, 33, 45–46, 47, 136–37; male, 54–58, 136 Fruit of Islam, 69 Fulton County, Georgia, 7 Gaston, Roger S., 128 Gender identity: antiwar rhetoric and, 26– 29; black nationalism and, 93; combat and, 50–52; conceptions of, 56; dapping and, 105–6; jobs and, 52–54; military and, 23–24, 30–31; role of soldier and, 74. See also Masculinity Genocide: disparate impact of military service on black men as, 27; rumors of, 114–15 Goff, Stan, 32, 36, 37, 45–46, 114 Grauman, Lawrence, 75, 76 Great Migration, 6 Green, William H., 107 Griffin, Charles, 92 Groham, Warren, 108 Guider, Bobby, 100 “Guts,” 57–58 Hall, Gail, 111–12 Hamilton, George, 71, 82 Hamilton, Sidney, 112 Hanoi Hannah, 117 Harkness, Lawrence, 25 Harrington, Ollie, 79 Harrison, John, 37–38, 43, 65, 106, 117– 18 Hassayampa, 120

176 | Index Hastie, William H., 11 Hawkins, Augustus, 20 Hayes, Rutherford B., 4 “Heads,” 63 Hegemonic masculinity, meaning of, 141n.3 Helicopter crew, 52–53 Helicopter door gunners, 51, 52 Helmer, John, 64 Hershey, Lewis, 77 Hill, T. Arnold, 10 Hill, Wendell, 113 Holcomb, Robert, 59 Holloman, Emmanuel, 58, 115 Homosocial, meaning of, 141n.2 Homosociality: basic training and, 35–36, 37–44; Black Power movement and, 99–102; commiseration and, 32, 38; dapping and, 104–8, 137–38; gang rape and, 58; on Kitty Hawk, 126; sharing prostitutes and, 59 Housing, 25–26, 96–97 Houston riot, 9 Howard, Stephen, 47, 61 Humphrey, Bruce, 59 Hunter, David, 3 Illinois State Athletic Commission, 73 Income and military service, 25 Initiation rites, 47–50 Integration, Black Power thinkers and, 98 Jackson, Lee Ward, 18 Jacox, Cal, 80 James, Commander, 90 Jobs assigned to African American soldiers: in basic training, 33–34; during First World War, 8; on Kitty Hawk, 125; in navy, 122; during Vietnam War, 15, 90–91 “Jody,” 38 Johnson, Harvey, 80 Johnson, James, 112–13 Johnson, Lynda Bird, 71, 82 Johnson, Lyndon, 71–72, 135 Johnson, Ralph, 116 Johnson, Vernon, 89

John Wayne complex, 51, 52 Jones, Lewis, 10 “Juicers,” 63 “Jungle,” 128 Justice Department, 76, 80 Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Station, Hawaii, 64–65, 124 Karenga, Ron, 138 Kastenmeier, Robert, 20 Kean, W. B., 12 King, Martin Luther, Jr.: Ali and, 81; antiwar views of, 142n.17; assassination of, 65–66, 138; FBI and, 75 Kirkland, Haywood, 42, 91 “Kit Carson scouts,” 55 Kitty Hawk, 120, 125–28, 129–33, 137 Kitty Litter, 125, 126, 128 Korean War, 12–14 Kovic, Ron, 32 Lane, James H., 3 Language of racial solidarity, 101–2 League for Nonviolent Civil Disobedience against Military Segregation, 11 Leatherwood, Ric, 108 Lee, Lucy, 82 Lewis, Leon, 82 Lewis, Morris, 18 Lincoln, Abraham, 3–4 Liston, Sonny, 70 Logan, Rayford, 4 Lynchings, 6, 9–10 Lynn, Winfred W., 10 M-16 weapon, 114–15, 157n.97 MacArthur, Douglas, 14 Mack, Carl, 138 Malcolm X, 69, 75, 81 Malcolm X Association, 100–101 March on Washington Movement, 11 Marine Air Station, Hawaii, 64–65, 124 Marshall, Thurgood, 12–13 Masculinity: Black Power movement and, 99; counterhegemonic, 26–29, 99–102, 141n.3; drug abuse and, 110; hege-

Index | 177 monic, 102–4, 141n.3; rumors to critique hegemonic, 114–15, 118. See also Gender identity Maska, Karl, 56 McKinley, William, 5 McNamara, Robert, 18, 72 Meal time, 54–55, 106–7 Medics, 53–54 Mentoring, 94 Menzies, M. C., 108 Meredith, James, 98 Merity, Gerald, 116 Militancy: antiwar rhetoric and counterhegemonic masculinity, 26–29; Black Power salute and, 124; dapping and, 106–7; during Second World War, 10. See also Black Power movement Military: Afro hairstyle and, 109; allure of service in, 23–26; barriers to black participation in, 1; Black Power movement in, 99–102, 137; casualty rates, 21–22, 118, 135–36; discharge from, 44, 96; discrimination in, 90, 93–95; as employer of jobless men, 19, 24; initiation rites in, 47–50; jobs assigned to African Americans in, 8, 15, 33–34, 90–91, 122, 125; justice in, 95–96, 127–28, 129; officer ranks, 93–94, 133; promotions in, 92–95, 122; reenlistment rate, 24–25. See also Basic training; Draft; NCOs (noncommissioned officers); specific branches Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party (MFDP), 97–98 Montagnards, 115–16, 117 Moore, Allen, 82–83 Moore, L. J., 92 Moore, Warren, 103 Morality, 41–43, 56–57 Morten, Baker E., 80 Moskowitz, Jack, 22 Moynihan, Daniel Patrick, 19 Muhammad, Elijah: Ali and, 69, 70, 87; draft resistance by, 10, 72; FBI and, 75 Muhammad, Herbert, 70, 72–73

Murphy, Rosalind, 82 Murray, John (Lord Dunmore), 2 Music, 110 NAACP, 7 Namath, Joe, 71 National Guard, 17 Nation of Islam, 29, 69–70, 87. See also Muhammad, Elijah Navy: advertising campaign of, 121; discrimination in, 121–23, 133–34; interracial conflict in, 120; permissiveness, notion of, in, 123; recruiting policies of, 121–22, 134; stresses on, 124–25. See also Kitty Hawk NCOs (noncommissioned officers), 25, 84–85, 96, 102–4 Negro Industrial Union, 85 New Haven, Connecticut, 17 New Standards Men, 20–21 New York Amsterdam News, 79, 81, 88– 89 New York State Boxing Commission, 73, 78–79 Nguyen Thi Khao, 61 Nicastro, Nick, 50 Nicknames: for men, 49; for new soldiers, 47–48; for Vietnamese, 42, 48 Ninety-second Division, 8, 9 Ninety-third Division, 8–9 Nixon, Richard, 124 Noncommissioned officers. See NCOs (noncommissioned officers) Norfolk Journal and Guide, 79–81, 82 Norman, William, 122 Oberg, Captain, 126, 127 Officer ranks, 93–94, 133. See also NCOs (noncommissioned officers) Olongapo, Philippines, 128 Olympic Project for Human Rights, 81 Owen, Chandler, 7 Paratroopers, 25 Parks, David, 31, 33, 34, 35 Pay, disparity in, 4

178 | Index Peachin, Jim, 46, 50–53, 63 Peer pressure, 40 Permissiveness, notion of, 123 Persecution of black leaders by government, 80–81 Pershing, John J., 8 Persons, Wilton, 106 Peterson, Jay, 62 Philadelphia Tribune, 79, 88 Philippines, 5–6, 125, 128 Pilisuk, Marc, 19–21 Pittsburgh Courier, 79 Point men, 52, 91–92, 147n.28 Political participation in South: after Civil War, 4; during Vietnam War, 97–98 Poussaint, Alvin, 98, 99 Powell, Adam Clayton, 27, 80, 114, 136 Power: conformity and, 84; coping with lack of, 44; rape and, 59; rumors and, 115, 118; sexual metaphor for, 41–42 Practical jokes, 49 Primary group cohesion. See Homosociality Project Clear, 14 Project 100,000, 18–21, 72, 135 Project Transition, 138 Promotions, 92–95, 122 Propaganda campaigns, 117–18 “Pugil-stick” fights, 41–42 Quonset Point Naval Air Station, Rhode Island, 64–65 Race: basic training and, 33–34; debunking of myths about, 46–47; of drill instructors, 36; relationships with women and, 111–12 Race riots: after First World War, 9, 10; after Spanish-American War, 6; in Houston, 9; in 1967, 138. See also Conflict, interracial; Kitty Hawk Racist indoctrination in basic training, 42 Raines, Johnny, 113 Randolph, A. Philip, 7, 10, 11, 12 Ranger, 125 Rear, culture of, 48, 63–66

Reconstruction amendments, 4 Reenlistment rate, 24–25 Reeves, Donald, 77 Revolutionary War, 1–3 Richman, Milton, 80 Ridgway, Matthew B., 14 Rollins, Henry, 110 Roosevelt, Franklin, 10, 11 Roosevelt, Theodore, 6 Rumors: anxiety about other and, 129; to critique hegemonic masculinity, 114–15, 118; of emasculation, 60; power and, 115, 118; of sabotage of agricultural output, 6–7; of Vietcong and NVA, 118 Russell, Bill, 85, 86 Rutledge, Edward, 1–2 Sabotage: acts of, 125; rumors of, 6–7 Sanders, Bob, 32, 48, 54–56 Schaub, John, 122 Schmidt, John, 90 Scott, Marc, 108 Scott, Ralph, 126 Scudder, Allen, 108 Second World War, 10–12, 26, 148n.71 Selective Service, 7 Selective Service Act of 1940, 10 Sellers, Cleveland, 27, 81, 136 Seventy-fifth Article of War, 13 Sex, payment for, 59 Shaving heads, 31–32 Shreveport, Louisiana, 17 Silvera, John, 83 Simms, Ronald L., 108 Smith, Chris, 22, 25–26, 37, 91 SNCC. See Student Nonviolence Coordinating Committee (SNCC) Social change, war as engine for, 9, 22 Soul Alley, Saigon, 110 “Soul sessions,” 100 “Soulsville,” 21 Spanish-American War, 4–5 Spock, Benjamin, 150n.32 Spring Mobilization Committee, 86 Starr, John, 55, 64 Steinbeck, John, IV, 63

Index | 179 Steptoe, Lamont, 105 Stokes, Carl, 86 Storytelling, 55 Stowe, Mary, 82 Strothers, Richard, 84 Student Nonviolence Coordinating Committee (SNCC), 27, 97–98 Subic Bay, Philippines, 125, 128 Sullivan, Kenneth, 112 Swann, R. J., 104, 116 Swann, Richard, 83–84, 88 Taliaferro, Charles, 53–54, 65–66 Tenth Cavalry, 6 Terrell, Ernie, 73, 74 Third World consciousness, 26–27, 28–29, 115–18 Thomas, Leon, 25 Till, Emmett, 68 Townsend, Captain, 126–27, 131 Tran Quang Phuoc, 61 Trotter, William Monroe, 8 Truman, Harry, 1, 12 Turner, Art, 64 Turner, Henry McNeal, 5 Turner, Patricia, 114, 129 Twenty-fifth Division, 12–13 Twenty-fourth Infantry Regiment, 12–14 “Uncle Toms,” 102–4 US (United Slaves), 138 Valdez, Manuel, 33 Vandenberg Air Force Base, California, 100–101 Veterans, role of, 138 Vietcong, 56, 117, 118 Vietnamese: African Americans and, 116–

17; encounters with, 60–62; nicknames for, 42, 48; views of, 115–17 Vietnam Veterans Against the War, 56 Vinson, Louis, 110 Violence: body count and, 61–62; collective, 40; culture of, 57–58; death of buddies as leading to, 56–57; group chauvinism and, 41, 42; racial, 123– 24. See also Race riots Virility, desire for, 38–39 Waggoner, Lawrence, 112 Walker, Jack, 110 Wallace, Henry, 12 Wallace, Lawrence, 104 Wallace, Michelle, 111 War profiteers, 116 Washington, George, 2 White, Walter, 10 Whitmore, Terry, 33, 35, 36, 41 Wilson, Dagmar, 86 Wilson, Woodrow, 9–10 Winter Soldier Investigation, 56 Women: rape of, 58–59; relationships with, 59, 111–12; rumors about, 60; sexual abuse of, 57 Women Strike for Peace, 86 Wood, Leonard, 8 Woodley, Gene, 33 World War I. See First World War World War II. See Second World War Worthy, William, 82 Yoi, Walter, 16 Young, Whitney, 18, 22, 142n.17 “Z-grams,” 121, 123, 133 Zumwalt, Elmo, 121, 124, 133, 134

Herman Graham III is an assistant professor at Denison University, where he teaches U.S. and African American history.