There are lots of strong feelings about that war. I have quite a few Vietnamese friends. We never discuss the war with the exception of the man who told me about his father and his escape after the war. Not the war, but the price of losing.
I don't know if you've watched the PBS Burns-Novick "The Vietnam War" 10 episode, 15 hour documentary. I needed a box of tissues to watch it, very emotional. I found hearing the thoughts of my old enemies worthwhile but agree with my veteran friends that he was too easy on them. I mention it because none of my Vietnamese friends would watch it. I'll never know what they think of me for my participation. I've been called a murderer, but never by a Vietnamese person. Since you did not participate in that war have they discussed it with you?
One of the times I put myself in counseling over my general ill fit in this world I had an epiphany that I will not repeat here, words coming out of my own mouth that rotated my world to a new axial tilt. I spent the rest of the day aglow, everything seemed saturated with meaning (but with no LSD). I went and had lunch at my favorite Vietnamese restaurant and read an English language Vietnamese paper that included a poem whose penultimate line was
Vietnam is not a war.
On most other days I might have just gone "huh," but on this day it shot right through me. Now I live here.
Honestly living here one would never know it ever happened. I've seen variety show reenactments and not a dry eye in the house among those old enough to remember; a mother hurriedly handing her baby over to someone on a yacht headed out to a rescue ship.
I've been to a village that Cambodians invaded in 1980 and slaughtered nearly everyone, a monument of human bone, a tiny monk pointed to the temple floor, "they beheaded my father right here."
But I have never seen a squint of resentment for being American.
Like I said, in 1998 there were still disfigured and maimed people, but they are all gone now. I saw one ticket seller with no hands, too young to have been in the war, and wondered if a land mine had gotten him.
That's what I thought the was about until you told me about the word. I guess I'll just give that a pass.
I don't remember the story. Google sent me to this, not a full page ad. https://www.nytimes.com/1994/02/07/opinion/l-the-war-is-over-107182.html
There are lots of strong feelings about that war. I have quite a few Vietnamese friends. We never discuss the war with the exception of the man who told me about his father and his escape after the war. Not the war, but the price of losing.
I don't know if you've watched the PBS Burns-Novick "The Vietnam War" 10 episode, 15 hour documentary. I needed a box of tissues to watch it, very emotional. I found hearing the thoughts of my old enemies worthwhile but agree with my veteran friends that he was too easy on them. I mention it because none of my Vietnamese friends would watch it. I'll never know what they think of me for my participation. I've been called a murderer, but never by a Vietnamese person. Since you did not participate in that war have they discussed it with you?
One of the times I put myself in counseling over my general ill fit in this world I had an epiphany that I will not repeat here, words coming out of my own mouth that rotated my world to a new axial tilt. I spent the rest of the day aglow, everything seemed saturated with meaning (but with no LSD). I went and had lunch at my favorite Vietnamese restaurant and read an English language Vietnamese paper that included a poem whose penultimate line was
Vietnam is not a war.
On most other days I might have just gone "huh," but on this day it shot right through me. Now I live here.
This is not the NYT but this exact image and words was a full page there. I kept it for years but like so much memorabilia it is long gone
https://www.liverpool.ac.uk/media/livacuk/politics/images/blog/happy-christmas-war-is-over-blog.jpg
Honestly living here one would never know it ever happened. I've seen variety show reenactments and not a dry eye in the house among those old enough to remember; a mother hurriedly handing her baby over to someone on a yacht headed out to a rescue ship.
I've been to a village that Cambodians invaded in 1980 and slaughtered nearly everyone, a monument of human bone, a tiny monk pointed to the temple floor, "they beheaded my father right here."
But I have never seen a squint of resentment for being American.
Like I said, in 1998 there were still disfigured and maimed people, but they are all gone now. I saw one ticket seller with no hands, too young to have been in the war, and wondered if a land mine had gotten him.
I'm happy to read of their recovery. It actually seems amazing to me.
Mines. I have no words for how much I hate them.