Saving Hope: A Humanitarian's Mission In Vietnam

Ba Ho: Shelter From the Storm

2007-01-06T01:25:00.000-08:00

Ba Ho: Shelter from the Storm

Two and a half weeks ago, eager to experience in mind, body, and soul the naturalistic Nha Trang countryside and all its chromosome carrying inhabitants, Jenny, a volunteer English teacher for Travel to Teach whom I have become good friends with, and I, without trepidation, journeyed 20 mostly paved kilometers north of Nha Trang to seek excitement and enlightenment from an isolated scenic pleasure known as the Ba Ho waterfalls. We selected Ba Ho as our destination of leisure due to two main factors: its alleged beauty - water cascading down cliffs of igneous rock gracefully and into chirping pools of ripple, and its remote location - stationed at the conclusion of two kilometer dirtrock road west of Phu Huu hamlet.

The combination of Ba Ho’s scenic splendor and geographic seclusion appeared to provide Jenny and I with a perfect escape from not only the rigors of teaching adolescents English as a second language, but also, to free ourselves from, if only for five or six hours, life in Nha Trang’s tourist district: the continuous low glow and high locus hum of neon signs, the de rigueur social solute, an over population of low-priced, aesthetically displeasing Christmas decorations, and the peddling of Western indulgences.

(Lifes Short, Party Hard!)

Looking to free ourselves from the shackles of an economically, technologically, and socially developed Vietnam, in our trip to Ba Ho we found refuge.

Made atop a rented cobalt blue Kawasaki motorbike with a broken fuel gage (a fact that I will dive into later), our excursion to Ba Ho, through intentions, was a loosely planned affair.

It was no wonder than that twelve minutes into our trip, before our capricious conquest of Ba Ho had even bode tam biet (goodbye) to the congested city limit’s of The Trang, the degree to which Jenny and I had become directionally discombobulated was obvious: a ten minute drive to the edge of urban life, a seven minute ride in the other direction, a five minute stop to ponder with guidebook map the location of Highway 1, and Jenny’s fruitless four minute pause at a Vietnamese only speaking restaurant to obtain directional clarity.

No worries.

After engaging Jenny in a short round of siblingesque vocal tug of war to cement whom bares responsibility for the situation (We both thought the other to be responsible), the sharing of a stomach flexing laugh or two, and my tea leaves defying proposal to “Go that way,” I aimed the motorbike in a northerly direction: towards a less traveled blacktop road that stretched up and into the bosom of mountain wilderness.

Off to suckle we went.

(To Be Continued)

Nha Trang Reflections: To Live, Work, and Play

2006-11-09T04:11:00.000-08:00

Nha Trang Reflections: To Live, Work, and Play

I soared from Saigon’s Ta Son Nhat’s airport into the bustling but relaxed coastal community of Nha Trang by twin engine plane on the 28th. Since my arrival events have unfolded rather nicely. My familiarization with the city multiplies by the minute. So much so that people are beginning to recognize me around town. To illustrate to readers the conditions that I live, work and play, I start fist with a description of my hotelroom. The place that I’m housed, called Dong Phuong Hotel, provides me with everything I, a person spoiled by American luxuries, require: a toilet, shower (With hot water I might add), cable (Of the 30-some channels, a third are in English. Therefore my viewing pleasures are confined to C.N.N., Discovery Channel, edited versions of Asia H.B.O. and Star Movies, and Animal Planet), mini-fridge, and bed.

Another amenity provided by Dong Phuong hotel, besides the three to four small, light green lizards that live on my floor, is the ideal location; a leisurely stroll from both beach and work. The lone issue with room 303 is that the air conditioner is broken. However, to facilitate an environment of comfort, I need only to open one or two of the room’s eight elongated windows. Once freed from their tenured fasteners, the windows are quick to welcome in with open arms the gusty winds of the South China Sea; a refreshing feeling. Now that I have described my living quarters, onto where I volunteer, an establishment called Crazy Kim’s Bar & Restaurant.

It’s at Crazy Kim’s Bar that I labor, happily I might add, for three hours a day teaching English to underresourced children and adults (I use the word “underresourced” to describe my student’s economic situation because the remark “poor” often comes attached with stigmas). I direct with the assistance of an older Vietnamese gentleman whom I refer to consciously as “the disciplinarian,” three one hour long sessions (9:30-10:30, 10:30-11:30, & 2:30-3:30) six days (I get Sunday's off) a week out of an ill equipped (Again, I’ve been spoiled the luxuries of twentieth century technology) but functioning (chalkboard, chalk, and lesson book are all that’s necessary) second floor 25x15 ft classroom.

My first class is comprised of about twelve (some days students don’t show up) rambunctious (just the boys) less skilled students, ages 8-12, the second, about twelve well behaved students, fluent, ages 12-17, and the third, three advanced students who are workers at Crazy Kim’s Bar. Each day students are expected to bring to class pen and writing booklet to copy down daily lessons from the blackboard. The English lessons that I teach are, from the perspective of a native speaker, relatively basic and include pronunciation skills, spelling, writing, word identification, and grammar. I mark in each student’s writing booklets a score, usually out of ten, at the end of each class to document the degree to which the student put forth an effort to learn the lesson. I almost always give each student a ten out of ten. Once done with class my students either go home to do family chores, to work (younger students sell trinkets; older students tend bar), or to afternoon classes. What do I do after class? Well, on some days I tutor a couple of indivduals privately, on others, I do whatever I want. Which leads me to the next topic. Play.

Two blocks east of Crazy Kim’s rests the soft, caramel colored sands of sunny Nha Trang beach. Flanked in the distance by the mountain framed terrain from almost all angles, and accentuated by towering palm tress, bamboo bars, eroding footprints, and toned, bronzed bodies, Nha Trang beach is the crown jewel of coastal Vietnam. Bottle of water, beach towel, and suntan lotion in bag, I walk a five minute stroll to the beach to lie lazily in sun regularly. Once settled in the sand, impossible to miss are the towering, turquoise waves of the South China Sea. The liquid giants, which are an intimidating but captivating menace, relentlessly pound the shoreline as if intent to settle a score. The unusually strong beach break that pummels Nha Trang beach is due largely to one factor, Tropical Storm Cimaron, which rips its way towards Hong Kong as I write (My best wishes for the people of Hong Kong when it makes landfall). Thankfully, for me (that sounds selfish), the powerful waves will subside after Cimaron careens onto the southeastern coast of China. Only after the size of the waves reduce in size will I feel comfortable swimming in the South China Sea‘s vast waters. I look forward to the embrace. Until then, I am content to be a sunbathing spectator. Besides sunbathing, when at the beach I regularly enjoy half mile long strolls into the fetching distance. It's amazing how quicky an individual can walk a mile in the company of such beautiful scenery. Nha Trang beach truly is paradise found.

Emotional Numbness: Visiting the War Remnants Museum

2006-11-07T04:50:00.000-08:00

Emotional Numbness: Visiting the War Remnants Museum
Location: Saigon

October 23, 2006

Today, for less than one dollar (10,000 dong), I toured for two hours the pro-North Vietnamese First and Second Indochina Wars Remnants Museum freely. My thoughts, I could not help but notice the quiet look of alarm on a number of peoples faces as they took in pictures of babies disfigured by agent orange, human beings graphically burned by napalm, pacification programs gone wrong, ruthless carpet bombing campaigns, chilling stories of torture and imprisonment, and Nguyen, a forty something year old trinket salesman without arms or a functioning right eye - the result of stepping on an unexploded ordnance from the War era as a young man - who wondered the museum grounds engaging visitors. However, due to my in depth study of American foreign policy during the Cold War and massive collection of Vietnam War era photos and documentaries, I cannot say that I shared in the shock. How can I view such things, which were piled frankly from floor to ceiling at the museum, without exploding spontaneously with anger or grief? I have, in the best interest of myself (anger complicates judgment and understanding), come to an awkward peace with the U.S. government’s actions during the Cold War. Though if I had visited the museum two or three years ago, I imagine that I would have been reduced to an fuming, disheveled mess.

For the last four years of my existence, at the cost of having much of a social life, I have examined Cold War history and American foreign policy intensely. It has desensitized me so thoroughly to images of torture, imprisonment, violence and death that feelings of anger and disbelief simply do not register anymore. Whereas some people may see absolute wrongness and the evils of mankind when they view the War Remnants Museum, I see the cold reality of human behavior during a time in which civilizations were mired in ideological conflict. Yes, I have truly elevated myself to an objective realm of emotional numbness. Some individuals may call me inhuman for having such a neutral state of mind and body in the company of such a violent era in world history, but at this juncture in my life, I stand firmly on dispassionate ground. The sentimental deadness that I feel inside when viewing War era documents stems largely from two factors, firstly, the fact that right and wrong are issues not easily measured by the empirical senses (i.e. What some see as immoral, others may view as necessary), and secondly, the research that I’ve undertaken on the behavior of a quantity of American radicals with anti-war viewpoints during the 1960s and 1970s (i.e. Calling soldiers baby killers, spitting on veterans, carrying the Vietcong flag and alienating the working class are odd ways to sway a population to one‘s side).

On a different note, besides destruction and death, the museum did express, although not to an equal scale, a positive result to the Vietnam Conflict, which took shape in the form of brightly painted post-Second Indochina War era children’s artwork. An entire room was devoted to such imagery. In the artwork I observed themes of love, peace, happiness and nation building. I found the artwork to be quite refreshing. The pro-peace artwork was something that my Vietnam guidebook and free pamphlet I collected upon entrance to the museum failed to mention. Why did the mediums that I had access to mention only the negative side of the war? Well, if you asked a conflict theorist, he or she might say that it’s acts of conflict, rather that acts of peace, that best attracts attention (i.e. revenue for the museum). Regardless of the overall aim of the museum, by incorporating the reunification-themed artwork I believe that the museum’s creators were trying to express a belief that societies ravaged by conflict can forgive others nations for their past actions. I can only hope that other human beings and nations exposed to such atrocities are as forgiving as the children of Vietnam. Children truly are the world's most valuable resource and the best hope for our world.

Reunification Palace

2006-10-28T23:02:00.000-07:00

Built by the French architect Hermite, Ngo Dinh Diem's (South Vietnam's President)Independence Palace, renamed Reunification Hall by the victorious Ho Chi Minh-led Communist regime after the fall of Saigon (1975), dominiates a large park in District One.

F.Y.I. In February 1962 planes piloted by two of the South Vietnam's finest airmen took off to attack the Viet Cong (South Vietnamese Communist fighters), but turned back mid-flight to bomb the palace, in an attempt to assasinate President Diem (Diem missused his power so much that even his own military tried to kill him), in residence since 1954. President Diem, who, through two rigged elecitons held office from 1955 to 1963, escaped with his family to the cellar, but the palace had to be demolished and replaced (Diem was assasinated in 1963 after a military coup).

One of the most memorable photographs taken during the Vietnam War was of North Vietnamese Army tanks, which were supplied by the Russians and Chinese, crashing through the gates of the palace on April 30, 1975, marking the end of South Vietnam and its government (a similar tank stands in the forecourt). President Thieu, who took power in 1967,
and his cabinet were arrested here shortly after the assault.

Xa Loi Pagoda

2006-10-27T02:09:00.000-07:00

Xa Loi Pagoda (Pronounced Sah Loy) is historically rather than artistically important (though it is beautiful), as it became a focus of dissent against the Diem regime; it was here that several Buddhist monks committed suicide by setting themselves alight (self-immolation). Hundreds of monks and nuns were arrested in a raid on the pagoda in 1963, among them the leader of the Buddhist faith, then aged 80. The raid on the pagoda symbolized an end to a policy in Vietnam; a policy in which the Kennedy administration supported the Diem family dictatorship. Soon after the well publicized raid on the pagoda Diem was killed in a U.S. backed coup de'tat.

F.Y.I. Martin Luther King Jr. called the Diem administration one of the most ruthless in the history of mankind. After Diem, during the mid-1960s, the U.S. supported a man named Nguyen Cao Ky, who openly stated that "Hitler was his only hero." These are the types of people the the U.S. supported during the Cold War in order to stop Communist expansionism in Vietnam. Sad. Reality,though.
Location: Saigon

(Above and to the right) Thich Quang Duc: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thich_Quang_Duc

A Path To Vietnam: Psychedelia, Hippies and the Vietnam War

2006-10-27T00:51:00.000-07:00

As my date of departure for Vietnam has come and gone, many of you (my friends and family) may be inquisitive as to why I designated the tropical Southeast Asian country, a land most know only from what they viewed on poorly pixilated television screens during the Vietnam Conflict or read about in a transitory paragraph or two from an outdated high school history book, as the location for my humanitarian work. The answer: To satisfy both academic and humanitarian desires; not because I am a red eyed, Communist sympathizer - though socialism has some good ideas. Interestingly, the academic appreciation my intellectual palate developed for the country of Vietnam advanced rather inadvertently. How? Through a series of causal events that commenced about four years ago with an academic interest in a North American social movement from the 1960s and 1970s. What North American social movement? A faction from the New Left (complex of Marxist-based activist movements in the 1960s and 1970s that, unlike Marx and the labor issues-oriented Old Left, dedicated their energies to manifesting social and political change) known as the hippie movement.

At first my studious academic pursuit of the New Left grounded itself more in the movements aesthetical features rather than theoretical underpinnings; meaning that the New Left’s wardrobe, brightly decorated with psychedelic patterns, disheveled long hair, sometimes accentuated with hand picked flowers, and Marley-like marijuana joint, rolled to creaseless perfection with a Zig Zag, lured my interest over an effort to objectively comprehend the movement‘s economic, social and political beliefs. The ability to see past the aesthetically pleasing kaleidoscope-colored, yellow submarine embroidered curtain of the hippies to the movement’s ideological backdrop precipitated after I turned on and tuned in to one entity: a compelling novel entitled Acid Dreams: The Complete Social History of L.S.D., the C.I.A. and the 60s. Through a meticulous history lesson on the Cold War, which I was not well versed, the authors of the Acid Dreams, Martin A. Lee and Bruce Shlain, document a causal relationship between the increase in C.I.A. research on psychoactive substances (Projects MK-ULTRA and ARTICHOKE) for the purpose of psychological warfare and a spike in L.S.D. consumption by cultures of dissent in North American society. What does this have to do with Vietnam? Patience.

After taking in the first two decades (1945-1965) of the captivating but troubling history of government sponsored psychedelia in the well penned pages of the Acid Dreams I stumbled eagerly into the 1960s and 1970s. After a great deal of reading I quickly discovered that throughout the tumultuous period consumption of psychotropic substances and vehement criticism of North American foreign and domestic policy ran hand in hand. Two particular psychonauts with a habitual fancy for governmental criticism featured in Acid Dreams that captivated my interest were Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman, the cofounders of the Youth International Party. Throughout the revolutionary careers of Rubin and Hoffman, both with

the Civil Rights Movement and the New Left, the two dedicated their lives, at times militantly, to bringing about positive changes in not only America, but the world. One particular act of aggressive public protest during their tenure as master manipulators of social and political norms that attempted to facilitate an end to a global injustice took place outside the gates of the 1968 Democratic National Convention (D.N.C.) where Rubin, Hoffman and a massive swarm of delightfully nefarious characters unmasked an objective to, through creative public ritual, influence a community and political party to an inflexible, socially destructive and murderous policy in Vietnam.

It was at the 1968 D.N.C. that Hoffman and Rubin, skillful avant-garde organizers of anarchistic tactics, played an interesting hand: In front of a captivated swarm of eager media persons, Hoffman, with a sly smile, threatened to tap Chicago’s water supply with L.S.D. (A scenario concocted by the C.I.A. fifteen years earlier) during the convention. The threat by Hoffman to dose out thousands of Chicagoans, a threat that I later learned the Yippies never intended to follow through with, proved to be distinctly engrossing to me because the reactionary statement put the Yippies in a direct and dangerous conflict with a hegemonic American government?

To me, the Yippies erratic behavior begged the question: Why did Rubin and Hoffman make such an outlandish statement in the face of the ruling power structure; a ruling power structure quite capable of putting them in prison? Answer: The hope of tricking the opportunist media into covering, and therefore mobilizing, the New Left’s campaign to end the escalating war in Vietnam. Of course, the media fell right into the Yippies’ trap; hook, line and sinker. It was through the Kafkaesque environment outside the gates of the 1968 D.N.C. that I became aware of Vietnam.

From there spiraled an academic flirtation; borderline obsession; to find out more about the country and its relationship to the United States. However with this flirtation came a great deal of responsibility as I uncovered - right or wrong - the lengths to which the U.S. government went to stop Communist expansionism in Vietnam. The data, which includes acts of violence such as the 1972 Christmas bombing, a savage demonstration bombing of Hanoi and Haiphong by the U.S. military in which schools, a hospital, and urban living quarters were intentionally targeted with over 40,000 tons of ordnances, the Phoenix Program, a C.I.A. supported assassination program run by the South Vietnamese Army that neutralized over 20,000 South Viet Cong fighters, and Agent Orange, a chemical defoliant sprayed by the U.S. military to expose enemy forces that caused horrific birth defects in children, proved to be so overwhelming that after graduating from Washburn - before I am to become a cubicle encaged capitalist - I felt Vietnam to be an appropriate place to provide my humble services; to give back in any way possible to a country scared by the Cold War. After a bit of research, an opportunity to volunteer in Vietnam produced itself by way of teaching English to children (as an alternative to their entering the brothel community) under the guidance of a non-profit, non-governmental organization called Travel to Teach. So I signed up for 24 weeks.