In 1992 race, Tom Laughlin was a voice for the voiceless
In early 1992, as a relatively recent arrival in the Granite State from Ohio, I was skeptical about the fabled New Hampshire presidential primary. Why on earth should anyone pay attention to one little unrepresentative state tucked up in the cold, white northeast corner of the country?
And while there was plenty for the newcomer to see — there were enough heavy-hitter candidates on the Democratic side to field a baseball team — I thought it would be fun to check out the crackpot scene as well, perennial candidates like Lobsterman with his red cape and claw mitts and Vermin Supreme, who campaigned with a boot on his head.
When newly announced candidate Tom Laughlin held a forum near my house, I couldn’t resist going. Laughlin — a barely remembered writer, actor, filmmaker, and political activist — had achieved a certain cult status years earlier when he made and starred in four movies as “Billy Jack,” a half-Navajo ex-Green Beret Vietnam veteran and martial arts expert who used his skills to fight for his version of the American dream.
And I quickly realized that Laughlin wasn’t really a crackpot. He may have been a favorite of martial film buffs. But he had an equally fervent following among a then-relatively unheard from group: Vietnam War veterans.
That unpopular war had been an unhappy time. Many who fought in it — especially the reluctant draftees — felt used and abused by the country they had served. Many believed they had left the battlefield in the ’70s to return to a hostile home front where they were expected to blend quietly back into civilian life.
In 1992, they were only beginning to deal with a host of problems — from barely acknowledged PTSD to the lingering health effects caused by Agent Orange and other lethal chemicals that were used abundantly in that conflict.
Laughlin had a varied platform, talking of “two Americas,” one for the haves and one for the have-nots. He wanted a tax cut for “ordinary Americans,” universal health care, and nuclear disarmament. But he especially focused on veterans, those he felt had been used and cast aside.
And the vets responded, flocking to his appearances in places like the restaurant meeting room near my home. Many wore their old uniforms or remnants of them, including fatigues, and they sported their medals. Some were angry, others more worried, convinced that no one cared about them or their problems — at least until Laughlin, Billy Jack, came along. He listened. He encouraged them to air their health concerns, not just to him but to others seeking national office. He spoke up for homeless vets and for vets with drug and other addiction problems.
He was a serious candidate with serious concerns.
In the time since Laughlin fought for his troops in ’92, veterans’ concerns have moved to the forefront of national political concerns, propelled not only by vocal Vietnam veterans but by those serving in our more recent conflicts, who have rapidly rallied and mobilized to advance their service-related concerns.
Laughlin faded from the scene. In 2013 he died. But at least for a short time he had some devoted followers in the person of disillusioned vets who felt they had just been thrown away. And the New Hampshire primary gave him — and them — a voice.
And that is why the New Hampshire primary is worth our attention.
Written by: Katy Burns, a longtime New Hampshire newspaper columnist.
Originally published at www.bostonglobe.com on March 26, 2015.
