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The Ethicist: Should I Reveal That My Dad Pretended to Be a Vietnam Vet?
Dear The Ethicist,
When he was alive, my father sometimes talked of his military service during the Vietnam War. He would oscillate between being open about details and not wanting to speak of his experience. Despite not having any “war buddies,” photographs or other tangible memorabilia, he offered enough details about his service (locations, activities and the name of a friend who was killed in front of him) that my siblings, as well as his friends, his wife and his wife’s family, believed he was a veteran. My mother and I, however, were never sure he was telling the truth about the nature of his service. For instance, when I was a teenager, I was with my father when he purchased a Purple Heart medal at an antiques fair. He explained that he had lost his, that it was possibly with his first wife. Although I thought it was odd he wouldn’t simply ask for it back, I was a young person who trusted her father, and I didn’t press him.
As he was making plans for the end of his life, he instructed my stepmother not to include his veteran status in his obituary. She honored his wish, though she didn’t understand why. After he died, she wanted to know more about his military service and details about where he had served, in the event that she was entitled to survivor benefits. She sent away for his records and received back his DD Form 214 (Certificate of Release or Discharge from Active Duty) showing that he had been honorably discharged in 1968 for being medically unsuitable for duty before he even finished basic training. She was naturally shocked and angry that he would go to such great lengths to pretend he had served in Vietnam, but at first she did not want to share what she had found with me, my siblings or our friends and family, lest we think less of the man whom we had all respected. Only after asking her pointedly what she had found out about where he served did she tell me the truth. I wasn’t angry, since I’d always had a suspicion that something was not quite right about the situation. Rather, I was interested to know why, psychologically, someone would pretend to have served, been injured and lost friends in a war. My stepmother, mother and I are the only ones in the family who know the truth. I attempted to tell my sister once, but she flatly refused to believe me.
We’ve all read stories of people who pose as vets for the attention, admiration and financial benefits that can come with military service. But these are stories that receive national attention when the individuals are found out and sometimes even arrested (under the Stolen Valor Act). What about someone who died knowing he lied about his service and who probably posed as a veteran only because he either felt guilty that he was physically unable to serve or he feared he was unworthy of respect because he had not sacrificed for his country? He never applied for benefits or attempted to capitalize materially on his feigned service. Do I tell the rest of my family and our friends what he did, or is it all water under the bridge now that he has passed away and is unable to explain or defend himself? Name Withheld
Answer: All of us shave the truth, no doubt, to shape the way others perceive us. All of us have moments when we wonder whether we should challenge something our parents (or our children) want us to believe about them. Only a fanatic would think that every doubt ought to be raised, of course, just as only a fanatic would eschew the small fact-stretching kindnesses of courtesy. (Molière wrote a play about such a person; he titled it “The Misanthrope.”) But a basic measure of truthfulness is morally desirable in the central relationships of our lives. That doesn’t mean telling people everything; it does mean not actively misleading them about anything important.
Your father’s character was no doubt rich and complicated; you can’t reduce him to his misdeeds. Still, inventing a military career, the kind that comes with a Purple Heart, is an obvious betrayal of trust. Hard as this would have been, it would have been better if you’d taken up your suspicions with your father while he was around to explain himself. He could have apologized; you could have forgiven him.
Should you reveal the truth now? Just as truthfulness matters in relationships with the living, understanding important moral facts about the dead is valuable as well. People who were close to him and have a memory to hold on to will be in this respect better off if you tell them the facts. Some will also, no doubt, be upset. (Your sister may remain in denial.) But that’s part of the proper emotional response to other people’s behavior. Not everything that feels bad is bad: Some pain is worth it.
And no, you don’t owe it to your father to treat this as “water under the bridge.” The dead can have an interest in our respecting their privacy. But he isn’t entitled to have his reputation protected after his death, because he was never entitled to that protection in the first place. There can be reasons for hiding people’s sins: when they would be excessively punished for them, for example, or when they have shown remorse. But a posthumous loss of reputation is not such a reason, if the reputation was never deserved.
One final group that might be thought to have an interest here would be those who did serve honorably in Vietnam. They would have been entitled to resent someone who claimed honor for something that he didn’t do and that they did. At this point, though, not much good is done them by correcting the record, so this consideration doesn’t weigh heavily. Getting the story right is mostly important for those who actually knew your father — or thought they did.
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/25/magazine/should-i-reveal-that-my-dad-pretended-to-be-a-vietnam-vet.html
When he was alive, my father sometimes talked of his military service during the Vietnam War. He would oscillate between being open about details and not wanting to speak of his experience. Despite not having any “war buddies,” photographs or other tangible memorabilia, he offered enough details about his service (locations, activities and the name of a friend who was killed in front of him) that my siblings, as well as his friends, his wife and his wife’s family, believed he was a veteran. My mother and I, however, were never sure he was telling the truth about the nature of his service. For instance, when I was a teenager, I was with my father when he purchased a Purple Heart medal at an antiques fair. He explained that he had lost his, that it was possibly with his first wife. Although I thought it was odd he wouldn’t simply ask for it back, I was a young person who trusted her father, and I didn’t press him.
As he was making plans for the end of his life, he instructed my stepmother not to include his veteran status in his obituary. She honored his wish, though she didn’t understand why. After he died, she wanted to know more about his military service and details about where he had served, in the event that she was entitled to survivor benefits. She sent away for his records and received back his DD Form 214 (Certificate of Release or Discharge from Active Duty) showing that he had been honorably discharged in 1968 for being medically unsuitable for duty before he even finished basic training. She was naturally shocked and angry that he would go to such great lengths to pretend he had served in Vietnam, but at first she did not want to share what she had found with me, my siblings or our friends and family, lest we think less of the man whom we had all respected. Only after asking her pointedly what she had found out about where he served did she tell me the truth. I wasn’t angry, since I’d always had a suspicion that something was not quite right about the situation. Rather, I was interested to know why, psychologically, someone would pretend to have served, been injured and lost friends in a war. My stepmother, mother and I are the only ones in the family who know the truth. I attempted to tell my sister once, but she flatly refused to believe me.
We’ve all read stories of people who pose as vets for the attention, admiration and financial benefits that can come with military service. But these are stories that receive national attention when the individuals are found out and sometimes even arrested (under the Stolen Valor Act). What about someone who died knowing he lied about his service and who probably posed as a veteran only because he either felt guilty that he was physically unable to serve or he feared he was unworthy of respect because he had not sacrificed for his country? He never applied for benefits or attempted to capitalize materially on his feigned service. Do I tell the rest of my family and our friends what he did, or is it all water under the bridge now that he has passed away and is unable to explain or defend himself? Name Withheld
Answer: All of us shave the truth, no doubt, to shape the way others perceive us. All of us have moments when we wonder whether we should challenge something our parents (or our children) want us to believe about them. Only a fanatic would think that every doubt ought to be raised, of course, just as only a fanatic would eschew the small fact-stretching kindnesses of courtesy. (Molière wrote a play about such a person; he titled it “The Misanthrope.”) But a basic measure of truthfulness is morally desirable in the central relationships of our lives. That doesn’t mean telling people everything; it does mean not actively misleading them about anything important.
Your father’s character was no doubt rich and complicated; you can’t reduce him to his misdeeds. Still, inventing a military career, the kind that comes with a Purple Heart, is an obvious betrayal of trust. Hard as this would have been, it would have been better if you’d taken up your suspicions with your father while he was around to explain himself. He could have apologized; you could have forgiven him.
Should you reveal the truth now? Just as truthfulness matters in relationships with the living, understanding important moral facts about the dead is valuable as well. People who were close to him and have a memory to hold on to will be in this respect better off if you tell them the facts. Some will also, no doubt, be upset. (Your sister may remain in denial.) But that’s part of the proper emotional response to other people’s behavior. Not everything that feels bad is bad: Some pain is worth it.
And no, you don’t owe it to your father to treat this as “water under the bridge.” The dead can have an interest in our respecting their privacy. But he isn’t entitled to have his reputation protected after his death, because he was never entitled to that protection in the first place. There can be reasons for hiding people’s sins: when they would be excessively punished for them, for example, or when they have shown remorse. But a posthumous loss of reputation is not such a reason, if the reputation was never deserved.
One final group that might be thought to have an interest here would be those who did serve honorably in Vietnam. They would have been entitled to resent someone who claimed honor for something that he didn’t do and that they did. At this point, though, not much good is done them by correcting the record, so this consideration doesn’t weigh heavily. Getting the story right is mostly important for those who actually knew your father — or thought they did.
https://www.nytimes.com/2017/10/25/magazine/should-i-reveal-that-my-dad-pretended-to-be-a-vietnam-vet.html
no subject
I'm not sure what purpose it serves to go around to every family member and explain that he lied about his service, especially since he apparently didn't often talk about it and didn't capitalize on it monetarily.
no subject
no subject
This isn't like the previously mentioned secret in the other post where knowing someone wasn't your bio dad could have health implications.
no subject
In other words, don't tell people just to slag off their memory of their dead dad. Tell them if you think it will have a notable positive effect.
no subject
I agree with most of your caveats.
Just based on the limited info in the letter, it seems like all immediate family know, and I think I would probably just leave it at that unless someone specifically asked or was going through those last two points.
no subject
There's a matter of how and who, too. LW's sister obviously deserved to be told at once, I think. (And did not take it well, clearly.) Other close family members probably deserve a conversation about it soon too.
They don't need to call every family member or friend of their father's one after another, though. But if it comes up, it'd be pretty painful/harmful to them to keep the secret and go along people who don't know talking about what a brave soldier he was etc.
This is also complicated, though, given the family dynamics and the fact that LW's mother lied to them too. The whole thing is complicated and hard.
no subject