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Published: August 7th 2010
Phong and I
In front of a dam destroyed in the war
Hoi An and My Lai I have a two-fold purpose in Hoi An; one is to meet with Phong, a Vietnamese war veteran, the other is to visit My Lai, site of a village massacre during the war.
Mr. Phong 8/6/10
I learned about Phong during my Mekong Delta trip in Saigon. Two British girls recommended him to me and I tracked him down at a restaurant in Hoi An.
I visited Phong's home along with a young German couple and an even younger Polish couple. Phong and his wife were quite sweet and gracious; very hospitable. He gave us a lot of history about Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh and his own experiences relating to communism and life in Vietnam before and after the war. Like many families, his was divided, with uncles and cousins fighting for the communist North and Phong siding with capitalism in the South.
I was hoping Phong would provide details about his war experiences, but he did not. Instead, he helped me understand how communism went into affect after the war. He explained a system of points and coupons similar to the American ration system during World War
II. But according to Phong, corruption and favoritism often resulted in shortages and empty markets.
Phong also took us on a tour of his village, Quang Nam. We saw quite a bit of large-scale, in-home production for such a small town, including tobacco, rice, rice wine, bamboo boats, livestock, fishing and othe types of farming. I enjoyed seeing how an ordinary village operates outside of the tourist industry.
After the village walk, Phong's wife fed us spring rolls, morning glories (which tasted a lot like spinach), beef noodle soup and fish. I recorded Phong's stories and am hoping I have good material for use in my classroom.
My Lai 8/7/10
This morning, when I was getting dressed for my day, I felt like I was getting ready for a funeral. I shaved, put on a t-shirt with sleeves and intentionally opted for camoflauge-style shorts. Today was the day I would be visiting My Lai, the sight of one of the worst massacres at the hands of American soldiers.
My Lai is located 130 km south of Hoi An. I hired a driver to take me to the small village which will forever be remembered for
the war crimes committed there on March 16, 1968. The area was considered a Viet Cong stronghold and was heavily bombed before platoons were sent in.
The villagers, mostly women, children and elderly, offered no resistance, but experienced horrendous atrocities at the hands of the American soldiers. Women and girls were gang-raped as their relatives were dragged from their homes and slaughtered. The soldiers shot and bayoneted fleeing children, killed livestock, set fire to homes and rounded up and machine-gunned over 150 unarmed villagers. Five-hundred and four people were murdered that day.
I am now on the return drive from My Lai and am still struggling with how to convey the power of this latest experience.
I started my visit in the museum where I viewed photos from the massacre. There were also items from the victims on display: cups, hairpins, books, clothing--items that survived the looting and the fires. There were photographs of both the victims and some of the soldiers who participated. One section of the museum highlighted the American soldiers who disobeyed military orders by rescuing some of the villagers and later discussing the event with the American media.
Outside of the museum,
a few statues depicting suffering and dying lined the path to the main statue--an older woman holding a dead baby with her fist defiantly raised in the air; bodies at her feet. By this point, I was pretty overwhelmed with emotion; quite sorrowful actually.
And then the coolest thing happened.
Two butterflies flew around me a bit and then landed, one on each shoulder. They sat there while I took in the statue. I looked around and observed the beauty of the area. The plants were in bloom, and well-manicured bushes and trees surrounded me. I could hear birds, insects and nearby farm animals making sounds of life. If I didn't know what happened here, I would think of it as a nice place to have a picnic and write under a tree.
But I know what happened here.
I walked towards the remains of the village with my butterfly friends circling around me. I was filled with an odd combination of sadness and peace. The two butterflies danced around me throughout my entire walk of the village.
I saw about a dozen foundations of what were once huts, with signs telling whose home stood
there and how many family members were killed. I walked to the ditch where 170 villagers were rounded up and machine-gunned to death. I stood in front of the mass graves. When I reached the parking lot, my butterflies flew on and emotion landed.
It all just seems so senseless.
Such inhumanity.
War creates this.
It STILL creates this.
War and Butterflies A peaceful sorrow touches me,
in this place where history
is seaped with blood and terror.
All around sweet nature plays,
this fragment of the past relays
such horror, now sleeping underneath.
The somber thoughts of what took place,
Is mankind's truth in war's embrace...
A grip I hope to see released.
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Valerie Lupei
non-member comment
Oh my God honey this was such a powerful post. Thank you so much for sharing that with us, it must have been such a hard day.