Reflections from Vietnam

October 4, 2002

“Sitting in meditation, I smile with joy.

This is a brand new day; I vow to walk through it in mindfulness.

The sun of wisdom will soon be shining all over our lives.”

Thich Nhat Hanh

“Vietnam is a country, not a war.” I heard that somewhere, and it is very true. Vietnam is a people at peace with themselves and the world. Most of all, the Vietnamese are a people of compassion. Like the well-known Vietnamese Zen Buddhist master, Thich Nhat Hanh, the country is full of people who see with the heart, and sow seeds of reconciliation with each glance.

Vietnam has been influenced by China and the Buddhism of the Mahayana school, which encourages a firm moral center as the only true power to effect change for the better. We had been forewarned that the Vietnamese love Americans. And this is exactly what we found. People passing by in the streets of Saigon, Nha Trang, and smaller villages, especially the children, would often smile or say “Hello!”

I had an unusual feeling when I first explored Saigon. Even though very little combat actually took place there, I felt like I imagined it might feel visiting Normandy, or Iwo Jima, maybe even Gettysburg or Appomattox. There is a hallowedness to this place, where so many lives were sacrificed.

But the Vietnamese live fully in the present. The past is where it needs to be. I did not see a crossed eye among them. They are busy with their lives and work, giving everything to each moment. On the streets everywhere, we passed women, men, and children balancing two very hefty bundles over their shoulders on a pole curving downward with the weight of what they carried. In Lu Cam, a small village up the Cai River from Nha Trang, when two strapping students were given the chance to carry two buckets of water from a well in such a manner they could barely get them off the ground much less balance them even when they were off the ground. Then the twelve year-old girl, who had been carrying them, picked them right up and walked on.

In the village of Vinh Thanh, a little further up the river, we met a family who made kiln-fired pots, used as barbeque-style stoves that everyone in the villages used for cooking. The wife rolled the clay and formed the pots and the husband finished them and then fired them in the kiln. We visited the simple but extremely warm and welcoming 200 year-old home of a four-generation family in the village whose hospitality was overwhelming as they served us a wonderful array of their own fruits and tea. Then we stopped at the village nursery school where a group of about twenty, very happy 3-5 year olds had a great time singing a song to us. Some of our students returned the favor with Old McDonald Had a Farm. Then, back on the river in our small outboard boat, we passed many young men pulling up large aluminum bowls full of sand from the riverbed, dumping the bowl into their small rowboat. They would dive down into about ten feet of water, fill the bowl with sand from the bottom, swim up and hoist it over their heads and dump it into the pile of sand in their boats, as the waterline kept getting lower and lower. They would spend the whole day doing this, then sell their haul for construction material. In the cities and small villages, the work of the day was done mostly by hand and heart.

There is also great poverty in Vietnam. Saigon is an overcrowded city with sharp contrasts. Some people barely subsist, many can only beg for some form of help. We encountered many people seeking assistance, most of whom were children. Yet the central city had very fine hotels and excellent restaurants. We were told by our Vietnamese-American students on board that there is still corruption in the government, but the people express mostly hope.

During the war, the American radio station broadcasted from Bamboo Island, where we did some snorkeling, just off Nha Trang. They began their programming each day with the familiar “Good Morning, Vietnam!” Today, the elders of Nha Trang greet each sunrise with a Tai Chi workout on the square in front of the city hall right next to the beach. The morning I got up early to join them, I found over 100 elders lined up in rows, each one reflecting the movements of the leader. When they concluded their exercises, most sat down as a few others came up and sang some Vietnamese songs for the others.

As they dispersed to go on their way, a Vietnamese gentleman came up to me and said, “Hello!” I returned the greeting. “You like physical exercise?” he asked. We chatted for a bit, then he asked, “Your first time here?”… “Where you from?” He went on to tell me the heart of his story in just a couple of minutes: “I am 67 years old… In 1968 I trained in San Diego… I worked for 7 years here for the motorpool… Then I was in the re-education camp for 3 years…” What could I say? “That must have been difficult.” “Yes, very difficult.” We exchanged smiles, and a bit more of our stories. He said, “Enjoy your time in Nha Trang,” and we went on our way. By 6:15, all the elders had gone their way, too, and almost at the same time, the boulevard began filling up with motorcycles and bicycles. The “brand new day” had begun.

The next day, in a crowd, I noticed an American gentleman around my age wearing a “Veterans for Peace” tee shirt. He noticed me, and we said hello. He asked if I was from the states, and then said, “Where”? When I said, “Maine,” he said, “I’m from Saco!” He went on to tell me that he had come back here to help build homes for disabled veterans in Vietnam.

I think I now understand why veterans, and others, want to return here. Vietnam, the country, is beautiful; the Vietnamese people are warm, very friendly, and pure-hearted. They don’t just think about lofty ideals, they live compassion and understanding. I experienced their inner being reflected in their actions in this world, and in their good deeds toward others.