A Quest for Inner Peace by Veteran of Vietnam War

Ruben Treviso has been an energetic fighter for veterans ever since he came back from Vietnam in 1971. He’s been involved in numerous projects in Greater L.A. to honor vets in recent years, ranging from seeking more visible war monuments to honor America’s dead to seeking money so that a vet can write of his war experiences and close that chapter of his life.

Treviso, 49, does some of this work on his own time, believing it’s the very least that can be done for veterans. But mostly, he’s fought the battles as an official for Veterans in Community Service Inc., a Chicano nonprofit organization based in Whittier that offers a variety of services and programs in eastern Los Angeles County.

But on this Memorial Day, Ruben wants some time for himself. He plans to visit Little Saigon--the large Vietnamese community in Orange County--and confront his own unwillingness over the years to talk to the Vietnamese, eat their food or learn of their new lives in this country. He also wants to tell them something.

“ Me-tay-co ,” he blurts out in Vietnamese. “I want to tell them I am a Mexican who fought for them.”

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Ruben’s not sure what has prompted his trip. Maybe it was Robert McNamara’s mea culpa book about Vietnam, which most vets I’ve talked to think is a weak and gutless apology for our involvement in Southeast Asia. Or the sad tale of the wayward tank in San Diego, in which a former tank crew member once stationed in Germany stole the armored vehicle and ran over anything in his way before being mortally wounded by police. Or the stories marking the 25th anniversary of the American pullout from the former Saigon.

Maybe it’s just that time on the calendar, when Memorial Day makes us think.

Whatever the impetus, Ruben thinks it’s time. “I’ve never been to Little Saigon,” he admits, “and it’s time to put it behind me.”

In his busy world--for all his work on behalf of veterans needing a loan, a job referral or just a sympathetic ear--Treviso hasn’t done much for himself. He’s still at war with those conflicting thoughts of being an unappreciated soldier who thought he was doing the right thing. He’s not alone in that struggle. Others of us are still wrestling with those thoughts too.

He even encouraged me after I wrote about my own time in Vietnam. But while keeping busy helping others, he didn’t try to settle his own ambivalent feelings about Vietnam. He would not speak Vietnamese, which he picked up during his stint as an Army adviser to Montagnard villagers in the Central Highlands in 1971. He didn’t try to interact with Vietnamese expatriates in Southern California.

He has ignored that community, he says, even as he considers what some might think is a far-fetched idea--getting a memorial to Latino veterans of Vietnam erected in Hanoi. “It’s a great idea,” he says. “I was exceptional [as a soldier]. We were all exceptional. [The Vietnamese] know that we were exceptional.”

Treviso knew that he eventually would have to confront himself about the war.

“Everybody comes home,” he admits. “NcNamara can write his book to make his bucks. Fine. And all these war movies, this stuff--we’ve got to come to a resolution within our lives. We have to. We have to set the example.”

So in between the time today at the Five Points war memorial in Boyle Heights and the Memorial Day ceremony in Westwood, Treviso will go to Garden Grove, where Little Saigon is located.

He’ll walk the streets, talk to whomever will respond and try to put his war to rest. He wants them to know he fought for them not only as an American soldier but also as a Chicano. “As Chicanos, our community doesn’t seek the military as a career,” he explains. “But we do it. We do it well.”

Latinos, he likes to remind listeners, have earned more Medals of Honor (38) than any other minority group in the U.S. armed forces.

And in the end, despite how the conflict ended, Treviso will tell Little Saigon that he isn’t sorry he fought for the South Vietnamese.

“Soy mexicano,” he says. “Mexican. Me-tay-co .”

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Treviso’s friends, many of whom also served in Vietnam, support his decision. I do too. But he’ll make the trip to Little Saigon alone, free to deal with his fears or demons with no one to look over his shoulder. Free to talk out 24 years of ignoring the past or free to cry over it.

That’s the way of the Vietnam veteran--a lonely struggle, seeking to protect the pride of having served and still wanting the acceptance that’s slow in coming.

When he talks up his next pet project for disadvantaged veterans, I suspect that whatever he learns in Little Saigon may well creep into his stump speech. And that’ll be another battle won for all of us.