PERSPECTIVE ON AMERICA : The Spirit of GI Joe

My consciousness brings me no further than when I, a street urchin, stood before an American soldier in a bomb-gutted street shortly after the World War II liberation of Manila.

In front of me was what our people called GI Joe. My immediate thought was that he left his mother in a faraway country to free us from barbarians. I had deep admiration and gratitude.

I looked up, way up. If I had a concept of measure then, I would have placed him at 10 or 12 feet tall. Anyway, he looked massive. They didn’t grow them that big in my country.

Not only was he big, he was masterfully chiseled, perfectly packaged in his combat attire. I can’t recall now if the awe was precipitated by his physique or the enormity of his mission. It must have been both.

As I arched my neck back, he winked. I didn’t know what that meant, but I knew it was good. The sight, the movement and the impact locked me in a stupor. My knees began to shake and I felt like crying, if only I was not paralyzed. This must be the America I heard about.

Then came a profound gesture. GI Joe must have seen my predicament and my malnourished frame. He threw me a Baby Ruth candy bar. First time I saw one. It looked enormous. It was packaged magnificently. They didn’t make sweets that good in my country, and they came in old newspapers. I took a bite and was locked in another stupor. I felt like crying again but had to finish the candy first. I looked at the remains of the Baby Ruth, the wrapper--red, white and blue. Great substance, great colors. This must be the America I heard about.

I cannot remember how GI Joe and I parted that day. But I do remember the impact of the sight and the symbol, both deeply etched in my mind. And the Baby Ruth I continue to delight in.

But the magnificence of the America they represented seemed lost when I got here. After years of education, professional life and struggles in bitter political unrest and suppressed freedom in my country, I moved my family to the U.S., probably influenced by the early encounter with GI Joe and the Baby Ruth.

It was a faded America we came to. Not the America the GI Joes fought, bled and died for. Freedom and pride looked badly abused from what we saw. My kids didn’t understand the prevalent disrespect for authority. Irreverence, rudeness and blatant absence of discipline ruled the schools. The national pastime seemed to be bellyaching amid abundance. Crime, violence and greed dominated the news. Were these not the elements GI Joe liberated us from?

Last year, as I strolled through a Long Beach park, I chanced upon an international children’s concert hosted for World War II veterans. The GI Joe of my childhood flashed through my mind, only to wane as I stood by one. He was old, humped and weary. The symbol of a fading America?

But as I looked closely, I noticed the eyes. In the veteran’s eyes remained the radiance of victory. The aging eyes gazed on the children of varied colors and pierced beyond them. There I saw hope. A reemergence of the America that GI Joe fought, bled and died for.

Quick, powerful images flashed through my mind: the huge fireman clutching a dying baby in the Oklahoma City bombing, the American missionary giving love, care and life in remote villages of the world, American Olympic athletes generating honor and inspiration in a depressed world, American diplomats feverishly arbitrating for peace in the world’s hot spots, Americans offering lives, food, technology and health to a dying world.

Through the aging GI Joe’s eyes, I once again saw the greatness of America. He has seen battles lost, but a great war won. America now fights internal ills. Although some of these battles seem lost, with its GI Joe spirit, America will win, if only its people will remember.