We stood at attention in a single row, red flag with a yellow star waving overhead and before us a monument to the Viet Cong who had served in either the French or American war or both. We were surrounded by hundreds of graves that represented only a small number of the millions that were killed in those wars. This was a national military cemetery with graves meticulously positioned, not unlike Arlington or our military cemeteries across the country. One by one we marched to a granite urn and placed three sticks of incense in the sand it cupped. We saluted, perhaps not as sharp as we once were but with as much sincerity and respect as we ever had. Some might not understand our demonstration of respect for our enemy. They were tenacious and had earned our respect, and little by little, it was time to let it go.
Many who had been Viet Cong are still with us, and often they approached us on the street. Smiling, they said, “I Cong.” Then we shook hands, saluted one another and raised two fingers to form a “V”, the symbol for peace.
We all wished we had done more for the families, but we also knew that in reality we had helped them achieve a dream that they probably often thought to be unobtainable, particularly for Thuy who lives in a society where women owning property as significant as a house is rare. The Habitat wrist bracelets from Vietnam say: “I am a dream builder.” That's why we came. We accomplished our mission.
Our last dinner in My Tho brought our spirits to a peak. Vietnamese food is a complex combination of innumerable ingredients that culminate in complex dishes mostly impossible to eat with chopsticks. We could build a house but had we not begged for spoons, we would have starved. There were exceptions. Some of the guys are involved with organizations that bring them back to Vietnam on a regular basis. Jack has aided in the effort to return the remains of those missing in action to America. Francis is involved in a program to increase education.
Dinner ended. We sat talking pretty much about what appears in this blog. Then in predictable Asian style, karaoke broke out. Our skills, for the most part, at using chopsticks and singing appear to be the same, except for Jack who does a nice job with both. As the evening wore down it was time to pick a final song. For this sing-a-long- we chose “Where Have the Flowers Gone?” Locking arms and swaying, we sang, perhaps a little off key, but with all our hearts. To end the dinner, without accompaniment, we sang “God Bless America.” We left the restaurant a strong band of brothers and sisters.
Nights like that don't end easily. We gathered on the roof top restaurant of our hotel with two new friends: Chivas Regal and Crown Royal. We toasted our fallen brothers in mass. Then we remembered those we knew personally by name and sadly acknowledged that there were far too many. We agreed that we were able to perform as we did in the cemetery because those soldiers too would have rather been home with their families living peaceful lives than fighting us in the jungle; it was a political war and in a political war those who wage it do not fight it. During the moment of silence we observed a calmness that seemed to shroud the city.
When will they ever learn?
