Vietnam

A certain millennial once told me that student debt was her generation's Vietnam.

I didn't say anything at the time, but I found the comment deeply offensive.  Not to denigrate the very real problems with crushing student debt, but growing up I was faced with the very real possibility of being drafted, handed a gun, shipped off against my will to Southeast Asia, and then either kill or die in a war which few could even remember was about.

Student debt is entered into voluntarily and carries the not-insignificant benefits of a college degree and the potential for higher future wages .  Getting drafted into the Vietnam war was like being arbitrarily arrested and sent to jail without having committed any crime, except the conditions were far worse than jail and the threat of violent death very real.  I was a dumb kid without a lot of street smarts and if sent to Vietnam would almost assuredly have stepped on a booby trap or walked into a sniper's range, if I didn't manage to first injure myself with my own weapons.  The only question was would I be sent back home in a wheelchair or a box.

I turned 18 in 1972.  Although the draft ended in 1973, the Selective Service System continued to assign draft priority numbers in March of each until 1975 in case the draft was extended.  The first 95 selected were assigned classifications (e.g., 1-A); my draft priority number was 96 and I was classified 1-H (for "Holding"). 

All through high school, my friends and I were terrified of the idea of being drafted and sent off to Vietnam.  It was an existential dread that hung over us and probably as much as anything, fueled the rebellious, late 60s protest movement.

Even after the war was over, movies like The Deerhunter (1978) and Apocalypse Now (1979), and later Platoon (1986) and Full Metal Jacket (1987), reinforced my sense of dread about the war I had narrowly avoided.  I was borderline PTSD without even having served in the war, due just to the mere anticipation of being drafted.

That borderline PTSD manifested itself when I started playing the Hours of Darkness DLC for the video game Far Cry 5.  Unlike Far Cry 5, which is set in modern-day Montana, Hours of Darkness follows one of the NPCs in the parent game, a survivalist Vietnam vet, during  the war.  You play as the vet, and the game opens with your helicopter getting shot down behind enemy lines, and then follows your journey back to a safe extraction point.  Along the way, you encounter a great many enemy soldiers and have to rescue some of your buddies, free some POWs, take out some enemy commanders, and liberate  a few bases. 

That PTSD really manifested itself to me during the first third of the game.  I felt genuine fear and actual paranoia when I first started exploring the jungle, looking for weapons and buddies.  A good game should create some tension and should occasionally be scary, but I found myself face to face with my long dormant fear of what I would have encountered had I actually been sent to Vietnam. This is why things have trigger warnings - some games, books, or movies may trigger real anxiety in some people.  People who've been attacked in real life by bears may not find The Revenant so entertaining.

But then an amazing thing happened - the game became therapeutic.  It's still basically just a Far Cry game ("It's only a movie!") and I've already been through a few of those - I know how to do this and I know how to win.  After finding some weapons (personal favorite - the scoped sniper rifle) and winning a few skirmishes, I started gaining confidence and the dread began to dissipate.

I'm most certainly not saying my game experience was any sort of equivalent to being there, but it did force me to confront those old fears and to overcome them.  It was cathartic.  I finished the game last  night with a climactic fire fight to liberate the besieged extraction point and really feel like I've exorcised some dark specter from my subconscious.  Feels good, man.

Now we need a simulation game for student debt.