RUINS OF THE BATTLE FOR HUE

A hole was blown into this Citadel wall during the 1968 Tet Offensive

It’s another day in the former imperial city of Hue, and I make another visit to the massive Citadel, where the kings lived. This time I’m in the southwest of the complex, walking along the inside wall of the old fortress. Several feet thick in places, it's made of stone blocks and brick. It's also heavily scarred in many places. Back during the war, communist troops took over the entire Citadel in the 1968 Tet Offensive. This part of the Citadel was among the last of the holdouts for the communist side, and they they put up a fierce battle against US forces here.

Shrapnel holes still scar the Citadel's walls

Many war damaged buildings are still in ruins

Walking along the wall, some marks peppered here and there are from individual bullet rounds. They are dwarfed by much larger holes and damage from heavier American military might. Since the stubborn North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and Viet Cong (VC) were so well entrenched behind the thick walls of the Citadel, American forces had to rain down everything short of B-52 strikes, in order to take the Citadel back. Some of the explosions have blown holes through the thick brick walls large enough for a man to crawl through. There’s still a lot of shrapnel and spent bullets lodged deep inside the old walls as well.

In the fighting for Hue and the Citadel, communist troops were well supplied, well armed, and well entrenched. In the first days of the fierce battle, the ARVN and small number of US Army troops that faced them were unable to win back the city on their own. So what was the solution for the American generals? Send in the Marines.

Brought in from their base just south of the city in Phu Bai, the US Marines had mainly been fighting in Vietnam’s countryside. To retake Hue, they would face their first urban battle in Vietnam. As they battled through the city, the Marines had to fight their way from house to house, and block to block. Progress was slow, and fighting was heavy. They first battled to retake the south side of the city, and after a rare amphibious crossing of the Perfume River, they moved to attack the heavily fortified Citadel where I am now.

Reconstruction is underway for this royal walkway

The queen mother's tile floor is now exposed to the elements

Although the French had attacked the Citadel in decades past, the fighting that took place here between the Marines, and the communist troops was the heaviest fighting the Citadel had ever seen. The scarred walls and ruins still here remain as silent witnesses to the destruction. When the battle for the Citadel was finally over and the city of Hue was declared secure, the total number of casualties was high. The ARVN had 380 dead, and 1,800 wounded. For the Marines, about 150 were killed, and more than 800 injured. This was an extremely high rate of casualties, and amounted to almost half of the Marines in Hue.

Facing massive firepower, the number of NVA and VC casualties was even higher, with an estimated 5,000 dead. Trapped in the citadel in the final days, many had fought to the end. In what had been one of Vietnam’s most beautiful cities, more than half of Hue had been destroyed.

Meandering through the other walled in enclosures, I enter Ta Tra royal hall, an old royal waiting room for the queen mother. On the floor is gorgeous, intricate royal tilework, but above it, there is open sky. Only the building’s frame remains standing, it’s a skeleton of a building now. An engraved sign states, “TA TRA BUILDING WAS SERIOUSLY DAMAGED BY WAR IN 1968 AND BY A TYPHOON IN 1985.”

An elephant roaming the Citadel? It's tied down. Or is it?

Between the wars, typhoons and aging, it’s a wonder that any of the royal complex survived at all. Some of the compounds in the Imperial City are nearly vacant. The long green grass of nature has replaced luxurious buildings, and only a few broken walls and old foundations remain. 

Leaving the battle scarred section, I stroll over to the Citadel's restored side.  Here one part of the royal complex has been transformed into an art university. As I walk past it appears that school is out, since I don’t see any students. The only resident I see inside now, is an elephant! He seemed to be staring right at me, waving his great ears back and forth as I walked past. With tall grass around his feet, I couldn’t tell if he was tethered to anything, or not. I wasn’t about to approach him to find out. 

He must have been secured somehow; I can’t imagine an elephant being allowed to roam loose inside the Citadel.

FORBIDDEN CITY FOR KINGS

Ngo Mon Gate, entrance to the 'Forbidden' City

When we think of Vietnam’s leaders, the first that come to mind are Ho Chi Minh and the communist party. But that's only recent history. Once upon a time, Vietnam was ruled by emperors. These kings were later conquered by the French, but even under colonialism the monarchy continued to be an integral part of Vietnamese society. There were many kings, queens and dynasties who ruled Vietnam; they often came to power after kicking out the occupying Chinese. Gia Long, the first emperor of the final dynasty, moved Vietnam’s capital to Hue in 1802. I’ve arrived in this imperial city, and I’m on my way into the emperor’s old fortress, the Hue Citadel.

A taxi takes me across the Perfume River, and on the far side I’m dropped at the Citadel gate. This is the first of a series of old fortified walls that I have to pass through, until I reach the more interesting areas within. The original outer wall of the old city stretched for six miles in length.

Crossing an open field I reach a moat, and gaze up at Ngo Mon Gate, the entrance to the Imperial City. It’s an impressive stone gate, three stories tall. With it’s round tiled rooftops, dragon like figures, and triple entrances, the elaborate gate resembles the entrance way to the Forbidden City in Beijing. The Vietnamese hated Chinese domination and fought to expel them, but that didn’t stop them from building their palaces and gates with Chinese architecture.

Dragon decor of Ngo Mon Gate

I climb the steps to the second floor viewing area, situated right above the gate’s center. It’s an excellent view, as it should be. This is where the emperor stood for official royal functions, presiding over ceremonies and parades. This also happens to be where Vietnam’s monarchy officially ended. The last emperor Bao Dai, officially abdicated to Ho Chi Minh’s government here in 1945, ending centuries of Vietnamese royal tradition. By that time Bao Dai was just a figurehead king anyway, and his abdication didn’t sit well with the French, who were absent due to Japan’s invasion during World War II. But the French returned to Hue soon after, as they sought to retake their colony.

Looking around at the royal interior, I spot a sign that reads, “NGO MON MONUMENT RESTORED WITH JAPANESE AID VIA UNESCO. The impressive gate appears quite old, but the fact is, not much of what I see is original. That’s because this royal gate was heavily damaged in fighting between the North Vietnamese Army and American forces, during the Tet Offensive of 1968.

Hue is only about 40 miles from the former De-Militarized Zone, which used to divide North and South Vietnam. As Vietnam’s old capital, it became a prime target for a surprise offensive. When fighting started most of Hue was guarded by ARVN troops, and the invading North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and Viet Cong (VC) quickly overwhelmed them. Within hours they took most of the city, establishing a base here within the citadels heavy walls.

A great deal of blood was spilled to fly different flags from the tallest flag pole in Vietnam

Beyond a parade ground across from Ngo Mon Gate, is a three tiered fortress tower made of dark stone. A massive 37 meter tall flagpole rises from the center, the tallest flagpole in Vietnam. Since Hue is the former capital, the flagpole is highly symbolic. When the communists took the citadel, they tore down the yellow and red flag of the Republic of Vietnam, and replaced it with the Viet Cong colors. The fighting in Hue was so heavy, and resistance so fierce, that US troops were not able to remove that flag until 3 1/2 weeks later. 

This flagpole is so tall and heavy, that it was once knocked over by a typhoon. Strong guy wires hold it in place now to keep it from falling over again. The dark stone of the fortress contrasts with the bright red color of the huge flag flying there now, the current flag of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam. I can’t walk up the tower, since this part of the citadel is totally blocked off and locked up. Maybe they’re afraid someone will try and tear the flag down again.

Elephant in the old Citadel. Can I have a ride too?

Beyond the gate as I enter the Imperial Enclosure, I read an entrance sign posting rules for visitors. One part reads, “NOT TO BRING IN THE DYNAMITE, POISON AND WEAPON”. I see their signage crew needs help with their English grammar.

Unlike the more crowded streets of Hue, in here is a vast courtyard, and I’m immediately met with an unexpected sight. Walking down a wide sidewalk heading straight towards me, is an elephant! Well, there’s something you don’t see everyday. The handler is sitting behind the elephant’s ears astride the great beast’s neck. He must fancy himself as some kind of Asian cowboy, since he wears a cowboy hat. Behind him, two westerners enjoy the ride on a saddle-like chair.

The points of the great elephant’s tusks have been sawed off, probably for safety. Well, the emperor used to ride elephants here in the Imperial City, so why not visitors? I step aside while the elephant lumbers slowly past me, and I continue on ahead to explore the old citadel.

Where the palaces once stood, there are now green fields

I reach the symbolic center of the Citadel, the Forbidden Purple City. Similar to  the original Forbidden City in Beijing, it's far smaller in size. Here is where the palace residences were for the king, queen and his concubines. It’s neither forbidden, nor purple any longer, since the royal residences are completely gone. In their place there are only two long depressions in the trimmed grass. They ought to change it’s name to the ‘Green City’.

The palaces were totally destroyed long ago, and even the wrecked bricks have been removed. Unlike Ngo Mon Gate, these royal buildings weren’t destroyed by American firepower in 1968. During the colonial years, the royal residences and other Imperial City buildings were destroyed by the French. This happened first as the French sought to force Vietnam’s emperor under their thumb, then again later to put down independence uprisings. During the days of the Tet Offensive, the media blamed the American military for destroying the heritage of Hue as they retook the Citadel from the NVA and the VC. The fact was, many of the Citadel’s old historical buildings had already been destroyed by the French, decades before.

In the post-war era, what was left of the royal buildings continued to decay,

Restoration work on war damaged buildings continues throughout the Citadel

since the communists had no interest in preserving royal history. But when tourists returned to Hue, they quickly learned that foreign visitors with money would pay to see the royal Citadel, so restorations commenced. 

On a covered walkway adjacent to the residence site, I see restorations in progress. Craftsmen labor up on bamboo scaffolding. Women in blue uniforms and conical hats wheel around carts full of bricks. Hue was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1993, and the long process of rebuilding continues. But I wonder, after being pummeled by artillery from two western armies, over two different centuries, was there really that much left here to preserve? In any case, the glory of Vietnam’s former royals are being restored, though it will never be completely rebuilt in our lifetime.

Atop the back wall of the enclosure, I watched restoration work on a bombed out royal building. The ceiling was gone, along with one entire wall. I watched one laborer as he carried construction materials up to the site. He couldn’t have

Once destroyed by war, the Mieu Temple has been restored

known I was watching, because after he set down his load, he stepped right up to the old royal building, and urinated on the wall. I guess he didn’t take any pride in his work.

I find some finished restoration work at the Mieu Temple, where they honor the memory of all the Nguyen Dynasty’s kings. Looking at the the layered yellow tile work, and mythical creatures on the rooftop, I'm again reminded of China. It’s painted red, the good luck color, and yellow, the color of royalty.

I remove my shoes upon entering, since for Vietnamese Buddhists, this is revered ground. Inside are pictures, shrines and incense for each of the emperors. I wonder why there are no monks here. 

I exit this impressive looking restored temple, to find that the building next to it remains a ruin. Only the front and rear facades are  still standing. Metal supports hold up what’s left, so that they won’t collapse any further. Some impressive restoration work has been completed, but much remains to be done.

This ruin that was wrecked in the war awaits restoration

***CONTINUED IN NEXT POST: More on the Battle in the Hue Citadel*** 

THE UNLIKELY HERO

Thi Lien was saved by a helicopter crew

I'm continuing my visit to the My Lai massacre site in Vietnam. It's a sad memorial place, a rural village in central Vietnam where hundreds of civilians were killed by US soldiers in a 1968 operation. I've already met one woman that survived that massacre, an older lady in her 80's who is still there today. She had told me her moving story of survival.  

Among the landscaping near the My Lai memorial statue, I see another woman in her 40's tending to the greenery. Like so many Vietnamese women who work the rice paddies, she’s wearing long gloves to protect her skin from the sun. From beneath her conical hat she looks my way, and pauses from her work. She smiles at me, and gives me a friendly wave. It turns out that she is also a survivor of the massacre that occurred here!

With the help of my translator, I learn her amazing story. 

Her name is Nguyen Thi Lien, and she was only seven when the attack happened. Today she’s tending a garden of shrubs here in My Lai, next to the long ditch where more than 100 civilians were shot to death on that horrible day in 1968. My translator says that she was at this same ditch when the shooting happened. Her mother covered her, and when the shooting stopped, they both played dead among the other bodies. Then the American soldiers walked away. The dead were all around them, so they gathered with other survivors in a nearby bunker. They started yelling, hoping someone from a nearby village would come and help them. A squad of US soldiers heard their screaming, and returned to finish them off.

Before the soldiers reached their bunker, a small US helicopter swooped down from the sky, and landed in between them. The pilot and his armed crew got out, and placed themselves between the civilians and the other American soldiers. There was talking and shouting, but Thi Lien couldn’t understand what they were saying. She couldn’t know it, but in between the profanities, the American pilot had told his crew that if the approaching soldiers opened fire on those civilians, than his helicopter crew was to return fire on the soldiers.

The pilot approached the terrified Vietnamese in the bunker, and motioned to Thi Lien and the others inside that they should come out. His aim was to take them to safety. Since they already feared the Americans from the killings that they had witnessed earlier, Thi Lien and her mother fled on foot to a nearby village. At the request of the pilot, another larger helicopter landed, and took the other surviving villagers to safety. 

An OH-23 helicopter. Colburn and his crew saved Thi Lien, and 9 other civilians. (Photo: US Army)

With all the killing of civilians at My Lai, Thi Lien was fortunate that this one group of US soldiers had intervened to stop the massacre. He had saved 10 village civilians from certain death.

The pilot who had saved them, was US Army Warrant Officer Hugh Thompson. He had been flying a reconnaissance mission over My Lai in his OH-23 Raven. He and his door gunner Larry Colburn, and crew chief Glenn Andreotta saw the corpses, and the killing that was happening beneath them. Horrified by what they saw, they landed to stop the further murder of civilians. 

Besides Thi Lien and others in the bunker, another boy was saved by this crew with a conscience. As they were flying overhead, they saw movement in the dozens of corpses lying in the bloody ditch. After landing the helicopter, crew chief Andreotta waded into the tangle of bodies, and pulled out an eight year old boy named Do Hoa. Andreotta and Colburn brought him onto the chopper, and Thompson flew him to the nearest hospital in Quang Ngai. He hadn't been seriously injured, and the boy survived. 

Thompson as a young pilot (Photo: US Army)

As horrible as the massacre was here, the Vietnamese still recognized that these three US soldiers performed their duty with honor, by saving 10 civilians. Photos of them and their story, are posted in the memorial museum. 

As for what happened to this hero helicopter crew, two of them survived the war. Only one of them still survives today.

Glenn Andreotta, the helicopter crew chief who had pulled the young boy Do Hoa from the corpse filled ditch, never made it home to the USA. He was killed in action in Vietnam only three weeks later.

The hero pilot whose actions had saved the civilians, Warrant Officer Hugh Thompson, managed to survive the war, even though his helicopter was shot down several times. The last time he was shot down, he had broken his spine. Although he was awarded the Distinguished Flying Cross for his actions at My Lai, Thompson threw the medal away, seeing it as an attempt to buy his silence. But Thompson’s silence could not be bought. He later testified about the massacre at military inquiries, at the court martial of Lt. Calley, and even before the US Congress, so that the awful truth about My Lai could be known.

Thompson was quickly ostracized by other pilots and army officers. He received hate mail and death threats. Thompson left the army for good in 1983. Afterwards, he continued to fly civilian helicopters, ferrying workers out to gulf oil rigs. 

L to R: Thompson, Colburn, Do Hoa, and Colburn's son in 2001 (Photo: Kummer)

It wasn’t until many years later, that Thompson was finally recognized publicly for doing the right thing. In 1998, the Pentagon awarded him the soldier’s medal. Thompson initially refused to accept the medal, arguing that his two crewman deserved the citation as well. On this point, Thompson won, and they all received the award. Later in 2004, Thompson was inducted into the Army Aviation Hall of Fame. 

Sadly, two years later Thompson died of cancer in Louisiana at the age of 62. His former door gunner, Larry Colburn, came to visit him on his death bed. The two had reconnected in the years afterwards. Today, Colburn is the only survivor from their original helicopter crew. Like Thompson, he had testified for the inquiries, and he has given many interviews for articles and documentaries about My Lai. Colburn now owns a medical supply business, and lives outside of Atlanta with his wife and son.

On a better note, in 2001 Thompson and Colburn traveled back to Vietnam, back to My Lai. Working with the Wisconsin Quakers, the former soldiers returned to dedicate a new elementary school for the children of My Lai village. These two honored veterans were even able to meet with some of the survivors that they had saved, including Do Hoa, the traumatized little boy that they had flown to Quang Ngai Hospital. 

It was a reunion that had been a long time coming. In the following years, the young Vietnamese boy that they had saved, had grown into a man. Do Hoa had become an electrician. 

Even though he was now an adult, Do Hoa addressed both Colburn and Thompson as, ‘Poppa’.

MASSACRE AT MY LAI

The memorial statue in My Lai

I’m walking down a quiet path of a rural village, when I hear the sound of a bird unlike any that I’ve ever heard before. The sound of this bird wasn’t a song, and it wasn’t a chirp. This sound was a shriek of terror.

As I turned towards the sound, I caught sight of a bird of prey. It had swooped down from the sky, attacked the smaller bird I had heard, and was now grasping it’s victim in its talons. The smaller bird shrieked and struggled, as the larger bird carried its prey down to the ground, and out of sight in the tall grass. The smaller bird continued to shriek, and shriek, and shriek. Then the shrieks grew fainter.

Then they stopped.

I had never seen a bird kill another bird before. It was the strong, killing the weak, and it was a violent, and cruel sight. It’s especially eerie that I see this attack happen in the place where I’m standing right now. I’m in a village called Son My, and in March of 1968, death descended here from the skies above. What happened in this farming village, came to be known to the outside world as the massacre at My Lai.

Arriving by helicopter on that fateful morning, were 120 soldiers from Charlie Company, from the 23rd Infantry Division. These US Army soldiers were on a ‘Search and Destroy’ mission, and since they were told the village was a Viet Cong stronghold, they were expecting a fight. As the G.I.’s swept into the hamlets, they encountered no armed resistance at all. Despite the lack of resistance, the soldiers began killing the village's civilians.

The soldiers forced the villagers from their homes, gathered them together in groups, and shot them. Other villagers were shot in the back as they fled. Some were forced into their family bomb shelters, and grenades were tossed in after them. Still others were stabbed and slashed to death with bayonets. More than one woman in the village was raped.

It's hard to believe that this tranquil village was once the scene of horrible violence.

Most of those killed were women, children and old men. There were few men of fighting age in the village that morning. By the time the soldiers left four hours later, hundreds of Vietnamese civilians were dead, and the houses of My Lai were burning to the ground.

The current Vietnamese government claims that 504 people were killed here. The American military claims that 347 died here. The actual number of those killed is probably somewhere in between. For the Americans, there was only one casualty. One soldier had been shot, but it was only from a self-inflicted wound. The young soldier had shot himself in the foot to avoid taking part in the bloodbath. Some of the soldiers refused to take part in the killing, but most did.

Throughout history, the US Army has had many honorable victories. Yorktown, Gettysburg, Omaha Beach, and more. But what happened here wasn’t a victory, it was the killing of civilians. The My Lai massacre became a stain of disgrace, on the reputation of the US Army.

As I walk through this somber place, I find the village to be the saddest place I will ever encounter in Vietnam. Part of the massacre site has become a memorial to those who died here, and the mood is truly melancholy. Heading down one walkway, I pass the statues of three women and a baby. The green statues are all frozen in macabre poses. Each figure is depicted at the moment of their death. It’s as though they are stopped in time, caught in the moment that they were struck by gunfire. 

Although the village was destroyed in the massacre, one house has been rebuilt as part of the memorial. A grey haired gardner is tending the yard, and she smiles at me as I approach. I step into the home of what was once a simple Vietnamese farming family, and it looks much as it did before the destruction of that terrible morning. The house is a simple two room farmer's home, with basic wooden furnishings, and a small Buddhist altar. The thatched rooftops of this and the other homes, made it easy for the soldiers to burn down the entire village using little more than  cigarette lighters.

Once destroyed, this family's home has been rebuilt

Nearby, are more disturbing re-creations. Two homes were reconstructed to look as they did immediately after the attack. Where once there were two humble Vietnamese homes, left in their place are the shells of two burned out ruins.

In front of one destroyed house, a sign states the following: “House of Mr. Do Phi’s family restored after being burnt down by US soldiers on March 16th, 1968. Five of his family members were killed.” The sign also lists their names and ages. 

Do Thi Hiep              57
Nguyen Thi Tuong    23
Do Cu Bay                  9
Pham Cu                    4
Do Cu                         1

Surrounding the grim ruins are more family home sites, built only to their foundations. All have a sign posted, listing the names and ages of the family members killed that morning. Sign after sign, family after family, the numbers of the dead add up.

Even the footpaths have been marked to remember that day. No longer just bare ground, the paths have been covered in concrete that is painted to look like dirt. Embedded into the concrete, are eerie tracks. Like the remade ruins, the paths have been recreated to appear as they did the day the massacre happened. They are  marked with the footprints of bare feet, made to represent the villagers. There are the tracks of bicycle wheels, which were so common in those days. Finally, there are the distinct imprints of army boots, like those worn by the soldiers.

Ha Thi Quy, survivor of My Lai

Finding shade by the thatched roof house, I sit on a bench to get comfortable. Seated next to me, is the gardener I saw trimming plants by the house. My translator introduces me, and I receive a heartfelt greeting. With greying hair, the older woman has few teeth; she appears to be in her 80's. She has to be the oldest gardener I’ve ever met. It turns out there's far more to this woman than meets the eye. This friendly senior citizen, is not just a gardener. I’m shocked to learn that she's also a survivor of the My Lai massacre! As we converse, the woman’s dramatic story unfolds. Her name is Ha Thi Quy, and she was 43 back when the massacre happened. 

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” she tells me, and those few words hit hard. As she begins to tell me her story, her friendly face totally changes. She becomes somber, and her eyes have a very deep, faraway look. This look has also been called, ‘the thousand yard stare’. It's a look common to people who have witnessed traumatizing events.

Ha said that the soldiers gathered up more than 100 villagers that day, and forced them together into a ditch before they opened fire. The ditch she speaks of is only yards away from where she is speaking to me now.

“I was shot in the leg,” Ha tells me, and she shows me her scar. The soldiers fired on the crowd repeatedly, and they returned later to finish off those wounded. Two of her children were killed there. Ha survived in the ditch by playing dead, with other bloodied bodies lying on top of her. She remained there until the soldiers had gone. One of her children survived, as well as Ha’s husband, who was away working the fields that day. After burying their two children, there was nothing left for them in their village.

“Before the massacre, my family was fine financially,” Ha said. Afterwards she was left destitute. The family house had been burned to the ground, and they lost all their possessions. “We moved away and lived with other relatives,” she said.

The war and the massacre have taken so much from Ha and her family, that she still hasn’t recovered. In her old age she should be retired, but her government pension isn't much, so she continues working here as a gardener. Ha has shared her painful story with me, so I feel the urge to help her in some way. Before I leave her, we walk together around the corner of the house. Out of sight from the other staff, I quickly place twenty dollars into her unexpecting hand.

Ha looks up at me, and her face lights up all over again as she shakes my hand enthusiastically. Twenty dollars is not much money to an American, but I’ve just given her the equivalent of a week’s pay. It’s the very least I can do.

I’ve been to many memorial sites before, but this is the first one I’ve ever been to where survivors of a massacre are present. The presence of eye witnesses here, and their first hand stories, makes my time in My Lai even more mind blowing. Memorial statues can be lifelike, and signs can list the names of the dead. But when it comes to communicating the horror of what happened here, there is nothing more effective, then to see a survivor’s face as she tells their personal story. 

Life size figures displayed in the museum graphically depict the massacre

Also in the village is the Son My Museum. I enter, and as one would expect it’s a depressing place. Visitors are so moved by what they see here, that they view the displays with a silent reverence. On the walls are shocking photos taken during, and after the massacre by US Army photographer Ron Haeberle. His graphic photos of civilian corpses became the most damning evidence of the massacre. Haeberle’s photos ended up on the front pages of newspapers around the world, exposing the massacre to millions. Some  photos are so bloody and graphic, that they couldn't be shown in the American press. That didn’t stop the museum from displaying the gruesome photos here.

A chilling exhibit on display has life sized plaster figures, depicting a scene of the killing. Two soldiers are shooting five Vietnamese dead, four of them women and children. Another soldier pulls a woman by the hair to join them. In the painted background, bodies lie in the bloodied ditch. Smoke and flames rise from village huts as they burn.

Up on one wall are post-war photos of five American GI’s that took part in the massacre. None have them have ever been convicted of murder. The Army investigation of My Lai was a whitewash, and although 26 soldiers were charged in the massacre and subsequent cover-up, almost all were cleared of wrongdoing in military courts. Even Capt. Ernest Medina, the commanding officer present in My Lai who took part in the killings, was declared innocent. In the judicial farce that followed the massacre, there were was only one conviction. Lt. William Calley became the scapegoat for the entire massacre. In 1971 he was found guilty of 22 counts of premeditated murder. Although Calley was sentenced to life imprisonment and hard labor, even this feeble attempt at justice was foiled. Soon after his conviction Calley’s sentence was reduced by President Nixon. He served only a few days in jail, followed by 3 ½ years of ‘house arrest’.

A large museum plaque lists those who died here

This massacre caused many anti-war protestors to label US soldiers in Vietnam as ‘baby killers’. Average American citizens back home almost couldn’t believe it. They wanted to know how a group of average American young men had been turned into cold blooded killers of civilians. There were no simple answers. The Viet Cong wore civilian clothing, so US soldiers often couldn't tell if Vietnamese were friend or foe. The vast differences in language and culture compounded the problem. Other soldiers of Charlie Company had already been killed or wounded by landmines and booby traps. Add to that the recent death of a popular sargeant, and the massacre could be interpreted as a revenge attack. But the biggest reason for the killing seems to be that the soldiers were ordered to do it by their superiors.

I exit the museum, and come to the main memorial sculpture. The grey stone statue stands two stories high. It’s a grim image; two surviving women among a group of lifeless bodies. One stern faced woman holds a dead child in one arm, while her other arm points skyward in a fist. The killings didn’t bring defeat to the Viet Cong here. If anything, this massacre strengthened their resolve to fight on, and led other civilians to join their cause.

With the opening of the museum, the number of visitors to My Lai has grown. Visitors can take photos of anything they want here, but the press is still tightly controlled in Vietnam, so professional media are kept on a leash. For this reason, two foreign visitors drew a great deal of attention a few years ago. On that day, Vietnamese staff noticed an American with a professional video camera, accompanied by an older American. Since the pair didn’t have official permission to film a documentary, they were brought into the museum office. There they were questioned by the director, Pham Thanh Cong. As a young boy, he had also survived the massacre here. After questioning, the older American eventually confessed to being one of the soldiers of Charlie Company who took part in the massacre that day.

This survivor later became the museum director

“Why did you kill my family?” the director yelled at him. “How could you do such a thing?” The war veteran sobbed, and gave the same excuse given by other soldiers that had killed civilians in My Lai. “I was ordered to do it.”

The old veteran is lucky that he wasn’t arrested for war crimes. Fortunately for him, the policy of the current Vietnamese government is not to dwell on the wars of the past. In the interest of continuing positive relations with the American government, he was released, but not before his unannounced visit made the local papers.

One film director interested in this little village is Oscar winner Oliver Stone. A Vietnam veteran himself, Stone recently visited My Lai, aiming to film a movie about the massacre. After Stone went through all the official channels, the Vietnamese government withheld their blessing, and rejected his request to film his movie about My Lai within Vietnam. It seems that the government prefers that the massacre, like the rest of the war, should be left in the past. Like so many Vietnamese I’ve met, they prefer to focus on Vietnam’s present and future. 

Ha and another friendly survivor, Thi Lien, continue their daily work of gardening on the grounds of the memorial park. I’m amazed that these two ladies have the fortitude to work on the same land where they lost their family members. I’m further amazed that both of them were so easily able to smile and wave at me, an American.

“After the war ended, the government gave me a small house,” Ha said. She had another child, and her surviving family moved back near My Lai. She now has grandkids as well. Although she still mourns the loss of her two children, she isn’t consumed by hatred. “I don’t hate American people,” she told me. Ha’s forgiveness is admirable.

As for the soldiers who took part in the killings, after they escaped justice, most of the  Charlie Company infantrymen left the army as soon as they could. A couple soldiers had chosen to make the army their career, but they were later forced out of the service.

This woman escaped the massacre, because she was at the market that day

None of them can forget what they did here. After the ex-soldiers returned home to civilian life, many continued to be haunted by the memories of those that they had killed at My Lai. This left them with a new foe to confront: Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. Many of the ex-soldiers struggled with drug or alcohol abuse.

One of the soldiers who took part in the massacre, former Specialist 4 Robert T’Souvas, ended up homeless in Pittsburgh. He was later murdered in 1988, shot in the head by his homeless girlfriend over a bottle of vodka.

Another soldier, former Private First Class Varnado Simpson, became very remorseful over his part in the massacre. He admitted in a documentary interview that he had killed at least 25 villagers. Years later, violence would plague his own family as well, when his young son was shot to death near his house. Simpson took multiple medications to control his PTSD, and attempted suicide several times. In 1997, he finally killed himself with a shotgun.

As for the convicted Lt. Calley, after he was paroled from house arrest, he returned to Columbus, Georgia. There he worked for years at his father-in-law’s jewelry store. He had one son, and later divorced. For decades, Calley refused to speak to any journalists about the massacre. He repeatedly tried, and failed, to get a large cash advance in exchange for an exclusive interview. It wasn’t until 2009 at a Kiwanis Club meeting, that he finally gave a public apology for his role in the massacre. It took Calley more than four decades to publicly declare remorse for what he had done. Other soldiers who took part in the killings continue to bear guilt for the My Lai massacre. They live with their own personal demons.

Beyond the boundaries of the Son My memorial park, the rest of the surrounding hamlets that were destroyed that terrible morning have long ago been rebuilt. If you walked through those surrounding villages today, you would never guess that such a horrifying, evil episode could ever have taken place here.

But the awful truth is, it did happen. What happened here should never, ever be forgotten. What happened here in My Lai should forever be remembered, so that it will never, ever happen again.

ATTACK OF RUBBER SNAKE ON MARBLE MOUNTAIN

Buddhist temple on 'Marble Mountain'

It's a new morning, and I'm just south of the central Vietnam city of Danang. I’m climbing stairs up a long hill of bedrock. Step after step, I go up and up, until my legs begin to ache. My quads are going to get a good workout today.

Buddhist statues guard a cave inside the mountain

My guide Khanh has brought me to this place that in Vietnamese, translates as ‘Water Mountain’. Climbing higher, I discover that the rock that makes up this place is mostly marble, hence the nickname American soldiers gave this place: ‘Marble Mountain’. It really should have been named ‘Shrinking Mountain’, since the village next to it had been quarrying marble off of this mountain for generations. They were supplying local artisans, who made their living carving marble sculptures. As the artists continued to turn out their creations, the mountain shrank and shrank. Finally, they started importing their marble from China, and the mountain was saved from shrinking further.

I finish the long set of steps, which were somehow carved out of this mountain more than 200 years ago by Buddhist monks. Arriving at a leveled part of the mountain, I see the monk’s temple and surrounding buildings. There are still 15 monks living up here today.

Rising above the nearby coastline, Marble Mountain has a few natural caves, and Khanh and I head into them to explore. Most aren’t much to look at, until I walk into Huyen Khong Cave. Passing through an arch, an old stone sign translates as, “Cave heaven good hell.” Khanh leads on, and we enter the eerie place. Walking deeper into the mountain’s interior, it grows darker. We reach four Buddhist statues guarding an inner entrance, as though they are sentinels. “Two of them are good, two of them evil,” Khanh informs me. In the dim light, all four figures look rather menacing.


Descending further, the cave opens up into a large natural room. There is a bit more light in here. I look upward, and see holes in the cave ceiling, opening into the morning sky. Through the dim light, a large statue of Buddha is barely visible on the far side. Carved right into the cave wall, the statue didn’t always look down on Buddhist monks. In wartime this cave was controlled for years by the Viet Cong.

“In here was VC hospital,” Khanh tells me. Deep inside marble mountain, surrounded by solid rock, this was one of the few places where the guerrillas were reasonably safe from aerial bombing. As a hospital it couldn’t have been very sanitary though, since the cavern is damp, and not well ventilated. For years the Viet Cong occupied these caves, and ran the hospital deep within the mountain. Leaving the cavern, we walk towards the other side of the mountain. Reaching a narrow point of the walkway, we pass through an old stone arch. Looking closer, I see that both sides of the arch are pockmarked with countless bullet holes. This was a scene of a fierce firefight.

A bullet scarred arch marks where a fierce gun battle occurred in 1968

“American soldiers come, fighting here,” Khanh tells me. During the US military build up in Danang in the 1960's, the Americans decided to force the Viet Cong from Marble Mountain. There were heavy casualties in the fight to take this mount, and US troops prevailed. They held the mountain until they departed in the 1970’s.

Walking around the Buddhist temple complex, we enter a hillside garden. I find a sign within, with these notable below words of Buddhist wisdom. Wise words indeed. 

Through all of the conflict over the decades, the Buddhist monks have remained on the mountain, and their rebuilt complex has expanded. The monks were here before the war, during the war, and after the war. Finally, the mountain belongs to them alone. There are old legends that the monks guarded royal gold hoarded in the caves, but it hasn't been found. 

Further ahead, Khanh points to the mountain’s peak, and tells me that US soldiers had a lookout point up there. The marines called this observation post, ‘the Crow’s Nest’.

View looking south along the coast. On this peak US troops had the 'Crow's Nest' lookout post.

“They come on helicopter”, Khanh says. Back then, rather than climb the mountain as we did, the forward observers were picked up and dropped off by air. With my legs weary from the climbing, I’m wishing I had a helicopter right now. But I still have some energy left, so I decide to climb to the top for a look myself. I don’t know it yet, but I’m going to regret it.

I start my way up another staircase, recently installed for visitors like me. Eyeing up the steps, they look very steep, and not particularly safe. Khanh goes ahead, and I start my climb up slowly.

Workmen stare down at me, after the hose burst right in front of me

Up ahead, I hear a jackhammer pounding away, breaking up heavy rock at the top. As I continue my ascent, I pass a noisy air compressor, with a rubber hose running up the steps. Must be for the jackhammer, I think. A few steps on, I pause on the staircase and pull out my camera. That’s when it happens.

POW! There’s an explosion, right in front of me. Then I hear a loud hissing noise. I duck, and cover my head with my arms, managing to not fall backwards down the steep steps. The hissing continues, and I peer briefly between my arms, to see a fantastic sight. The black rubber hose from the air compressor is flailing around wildly, right in front of me, inches from my face. Blowing out steam from the end, it looks like some giant, mad snake, breathing smoke as it fights for its life. Gradually, the hissing quiets down, and the hose finally collapses to the ground.

I catch my breath. That was a very close call. I have just been attacked by a rubber snake.

The workmen above heard the explosion, stopped their work, and are now standing at the edge of the peak, staring down at me. I pause a few moments to gather my thoughts and thank my maker. Then I have a look at what caused the mishap. A poorly fashioned hose connection had ruptured, apparently from a weak clamp. If that clamp or the hose had hit me in the head, I could’ve tumbled right back down the mountain.

I continue the rest of the way to the top, and the workmen continue to just stare at me. There are no apologies. For many Vietnamese, to apologize after a mess like that would have been a loss of face to them. One workman makes a weak attempt at a joke. I don’t laugh.

Looking around the peak, there are chunks of marble lying everywhere, the results of the jackhammer’s work. Apparently the workmen are installing some kind of visitors platform, but at this point there’s nothing but rocks and brush. The workmen return to their mission of attacking the mountain’s marble, this time  with safer hand tools. At least now I don’t have to put up with the noise of their unsafe jackhammer. After regaining my composure, I take in the scenic view of the surrounding coastline. It’s a very commanding view. I take a deep breath, taking it all in. I can see why the Viet Cong had fought so hard to try and keep this mountain, you can easily see for miles in every direction.

Nearby are a few smaller mountains, and at the base of the mountain is a village. Decades ago there were more shacks down there, now it’s a thriving community of rowhouse homes crowded right up to the mountain’s base. Highway 601 cuts between through the village, heading further south of Danang. I had heard about the southern area from my buddy Kenny, the former US marine who was based there in the 60’s. During the war, villages further south were aligned with the VC. When they fought with the marines, many artillery shells fired by both sides never exploded, since they landed in soft sand.

A view of the neighborhood surrounding 'Marble Mountain'

An Australian engineer I met was working on that sandy land now, supervising construction of a new tourist golf course there. When I passed by it on the highway, I saw his bulldozers pushing sand about. I asked him if they had found any unexpoloded munitions while they were digging.

“Loads and loads”, he said. “artillery, rocket propelled grenades, used bullets.”

Talk about a golf hazard.
 
He told me how some of the Vietnamese construction workers would find this unexploded ordinance, and then play with it. “They would toss it back and forth, and they’d be laughing,” he said. The workers were playing a dangerous game of hot potato. Through some kind of miracle, none of them had been killed. Yet.

To the opposite side of the peak, in the far off haze to the north, is Danang itself.

“There airport,” Khanh says, pointing north up the coast. In the distance, I can make out the runway of the old Marble Mountain Air Facility, built by the US military. Half-cylinder cement hangers are now empty, and the remains of the former American base are now quiet. Part of the base is still polluted with deposits of Agent Orange. It will become prime real estate if it ever gets cleaned up.

Other parts of the old air base however, are already being developed. Next to the ocean, where the base used to have barbed wire fences and guard towers on the beach, I now see huge new hotels under construction. With the need for hotels rising, the base’s beaches weren’t going to remain in the hands of Vietnam's military for very long. The profits of peace are bringing more and more construction into Danang these days.

DESTROYED TOWN OF BEN TRE IS REBUILT

Buzzing downtown of Ben Tre. Few cars, many motorbikes.

I’m out for a stroll, wandering through the center of an old river town. Now that I’m out of Saigon, I’m feeling the slower pace of life in the Mekong Delta.

Dried fish and fresh produce await customers in shop doorways. Motorbikes  putter past me on the downtown street. On the next street corner, an older Vietnamese woman in pajamas sells freshly baked loaves French bread. The colonials may be gone, but the Vietnamese still enjoy French pastries.

As compared to other old towns in the Mekong Delta, this provincial hub is more modern. The buildings that surround me have an appearance of urban renewal. For an old provincial capital, it bears a look not very common to Vietnam. I notice that for an old colonial town, there are far fewer French colonial buildings around. That’s because most of them have been destroyed years before.

Various groups of townsfolk greet me as I pass. “Hello! How are you? Where you from?” they ask energetically. I get the idea that I’m something of a rarity here. Few tourists come to this part of the Mekong Delta, and even fewer of them are American. Given the history of this town, I’m not surprised.

Old town cinema. Bullet holes can still be seen on the sign.

I’m in the delta town of Ben Tre, which was well known as a rebel stronghold, even long before the American military arrived in the 1960’s. The new look that it has today, is due to the enormity of war’s destruction.

In 1968 when the Tet Offensive hit South Vietnam, the Viet Cong managed to briefly capture this town. Soon after American forces counter-attacked to take Ben Tre back from the VC. Taking the town by house to house fighting was brutal and difficult, so the American military opted for artillery and aerial attacks. They won the battle and regained the town, but not before much of Ben Tre was destroyed by American firepower.

When the fighting stopped, more than half the town was in ruins. Over 400 VC were killed in the battle, but the civilian death toll was even higher. In the aftermath, many bodies were dumped into the Ben Tre River.

The manager of my hotel is a Ben Tre native, and his father was involved in the fighting. “My father VC (Viet Cong),” he told me. His father had survived the battle, and his son relayed his simpler version of those fateful days. “The VC attack. America bomb. Many, many people die.”

The fighting and destruction in Ben Tre produced the most infamous quote of the entire Vietnam War. After the battle was over, a US Army Major was quoted by Associated Press reporter Peter Arnett as saying, “We had to destroy Ben Tre in order to save it.”

Market destroyed in '68 fighting Photo: P Sharkey

There is little evidence left today of the massive destruction of those days. As I wander around the downtown, most of the buildings are new, but a number of old buildings that survived the fighting still bear scars from the assault. Looking carefully at the buildings that survived the shelling, I can still make out physical evidence of the heavy fighting that took place here decades before. As I walk around town I see one residence has bullet holes around the doorway. Another building has shrapnel marks scattered high across the walls. A tall sign that reads, “Cine Theatre” has eight bullet holes peppered up the façade. Those scars are certainly ugly, but with so much new architecture surrounding these old buildings, the damage isn’t very noticeable. Any major damage done to this neighborhood has already been repaired.

Passing an old government building, I come to the only sign of old fortifications in Ben Tre. Two abandoned, ground level bunkers sit at the corners of a government compound. Still showing pockmarks from gunfire, one bunker had a section of concrete knocked out, probably from a rocket propelled grenade.

Rebuilt market in Ben Tre today

Fortunately these old scars of war are the exception, since most of the buildings in town are from the 1970’s era or later. Much as Berlin rebuilt from the rubble of World War II to become the modern city it is today, Ben Tre has also risen from the ashes.

Arriving at the downtown’s center by the river, I reach Cho Ben Tre, the Ben Tre Market. This was also hit by fighting during the Tet takeover. “The market (was) gone,” the hotel manager told me of that time. “Fire… the buildings, fire.”

I look at the market now, and it appears brand new. It was rebuilt years ago of course, and once again it’s the center of commerce in Ben Tre. A lot of folks are eating at food stalls outside, so I stop in for something to drink. It’s a hot day,  the perfect time for a cold green tea.

Sitting down at an empty table, I’m not unnoticed. At the next table is a group of local ladies in their 30’s and 40’s. They don’t speak English, but from their giggling and curious looks, I can tell that they don’t see many white westerners here in the market. As I'm getting further south away from Saigon, I'm getting deeper into the delta where few foreigners venture. 

The market buzzes with commerce

The ladies motion for me to join them at their table, which I do, though I can tell communication will be difficult. A teenage waitress brings my order of green tea. One of the ladies at the table points to the waitress, then to herself. “She, daughter,” she says. It doesn’t take long before the woman tries to convince me to marry her daughter. Although flattered, I politely decline. One thing that hasn’t changed here in the delta, is that marriage to an American is a quick ticket out of poverty.

Another woman at the table seems to be in her forties. Through the use of hand motions, she informs me she is actually 60. Compared to white westerners, Asians often appear much younger than their age. Asian women seem to age gracefully.

I try speaking to them with a few basic words of English. There is little  comprehension, but lots of laughter. Another lady at the table joins in, and offers me another marriage proposal. “We marry,” she says, pointing to her ring finger. I decline again. More laughter.

I’m surprised at the jovial nature and friendliness of these local women. Most of them were old enough to survive the fighting that occurred here, and the US military once heavily bombed this town. As an American, the last thing I was expecting was marriage proposals, even if only in jest.

I pay my bill, and say farewell as I get up to leave. I receive a chorus of bye-byes from the friendly women, as a two year old approaches the table. Her mother takes her daughter by the hand, trying to get her to say bye-bye to me. The child cringes back in fear from the tall white foreigner. All the ladies laugh. The child is the only one at the whole table that is wary of me.

Memorial to the 1960 Ben Tre uprising

I make my way up Dong Khoi street, and head back to the hotel where I’m staying. Like the Dong Khoi Street in Saigon, this refers to the ‘uprising’ of 1960 here in Ben Tre against the dictator Diem, not a reference to the 1968 battle here with the Americans.

That earlier Viet Cong uprising is memorialized in town in Monument Park, where there are murals and towering Soviet style statues. There is a reference there to ‘fighting Americans’, but most US soldiers here in 1960 were only advisors. Full American combat units didn’t arrive in Vietnam until five years later.

Like the museums in Ho Chi Minh City, there are few people in the memorial park, it doesn’t appear popular at all. My hotel manager explained: “The people forget. The war in the past. Far.” He says his former Viet Cong father feels the same as everyone else. I’m sure his father hasn’t forgotten the war, but given the warm welcomes and friendliness I’ve experienced here, I’m pleased to find that I'm not seeing any bitterness.