Network Aztlan Latino Chicano Comunidades Transnacionales

Aztlan & Viet Nam
Chicano and Chicana Experiences of the War

George Mariscal, Editor
University of California Press
ISBN 0-520-21405-6
Paperback, $18.95

Showcasing short stories, poems, speeches, and articles, Aztlan & Viet Nam is the first anthology of Mexican American writings about the U.S. war in Southeast Asia. The collection presents writings that are startlingly frank, moving, and immensely powerful, as they call to our attention an important and neglected part of U.S. history. Gathered from many little-known sources, the writings reflect both the soldier's experience as well as the antiwar movement at home. Taken together, they illustrate the contradictions faced by the traditionally patriotic Mexican American community, and show us the war and the grassroots opposition to it from a new perspective--one that goes beyond the familiar dichotomy of black and white America.

George Mariscal offers critical introductions to the writings and provides historical background by identifying specific issues which have not been widely discussed in relation to the war, noting for example the potential for Chicano soldiers to recognize their own ethnic and class identities in those of the Vietnamese people. Drawing upon interviews with key participants of the National Chicano Moratorium Committee, Mariscal analyzes the anti-war movement, the Catholic Church, traditional Mexican-American groups, and an emerging feminist consciousness among Chicanas.

Over sixty readings comprise the collection, including Norma Elia Cantú's remembrance of her brother who died in combat, Bárbara Renaud Gonzalez' evocative poem about Chicanas on the homefront, Alberto Rios' and Naomi Helena Quiñonez' moving poetry about the Wall, and the recollections of Abelardo Delgado and others on the August 29, 1970 Moratorium. Along with these personal accounts are several historical and journalistic pieces such as Carlos Conde's "Eulogy for Rubén Salazar." Together these writings powerfully evoke the impact of the war on an American ethnic community, while they deepen our understanding of that divisive conflict. George Mariscal is Associate Professor of Literature at the University of California, San Diego. The grandson of Mexican immigrants, he was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1968 and served the following year in Viet Nam. He is available for readings, book-signings, and discussions. His presentations include the showing of a rarely-viewed documentary on the Chicano Moratorium of February 28, 1970.

For information,
call (760) 436-9750.

"Aztlan and Viet Nam is a unique and important book which fills a glaring gap in our knowledge of the Viet Nam war and of the history of Chicano and Chicana resistance to injustice. I hope it will be widely read."

Howard Zinn, author of The People's History of the United States

"We've seen portraits of our uncles and fathers as WWII soldiers, situated under handmade doilies crocheted by our abuelitas to loop out the worry of our men at war.Later, Vietnam gave us our own war, and now the portraits belong to our brothers, sisters, spouses, and ourselves. The silence would have remained the same if not for Aztlan and Viet Nam: Chicano and Chicana Experiences of the War. Long overdue, this anthology, this blast of acknowledgement, will enrage you, will sadden you, will make you understand, but will never leave you the same. I simply can't tell you how powerful this collection is."

Helena María Viramontes, author of The Moths and Other Stories

"Hearts on Fire"

By Gina Valdés

1968

that year you were born
in Saigon to Vietnamese dancer
and American soldier
you have never met, Nuoc,

some hearts broke
into chants, others
into flames.

I circled your birth
with thousands of students
chanting to Ho Chi Minh.

Thich Nhat Hanh intoned the Heart Sutra,
Brother Martin prayed with him, was silenced,
César and Dolores hummed the red earth mantra.

Cousin Rudy's prayers exploded
in a mine, next to a Viet boy
whose father planted rice,
same as Uncle José,

green shoots turning to ashes
and grief.

Monks and nuns
opened their lotus hearts
and caught fire.

"Juan Carlos González"

By Ben Reyes

Juan Carlos González
fue muy macho
le agradó mucho el ejército
EL TALLE DE SU UNIFORME
Y fue muy héroe
a los más chicos
de su vecindario.
al regresar con sus cintas
rojas, blancas y azules
les contaba
en gran detalle
el proceso por el cual
se hace un hombre
SOLDADO
Primeramente la correa
Cariñosamente justa
la hebilla al mismo
centro del estómago
Y luego la bayoneta
Es muy importante
amolarla cientifícamente
Un día
en tiempo de fiesta
recibimos la noticia
Juancho había muerto
Y nadie ni preguntó cómo
Pero sabemos
QUE FUE MUY MACHO.

"Silver Medals"

By María Herrera Sobek

The silver medals
Purple hearts
medals of conquering heroes
Hung on Chicano homes
Another Mexican American hero
Brought home
Under the Stars and Stripes
Long gone the need
To prove his manhood
Long gone the need
To prove his red-blooded
American genealogy
And only the stars
Twinkle at our foolish pride.

"America's Wailing Wall"

By Naomi Quiñonez

There was a sixties hitch
and we were it.

The world around us
launched an all-out defensive
and you were sent to
screaming eagles.

I defied tradition.

There was movement
and we pushed hard
against new skin.

Out here the world
was a carnival
of blind purpose
and anger.

The striated hues
of social change
became vivid
and finally
bold with reason.

In your twilight zone
of death
you drained
into pale submission.

The moss green
of your jacket
a fibrous tumor
on your good spirit.

A blood belt of outrage
bonded us
before the barrios
became a pond
fat with fish
for military consumption.

"Carnal"

I named you affectionately
"Carnalita" you responded.

Each day
one more young man
disappeared off the streets,
hooked on the bait
dropped before carnales like you.

Jail or war
Poverty or war
Victim or war
Later your letters appeared.

Words lined the pages
like tired weeds.

I answered
giving all the details
to my life of infamy
describing my own war
of wombs and justice.

You gave me few clues
but your letters
smelled of death
and between the stiff
upper lip
of your lines

I read your daily horrors.

Today I walk to the wall
we have constructed for you
the thousands of names
solidified
into a polished monolith.

Your name stands there
someplace
on America's wailing wall.

On America's wailing wall
your name stands there
someplace
between millions of names
of those
sentenced to death.

Your name scratched into
stone
like the placa you etched
on a church wall
in the vain illusion
of the por vida

we shared.
There is no bringing you
back
carnal.

But your spirit reminds
those who dare to remember
that the wars
worthy of the deaths
of men and women like you
are best fought
on our own turf
against a common enemy.

Ignorance
will be attacked
until there are no more
dogs of war
until there are no more
wailing walls
until there are
no more wars.