tribal ceremonies before going to war and was given a medicine pouch to carry with him to keep him safe. Trained as a combat photographer, he was


deployed to Grenada, Bosnia, Kosovo and five times to Iraq. There he saw heavy fighting in Falluja, Najaf, Samarra and elsewhere. Dur- ing his 26 years of service, he accumulated three Purple Hearts and two Bronze Stars. He also sustained traumatic brain injuries that left him with migraines, light sensitivity and memory problems. The choice to take part in tribal ceremonies


is a personal one and some Native veterans may decide on more conventional avenues for care. Boers, who is now retired in California, has used every available avenue of help, from the on-base military system to the VHA to the In- dian Health Service (IHS) to tribal ceremonies. “The IHS gives vets a place to get together,” he said. “Veterans from World War II, Korea, Viet- nam and the more recent conflicts could gather and talk and help each other out. It was a way to bring us together as a community of veterans.” The Veteran Administration’s National


Vietnam Veterans Readjustment Study, which began in 1984, included subsections on Black and Hispanic soldiers. However, not until Rep. Spark Matsunaga and Senator Daniel Inouye pushed for a survey in the late 1980s were Native American, Native Hawaiian and Japa- nese American troops studied for the effects of post-traumatic stress disorder. Eventually,


the VHA began to include


culturally appropriate care for American Indi- an and Alaska Native vets. The VHA now hosts sweat lodges developed with the collaboration of local tribes at 13 VHA locations. There are also tele-mental health services for Native vet- erans who live far from existing VHA sites. War upsets everyone’s inner balance, says


Boers. “Ceremonies help restore that balance, help bring inner peace, help you with things you’ve seen or done,” he says. “I’m not who I was before going off to war, but ceremonies let me be okay with myself.” Ultimately, the spiritual care and recog-


nition emanating from one’s culture and community is crucial to Native soldiers and veterans. As a Ho-Chunk elder in Wisconsin once told Tom Holm, “We honor our veter- ans for their bravery and because by seeing death on the battlefield they truly know the greatness of life.” X


Aaron Levin is an independent journalist based in Baltimore. He wrote about the long history of corn farming in "Heart of the Hopi" in American Indian magazine's Fall 2019 issue.


Concepts in this article are based on "Cultures of War" in the NMAI's publication "Why We Serve: Native Americans in the United States Armed Forces."


Vietnam veteran Allen Hoe (Native Hawaiian) holds a flag that he and his son, First Lieuten- ant Nainoa Hoe (in painting), carried into battle. Nainoa was killed serving in Iraq in 2005.


REMEMBERING THOSE TAKEN W


ar takes its toll, not only on servicemen or servicewomen injured and killed but also on the friends and family of those who never came home. Native Hawaiian Allen Hoe was drafted into the U.S. Army in 1966 and trained as a combat medic. First stationed at Travis Air Force


Base in California, he wished to prove himself as a warrior and requested a transfer to Vietnam. Hoe carried a small American flag with him in his backpack as a talisman. Hoe arrived in December 1967 and joined an infantry battalion reconnaissance


team in the 196th Light Infantry Brigade. After a brief R&R in May 1968, he was waiting for a helicopter to return to his unit at Kham Duc when he learned that it had been overrun by the North Vietnamese Army. Among the missing and pre- sumed dead was his buddy, radio operator William “Skip” Skivington Jr. Their bod- ies would not be recovered for 38 years. “My biggest disappointment was that I couldn’t be there for my guys,” Hoe says. He


was given the option of serving the rest of his time in Vietnam at a base hospital but preferred to stay in the field. Hoe left Vietnam in September 1968 and went to college and law school. He re-


mained in contact with Skivington’s father, Bill, a World War II veteran, and joined him when Skip’s remains were identified and repatriated in 2006. Hoe’s return to life in Hawaii was cushioned by strong family support and their deep


Christian faith. But he also embraced the traditional Hawaiian ideal of “‘ohana,” the extended envelopment of family members to create a secure and safe space. “There was an acceptance of what you had gone through that allowed you to be part of the family.” Years later, capricious fate would again intervene in Hoe’s life. His son, First Lieuten-


ant Nainoa Hoe served in the 3rd Battalion, 21st Infantry (which was part of the 196th Light Infantry Brigade in Vietnam). He was struck down by a sniper’s bullet in Mosul, Iraq, in 2005. In his backpack, Nainoa carried the same flag his father bore in Vietnam. Despite the pain of losing his son, Hoe understands his decision to enlist and serve.


“Nainoa went into the Army with his eyes wide open. He loved being a platoon leader,” Hoe says. Still, he says, he regrets that “my son wasn’t able to enjoy the things he had worked so hard for.”


SMITHSONIAN INSTITUTION 29


PHOTO COURTESY OF ALLEN HOE


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