Much of the conventional wisdom associated with Vietnam was

Hear, O seekers of truth, the stern voice of H. R. McMaster, who declared: “Much of the conventional wisdom associated with Vietnam was highly inaccurate. Far from an inevitable result of the imperative to contain communism, the war was only made possible through lies and deceptions aimed at the American public, Congress, and members of Lyndon Johnson's own administration.” In these words lies both a lament and a warning: that wars are not always born of necessity, but often of falsehood, and that when nations march under banners of deceit, they lead their children to death and despair.

The Vietnam War has often been spoken of as unavoidable, as if it were the natural outgrowth of the Cold War, as if the dominoes of Asia would surely fall without American intervention. Yet McMaster reminds us that this was not destiny, but decision—decisions veiled in secrecy, framed in rhetoric, and justified with half-truths. The story told to the people was not the full story; it was a mask crafted to secure obedience. Thus, what millions believed to be a noble defense against tyranny was, at its root, the fruit of manipulation.

Consider the Gulf of Tonkin incident in 1964, when reports of North Vietnamese attacks on American ships were used as justification for escalating the war. The evidence was uncertain, the details distorted, yet from this murky event was drawn the Tonkin Gulf Resolution, granting Johnson sweeping powers to wage war. With one act of deception, a nation was set on a path that would claim more than fifty thousand American lives and millions more in Vietnam. Here, history gives us the tragic example of how lies can build empires of suffering.

And see the fate of those who fought. The soldiers in the jungles did not carry deception in their rifles; they carried only courage and duty. Many believed they were defending freedom, yet they were trapped in a conflict whose roots had not been honestly told. When they returned home, they bore not only scars of war but the bitterness of betrayal, for the cause they fought for was not what they had been led to believe. Thus, the cost of deception is not only death in foreign lands, but disillusionment at home, a breaking of trust between people and leaders.

This truth is not confined to Vietnam. In every age, rulers have cloaked ambition in the garments of necessity, dressed greed as honor, or justified aggression as defense. From the wars of ancient Rome to the battles of modern empires, the pattern repeats: when conventional wisdom is shaped by lies, nations are led astray. McMaster’s words echo across centuries, calling us to vigilance, to doubt the too-simple tale, to demand truth before blood is spilled.

Yet let us not despair, for the lesson is clear. The antidote to deception is not cynicism, but courage—the courage to question, to seek evidence, to hold leaders accountable. A people that asks hard questions is not weak; it is strong, for it prevents the misuse of their sacrifice. Just as a soldier must be brave in battle, so too must a citizen be brave in truth, refusing to accept falsehoods as destiny.

Therefore, O children of tomorrow, remember this teaching: when the drums of war begin to sound, listen not only to the beat but to the hands that strike them. Ask: is this war truly necessary, or is it born of manipulation? Trust not in conventional wisdom without inquiry, for it is often a cloak woven by those who wish to rule unchallenged.

So take McMaster’s wisdom to heart: the tragedy of Vietnam was not inevitable, but chosen, built upon lies and deceptions. Learn from this, that in your time you may not repeat it. Seek truth, guard it fiercely, and let no leader purchase war with deceit—for the price of such lies is always paid in human lives.