Herman Graham III-The Brothers' Vietnam War - Black Power, Manhood, and The Military Experience (2003) PDF

The Brothers’ Vietnam War
Black Power, Manhood,

and the Military Experience
Herman Graham III

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
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 6 5 4 3 2 1
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 Ameri-
cans 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 be-
ginning 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 com-
menced 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 Revolu-
tionary War was fought by nonsegregated troops. Indeed, African Ameri-
cans 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
2 | Chapter 1
of blacks from the Continental army, but the legislature defeated the mea-
sure. 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 prom-
ising 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. Dun-
more’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 re-
fused 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 sub-
stitutes for white conscripts. Wealthy whites hired free blacks as their
replacements; and in the northern states and Maryland, slaves’ enlist-
ments 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 dur-
ing the Revolutionary era. The other northern states opted for gradual
The Fight of Their Fathers | 3
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 be-
tween 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 commander-
in-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 Mis-
souri.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 com-
pensated 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 non-
combatants in the army, the president became a champion for the enlist-
4 | Chapter 1
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 sol-
diers received more menial work, poor medical care, and defective weap-
ons.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 govern-
ment deducted three dollars to buy their clothing. The pay inequity vio-
lated black soldiers’ sense of manhood. So outraged were men of the
Fifty-fifth Massachusetts Regiment that they almost mutinied; the Massa-
chusetts 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 de-
clined. 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 amend-
ments ratified the end of slavery, established the principle of equality be-
fore 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 be-
come 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 histo-
rian 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
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 com-
mitment 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 Move-
ment—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 lan-
guage 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 de-
cided to annex the Philippines, the U.S. Army became enmeshed in a pro-
tracted 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 con-
sequently feared that African American men would not take up arms
against Filipino rebels. Black leaders, fearful that militancy during war-
time 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
6 | Chapter 1
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 Phil-
ippine 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 ser-
vice, 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 cow-
ardice, 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 service-
men became targets of white violence in military towns. Race riots erupted
in Wilmington, North Carolina; Phoenix, South Carolina; and Pana, Illi-
nois; 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 immigra-
tion 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 op-
pressed southern blacks to migrate to Mexico. Even though most southern
leaders did not believe that there was any merit to these rumors, main-
stream black leaders understood that they had to reassure the government
that African Americans were loyal to the nation lest black people become
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 orga-
nization 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.” Advocat-
ing 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 Afri-
can 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 accom-
modate the interests of whites and to hinder black advancement. Black
fathers with large families were drafted when single white men were avail-
able, and land-owning black farmers were drafted ahead of black agricul-
tural 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-
8 | Chapter 1
centage of black men serving. While blacks represented 9 percent of regis-

trants, 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 alto-
gether. 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. Will-
iam Monroe Trotter, the militant editor of the Boston Guardian, believed
that this concession to the Jim Crow system would undermine the long-
term 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 com-
manded 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 Ninety-
second and Ninety-third Divisions. Seeing black combat troops as some-
thing of an anomaly in a white man’s army, General John J. Pershing—
commander of the American Expeditionary Force (AEF)—happily trans-
ferred 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 Ameri-
can 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 mini-
mum; 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 com-
mand, received humane treatment from their European ally. “I have never
before experienced what it meant to be really free,” a black officer said of
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 battle-
field that the French awarded unit citations to three of its four regiments.
The men of the Ninety-second, in contrast, could not overcome the handi-
caps of racist American officers and inadequate training, and their battle-
field performance suffered.38
The resentments of black soldiers over racial discrimination occasion-
ally 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 Hous-
ton 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 court-
martialed 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 Wil-
son administration, the pleas of African American leaders for the presi-
dent 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-
10 | Chapter 1
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 un-
successfully 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 Move-
ment, 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 Ad-
ministration—met with Franklin Roosevelt to lobby the president for de-
segregation of the armed forces and for an end to employment discrimina-
tion in the defense industries. The black leaders outlined a seven-point
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 Ser-
vice. 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 nontradi-
tional 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 pow-
ers. 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 re-
place 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 or-
ganization called the League for Nonviolent Civil Disobedience against
Military Segregation to prepare for the draft resistance campaign. A poll
12 | Chapter 1
by the NAACP of black college students revealed that there was consider-
able dissatisfaction with segregation in the military, with 71 percent ex-
pressing 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 posi-
tion. 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 convic-
tion 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 deseg-
regation until the exigencies of waging war in Korea forced them to inte-
grate.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 sol-
diers 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 empha-
size 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 perfor-
mance 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 Regi-
ment—and two white regiments. His findings revealed troubling dispari-
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 courts-
martial.52 These men were typically charged with violating the Seventy-
fifth Article of War—“misbehavior in the presence of the enemy,” or cow-
ardice. 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 se-
vere punishment given to a white. To put it differently, fifteen black defen-
dants—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 coward-
ice as a way of shifting blame for their own leadership failures. There were
serious tensions between officers and enlisted men, and the regiment suf-
fered 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 regi-
ments of the Twenty-fifth Division, men of Twenty-fourth had been
trained for occupation duty in Japan rather than for combat duty in Ko-
rea. When the initial American forces landed in Korea, they were out-
gunned and outnumbered by the North Koreans. In addition to these han-
dicaps 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
14 | Chapter 1
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 com-
parable 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 com-
mander 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 asso-
ciate 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 per-
mission 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 benefi-
ciaries 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, how-
ever, had greater resources at their disposal. Within the military institu-
tion, 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 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 Afri-
can American men were eager to buy. Recruiters enticed them into the
military with the “manhood hustle.”1 They promised young blacks gener-
ous 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 ser-
vicemen 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 coun-
terhegemonic 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.
16 | Chapter 2
The Draft
Through its draft classification system, the Selective Service “channeled”

the labor of young men to support the interests of older government offi-
cials 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 reli-
ance 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 ser-
vice in Vietnam, but this alternative carried greater political risks. Middle-
class 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 under-
scores 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, work-
ing-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 thor-
ough 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. Approxi-
mately 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 con-
scripted, while only 31 percent of eligible whites were drafted. Stated dif-
ferently, 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, Connecti-
cut, 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 Viet-
nam. 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 simi-
larly discriminated against black applicants.9 The popular college defer-
ment would not likely provide draft relief either, since only about 5 per-
cent of African American men were enrolled in college at the time. Sepia,
a mainstream black magazine, noted that resentment over this class privi-
lege could cause “a draft crisis at home with the same explosive potential-
ity as the war in Vietnam.”10
Since the Selective Service granted academic deferments only to full-
time students at four-year colleges,11 lower-income students frequently
paid a high price for their low economic status. A southern black from
18 | Chapter 2
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 pro-
posed 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 responsi-
bility 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 oppor-
tunity 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 sec-
tor 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: “[Disad-
vantaged young men] can be rehabilitated, both inwardly and out. They
are men, we concluded, who given the benefits of the Defense Depart-
ment’s experience in educational innovation and on-the-job training, and
placed in an atmosphere of high motivation and morale, could be trans-
formed into competent military personnel. Beyond that, after their tour of
duty, they could return to civilian life—equipped with new skills and atti-
tudes—and thus break out of the self-perpetuating poverty cycle.”19 Ac-
cording to the defense secretary, the military would transform troubled
youths into productive men.
Daniel Patrick Moynihan, the policy expert and future senator, enthu-
siastically endorsed McNamara’s plan.20 Moynihan argued that the gov-
ernment 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 em-
ployer of jobless men. Moynihan’s view of the benefits of military service
for black men seemed to overlook the “military valor” that they had dem-
onstrated 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 ques-
tioned 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-
20 | Chapter 2
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 disfran-
chised 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 Congress-
man 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 lib-
eralized 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 appropri-
ated 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 reme-
dial education, large numbers of the New Standards Men caused disciplin-
ary 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 indi-
vidual and collective strategies to resist their subordination. Through their
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 per-
cent of black men who were of eligible age for military service. In 1965
and 1966, the black army death rate approached 21 percent.33 Respond-
ing 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 fight-
ing and seeing their friends wounded and killed, precise numerical statis-
tics belied the psychological impact of these casualties. An African Ameri-
can 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 high-
lights the dilemmas that young blacks faced as marginal men. African
American men were most likely to serve in the army or marines—the ser-
vices 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 coun-
terparts in the air force and navy.37 Regardless of their branch of the armed
forces, most enlisted men wanted to express their manhood through gain-
ful employment in the military. Yet depending upon their branch of the
armed forces, servicemen grappled with significantly different circum-
stances in their quest for manhood. While army soldiers and marines af-
firmed 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-
22 | Chapter 2
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 inter-
preted the death rates as a sign of progress and portrayed African Ameri-
can 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 sta-
tistics 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 South-
east 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 dem-
onstrate 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 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 en-
thusiastically 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 non-
commissioned officers (NCOs) commanded white men as their superi-
ors.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 Ma-
rine 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
24 | Chapter 2
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. Ed-
wards’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 he-
gemonic masculinity that so captivated Reginald Edwards. Radicalized by
their heightened racial consciousness and their frustration with racial dis-
crimination in the armed forces, many black GIs turned to cultural cel-
ebrations of blackness and collective demonstrations of racial solidarity to
define their masculinity.
But in the mid-sixties, most young blacks and their relatives held posi-
tive 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 pro-
vided 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 reen-
listed at twice the rate of white men. In 1966, two-thirds of black service-
men chose to remain in the military. While their reenlistment rate de-
creased to 32 percent the next year, it still significantly surpassed the white
rate, which declined from 20 percent to 12 percent in 1967.48 The ex-

tended terms of black servicemen resulted in their being disproportion-
ately 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 sig-
nificant 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 con-
ferred prestige on its members. Because of the financial and psychological
rewards, African Americans manned 40 to 45 percent of some para-
trooper 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 ob-
served: “‘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 achieve-
ment 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 service-
men could eventually realize the American Dream of home ownership. A
draft-motivated volunteer, Chris Smith explained how he worked the mili-
tary: “I had a plan going in: I knew that if I came out honorably that I
26 | Chapter 2
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 head-
of-household, Smith purchased his first home in his early twenties with the
assistance of a low-interest loan. As a veteran, Smith applied for govern-
ment jobs with seniority, a privilege of tremendous psychological and eco-
nomic 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 con-
cluded 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” cam-
paign, 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 mo-
rality of the nation’s cause.58 Militant critics of the war created an aware-
ness of black men’s oppression by castigating the war as “the white man’s
war.” Speaking to anxieties in the black community about the dispropor-
tionate 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-
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 cap-
tured 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 un-
derscored 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 commu-
nity. Some African Americans described black combat soldiers as “cannon
fodder” because they suffered such high fatality rates. Harlem’s congress-
man, Adam Clayton Powell, spoke in terms of genocide when he attacked
the exclusive deferments that penalized many black men for their impov-
erished 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 tren-
chantly challenged the military’s claims of genuine integration and ex-
pressed black Americans’ feelings of powerlessness in the draft process.
28 | Chapter 2
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 leaf-
lets 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 chal-
lenged 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 self-
actualization. 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 tradi-
tional 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 iden-
tity. They encouraged African Americans to imagine themselves as Third
World citizens. In 1965, Robert Browne, an economist and antiwar activ-
ist, 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 Viet-
nam 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
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 disfran-
chised groups “are compelled to voice their outrage at the calculated de-
struction of their Vietnamese brothers.”67
Pointing to the economic deprivation that African Americans and Viet-
namese continually suffered, the Nation of Islam’s Muhammad Speaks
described Vietnam as “a war which pits Negroes from the slums of north-
ern 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 par-
allels 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 im-
proved 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 Ameri-
can 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 man-
hood 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.
30 | Chapter 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 Ma-
rines, 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 working-

class 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 experi-
ence 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
Basic Training | 31
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 comply-
ing with their regimen. The power of this gender rhetoric was its familiar-
ity, since recruits had already been exposed to the notion of the warrior as
hegemonic male through Hollywood films, relatives’ war stories, and mili-
tary 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 infatua-
tion 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 pro-
cess 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 defeat-
ing.”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
32 | Chapter 3
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 iden-
tity—no longer civilians but not yet soldiers—was exaggerated by their
voluminous clothing. Private Ehrhart felt that the “oversized green utili-
ties” made him “feel puny and lost and awkward and identical to every-
one 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 influ-
ences 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 com-
mon experience fostered a sense of camaraderie between men. Commiser-
ating 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 train-
ing 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 ser-
geants, for example, often used brawny recruits to police their peers. “Ev-
ery 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
Basic Training | 33
in the background and this big kid is the bully on the block.”13 His state-
ment also explains why many middle-class recruits resented military ser-
vice: 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 mar-
ginal power because it enabled him to avoid some of the hardships of basic
training.
Living with men from different backgrounds was definitely an adjust-
ment 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 dic-
tion. 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 discrimina-
tion in my training company.”15
Race, however, remained an important determinant of status and iden-
tity. Terry Whitmore recalled a DI who claimed that the Corps was a
raceless society since there was only one color—“Marine green.” Whit-
more’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
34 | Chapter 3
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 likeli-
hood that shared experiences in basic training would translate into inter-
racial 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 un-
derscore 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 identi-
ties—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 real-
ize 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 de-
meaned 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,”
Basic Training | 35
“Brillo head,” and “chocolate bunny”; they derided Latino GIs as “wet-
back” and “beaner.”23 What drill instructors promised men as the reward
for enduring harassment and conforming to military rules was an appeal-
ing 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: What-
ever 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 in-
dulge 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.
36 | Chapter 3
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 re-
cruits probably did not consider the possibility that some of their instruc-
tors 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 real-
ized 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 subor-
dination. 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 profes-
sionalism, his even temperament, and his accomplishments in the military.
In this less tense environment, Goff more readily identified with his black
drill sergeant.
Basic Training | 37
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 be-
came 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 speci-
men 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 “pri-
mary 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
38 | Chapter 3
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, what-
ever. 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 march-
ing 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 ser-
geants to inculcate their recruits with the masculine values of the mili-
tary.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 mili-
tary.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 ap-
propriating a prized possession, Jody challenged their collective man-
hood. 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
Basic Training | 39
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 ex-
tolled 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 com-
bat, 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
40 | Chapter 3
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-confi-
dence]. 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 activ-
ity that few would participate in outside of the military or a similar frater-
nal 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 particu-
larly 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 allot-
ment 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 rebel-
lious 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
Basic Training | 41
After hours, even drill sergeants occasionally assisted recruits who were
having difficulty.46
Having created a group identity for their men, drill sergeants manipu-
lated 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 prin-
ciple.”48 Whitmore related an incident in which a drill instructor from a
rival platoon challenged Whitmore’s platoon with a “my-men-are-better-
than-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 dan-
ger when combined with aggression and racism. In the stressful and cha-
otic environment of war, it occasionally led to wanton violence.
As civilians, recruits had been socialized to believe that killing is im-
moral. In addition, many came to boot camp with misgivings about the
military establishment.51 Civilian morality presented problems for mili-
tary authorities, since soldiers must be prepared to kill on command in
battle without hesitation. Aware of these civilian inhibitions, drill instruc-
tors organized two-man “pugil-stick” fights in order to teach recruits to
be aggressive. The men were properly protected with head gear and pad-
ded poles, but without these safeguards the combatants would have in-
jured 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
42 | Chapter 3
exhilarating as the beating continued.53 Borrowman’s sexual metaphor

certainly speaks to the sense of power that he and other spectators expe-
rienced 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 Vietnam-
ese 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 some-
thing 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 devel-
oped in boot camp were often a deadly combination when Americans
encountered Vietnamese in stressful situations.
Teaching the troops to dehumanize Asian adversaries was a problem-
atic 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 exer-
cises at Camp Pendleton, Asian Americans played the role of the Vietnam-
ese, 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 vul-
nerable 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 move-
ments prior to boot camp, which made them less receptive to the mili-
Basic Training | 43
tary’s gender ideology. Peter Cameron, a white recruit from a working-

class 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 Au-
gusta 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 objec-
tor 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 ca-
dence calls because he thought they were “insulting.”60
Antiestablishment views and military achievement were not always in-
compatible. John Harrison held latent antiwar views before he enlisted in
the navy and later became involved with the Black Panthers’ social pro-
grams. His misgivings about the military establishment did not prevent
him from becoming an exemplary navy recruit. Thinking back on his ex-
perience 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 battal-
ion—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 discrimi-
nation but also a means of obtaining status and special privileges.
44 | Chapter 3
Other recruits coped with their powerlessness by devising schemes to

obtain medical discharges. Men speculated about various folk concoc-
tions 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 homo-
sexuality, some men adopted, or revealed, homosexual identities in order
to obtain early discharges.62 A few bold individuals resisted their subordi-
nation 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 sol-
diers. After several weeks of exercising their bodies, enduring psychologi-
cal harassment, becoming immersed in military values, and bonding with
other men, recruits felt a tremendous sense of achievement and accom-
plishment 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 com-
pany of the best branch of the armed forces in the history of war.
Basic Training | 45
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 or-
der 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 collec-
tive 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:
46 | Chapter 4
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, cow-
ardice, and uncivilized behavior on the front lines. As a result of the close-
ness 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 com-
bat 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-
Combat and Interracial Male Friendship | 47
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 Ameri-
cans 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 fleet-
ing.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 Ameri-
cans 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 inex-
perienced soldiers, veterans often referred to new arrivals as “cherries.”
Other terms such as “green” and “FNG”—an abbreviation for “fucking
48 | Chapter 4
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 incorpo-
ration 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 Vietnam-
ese, American GIs generally expressed their disdain for Asians through
racist terms such as “dink,” “slope,” and “gook.” Combat soldiers de-
monized 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 Sand-
ers 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 initia-
tion 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 knowl-
edge about life in Vietnam and of how dependent they were on the old-
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 per-
sonalities in ways that provided useful information to group members.
Nicknames frequently marked racial, ethnic, and geographic back-
ground,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. Un-
seasoned 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 comfort-
able about soldiering as their anxieties were often worse than actual war-
fare.
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
50 | Chapter 4
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 work-
ing 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-
cited about the prospect of being an army bureaucrat. When the opportu-
nity arose for him to become a helicopter door gunner—a military occupa-
tion with a high fatality rate—he jumped at the chance. Although his
middle-class background probably did not match that of the typical heli-
copter 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 shoot-
ing guns and pulling triggers and laughing, ha ha, “watch me blow
that person away”—and the total impersonality of combat situa-
tions—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 consid-
ered this machismo “ridiculous” in retrospect, he realized it was impor-
tant 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-
52 | Chapter 4
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 wel-
fare 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 ac-
commodations 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 per-
sonal freedom that the job allowed compared to other combat occupa-
tions: Forward observers avoided the close surveillance that typical com-
bat 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 ob-
server because he reported directly to an officer rather than a senior en-
listed 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 mini-
mized. 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 them-
selves 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 air-
borne, according to Jim Peachin, the pilot became the commanding officer
of the gunship and outranked passengers who were his superiors in the
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 immedi-
ately, 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 tradi-
tional warrior. Trained in basic emergency medicine so that they could
provide immediate critical care to wounded soldiers, medics played a spe-
cial 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 re-
spected 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 ail-
ments 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
54 | Chapter 4
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 perse-
vere.
Male Friendship
Living together in close proximity, depending upon one another for sur-
vival, 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 genu-
ine 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 Ma-
rine 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 civil-
ian 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
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 con-
quest 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 am-
bushes. The men respected Cam’s judgment so much that it was like “the
Word of God.” The Americans also enjoyed Cam’s company during lei-
sure 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). Ameri-
cans 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
56 | Chapter 4
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 com-
parisons 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 Ameri-
cans had learned to be aggressive soldiers in basic training, the ARVNs
were passive and—according to their western allies—cowardly. For Viet-
namese men, hand-holding was an acceptable expression of male friend-
ship, 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 counterrevolu-
tionary 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, how-
ever, with killing a prisoner or having his picture taken while he was smil-
ing 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 ex-
plained, “it’s really easy.”44 In spite of his connections to the antiwar
movement, Camil defended his participation in wanton violence as neces-
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 com-
bat medals. These GIs left pictures of themselves and playing cards sym-
bolizing their units on the bodies of dead enemy soldiers as a way of
intimidating the enemy, documenting their prowess as warriors and dem-
onstrating their fearlessness.
In this environment, it was easy for American soldiers to become en-
meshed in the culture of violence. Men mutilated the bodies of dead Viet-
namese 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 infantry-
men 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 pen-
etrated 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 Rich-
ard 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
58 | Chapter 4
they laughed while the torture was taking place. Others found the spec-
tacle 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 Ameri-
cans were in a perilous situation when they came into contact with young
American GIs. In fact, Emmanuel Holloman described the rape of Viet-
namese women as “standard operational procedure.” His platoon com-
mander, 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 individu-
als 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 authori-
ties finding out about the crime. The rank of a unit’s leader often deter-
mined 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 vulner-
able 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 Viet-
namese 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
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. In-
formed 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 vil-
lage, he was approached by a boy who offered to arrange a sexual encoun-
ter 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 be-
cause 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 egali-
tarian. 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
60 | Chapter 4
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 con-
taminants in the drinks of Americans and about Vietnamese barbers slash-
ing 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 ru-
mors about “black gonnerrhea [sic]” and “Black Syphillus [sic].” Accord-
ing to Alexander, if a man caught one of these diseases, he would be ban-
ished 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 emascula-
tion are not unique to the Vietnam War; men have told them for centu-
ries.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—usu-

ally occurred under less than ideal circumstances. GIs, often behaving as
“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 re-
sented 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, Af-
rican 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 Viet-
namese civilian—whether a middle-aged employee on a U.S. military com-
pound or a child in a rural village—could be active in the Vietcong guer-
rilla 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 civil-
ian 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
62 | Chapter 4
death of any Vietnamese killed by American weaponry with the maxim

“If he’s dead, he’s VC [Vietcong].” By designating certain areas as “free-
fire zones” and utilizing the tactic of “harassment and interdiction”—the
practice of indiscriminately shelling hostile areas with artillery—these of-
ficials 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 conve-
niently 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. Sympa-
thetic rear-echelon servicemen volunteered their time to work with or-
phans and on other humanitarian projects.68
Drug Culture
Men in Vietnam took drugs for a variety of reasons: to escape the pres-
sures and monotony of war, to remain alert during combat, and to forge
homosocial ties with men in their units. With the exception of amphet-
amines, 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 suf-
fered 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-
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 vet-
eran 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 three-
fourths 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-exagger-
ated.”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, reci-
procity, 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 as-
pects of the drug culture such as hanging psychedelic posters in their bar-
racks 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
64 | Chapter 4
on each other. Moreover, when the Black Power movement got under way,
African Americans became more interested in racial solidarity than inter-
racial friendships.
Working together in interracial settings did not always promote racial
unity. According John Helmer, white veterans said that their racial atti-
tudes 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 thirty-
six 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 rela-
tionships 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 Afri-
can 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 skir-
mishes in Camp Lejeune and Fort Bragg in North Carolina; the Quonset
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 fire-
power 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 coun-
try 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 soli-
darity, the CO offered to meet with the men only as individuals.85
Tensions between American troops intensified following the assassina-
tion of Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. With the men living in such close prox-
imity, 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 hos-
tile 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 Har-
rison, 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 assas-
sination 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
66 | Chapter 4
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 establish-
ment 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 De-
partment of Justice over the boxer’s draft resistance. While the lawyers
argued the nuances of the Constitution, black and white Americans de-
bated 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 poli-
ticians received in the national arena. Consequently, young blacks pro-
tested 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 tac-
tics marshaled against Ali confirmed the worst fears of many African
Americans about “the establishment.” In their eyes, only a racist con-
spiracy 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.
68 | Chapter 5
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 memo-
ries 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 liveli-
hood, 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 re-
sponded patriotically. “America is the best country in the world,” the
young Olympian asserted, “including yours.” Clay added that he pre-
ferred 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
Muhammad Ali and Draft Resistance | 69
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 Na-
tion 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 intri-
cately tied to his new faith. Whereas Ali had previously associated black-
ness 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 fa-
ther 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 so-
cial 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,
70 | Chapter 5
he married a modest, devout Muslim teenager. Ali’s Muslim bride en-

hanced his stature with his Muslim brothers by demonstrating his com-
mitment 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 influ-
enced 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 national-
ism carried over into his business relationships as well. As soon as his
contract with a group of white sponsors from Louisville expired, Ali se-
lected Herbert Muhammad—the son of Elijah Muhammad—as his man-
ager. In these ways, Ali enabled himself to maintain a considerable mea-
sure of independence and manhood in a world that remained largely
dominated by whites.
By the mid-sixties, the charismatic champion had evolved from a sym-
bolic warrior for the nation to a standard bearer for racial militancy. Infus-
ing 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 cham-
pion, 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 patrio-
tism 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 Amer-
icans 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 in-
spired by racial militancy was more appropriate for the new era.
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 secre-
tary disapproved of drafting him “simply because of his national promi-
nence.”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 hard-
ship 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-con-
nected.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 pat-
tern 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 in-

creased, President Johnson searched for unobtrusive ways to enhance
troop strength without drawing unnecessary public attention to his esca-
lation 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-
72 | Chapter 5
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 McNa-
mara’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 low-
ered 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 cur-
rent 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 Viet-
nam 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 incongru-
ities 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
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 op-
pression 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 fa-
mous and charismatic African American peace activists. By rejecting anti-
communist rhetoric, he called for a measure of self-determination for Af-
rican 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 dem-
onstrators 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 exclud-
ing 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 find-
ing 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.
74 | Chapter 5
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 no-
quarrel 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 will-
ingness 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 dis-
crimination they faced. In questioning Ali’s manhood, Clark tapped into
trusted cultural notions of gender that war makers have exploited to per-
suade young men to accept the role of soldier. Ali’s opposition to the war,
however, challenged the link between manhood and military service, espe-
cially 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 exemp-
tion 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 offi-
cials at both the Justice Department and the FBI. Especially since other
Black Muslims sought exemptions from military duty, a favorable out-
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, modi-
fied their legal strategy. Rather than request an exemption as a conscien-
tious 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 recount-
ing 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 Na-
tion 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 organiza-
tion 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 mili-
tarily, 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
76 | Chapter 5
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 ad-

vised 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 heavy-
weight champion—was not an ordinary petitioner. In a letter to Ali’s ap-
peal 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 induc-
tion ceremony. Back in Louisville, Ali’s parents felt intense pressure be-
cause 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
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 inten-
tions 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 consid-
ered 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 Gen-
eral Lewis Hershey, the Selective Service director, visited Morgan State
College shortly before Ali was scheduled to appear at the Houston in-
duction 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 Commit-
tee brought Ali to the Howard campus. Handsome and articulate, Ali
delivered an outdoor lecture to an enthusiastic crowd of over one thou-
sand students. He captivated his audience with a one-man show that in-
cluded 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 will-
ingness to go to jail rather than submit to the draft; and the Muslim min-
ister 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
78 | Chapter 5
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 govern-
ment when Ali appeared at the Houston induction center.43 A majority of
demonstrators outside the induction center were African American stu-
dents from Texas Southern University, yet several white students as-
sembled 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 cham-
pion 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 power-
ful moment for young men. It symbolizes their transformation from civil-
ians 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 induc-
tion into the Armed Forces.” When he called “Cassius Clay,” Ali did not
move.47 To ensure that the boxer was given ample opportunity to cooper-
ate 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
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 con-
victed of rape, theft, and military offenses.48
The Black Community Reacts
While the controversy that Ali’s draft resistance generated made the main-
stream 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 in-
tolerance. Even skeptics denounced boxing authorities for revoking Ali’s
title before he had been convicted of a crime. In an editorial entitled “Box-
ing Bosses Ghoulishly Kill Clay,” the Philadelphia Tribune chastised box-
ing 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 car-
toonist for the Pittsburgh Courier, expressed what most African Ameri-
cans 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 ex-
posed 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-
80 | Chapter 5
cerned about the preservation of Ali’s boxing career than about the consti-
tutional 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 magnifi-
cent individual achievements ever recorded within the ranks of the manly
art of self defense.”51 Similarly, Harvey Johnson wished that Ali had ac-
cepted a compromise with the army that would have “put his critics to
shame.”52 In contrast, Milton Richman, another Journal reporter, at-
tacked the dissident athlete. He accused the former heavyweight fighter of
having a martyr complex, and he questioned the genuineness of Ali’s devo-
tion 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 Ameri-
cans. 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 heavy-
weight champion may be giving up a small fortune, but he has undoubt-
edly 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, Freedom-
ways embraced a model of manhood that valued honor and concern for
community over income.
In its allusion to government persecution of black male leaders, Free-
domways 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
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 correspond-
ing “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 resis-
tance in May 1967. The editorial entitled “American Tragedy” discusses
how Muhammad Ali, Martin Luther King Jr., and the average black com-
bat 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 com-
panion 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 com-
bat 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 representa-
tion 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 Ameri-
can sports activists, the Olympic Project for Human Rights, called upon
powerful boxing commissions to restore Ali’s heavyweight title.
82 | Chapter 5
In 1968, black civil rights activists from CORE, the National Black
Anti-War Draft Union, and other organizations assembled outside Madi-
son Square Garden to protest the title fight that was arranged between
Buster Mathis and Joe Frazier to replace the exiled heavyweight cham-
pion.63 This response from civil rights activists seemed to confirm the pre-
diction that a Norfolk Journal and Guide reporter made shortly after the
Houston confrontation. William Worthy argued that Ali’s induction re-
fusal 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 vari-
ety of occupations that included barmaid, photographer, and clergyman.65
Ali sympathizers supported the boxer because they admired his individu-
alism 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 devo-
tion 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 sug-
gested that it was unfair to draft Ali while white celebrities received ex-
emptions. “When Lynda Bird’s movie actor boyfriend, George Hamilton,
goes and some of these football players go,” the college student pro-
claimed, “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
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 re-
quest 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 patri-
otic 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 im-
pact 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 crit-
ics 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 disap-
proved 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
84 | Chapter 5
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 caution-
ary 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 illus-
trates the anxieties that life in America during the 1960s created for black
men. Like this cautious African American officer, many black men stead-
fastly 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 sym-
bolic 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 cham-
pion 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 op-
position 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 expe-
rienced a measure of power in the army, they were more likely to adopt its
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 capti-
vated his generation by redefining traditional models of American man-
hood for the new era of black consciousness. Like the traditional Ameri-
can male, Muhammad Ali was decisive, self-confident, and unwavering
on matters of principle. While the Vietnam War bedeviled many govern-
ment 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 personi-
fied 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 cel-
ebrated black athletes, the antiwar movement, and the Nation of Islam
over the next two years elucidated his role as a latter-day rugged indi-
vidual.
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 pre-
dicament. 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 orga-
nized 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 gath-
ering 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
86 | Chapter 5
wanted Ali to accept a compromise that would allow him to satisfy his
military duty, perhaps as a noncombatant. Several participants later re-
called 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 confer-
ence to answer reporters’ questions. The picture of these eleven athletes
along with NIU lawyer and mayoral candidate Carl Stokes made an im-
pressive portrait of black male solidarity. “We’re all buddies, friends—
what we call soul brothers,” Ali told the media.74 Nevertheless, the appre-
hensions of Ali’s peers about being too closely identified with his militancy
clearly undercut the image of racial unity. While some stated the obvi-
ous—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 wholeheart-
edly, 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 be-
yond 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
of our time” and a person worthy of “two Nobel Prizes.” Rather than
personally attend the rally of three hundred demonstrators who as-
sembled 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 partici-
pant in the larger movement, however, obscures the nature of his opposi-
tion 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 dur-
ing the sixties the Nation of Islam generally opposed participating in dem-
onstrations of any kind. In his public comments, Ali often distanced him-
self from the antiwar movement by distinguishing his respectful behavior
from the unruly conduct of antiwar protesters. Ali’s style of protest re-
flected 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 televi-
sion 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 weak-
ness. 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 Muham-
mad revoked Ali’s Muslim name just as the New York Boxing Commis-
sion had stripped Ali of his boxing title two years earlier. Always con-
cerned 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
88 | Chapter 5
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 re-
fused 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 que-
ried 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 jus-
tified 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 con-
tended 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 testi-
mony 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 mili-
tancy was more appropriate for the new era. In conclusion, the Philadel-
phia 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
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 some-
thing 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 indi-
vidual 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 Muham-
mad 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 persecu-
tion. Through his individual fight with the Selective Service, Muhammad
Ali captivated African Americans during the Vietnam Era because he em-
bodied 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 con-
fronted with difficult circumstances. Ali, in essence, helped to redefine
opposition to the Vietnam War as a manly pursuit.
90 | Chapter 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 occu-
pation 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
Black Power GIs | 91
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 Techni-
cal 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 sta-
tioned 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 subor-
dinate 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 Af-
rican American soldiers believed that their white superiors gave them haz-
ardous assignments because they equated blacks’ complaints about dis-
crimination 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 walk-
ing point (up front). That means he’s the first to get [hit] if a mine ex-
plodes,” 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
92 | Chapter 6
African Americans on risky assignments so that “there would be one less

nigger to worry about back home.”9 Black combat soldiers also com-
plained 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 promot-
ing 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, con-
firmed 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 com-
prised 12.1 percent of all enlisted men in the armed forces. They repre-
sented 15.7 percent in the second-lowest rank category, but only 4.2 per-
cent 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 offi-
cials 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 regula-
tions.18 While exceptional equal opportunity officers sympathized with
complaints of racial bias, they usually lacked the power to sanction the
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 valida-
tion that the military had denied them. As Cooper predicted, some disap-
pointed 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 six-
ties 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 repeat-
edly 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
94 | Chapter 6
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 offic-
ers who wanted to rise in the ranks. Too often, white senior officers pro-
vided 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 intro-
duced 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 impor-
tant 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 ra-
cially 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 responsi-
bilities 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 of-
ficer, he makes a mistake, nothing is said to him about it until effi-
ciency 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
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 per-
petuated white hegemony. They often used their discretionary powers to
penalize black soldiers for minor infractions of military rules and to dis-
charge 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 Ar-
ticle 15s rarely received promotions, and they became easy targets for less-
than-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 countercul-
turalists 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 de-
tailing how military commanders in the former West Germany used Ar-
ticle 212 to discharge men they deemed undesirable “for little or no rea-
son,” 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 spit-
shined 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.
96 | Chapter 6
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 pro-
tect 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 se-
lected the judge and the prosecutor, and conviction brought severe punish-
ment. With the system heavily biased against them, many black service-
men simply wanted out of the military. Unfortunately, they too often
based their decisions to accept less-than-honorable discharges on the inac-
curate advice that the classification could easily be changed in the future.
Although released from the service, these black veterans felt the repercus-
sions of their military problems in civilian life. The military withheld ben-
efits to undesirably discharged veterans. With any less-than-honorable
discharge—general or undesirable—on their records, low-skilled black vet-
erans bore an additional burden in their search for gainful employment.
“Employment is already a big problem if you’re black,” Specialist An-
thony 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 move-
ment, 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 re-
ports 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-
cally, racial segregation occasionally posed greater problems for black ser-
vicemen 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 discrimina-
tion to expect any more help from their base commander with this prob-
lem 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 privi-
lege 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 his-
torical context.30
Black Power sentiment gained favor among young activists as a result
of their frustrations with interracial politics and the government’s inabil-
ity—or unwillingness—to curb white violence against black people. After
a summer of tireless voter registration on behalf of the Mississippi Free-
dom Democratic Party (MFDP), the Student Nonviolence Coordinating
Committee (SNCC) lobbied the Democratic Party to seat the MFDP del-
egation in place of the all-white state delegation at the Atlantic City con-
98 | Chapter 6
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 ac-
cess 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 Ameri-
cans, the Black Powerites concluded, would be better off strengthening
their own communities rather than subjecting themselves to the psycho-
logical wounds of racial integration.
Central to the new black identity was the development of black con-
sciousness 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, Car-
michael derided bourgeois whites as hypocrites who gave lip service to the
idea of an egalitarian society, but who jealously guarded their class privi-
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 commu-
nity, thus weakening racial ties.35 In order to reverse their powerlessness,
African Americans would have to replace middle-class notions of indi-
vidual achievement and acquisitiveness with the Black Power ideal of ra-
cial 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 sympathiz-
ers 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 main-
tained racial subordination through an elaborate racial etiquette that
required black people to address whites with terms that reinforced def-
erence, while whites ignored the manhood of grown black males by calling
them “boy.” Moreover, whites stigmatized African Americans as a nega-
tive 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 mascu-
linity 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 individu-
als in their relationships with white peers and superiors. With the Black
Power influence, black soldiers redefined homosociality to emphasize ra-
100 | Chapter 6
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 sug-
gested the need for racial consciousness by describing how white hege-
mony 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 shar-
ing bonding rituals, language, and leisure pursuits.
Black soldiers often congregated informally in their hootches to partici-
pate in “soul sessions” in which they socialized together and discussed
racial issues. They also established more formal counterhegemonic orga-
nizations 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 re-
flected 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 mo-
bilization of the brothers and sisters and prevention of our going back to
sleep.”37 To many base commanders, even the most innocuous manifesta-
tion of racial consciousness—such as GIs calling themselves “black” in-
stead of “Negro”—threatened the status quo.38 Faced with a more mili-
tant challenge by the Malcolm X Association, the commander at Van-

denberg refused the group’s requests to meet on the compound and dis-
couraged 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 be-
come the target of violent repression.
In their homosocial enclaves, insurgent African American GIs appro-
priated 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 illustra-
tor, 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 transforma-

tion 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 in-
vented 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 homosoci-
ality. This language emphasized the communitarian values of the brother-
102 | Chapter 6
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 INDI-
VIDUAL 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 be-

cause 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 accom-
modationist politics. For them, Black Power meant caucusing to magnify
their individual power or quietly wielding their influence behind the
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 compro-
mised their blackness in order to advance. Corporal Warren Moore, for
example, denounced a staff sergeant who had asserted that black GIs ex-
aggerated 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
104 | Chapter 6
sells his soul for a few stripes.”47 In brief, many young blacks complained
about “Uncle Toms” because they considered them race traitors who con-
spired 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 Tom-
ism” 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 Tom-
ming, 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 asser-
tive 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 at-
tempt to redeem their alienated brothers from the white world. Specialist
Lawrence Wallace strongly cautioned fellow blacks to refrain from label-
ing 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 homoso-

ciality through ritual handshakes consisting of a series of interactive ges-
tures—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.” Al-
though 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
one another their specific variation of the handshake; sometimes they syn-
cretized the two forms to create a new version. The difficulty of the hand-
shakes 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 impor-
tant 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 repre-
sented 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 conscious-
ness. It explains the popularity of the dap. In contrast to the stodgy civilian
handshake, the dap was “hip,” a countercultural ritual that marked Alex-
106 | Chapter 6
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, more-
over, 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 mili-
tary 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 of-
ficer, 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 pe-
riod 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 homoso-
ciality 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 “ex-
travagant” solidarity of the black soldiers as a threat to their own power.
The blacks were apparently indifferent to the presence of the white sol-
diers, and they disregarded military notions of decorum. By claiming the
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 genera-
tional 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 indi-
vidual 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 mean-
ing 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 sup-
posed 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 assign-
ments. Like Sergeant Green, he questioned the manhood of the black na-
tionalists: “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 dis-
crimination demanded that African American servicemen close ranks.
108 | Chapter 6
Although Black Power GIs acknowledged that many poor and working-
class 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 lament-
ing 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 sa-
lute,” 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.
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 dis-
tinguished 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 conserva-
tive 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 court-
martial rather than violate his masculinity by conforming to military stan-
dards.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 mili-
tary to recognize an alternate, “blackenized” image of the American soldier.
In addition to the Afro, black men adorned their bodies with black-
colored accessories to showcase their manhood. They wore black sun-
glasses, 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. Emphasiz-
ing 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.”
110 | Chapter 6
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 enter-
tainment 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 remind-
ers of their black culture in the United States. Black servicemen enjoyed
soul food—turnips, barbecued ribs, and chitterlings—at popular restau-
rants 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 service-
men, 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 back-
grounds 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, politi-
cally 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 deni-
grated 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 com-
bined 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
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 ap-
parent 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 “re-
spect” 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 occa-
sionally 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 be-
lieved 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 addi-
tion 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
112 | Chapter 6
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 indi-
viduals, 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 enthusias-
tically 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 Ameri-
cans 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 “ma-
rine.” 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
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 san-
guine 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 in-
creasingly 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. Denounc-
ing 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 free-
dom 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 sol-
diers 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 Com-
munist 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 two-
front war against the Vietcong on one side and prejudiced whites on the
other: As Specialist Nickson Dudley stated, “We definitely have two en-
114 | Chapter 6
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 ru-
mors 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, ru-
mors circulated that the government had conspired to wage a war of geno-
cide against young black men. The antiwar rhetoric of outspoken civil
right activists such as Stokely Carmichael and Adam Clayton Powell prob-
ably 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 geno-
cide 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 Viet-
nam” 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 sec-
ond-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
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 ru-
mors, 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 mas-
culinity. 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 worry-
ing 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 Eman-
uel 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 under-
stand 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 work-
ers. 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
116 | Chapter 6
experience in America fostered a special affinity for the Montagnards, a

mountain-dwelling ethnic group of dark-skinned Asians who were mar-
ginal 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 im-
age 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 coun-
try, they were reminded of how American they were.
If the Vietnamese felt any goodwill toward African Americans, it was
probably because sympathetic blacks did not patronize them as had some
French nationals and white American GIs.105 Since the relationship be-
tween most Vietnamese and African Americans was commercial and hier-
archical, 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 service-
men.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 ra-
dio broadcasts and propaganda leaflets that called upon African Ameri-
can infantrymen to abandon the war.107 A typical leaflet equated the Viet-
nam 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 deser-
tion. Desertion was neither feasible nor desirable for most soldiers.110 Be-
cause many black GIs believed that men must honor their obligations,
even if unpleasant and unfair, desertion violated their sense of manly com-
mitment. Infantrymen also worried about their buddies, both black and
white, whom they would leave behind. Would their buddies be killed be-
cause of their absence? Realistically, they understood that they could not
return to their families or help the black community by becoming fugi-
tives. While tormented by the image of fighting for the white man to sup-
press an Asian war of liberation, many antiwar blacks accepted that there
was little they could do to escape their predicament. John Harrison re-
called how he resolved this quandary in his own mind: “We were like, ‘We
118 | Chapter 6
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 un-
harmed. 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 En-
glish” 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 infan-
trymen cultivated a sense that poetic justice was being served in compen-
sation for the hardships they suffered as marginal men. Affirming black-
ness 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 Viet-
namese, 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 identifica-
tion. 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.
Serving in the least integrated branch of the armed forces, African

American sailors grappled with problems similar to those that black ser-
vicemen 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.
120 | Chapter 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 ad-
dress 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 ar-
rested, 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 broth-
ers.
—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 harass-
ment, 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 sit-
down 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
Black, and Navy Too | 121
grown resentful of the Vietnam War. The sentiments expressed by navy

dissidents Lonnie Brown and Terry Advenger in the above quotations in-
dicate how young African American males who had internalized black
nationalist values experienced manhood as black sailors.3 These low-
ranking 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 mas-
culine identities that Advenger and others fought marines and white sail-
ors 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 prod-
ucts 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 under-
represented 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 con-
stituted 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, suggest-
ing 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 recruit-
ing policies, the percentage of new black sailors reached 12 percent in
122 | Chapter 7
1972—approximating the percentage of blacks in the general popula-

tion.7
The reality of the navy experience differed substantially from the rheto-
ric, despite Zumwalt’s personal commitment to an inclusive navy. In the
wake of the Kitty Hawk and Constellation incidents, navy officials ac-
knowledged that there had been considerable obstacles to the implemen-
tation 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 dis-
crimination 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 recruit-
ing of educationally deprived personnel and then places them in competi-
tion with others more fortunate is poorly conceived and totally unfair.”9
The skills gap, however, does not adequately explain why white supervi-
sors denied promotions and leadership responsibilities to black crewmen
who were not seeking jobs in technical specialties. Even low-ranking, “un-
rated” 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-
preted social gains for young sailors in general and African Americans in
particular as a threat to their institutional power and status. David Coo-
per, a white sailor, recalled that the majority of petty officers he encoun-
tered 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 ani-
mosity. 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 exter-
nal 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 sta-
tus anxieties.14 A smaller budget meant less state-of-the-art military hard-
ware 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 opportu-
nities 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 Offen-
sive. Frequently occurring in social arenas such as enlisted men’s clubs and
mess halls, interracial violence solidified homosocial ties between service-
men 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
124 | Chapter 7
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 inter-
racial 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 four-
hour, 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
navy.18 These two pressures—greater responsibility for combat support

and antiwar activities—added to the stress placed on sailors and exacer-
bated tensions between enlisted men and their officers. Shouldering a
greater burden in the war meant that many sailors had to work eighteen-
to 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-of-
call, became overcrowded with enlisted men.19
A number of sailors coped with the pressures of the war through anti-
war 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 govern-
ment 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 gen-
erally, 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—in-
dignities 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 permit-
ted by regulations, wears his hair braided while inside his berthing com-
partment feels that his masculinity has been challenged by a white superior
126 | Chapter 7
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 infan-
trymen, 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 mascu-
line 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 infor-
mal 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 admin-
istrative 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
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 jus-
tice 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 discre-
tion 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 depart-
ment 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 insti-
tuted 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 old-
fashioned 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
128 | Chapter 7
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 as-
sault,” 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 docu-
mented 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—sug-
gested 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 posi-
tion 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.” Segre-
gated 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
In light of the tensions between black and white sailors, it is not surpris-
ing 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 es-
tablishment 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 ru-
mor—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 jus-
tice 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 in-
strument 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 at-
tempted to disperse the blacks; but they remained defiant, and a group of
130 | Chapter 7
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 griev-
ances against the marines. The precariousness of Cloud’s position became
evident during this meeting with the angry black crewmen. The crisis be-
came 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 associa-
tion 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.
Cloud tried to mollify the sailors by assuring them that the marine corpo-
ral 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 be-
cause “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 re-
quired medical attention. By end of the riot the next day, about forty
whites and six to ten blacks were injured. Commander Cloud again inter-
vened 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 ad-
dress system to order blacks and marines to retreat to opposite areas of the
ship. Just as he finished his impassioned announcement, Cloud saw Cap-
tain Townsend, who was not injured. Captain Townsend, asserting that
the situation was not grave, immediately reversed Cloud’s order—an ac-
tion 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 com-
promised 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-
132 | Chapter 7
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 “com-
pletely 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 demonstra-
tion of humility also challenged their homosocial values: If they truly be-
lieved 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 transfor-
mation 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
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 re-
membered, “weren’t as noisy as the group of blacks, but they were cer-
tainly 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 Ameri-
cans 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 senti-
ments of low-ranking sailors: White officers refused to implement z-
grams, 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
134 | Chapter 7
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 half-
heartedly implementing his reforms and began the process of expelling
“undesirable” sailors—men the navy deemed troublemakers and under-
achievers—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 commit-
ment to diversity, the navy renewed its efforts to recruit African American
men to the service, but this new initiative was limited to high school gradu-
ates. “It appears that the Navy only wants those blacks that it can con-
trol,” one recruiter mused.63 Still hoping to find the perfect race relations
seminar that would solve racial conflicts throughout the service, navy of-
ficials 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 exist-
ing race relations workshops, racial tensions remained largely unabated.65
Conclusion
During the Vietnam War, most young African American males were mar-
ginal men in American society. President Johnson—concerned about a
political backlash against the war among the middle class and about main-
taining 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 al-
ternative 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 man-
power 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 mid-
sixties. 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
136 | Conclusion
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 Con-
gressman 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 domi-
nation, 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 recep-
tive 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 eth-
nic backgrounds were reborn as soldiers, marines, sailors, and airmen.
The drill sergeant was the male authority figure who fathered this trans-
formation. 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, com-
bat 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
Conclusion | 137
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 pro-
moted more quickly. Moreover, the Congressional Black Caucus docu-
mented 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 nation-
alism 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 indi-
vidual 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 heavy-
weight 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 articu-
late 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 sea-
men. Feeling oppressed by the familiar problems of slow promotions,
unfair job assignment practices, and disparate military justice, black sail-
ors dapped in the carrier’s passageways and blocked the free movement of
138 | Conclusion
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 ra-
cial militancy and violence.
So-called vet-watchers wondered what role returning black veterans
would play in American society. Would they join black nationalist organi-
zations 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 na-
tionalist organizations. The brothers went their separate ways when they
returned to the states, and most veterans—preoccupied with the chal-
lenges 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 re-
turned 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 typi-
cally suffered unemployment rates higher than those of white veterans and
nonveterans of both races for the years 1969 to 1972. Both the employ-
ment 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 gener-
ous 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 veter-
ans’ 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 Mili-
tary, 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.
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 Em-
pire,” 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.
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 Un-
known Soldiers, 186–87.
43. Sitkoff, “Racial Militancy”; Finkle, “Conservative Aims of Militant Rheto-
ric.”
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, “‘Forgot-
ten 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. Al-
though 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 Ser-
vice.”
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.
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 ap-
prove 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 environ-
ment 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.
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.
24, 1966, 5.
41. Young, “When the Negroes in Vietnam Come Home.”
42. Henry Lieferman, “Employment Hits Peak, but More Negroes Are Job-
less,” 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.
24, 1966, 5.
52. Paul Hathaway, “I’ll Stick with My Country,” Washington Evening Star,
May 8, 1968, A-6.
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.
56. Chris Smith [pseud.], interview by author, Cleveland, Ohio, November 28,
1993.
57. Lonnie Alexander, interview by Clark Smith, July 8, 1974, transcript, Co-
lumbia 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.
91.

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.
18. Ibid., 4.
20. Hollingshead, “Adjustment to Military Life.”
92; Whitmore, Memphis, Nam, Sweden, 40; Appy, Working-Class War, 99–103.
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.
32. Holmes, Acts of War, 45.
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.
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.
49. Ibid.
96.
51. Hollingshead, “Adjustment to Military Life,” 440.
52. Dyer, War, 120.
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.
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.
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.
3. Thomas Johnson, “The Negro in Vietnam Strides toward Partnership,” New
York Times, April 29, 1968.
5. Sepia, May 1968.
6. Paul Hathaway, “The Negro at War: Disturbing Questions Raised,” Wash-
ington 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.
9. Both veterans and scholars also have pointed out that veterans rarely pur-
sued 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.
15. Lonnie Alexander, interview by Clark Smith, July 8, 1974, CUOHROC;

Steve Borrowman, interview by Clark Smith, January 16, 1977, CUOHROC, 53.
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.”
24. Ibid., 33–34.
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.
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.
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, Novem-
ber 5, 1967.
44. Scott Camil, interview by Clark Smith, 1979, CUOHROC, 85.
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.
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.
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 con-
sumption 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.
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, Septem-
ber 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 (Octo-
ber 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,” Wash-
ington Post, August 12, 1969, A-3; “Black Soldiers Wreck Jimcro Clubs in Ko-
rea,” 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.
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.
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.

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.
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 Classifica-
tion,” New York Times, February 22, 1966, 17.
22. Hauser, Muhammad Ali.
24. “The BlackScholar Interviews: Muhammad Ali,” Black Scholar (June
1970): 32.
25. “Seventy-eight at Morehouse Balk at Being Objects of War,” Norfolk Jour-
nal 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 Classifica-
tion,” 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.
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.
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,” Afro-
American, May 20, 1967.
55. “Muhammad Ali—The Measure of a Man,” Freedomways (Spring 1967):
101–2.
56. Norfolk Journal and Guide, October 25, 1969.
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; “Vic-
tims—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 Muham-
mad,” 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.
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

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 communi-
cations and intelligence category and 4.9 percent of those in the electronic equip-
ment field, but they comprised 12.1 percent of all men in the armed forces.
4. Ibid., 36591.
1993.
7. Raymond Coffey, “Negro Banks on His Bravery,” Chicago Daily News,
May 14, 1968.
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.
13. Joel Davis, interview by Clark Smith, August 5, 1977, transcript, CUOHROC,
110.
14. “Democracy in the Foxhole,” Time, May 26, 1967, 17.
16. Ibid.
17. Sepia, May 1968, 68.
19. Sepia, May 1970, 54.
20. Milton White, “Self-Determination for Black Soldiers,” Black Scholar (No-
vember 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 Mili-
tary, 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 ser-
vicemen 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.
39. White, “Malcolm X in the Military,” 32.

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.
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., Under-
standing 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 encour-
aged male intimacy and fair treatment of women, see Pamela Haynes, “An Exclu-
sive 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.
60. Wilton B. Persons Papers, Volume 2 of Oral History, U.S. Military History
Institute, Carlisle, Pennsylvania, 353.
61. Sepia, May 1971, 80.
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.
71. Mercer, “Black Hair/Style Politics,” 35.

72. Llorens, “Natural Hair,” 143.
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.
81. Gloria Emerson, “Black Power Group in Vietnam Fights Heroin Addic-
tion,” 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.
90. Mike Davis, “Mixed Viet Units,” Baltimore Afro-American, July 23, 1967,
1, 3.
May 7, 1968.
93. Sepia, July 1969, 64.
94. Turner, I Heard It through the Grapevine.
96. Keith Freeman, interview in Wright, Thoughts about the Vietnam War,
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 con-
firmed 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 re-
sponse to revelations of the rifles’ jamming during firefights. After conducting its
investigation, the subcommittee placed most of the blame for the battlefield fail-
ures 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 con-
gressional inquiry, never equipped soldiers with the necessary cleaning kits to do
so. The army eventually modified the M-16 to accommodate its high-residue pro-
pellant and disseminated maintenance manuals—including a comic book ver-
sion—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, Febru-
ary 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 Com-
mands,” 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.
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–
49; Paul Hathaway, “The Negro at War: Disturbing Questions Raised,” Washing-
ton Evening Star, May 6, 1968, A-6; and Eugene Brice, interview in Wright,
Thoughts about the Vietnam War, 155.
110. Moskos, The American Enlisted Man, 130.
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 Maga-
zine, 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.
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.
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.
14. Seymour Hersh, “Some Very Unhappy Ships,” New York Times, Novem-
ber 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-
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 Sabo-
tage 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 Sabo-
tage 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.
33. Ibid., 632.
34. Ibid., 551–52.
35. Ibid., 520–21.
36. Ibid., 574.
37. Ibid., 531.
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.
43. “Kitty Hawk Riot,” Newsweek, December 11, 1972, 30.

45. Ibid., 520.
47. Cortright, Soldiers in Revolt, 120–21; “Local Black Sailors among Those
Arrested in U.S. Navy Race Riot,” Philadelphia Tribune, November 11, 1972.
49. Ibid.
50. The dap is a ritual greeting that involves a series of handshakes, hand-
slapping, 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 Lead-
ers 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 Un-
rest,” 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; McNa-
mara, “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.
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Index
Aaner, Willie, 104 Allure of military service, 23–26

Abdul Jabbar, Kareem, 85, 86 Ambrose, Walter, 103
Abolitionism, 2 Amsterdam News, 82
Abuse: of prisoners, 57–58; of Vietnamese Andrew, Charles, 107
civilians, 61; of women, 57, 58–59 Andrews Air Force Base, 97
Academic deferment, 17–18 Antiwar views: of African American
Advenger, Terry, 120, 121 activists, 26–29; of African American
Afro-American, 80 GIs, 112–19; of Ali, 72–76, 87; military
Afro hairstyle, 109 achievement and, 43; as way to define
Aguinaldo, Emilio, 5 manhood, 67. See also Militancy
Ailes, Stephen, 71 Armed Forces Qualifying Test (AFQT), 20,
AK-47 machine gun, 114, 157n.97 71, 72, 90–91, 122
Alexander, Lonnie, 26, 48–49, 55, 60, Army during First World War, 8–9
105 Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN),
Ali, Muhammad: antiwar activists and, 55–56
86–87; Armed Forces Qualifying Test Article 15s, 95, 96
and, 71; career of, 73–74; case, mean-
ing of, 88–89; civil rights activists and, Bailey, Neal, 111
81–82; critics of, 83, 84–85; early life Baker, Newton D., 8
of, 68; identification with, 77–78; im- Barnes, James, 45, 91, 113
portance of draft refusal by, 67, 85, Basic training: civilian identity and, 31–32;
137; on induction day, 78; legal battles as disorienting, 32; drill instructors and,
of, 78–79; mainstream black press and, 34–37; equality among recruits during,
79–81; marriages of, 69–70; Nation of 32–33; homosociality and, 37–44; over-
Islam and, 69–70, 87; Negro Industrial view of, 30–31; race and, 33–34
Union and, 85–86; as Olympic boxer, Battlefield: acclimation to, 49–50; combat
68–69; opposition to war by, 72–76, soldiers vs. rear soldiers, 48; equality of,
87; options of, 76–77; petition to draft 45; reaction to being under fire, 49
board by, 74–75; racial militancy and, Battlefield training exercise, 39–40
70; reclassification of, 72; as role Belton, Thomas, 118
model, 85, 137; servicemen and, 83– Bevel, James, 29
85; supporters of, 82–84; Supreme Black accessories, 109
Court and, 88; testimony at appeal “Blackenize,” 101
board by, 75–76 Black nationalist groups during Second
Ali-Patterson fight, 70 World War, 10
174 | Index
Black Power movement: antiwar views Cohesion, primary group. See Homo-
and, 113–19; dapping and, 104–8; ideas sociality
of, 97–99; intraracial tensions and, 102– Coleman, Ronald, 102
4; in military, 99–102, 137; symbols of, Combat and masculinity, 50–54
109–12 Committee against Jim Crow, 11
Black Power salute, 124 Competition, group, 37–38, 41, 57
Black Women Enraged, 28 Conflict, interracial: in navy, 120, 128–33;
Bluitt, Tim, 30, 35, 36, 54, 58–59 in rear, 63–66
Body count, 57, 61–62 Conflict, intraracial, and Black Power
Bond, Julian, 80, 142n.17 movement, 102–4
Borrowman, Steve, 31, 32, 40, 41–42, 49 Congressional Black Caucus report, 92,
Branham, Danny, 49 94, 95, 97
Brown, Clyde, 84 Conscientious objectors, 53–54
Brown, H. Rap, 75, 78 Conscription Act of 1863, 4
Brown, Jim, 85–86 Constellation, 120, 124
Brown, Lonnie, 120, 121, 122 Continental Congress, 1–2
Browne, Don, 65 Cooper, David, 123
Browne, Robert, 28–29 Cooper, W. H., 93
Brownmiller, Susan, 58 Counterhegemonic masculinity, meaning
Burns, Captain, 94 of, 141n.3
Butler, Charles, 83 Covington, Hayden, 75
Cowardice, allegations of, 3, 6, 12, 13
Cadence calls, 38–39 Cuba, 4–5
Call and Post, 79
Calloway, Ernest, 10 Daly, James, 40, 43
Cameron, Peter, 43 Daniels, Reginald, 65
Camil, Scott, 39–40, 52, 54, 56–57 Dapping, 104–8, 134, 137–38
Camp Baxter, Da Nang, Vietnam, 65 Davis, Benjamin O., 11
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, 64, 124 Davis, Joel, 92, 103
Camp Tien Sha, 65 Desegregation: of armed forces, 1, 10–11,
Captain’s mast, 127 12, 14; of federal agencies and defense
Carmichael, Stokely: on Ali, 81; antiwar industries, 11; stigma of black institu-
rhetoric of, 114; on black GI as “merce- tions and, 98
nary,” 27; Black Power movement and, Desertion, 117
98–99; on Project 100,000, 20 Dewey, Thomas E., 12
Casualty rates, 21–22, 118, 135–36 Dietrich, Donald L., 47
Chuvalo, George, 74, 77 Dijanich, Vince, 30
Civil War, 3–4, 148n.71 Discharge: less-than-honorable, 96;
Clark, Frank, 74 schemes to obtain, 44
Clay, Cassius. See Ali, Muhammad Discrimination: in housing, 96–97; in
Clay, Cassius, Sr., 68 military, 90, 93–96; in navy, 121–23,
Clay, Sonji, 69 133–34
Cleaver, Eldridge, 29, 70 Double V campaign, 10, 26
Cloud, Benjamin, 126, 128, 129, 130, Douglass, Frederick, 3
131–33 Doyle, August, 109
Coffin, William Sloane, 150n.32 Draft: academic deferment, 17–18; burden
Index | 175
of, on black community, 16–17; inequi- Forestal, 125

ties in administration of, 7–8; reliance Fort Bragg, North Carolina, 64, 124
on, 16. See also Project 100,000 Fort Dix, New Jersey, 124
Draft boards, 17 Fort Hood, Texas, 124
Drexler, Leslie, 47 Fort Lewis, 103
Drill instructors: disorienting processes of, Fort Meade, 97
32; hazing rituals of, 35; language of, Forward observers, 52, 147n.28
34–35; masculine rhetoric of, 31, 34; as Frazier, Edward E., 110
model men, 34–37, 136; peer policing Frazier, Joel, 82
and, 32–33; pressure on recruits by, 36; Freedomways, 80
race of, 36; surveillance by, 43 “Free-fire zone” policy, 62
Drug culture, 62, 110, 148n.71 Freeman, Keith, 114–15
Du Bois, W.E.B., 7, 8, 26 Friedman, Milton, 16
Dudley, Nickson, 113–14 Friendship: interracial, 33, 45–46, 47,
Dunkley, Steven, 78 136–37; male, 54–58, 136
Dyson, Joseph, 116 Fruit of Islam, 69
Fulton County, Georgia, 7
Early, Stephen, 11
Edmondson, Anthony, 95–96 Gaston, Roger S., 128
Educational level of soldiers, 13–14, 20– Gender identity: antiwar rhetoric and, 26–
21. See also Armed Forces Qualifying 29; black nationalism and, 93; combat
Test (AFQT) and, 50–52; conceptions of, 56; dapping
Edwards, Reginald, 23–24, 34, 42, 62, 101 and, 105–6; jobs and, 52–54; military
Ehrhart, W. D., 32, 43 and, 23–24, 30–31; role of soldier and,
Emancipation Proclamation, 3–4 74. See also Masculinity
Employment and military skills, 138, Genocide: disparate impact of military ser-
153n.2 vice on black men as, 27; rumors of,
Enemy, view of, 56–57, 116 114–15
Equality: of battlefield, 45; of helicopter Goff, Stan, 32, 36, 37, 45–46, 114
crew, 52–53 Grauman, Lawrence, 75, 76
Eskridge, Chauncey, 88 Great Migration, 6
Evers, Medgar, 81 Green, William H., 107
Griffin, Charles, 92
Fagen, David, 6 Groham, Warren, 108
Fair Employment Practices Committee, 11 Guider, Bobby, 100
FBI, 74–75, 150n.32 “Guts,” 57–58
Fear: in combat, 49–50; humanization of
superiors through, 53; of other, 60, 129 Hall, Gail, 111–12
First World War: aftermath of, 9–10; army Hamilton, George, 71, 82
service during, 8–9; preparations for, Hamilton, Sidney, 112
6–8 Hanoi Hannah, 117
Flag, tri-colored, 109 Harkness, Lawrence, 25
Florika, 67 Harrington, Ollie, 79
Folklore and expressions of emasculation, Harrison, John, 37–38, 43, 65, 106, 117–
60 18
Ford, Richard, 51 Hassayampa, 120
176 | Index
Hastie, William H., 11 John Wayne complex, 51, 52

Hawkins, Augustus, 20 Jones, Lewis, 10
Hayes, Rutherford B., 4 “Juicers,” 63
“Heads,” 63 “Jungle,” 128
Hegemonic masculinity, meaning of, 141n.3 Justice Department, 76, 80
Helicopter crew, 52–53
Helicopter door gunners, 51, 52 Kaneohe Marine Corps Air Station, Hawaii,
Helmer, John, 64 64–65, 124
Hershey, Lewis, 77 Karenga, Ron, 138
Hill, T. Arnold, 10 Kastenmeier, Robert, 20
Hill, Wendell, 113 Kean, W. B., 12
Holcomb, Robert, 59 King, Martin Luther, Jr.: Ali and, 81; anti-
Holloman, Emmanuel, 58, 115 war views of, 142n.17; assassination of,
Homosocial, meaning of, 141n.2 65–66, 138; FBI and, 75
Homosociality: basic training and, 35–36, Kirkland, Haywood, 42, 91
37–44; Black Power movement and, “Kit Carson scouts,” 55
99–102; commiseration and, 32, 38; Kitty Hawk, 120, 125–28, 129–33, 137
dapping and, 104–8, 137–38; gang Kitty Litter, 125, 126, 128
rape and, 58; on Kitty Hawk, 126; Korean War, 12–14
sharing prostitutes and, 59 Kovic, Ron, 32
Housing, 25–26, 96–97
Houston riot, 9 Lane, James H., 3
Howard, Stephen, 47, 61 Language of racial solidarity, 101–2
Humphrey, Bruce, 59 League for Nonviolent Civil Disobedience
Hunter, David, 3 against Military Segregation, 11
Leatherwood, Ric, 108
Illinois State Athletic Commission, 73 Lee, Lucy, 82
Income and military service, 25 Lewis, Leon, 82
Initiation rites, 47–50 Lewis, Morris, 18
Integration, Black Power thinkers and, 98 Lincoln, Abraham, 3–4
Liston, Sonny, 70
Jackson, Lee Ward, 18 Logan, Rayford, 4
Jacox, Cal, 80 Lynchings, 6, 9–10
James, Commander, 90 Lynn, Winfred W., 10
Jobs assigned to African American soldiers:
in basic training, 33–34; during First M-16 weapon, 114–15, 157n.97
World War, 8; on Kitty Hawk, 125; in MacArthur, Douglas, 14
navy, 122; during Vietnam War, 15, Mack, Carl, 138
90–91 Malcolm X, 69, 75, 81
“Jody,” 38 Malcolm X Association, 100–101
Johnson, Harvey, 80 March on Washington Movement, 11
Johnson, James, 112–13 Marine Air Station, Hawaii, 64–65, 124
Johnson, Lynda Bird, 71, 82 Marshall, Thurgood, 12–13
Johnson, Lyndon, 71–72, 135 Masculinity: Black Power movement and,
Johnson, Ralph, 116 99; counterhegemonic, 26–29, 99–102,
Johnson, Vernon, 89 141n.3; drug abuse and, 110; hege-
Index | 177
monic, 102–4, 141n.3; rumors to cri- Murphy, Rosalind, 82

tique hegemonic, 114–15, 118. See also Murray, John (Lord Dunmore), 2
Gender identity Music, 110
Maska, Karl, 56
McKinley, William, 5 NAACP, 7
McNamara, Robert, 18, 72 Namath, Joe, 71
Meal time, 54–55, 106–7 National Guard, 17
Medics, 53–54 Nation of Islam, 29, 69–70, 87. See also
Mentoring, 94 Muhammad, Elijah
Menzies, M. C., 108 Navy: advertising campaign of, 121; dis-
Meredith, James, 98 crimination in, 121–23, 133–34; inter-
Merity, Gerald, 116 racial conflict in, 120; permissiveness,
Militancy: antiwar rhetoric and counter- notion of, in, 123; recruiting policies
hegemonic masculinity, 26–29; Black of, 121–22, 134; stresses on, 124–25.
Power salute and, 124; dapping and, See also Kitty Hawk
106–7; during Second World War, 10. NCOs (noncommissioned officers), 25,
See also Black Power movement 84–85, 96, 102–4
Military: Afro hairstyle and, 109; allure of Negro Industrial Union, 85
service in, 23–26; barriers to black par- New Haven, Connecticut, 17
ticipation in, 1; Black Power movement New Standards Men, 20–21
in, 99–102, 137; casualty rates, 21–22, New York Amsterdam News, 79, 81, 88–
118, 135–36; discharge from, 44, 96; 89
discrimination in, 90, 93–95; as em- New York State Boxing Commission, 73,
ployer of jobless men, 19, 24; initiation 78–79
rites in, 47–50; jobs assigned to African Nguyen Thi Khao, 61
Americans in, 8, 15, 33–34, 90–91, 122, Nicastro, Nick, 50
125; justice in, 95–96, 127–28, 129; of- Nicknames: for men, 49; for new soldiers,
ficer ranks, 93–94, 133; promotions in, 47–48; for Vietnamese, 42, 48
92–95, 122; reenlistment rate, 24–25. Ninety-second Division, 8, 9
See also Basic training; Draft; NCOs Ninety-third Division, 8–9
(noncommissioned officers); specific Nixon, Richard, 124
branches Noncommissioned officers. See NCOs
Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party (noncommissioned officers)
(MFDP), 97–98 Norfolk Journal and Guide, 79–81, 82
Montagnards, 115–16, 117 Norman, William, 122
Moore, Allen, 82–83
Moore, L. J., 92 Oberg, Captain, 126, 127
Moore, Warren, 103 Officer ranks, 93–94, 133. See also NCOs
Morality, 41–43, 56–57 (noncommissioned officers)
Morten, Baker E., 80 Olongapo, Philippines, 128
Moskowitz, Jack, 22 Olympic Project for Human Rights, 81
Moynihan, Daniel Patrick, 19 Owen, Chandler, 7
Muhammad, Elijah: Ali and, 69, 70, 87;
draft resistance by, 10, 72; FBI and, Paratroopers, 25
75 Parks, David, 31, 33, 34, 35
Muhammad, Herbert, 70, 72–73 Pay, disparity in, 4
178 | Index
Peachin, Jim, 46, 50–53, 63 Reconstruction amendments, 4

Peer pressure, 40 Reenlistment rate, 24–25
Permissiveness, notion of, 123 Reeves, Donald, 77
Persecution of black leaders by govern- Revolutionary War, 1–3
ment, 80–81 Richman, Milton, 80
Pershing, John J., 8 Ridgway, Matthew B., 14
Persons, Wilton, 106 Rollins, Henry, 110
Peterson, Jay, 62 Roosevelt, Franklin, 10, 11
Philadelphia Tribune, 79, 88 Roosevelt, Theodore, 6
Philippines, 5–6, 125, 128 Rumors: anxiety about other and, 129; to
Pilisuk, Marc, 19–21 critique hegemonic masculinity, 114–15,
Pittsburgh Courier, 79 118; of emasculation, 60; power and,
Point men, 52, 91–92, 147n.28 115, 118; of sabotage of agricultural
Political participation in South: after Civil output, 6–7; of Vietcong and NVA, 118
War, 4; during Vietnam War, 97–98 Russell, Bill, 85, 86
Poussaint, Alvin, 98, 99 Rutledge, Edward, 1–2
Powell, Adam Clayton, 27, 80, 114, 136
Power: conformity and, 84; coping with Sabotage: acts of, 125; rumors of, 6–7
lack of, 44; rape and, 59; rumors and, Sanders, Bob, 32, 48, 54–56
115, 118; sexual metaphor for, 41–42 Schaub, John, 122
Practical jokes, 49 Schmidt, John, 90
Primary group cohesion. See Scott, Marc, 108
Homosociality Scott, Ralph, 126
Project Clear, 14 Scudder, Allen, 108
Project 100,000, 18–21, 72, 135 Second World War, 10–12, 26, 148n.71
Project Transition, 138 Selective Service, 7
Promotions, 92–95, 122 Selective Service Act of 1940, 10
Propaganda campaigns, 117–18 Sellers, Cleveland, 27, 81, 136
“Pugil-stick” fights, 41–42 Seventy-fifth Article of War, 13
Sex, payment for, 59
Quonset Point Naval Air Station, Rhode Shaving heads, 31–32
Island, 64–65 Shreveport, Louisiana, 17
Silvera, John, 83
Race: basic training and, 33–34; debunk- Simms, Ronald L., 108
ing of myths about, 46–47; of drill in- Smith, Chris, 22, 25–26, 37, 91
structors, 36; relationships with women SNCC. See Student Nonviolence Coordi-
and, 111–12 nating Committee (SNCC)
Race riots: after First World War, 9, 10; af- Social change, war as engine for, 9, 22
ter Spanish-American War, 6; in Hous- Soul Alley, Saigon, 110
ton, 9; in 1967, 138. See also Conflict, “Soul sessions,” 100
interracial; Kitty Hawk “Soulsville,” 21
Racist indoctrination in basic training, 42 Spanish-American War, 4–5
Raines, Johnny, 113 Spock, Benjamin, 150n.32
Randolph, A. Philip, 7, 10, 11, 12 Spring Mobilization Committee, 86
Ranger, 125 Starr, John, 55, 64
Rear, culture of, 48, 63–66 Steinbeck, John, IV, 63
Index | 179
Steptoe, Lamont, 105 17; encounters with, 60–62; nicknames

Stokes, Carl, 86 for, 42, 48; views of, 115–17
Storytelling, 55 Vietnam Veterans Against the War, 56
Stowe, Mary, 82 Vinson, Louis, 110
Strothers, Richard, 84 Violence: body count and, 61–62; collec-
Student Nonviolence Coordinating Com- tive, 40; culture of, 57–58; death of
mittee (SNCC), 27, 97–98 buddies as leading to, 56–57; group
Subic Bay, Philippines, 125, 128 chauvinism and, 41, 42; racial, 123–
Sullivan, Kenneth, 112 24. See also Race riots
Swann, R. J., 104, 116 Virility, desire for, 38–39
Swann, Richard, 83–84, 88
Waggoner, Lawrence, 112
Taliaferro, Charles, 53–54, 65–66 Walker, Jack, 110
Tenth Cavalry, 6 Wallace, Henry, 12
Terrell, Ernie, 73, 74 Wallace, Lawrence, 104
Third World consciousness, 26–27, 28–29, Wallace, Michelle, 111
115–18 War profiteers, 116
Thomas, Leon, 25 Washington, George, 2
Till, Emmett, 68 White, Walter, 10
Townsend, Captain, 126–27, 131 Whitmore, Terry, 33, 35, 36, 41
Tran Quang Phuoc, 61 Wilson, Dagmar, 86
Trotter, William Monroe, 8 Wilson, Woodrow, 9–10
Truman, Harry, 1, 12 Winter Soldier Investigation, 56
Turner, Art, 64 Women: rape of, 58–59; relationships
Turner, Henry McNeal, 5 with, 59, 111–12; rumors about, 60;
Turner, Patricia, 114, 129 sexual abuse of, 57
Twenty-fifth Division, 12–13 Women Strike for Peace, 86
Twenty-fourth Infantry Regiment, 12–14 Wood, Leonard, 8
Woodley, Gene, 33
“Uncle Toms,” 102–4 World War I. See First World War
US (United Slaves), 138 World War II. See Second World War
Worthy, William, 82
Valdez, Manuel, 33
Vandenberg Air Force Base, California, Yoi, Walter, 16
100–101 Young, Whitney, 18, 22, 142n.17
Veterans, role of, 138
Vietcong, 56, 117, 118 “Z-grams,” 121, 123, 133
Vietnamese: African Americans and, 116– 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.

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The Brothers’ Vietnam War

Black Power, Manhood,

Herman Graham III

Florida A&M University, Tallahassee

Herman Graham III

University Press of Florida

The University Press of Florida is the scholarly publishing agency

University Press of Florida

The Fight of Their Fathers

emancipation.4 In the South, the slave system remained deeply entrenched.

ment of African American men as combat soldiers after Congress passed

targets of government repression as had socialists and other unpopular

centage of black men serving. While blacks represented 9 percent of regis-

his experience in France, “to taste real liberty—in a phrase, ‘to be a

ing on July 26, 1918, calling it an atrocity inconsistent with a democratic

Crow regiments. Black units, therefore, had a disproportionate number of

The Draft and the Allure of Military Service

Carrying a rifle in the infantry is just like pushing a broom in

Through its draft classification system, the Selective Service “channeled”

ment could hardly be committed to educational opportunity if it relied on

own steadfast determination, some individuals exploited their hegemonic

In early 1966, the Department of Defense released casualty figures that

The Allure of Military Service

Edwards as a “skinny boy” rather than an able man. Excluded from

rate, which declined from 20 percent to 12 percent in 1967.48 The ex-

Antiwar Rhetoric and Counterhegemonic Masculinity

tionalism, African Americans pondered the striking similarities between

[I]t’s a brainwashing process, I think, because a great deal of

The Vietnam-era military was comprised of large numbers of working-

team, to endure hardships, and to commit acts of violence that would be

From Civilian to Soldier

easy chores.”17 Race also affected male friendships. When Reginald

Drill instructors made a commanding presence with their trademark

Nonetheless, Parks realized that an unassuming male could become an

through cadence calls in which recruits imagined themselves as sexually

If the cadence calls promoted homosocial ties between troops and

that as far as my self confidence goes, my stamina, and my knowing

This exercise mimicked the unpleasantness and interpersonal dynamics of

exhilarating as the beating continued.53 Borrowman’s sexual metaphor

tary’s gender ideology. Peter Cameron, a white recruit from a working-

Other recruits coped with their powerlessness by devising schemes to

Combat and Interracial Male Friendship

We do everything together. It’s like being brothers for a year.

they’re from different backgrounds. Their parents taught them that

Young American men gained a measure of status in the military hierarchy

new guy”—also emphasized the untested and uninitiated status of new

Combat and Masculinity

normal chain-of-command. The airborne pilot’s authority superseded that

Ironically, the circumstances of war expanded the possibilities for male

food during the monsoon season up in the mountains. Whoever had

Women and War

American GIs expressed their anxieties about their precarious position

Though he pursued sexual liaisons while he was on R&R in Japan, Lonnie

The Americans and the Vietnamese

Encounters between the two peoples—American and Vietnamese—usu-

“ugly Americans,” formed their opinions of Vietnamese based upon their

death of any Vietnamese killed by American weaponry with the maxim

nam from 5,774 in 1969 to 6,432 in 1970.72 But investigations certainly

other African Americans were politicized by the assassination. It also gave

Muhammad Ali and Draft Resistance

Ali and Racial Consciousness

Muhammad Ali grew up in the border state of Kentucky, where he quickly

he married a modest, devout Muslim teenager. Ali’s Muslim bride en-