“Curiously uninvolved”: social work and protest against the War in Vietnam
Susan Kerr Chandler
This article reviews four leading social work journals from 1965-1975 for content on the War in Vietnam and the social issues arising from it. It finds that social work’s major journals carried nearly no articles, letters, editorials, or short subjects related to the war and concludes that the dominant discourse constructed in the journals excluded meaningful engagement with the war or protest against it.
Key words: Vietnam War, peace, protest, anti-war movement, sixties
And it’s one, two, three, what are we fighting for? Don’t ask me, I don’t give a damn. Next stop is Vietnam. And it’s five, six, seven, open up the pearly gates. Well, there ain’t no time to wonder why. Whoopee! we’re all gonna die.
Country Joe and the Fish Feel like I’m Fixin” to Die Rag, 1965
You all know me and are aware that I am unable to remain silent. At times to be silent is to lie. For silence can be interpreted as acquiescence.
Miguel de Unamuno, Salamanca, Spain, 1936
In 1968, according to historians Zaroulis and Sullivan (1984), the balance tipped against the United States’ military effort in Vietnam. Sentiment against the war raged among students, clergy, business leaders, teachers, and civil rights activists. Citizens increasingly reacted with skepticism to administration assurances that the nation could have both guns and butter, noting that monthly expenditures for the war exceeded annual expenditures for poverty programs (Zinn, 1967). In Vietnam morale among the troops was plummeting. Jackie Bolen, from rural West Virginia, wanted to go home. “You don’t know what it is to have to kill men or to watch your friends die,” he wrote his grandmother. “Grandma, I don’t know what I ever done to deserve the hell I am in” (Marannis, 2003, p. 145; Terry, 1984). Television coverage of the Tet offensive of January and February gave Americans a chilling premonition that perhaps the war wasn’t winnable. And Lyndon Johnson announced in March that he would not run again for the presidency. The number of U.S. dead was 14,000 and rising.
Despite all this, in 1968 four of social work’s leading journals, Social Work, Social Service Review, Child Welfare, and Public Welfare, published among them in total one article (out of 149) that was related in any way to the conflict that was pulling the country, indeed the world, apart. None of the journals’ 181 editorials, book reviews, letters to the editors, and short subjects mentioned the war either. It was as if it did not exist. Dennis Saleeby (1998), recently discharged from the air force and a doctoral student at the University of California, Berkeley, commenting thirty years later about his experience, observed that the School of Social Welfare was “mostly and curiously uninvolved” in campus protest against the war (1998, p. 653).
This paper attempts an initial exploration of social work’s relationship with the Vietnam War by reviewing four leading journals for the years 1965-1975 and assessing them for content on the war. It concludes with an analysis of the construction of a dominant discourse in the profession which excluded not only protest against, but also any real engagement with the war.
War and Social Work: A Review of the Literature
From the beginning war and social work have been deeply intertwined. War has an enormous impact on social programs, contracting some and expanding others. It provides the context in which social workers’ service to soldiers, their families, veterans, and refugees takes place. Finally, it nearly always precipitates a fierce philosophical exchange within the profession. Yet in social work literature the topic of war is marked by a great and gaping hole. Historians outside of social work, Theda Skocpol (1992), for example, have explored the relationship between war and social welfare policy (as in the provision of soldiers’ pensions), and within social work there have been a few studies of social service efforts in particular wars (Chandler, 1995; Maas, 1951; Daley, 1999). Principally, however, silence reigns. A limited number of texts reference the enormous policy implications of war and peace (van Wormer, 1997; Simon, 1994); but in most, war and its relationship to social work are not discussed. Surprisingly, even the literature that addresses the social service needs of refugees and veterans, a significant area of social work practice, is relatively limited (Berthold, 2000; G. Brown, 1982; P. Brown, 1984; Early-Adams et al, 1990; Frey, 19878; Kobrick, 1993; Montera & Dieppa, 1982; Sherwood, 1991; Maas, 1951; Canda & Phaobtong, 1992; Van Wormer, 1994; Chambon et al, 2001).
Social work within the military is also nearly invisible–a great loss, because social workers within the armed forces possess an enormous store of information about war and its impact on soldiers and civilians. Two texts, Adventure in Mental Health (Maas, 1951), a description of psychiatric social workers’ efforts in the military during World War II, and Social Work Practice in the Military (Daley, 1999), an overall view of military social work at the end of the twentieth century, provide insight into a professional world often hidden from view.
Nor has peace commanded much attention in the profession’s literature despite the illustrious work of Jane Addams, Emily Balch, Addie Hunton, E. Frankin Frazier, Jeannette Rankin, and others in opposing war, work which stands in my view as one of the profession’s finest legacies (Addams, 1907, 1922, 1930; Chandler, 2001; Giles, 1980; Sullivan, 1993). Recently a small handful of articles that identify peace–that is, standing for it–as a professional obligation have appeared (Van Soest, Johnston, & Sullivan, 1988; Verschelden, 1993; Rice & Mary, 1989).
The result is a narrow literature that greatly limits students’ and others’ exploration of social work’s role in the historic debates on war and peace. Should the profession stand for peace–or is that outside its purview? Does war expand social work’s opportunities (within the military, for example) or contract them (as guns edge out butter in the national budgets)? What are social work’s obligations re soldiers and military families? How do refugees and soldiers heal from war, if in fact they do? This is a painful and controversial, but critical area of inquiry.
For this article, I reviewed the contents of four leading social work journals–Social Work, Social Service Review, Child Welfare, and Public Welfare–for the years 1965-1975. Although the Vietnam War officially ended in 1973 with the dramatic departure of troops from Saigon, I chose to extend the review to 1975 both because the war continued on in Cambodia and to account for some lag time in article publication. All articles, editorials, short subjects (including book reviews), and letters to the editor were counted and assessed for content on the war in Vietnam. “Content on the war” was defined broadly. The article or editorial’s principal focus did not have to be the Vietnam War; in many the war was a distinctly secondary theme. I then used theme analysis to analyze published pieces related to the Vietnam War.
Reviewing the contents of professional journals to assess a profession’s engagement with or perspective on a given issue is a well-used methodology. (In social work, McMahon & Meares’ review of journals’ perspective on race  is a well-known use of journal review. Other authors who have employed this methodology include Milner and Widerman  who investigated women’s health care and Frankel  who investigated day care.) Journals, the voice of most professions, are “critical for the provision of current awareness, the presentation of new ideas, the exploration of topics in a timely manner, and the building of a disciplinary knowledge base” (Williams, 2002, p. 9). Further, they are a principal means through which professions define themselves and their members. They do this both by what they include, that is, by what they identify as knowledge–and by what they exclude. In this process of construction, according to the postmodern theorists, a profession’s dominant discourse is defined. We shall return to a discussion of exclusion and inclusion vis a vis the Vietnam War in the discussion, below.
Journal review has both strengths and limitations. On the strengths’ side, it provides an excellent means to identify themes in the professional literature. It is also heuristic and invariably generates ideas and hypotheses that may be profitably pursued. But while an examination of professional journals is valuable, it has its limitations as well. Journals, of course, are primarily oriented to the doctoral level of the profession. They are not the profession’s “official” voice, but rather a product of the decisions of editorial boards and the output of scholars, whose work is often shaped by the requirements of academia. Further, they do not capture very well the day-to-day lives of practitioners or the people they serve. For a genuine assessment of social work’s role in the Vietnam War much more research is needed.
The four journals reviewed–Social Service Review, Social Work, Child Welfare, and Public Welfare–were chosen for inclusion because they are all identified as “core journals” by Social Work Abstracts and during the period 1965-1999 were identified by 10-15 (out of 15 total) published articles analyzing social work journals as being the profession’s “major journals” (Williams, 2002, p. 10).
The Findings: Coverage of the Vietnam War in Social Work Journals
Social Service Review, published by the University of Chicago Press and edited by the School of Social Service Administration at the University of Chicago, was considered in the Vietnam era–as it is now–the most prestigious journal in social work (Williams, 2002). From 1965-1975 it published a total of 284 articles. Two of them had content on the war in Vietnam. In the same period, it carried two editorials, 332 short subjects (including book reviews), and 45 letters. None of these discussed the war. (see Table 1)
The two articles Social Service Review published, however, were quite valuable. One, “Social Action for a Different Decade” by Joseph Paull (1971), was a philosophical piece which was not focused on the war per se but did include the impact of the war on the increased legitimation of social action within social work. The second article, “Returning Black Vietnam-Era Veteran” by James Fendrich, explored the “readjustment to civilian life of 199 black Vietnam-era veterans” (1972, p. 60). This was a superb study based in personal interviews with 199 African-American veterans in Jacksonville, Florida. The study stepped directly into the most burning issues of the day. How were black veterans faring, it asked (answer: they were having significant difficulties, especially in finding work); and how deeply were they alienated or feeling an “angry mood of discontent” (answer: fully 40 percent were “alienated” on all six of the dimensions the study measured) (pp. 67-71). In concluding the study, Fendrich wrote:
Part of the military parlance of the Vietnam War is the question,
“How short are you?” Generally this is an inquiry about how much
time remains in a twelve-month tour of duty under dreadful
conditions. One black soldier, when asked this question, answered,
“Man, I will never be short.” Judging by our findings on the
difficulties in adjustment, the soldier is correct (p. 72).
The Fendrich article serves as a wonderful example of the contribution that rigorous research can make to the study of war’s impact on the men, and now women, who fight it. Grounded in the life experience of young black men, it avoided a methodology that defined veterans as “cases” and asked the questions that were on everyone’s mind.
Social Work, journal of the National Association of Social Workers, the principal organization of U.S. social workers, invariably ranks among the profession’s top two journals, and is “by far the most widely distributed social work journal in the United States” (Williams, 2002, p. 12). It published articles related to the Vietnam War at an even rate lower than did Social Service Review, although the total number of pieces was greater. In the years from 1965-1975, Social Work carried three articles (out of 590) related to the war; two editorials (out of 49); two “short subjects” (out of 178); and one letter (out of 367). (See Table 2) This represented a total publishing rate of 8 pieces out of a total of 1184 or a little more than half of one percent (.67 percent).
Of the three war-related articles in Social Work from 1965-1975, the first (Kelman, 1967) argued on behalf of the Committee of Responsibility that war-injured Vietnamese children should be brought to the United States for treatment (the NASW Commission on International Social Welfare had issued a statement that such a plan “may disregard basic child welfare principles [which affirm] that children have the right to grow up in their own families and their own cultures” (p. 15). A second, considerably more radical piece by John Ehrlich (1971), stated that “the credibility gap between words and deeds at the highest level of government, particularly with regard to the continuing war in Southeast Asia, threatens to become a virtually unbridgeable societal chasm” (p. 22) and described the ways in which “clients, students, and young practitioners have challenged both the relevance and commitment of social workers” (p. 22). This is one of the few articles in which one can catch a glimpse of the social action efforts of radical social workers. A third article (Marchese, 1973) described the situation at the New York Veterans Center where each month over 1,000 veterans were applying for public assistance. “There are simply not enough jobs,” Marchese wrote, and drew readers’ attention to the “Vietnam Syndrome” (p. 20):
Psychiatrists have reported, he wrote, finding among many veterans
feelings of deep disappointment, of having been duped and maneuvered
into a war the country no longer believed in. Pronounced
skepticism and aloofness were noted … [as well as] a steady
increase in cases of rage, anxiety, depression, a deep sense of
guilt, and extreme alienation (p. 22).
This practice-based article, based in professional observations as opposed to interviews with the men, lacks the immediacy of Fendrich’s study and is not data-based, but nevertheless makes a welcome contribution.
Of the two editorials, one (1966) mentioned the war briefly in a discussion of the US tax structure, and the other (1970), written in the context of “a war abroad and racial conflict at home that seem to drag on endlessly” (p. 2), admonished social workers to avoid pessimism and the “equally malignant cop-out … [of] impulsive and quixotic assaults on one bastion of privilege or another.
These efforts, which fly the bright banner of participatory
democracy, widely fail because they are poorly thought out.
Organizers have a ready-made excuse–the powerful, callous
establishment–and cheerfully go on to other sallies that will also
fail. These social workers enjoy an expressive life-style … but
leave behind a trail of people with cynicism new or renewed (p. 2).
Social workers with “expressive life styles” might find slightly more comfort in a 1970 short subject by George Brager who referred to the “national madness”–this was shortly after the Kent and Jackson state murders–and urged colleagues to join the Movement for a New Congress (1970). Brager (1967) had earlier drawn social workers’ attention to the “debilitating effect of the Vietnam war on domestic social programs” (p. 106). These two allusions to the war, both less than a half-page in length and calling for little more response than letter-writing, seem a woefully inadequate response to the crisis.
In sum, war-related pieces in Social Work not only were extremely limited in number, but with one or two exceptions offered virtually nothing to readers desperate to stop, or at least understand, the war. There were no pointed editorials, no data-based articles on populations affected by the war, nor any extended discussions of the war’s relation to social work.
Child Welfare, the organ of the Child Welfare League of America, ranked among social work’s major journals and had a substantial circulation as well (Williams, 2002, p. 13). From 1965 to 1975, it carried only one article (out of 511) and one editorial (out of 135) that had content on the war in Vietnam. Nor was there anything related to the war in 201 short subjects and 76 letters to the editor. (See Table 3)
The one editorial and the one article, however, were remarkable. In 1970, Child Welfare reported on a resolution adopted by the Child Welfare Leagueof America and its staff. “The Board of Directors and staff,” it began, “… having assumed a responsibility for the well-being of children, wish to re-affirm their commitment to a society in America that affords children their potentialities, that preserves peace, and that respects the inviolability of life” (p. 364).
The nation’s involvement in war seriously impedes the full
attainment of our goals for children. We oppose those events and
conditions that threaten young people’s trust in American
institutions and democracy, that destroy their ideals, their hopes
for their own futures and the future of their country. As national
spokesmen for children we ask the President and the Congress to take
every feasible action to end the war which is contributing to the
alienation, the dehumanization, and death of children and youth, and
to use the resources now spent on war to overcome the malignant
inequalities and injustices in our own society (p. 364) (emphasis
In the context of nearly total silence from the profession, this CWLA position is so brilliant, so precise that it takes one’s breath away.
In the second article (1973), “Issues in the Residential Treatment of Children of Military Personnel,” Rodney Keller, associate director of a residential treatment center, discussed “father absence” in military families and the “not uncommon” practice of referring a boy whose father is away on a distant military assignment to a residential center for treatment (p. 27). Father-absence may produce, Keller wrote, “a permissive, erotic, seductive relationship between the oldest male child and the mother [the result of which] can be an aggressive, narcissistic child.” Keller’s diagnoses may not be shared by all social workers, but his discussion of the pressures felt by military families was instructive. Fathers, he thought, often felt that participation in family therapy could jeopardize chances for promotion or security clearance. Further, military families in his experience were reluctant to direct their frustrations at the absent father “because he is absent on business of national significance sanctioned by the larger civilian community” (p. 29). This is the type of practice-based wisdom that allows the profession access to the very real agonies faced by military families, and in many ways stands as a poignant statement against war.
Public Welfare, the widely-distributed journal of the Public Welfare Association, was the fourth journal assessed. Its record was stunning in its poverty of reference to the Vietnam conflict. In the ten year period, 1965-1974, two out of 470 articles had content on the war; zero out of 42 editorials; one out of 441 short subjects; and zero out of 17 letters. (See Table 4)
The two articles appeared in 1972 and were both speeches given at the annual conference of the Public Welfare Association, one by Wilbur Cohen and the other by Robert Mondlock. Cohen’s comments underscored the relationship of social welfare to war: “The gigantic problems that face our country,” he began, “continue to mount: the continuation of the war, the increase in poverty, difficulties in race relations…. We need continuous, vigorous leadership and intelligent action to end the war. We must continue to press President Nixon and the Congress to end not only this war, but to end all wars. Escalation of military expenditures must be ended” (p. 58). Mondlock, following the lead of Marshall McLuhan and others, focused on media. “Remember the Beatles’ really big song from a couple of years ago,” he asked.
I read the news today, oh, boy
About a lucky man who made the grade …
I saw a film today, oh boy
The English Army had just won the war.
A crowd of people turned away,
But I just had to look,
Having read the book …
I’d love to turn … you … on….
“When the Beatles say, ‘I’d love to turn you on,'” Mondlock went on, “they weren’t singing about the drug scene. They were singing about getting involved, investing your emotions, participating, caring” (p. 67) (emphasis in the original). Neither Cohen’s nor Mondlock’s remarks contained more than a few sentences about the war, but those few sentences brought alive the possibility of rich, engaged discourse. They are illustrative, too, of the concept that silence is never complete.
In summary, less than half of one percent (.43 percent) of the total number of articles published by four major journals had any content at all about the war. In the war-related articles that were published, only one contributed research-based knowledge of the impact of war (Fendrich, 1972); two provided some practice-based commentary (Keller, 1973; Marchese, 1973); two (Cohen, 1972; Mondlock, 1972) spoke, but relatively briefly, about engagement; and one editorial took a strong stand against war (Child Welfare League of America, 1970). In ten years of publication, it seems an astonishingly poor record.
How shall we read the absence in social work journals of a war that resulted in the deaths of 58,000 Americans and 1,300,000 Vietnamese? Post-modern theorists’ conceptualization of language, knowledge, and dominant discourse provide one avenue of analysis. Journals, as we noted earlier, are a principle means through which professions define themselves and their members. Social workers, scholars, and the public at large learn from journals what social workers do, what they believe, and what constitutes knowledge within the profession. Journals include some topics and exclude others, privilege some ideas and marginalize others. This process–which is not random, but rather proceeds from a particular perspective–results in the construction of frameworks. Michel Foucault, exploring the issues of power, points out that frameworks are a form of force, a method of social control. In time, what is seen and what is excluded becomes set, and in that process a whole cultural discourse–a dominant discourse–is constructed (Chambon, Irving, & Epstein, 1999).
An example from outside academia may help elucidate this process. If, for example, popular women’s magazines of the 50s contain no mention of McCarthy or House Un-American Activities Committee activities, then we could say the “construction” of woman in popular magazines is a person not interested in McCarthyism. Women who were thinking about fashion, home design, and parenting were included; women who resisted McCarthyism–for example, the women of Women’s Strike for Peace–were marginalized and excluded. Of course, this is a powerful means of social control and proceeds from the perspective of the dominant power in society.
One way to reveal that which has been constructed is to deconstruct. This examination of journal articles has attempted a deconstruction. During the Vietnam War era journals constructed an idea of what social workers were–and were not; of what constituted social work knowledge. We can conclude from the study’s findings that the idea “social worker” did not include protesting–or even researching–the war. Social work practice–with young men, soldiers and their families, or refugees, for example–need not include an analysis of war, the experience of war, or power relationships internationally. Social workers who did protest the war were marginalized–sometimes described as “impulsive” or “quixotic,” but mostly invisible. Their practice and research were excluded from what the profession defined as knowledge. Social workers who protested the war were not the only ones excluded, of course; soldiers and their families were also excluded, as were Vietnamese people. It is not difficult to identify the social control at work. Opening a major journal, a student or practitioner would find no encouragement to protest, certainly, but also no encouragement to study the situation of soldiers, families, and civilians caught up in the war. There was scarcely any encouragement to explore the knowledge that social workers had–for example in the military or in veterans programs and refugee centers.
Joseph Paull in the midst of the Vietnam war wrote that social work tends to “legitimate a consensus orientation and oppose an adversary one.” This ideology, he went on, produces a “flight into expertise as a way of dealing with controversial problems and value dilemmas…. The picturesque term, ‘doing intake at Buchenwald’ and its variants came to refer to individuals who show imagination in doing socially assigned tasks but do not deeply question the institutions that assign them…. (1971, p. 31)” This, of course, is a serious charge in a profession that prides itself on its liberalism. There will be many opinions about it. Nevertheless, it seems accurate to say that social work’s leading journals kept silent in a period that called for speaking out.
Since this is a paper about rule-breaking–or rather the absence of rule-breaking–during a particular era in social work’s history, I would like to conclude by breaking a rule of academic discourse to speak about my own involvement with this study.
In 1998 PBS aired a brilliant documentary about the Vietnam War entitled Regret to Inform (Sonneborn, 1998). The director, Barbara Sonneborn, is a Vietnam War widow who interviewed war widows, both US and Vietnamese, about their and their husbands’ experience of war. It is a profoundly moving, profoundly anti-war film, and for me brought back vivid memories of the Vietnam War and my years protesting it. (I was thrown into protest against the war in 1966 by the demonstrations against Dow Chemical at the University of Wisconsin, and later became a full-time organizer for the Wisconsin Draft Resistance Union.) The years of intense involvement with the war flooded back, and I was struck with how much the war had shaped my life and how deeply we believed in the movement to stop it. I remembered that in the midst of the fear, how un-alienated I felt and how linked to other activists around the world. It is a sentiment that others in social work will remember well.
I saw the film at a time when I was feeling particularly alienated from social work, and prompted by that I began to examine the profession’s journals for the war years. If who I am was being built in those years, what was being built within the profession? This article has documented the results of that search.
Noam Chomsky writes, “It is the responsibility of intellectuals to speak the truth and to expose lies” (1997, pp. 192-93). I believe that both we and our students would be less alienated and infinitely better served if we spoke truth to power, if we said what is honest, if we provided a deeper, more critical analysis than what passes for intellectual work in much of the profession. If we were more engaged.
I’d like in conclusion to return to 1968, where we started, that year that “rocked the world” and in which social work journals were so silent. Jeannette Rankin, a social worker from Montana and the first woman elected to Congress, was 87. She’d begun her Congressional career in 1917 by voting against US entry into World War I. In 1968, after five decades of standing for peace, she was still marching (this time at the head of the 5,000 womanstrong Jeannette Rankin Brigade) and arguing for US withdrawal from Vietnam:
It is unconscionable [she told Washington, DC, protesters] that
10,000 boys have died in Vietnam, and I predict that if 10,000
American women had mind enough they could end the war, if they were
committed to the task, even if it meant going to jail (quoted in
Alonso, p. 222).
It’s clear, despite the silence of social work journals during the Vietnam era, that the profession has within it an activist and left heritage. I think it is time–for the sake of ourselves, our students, and the world–to dust it off and stand with millions the world over against the present administration and war.
Articles and other entries in Social Service Review, 1965-1975, with
content on the War in Vietnam
Articles Editorials Short Subjects Letters
1965 0-34 * 0-0 0-52 0-4
1966 0-28 0-0 0-53 0-9
1967 0-26 0-0 0-52 0-2
1968 0-20 0-0 0-32 0-2
1969 0-23 0-0 0-32 0-5
1970 0-28 0-0 0-29 0-7
1971 1-25 0-0 0-24 0-4
1972 1-25 0-0 0-19 0-0
1973 0-23 0-0 0-22 0-5
1974 0-25 0-0 0-9 0-2
1975 0-27 0-2 0-8 0-5
Total 2-284 0-2 0-332 0-45
Percent .70% 0% 0% 0%
* Read: zero out of 34 articles had content on the war.
Articles and other entries in Social Work, 1965-1975, with content on
the War in Vietnam
Articles Editorials Short Subjects Letters
1965 0-54 * 0-4 0-5 0-28
1966 0-51 1-4 0-3 0-22
1967 0-52 0-5 1-12 0-24
1968 1-50 0-3 0-17 0-28
1969 0-22 0-2 0-8 1-20
1970 0-48 1-4 1-13 0-24
1971 1-46 0-4 0-11 0-32
1972 0-72 0-6 0-19 0-50
1973 1-71 0-6 0-27 0-50
1974 0-67 0-5 0-23 0-46
1975 0-58 0-6 0-40 0-43
Total 3-590 2-49 2-178 1-367
Percent .51% .08% .12% .27%
* Read: zero out of 54 articles had content on the war.
Articles and other entries in Child Welfare, 1965-1975, with content
on the War in Vietnam
Articles Editorials Short Subjects Letters
1965 0-54 * 0-29 0-17 0-22
1966 0-51 0-24 0-22 0-7
1967 0-47 0-16 0-15 0-19
1968 0-47 0-10 0-11 0-3
1969 0-44 0-15 0-34 0-8
1970 0-47 1-10 0-26 0-3
1971 0-46 0-6 0-15 0-2
1972 0-46 0-8 0-15 0-4
1973 1-54 0-3 0-10 0-1
1974 0-38 0-9 0-20 0-1
1975 0-37 0-5 0-16 0-6
Total 1-511 1-135 0-201 0-76
Percent .20% .74% 0% 0%
* Read: zero out of 54 articles had content on the war.
Articles and other entries in Public Welfare, 1965-1975, with content
on the War in Vietnam
Articles Editorials Short Subjects Letters
1965 0-39 * 0-4 0-25 0-0
1966 0-42 0-4 0-36 0-0
1967 0-40 0-4 0-56 0-0
1968 0-32 0-4 0-70 0-0
1969 0-51 0-4 1-74 0-0
1970 0-59 0-4 0-64 0-0
1971 0-54 0-4 0-62 0-3
1972 2-43 0-4 0-4 0-8
1973 0-41 0-4 0-0 0-0
1974 0-30 0-2 0-25 0-6
1975 0-39 0-4 0-25 0-0
Total 2-470 0-42 1-441 0-17
Percent .42% 0% .22% 0%
* Read: zero out of 39 articles had content on the war.
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SUSAN KERR CHANDLER
University of Nevada, Reno School of Social Work
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