I was terrified of the Vietnam War when I was 13. I thought I

In the turbulent and chaotic currents of history, there are moments when the very fabric of a nation is shaken by the storm of war, and in such times, the lives of individuals are shaped by the looming threat of conflict. Dylan McDermott, in his poignant reflection, recalls the deep fear he felt during the Vietnam War: "I was terrified of the Vietnam War when I was 13. I thought I was going. The draft was such an ominous thing, I felt as if it was going to trickle down to me." These words, though personal, speak to the universal experience of being caught in the web of larger societal forces, forces beyond one’s control—forces that shape not only the lives of those who serve, but also the very spirit of a generation. The draft, which called upon young men to serve in an unpopular and devastating war, was a shadow that loomed large over the youth of America in the 1960s and 1970s, and McDermott’s fear captures the anxiety and uncertainty that millions of young people felt during that time.

In the ancient world, the notion of conscription—the forced enlistment of citizens into military service—was no stranger. In Greece, young men were required to serve as hoplites in the city-state's army, with the specter of battle hanging over them from their youth. The Spartan warriors, famous for their brutal training and discipline, were perhaps the most extreme example of this. From an early age, Spartan boys were prepared for war, trained in the harshest conditions to become unwavering soldiers. Yet, for all their martial prowess, there was still fear—a fear of death, a fear of failure, a fear of not living up to the expectations placed upon them by their society. McDermott’s fear of the Vietnam War mirrors this ancient anxiety, the universal fear of war that every generation must face.

The Vietnam War, however, was different. It was not fought on foreign soil to expand an empire or secure a nation’s borders, but rather as a part of a larger ideological struggle—the Cold War—where the United States and Soviet Union sought to extend their influence over the world. For McDermott and others his age, the war was not an abstract political struggle but a personal threat, one that could drag them from the safety of their homes and thrust them into a conflict they neither understood nor supported. The draft, which was seen as an inevitable passage for young men during this time, filled them with an existential dread, for it meant they could be called to fight in a war that seemed increasingly senseless and unending. This was the emotional cost of the Vietnam War, a war that left deep scars on the generation that lived through it.

Consider the ancient stories of young men called to battle, not by choice, but by the demands of society. In the Iliad, Homer presents us with the tragic tale of Achilles, who, though a great warrior, is torn by the call to arms. Achilles' fate is tied to the war at Troy, and despite his greatness, he too is faced with the inevitability of his participation in the conflict. The soldiers in the Vietnam War, much like the warriors of Troy, were caught in a system that placed them in harm’s way, despite their individual desires or personal beliefs. The fear McDermott felt as a young boy was the same fear that the ancient warriors must have experienced—a fear not just of battle, but of fate, and the sense that the call to war was an unstoppable force that stripped them of their agency.

McDermott's words also reflect the generational tension that often arises in times of war. Just as the youth of the 1960s questioned the authority of their elders and their government’s justification for war, so too have other generations throughout history struggled with the same question. In ancient Rome, the legions were often filled with young soldiers who, despite their loyalty to the Roman Empire, questioned the motives behind some of their wars. The moral conflict between duty to the state and personal conscience has been a constant throughout history, with young men often caught between the societal pressure to fight and the growing awareness that not all wars are just. McDermott’s fear of being drafted into the Vietnam War echoes this eternal conflict—how can one reconcile the demands of duty with the moral implications of war?

Yet, McDermott’s words also carry a lesson for us, as they remind us of the importance of understanding and compassion for those who live in times of great uncertainty. The fear he experienced at 13 was not just a personal fear but a collective one, shared by millions who faced the draft or witnessed the impact of the war on their families and friends. It is a reminder to us that war does not only affect those who fight on the frontlines, but also those who are left behind—the families, the communities, the children, and the young men who fear being called into battle, unsure of their own fate. In times of conflict, we must hold space for these fears, acknowledging the deep emotional and psychological costs that war imposes on all.

The final lesson from McDermott’s experience is the need for empathy and reflection. In times of war, we must not only consider the political and strategic elements of conflict but also the human cost. McDermott’s terror as a young boy was not just a fear of war, but of being forced into a situation where his life and choices were no longer his own. As we reflect on his words, we are reminded of the importance of fostering a world where young people do not have to grow up with the shadow of war hanging over them, where their futures are not dictated by the call of battle, but by the pursuit of peace, understanding, and mutual respect.