The Cleansing
by Randall
During the Vietnam War this photo was circulated across
America in various magazines, newspapers, and war correspondence. It is a
picture of pain and anguish that so many of the Vietnamese
My hitch in the Vietnam Era was all about blowing things up;
people, boats, aircraft, homes, villages, oxen, and anything else that got in
the way. I was trained for eight months on how to use explosive weaponry to
destroy and kill, and was a graduate of Naval Aviation Ordnance School. The hot
rod kid from a small Texas town had been transformed from a simple fun lovin’
guy to an agent of death. At the time I was too young and impressionable to
know any different.
My one year’s active duty involved working with other men to
prepare, arm and make ready, “our birds”, F4J Phantoms, the latest and greatest
of the flying death dealers. Our squadron operated on an aircraft carrier,
along with other squadrons, and moved up and down the Gulf of Tonkin. Launch
and recover, rearm, launch and recover….the cycle of death. We drew pictures
and wrote nasty words on our bombs and missiles addressed to “Charlie”, slang
for Viet Cong, (NVA) North Vietnam Army, or any other high yellow skinned
communists.
When flying off the carrier to go home, I was sent to Da
Nang, Vietnam for processing which included psychological evaluation. As our
plane approached the coast of Vietnam, I could not believe what my eyes were
seeing through that window. It was a total “moonscape”, no trees , no nothing,
only endless bomb craters. As we flew low and slow closer to the base, I could
see makeshift tents covering some of the larger craters, with Vietnamese people
looking up at us. I had never seen a Vietnamese person before. They looked
totally helpless in this region of hell that once was their homeland. I was
numb.
Today, many Vietnam War Veterans actively honor the GBNF
(gone but not forgotten), the MIA’s (missing in action) and some crusade for
the Vietnam government to find and recover any and all POW’s, (prisoners of
war). It is an honorable thing to visit the Vietnam Veterans Wall. There is an
annual motorcycle ride to D.C. every year called “Rolling Thunder” to honor the
dead. I will always remain as one of this brotherhood. But something was
missing, something lost inside me, a kind of soiled sadness.
In the town I live in today, there was a curio/tobacco shop
operated by a Vietnamese mother and daughter. I would purchase my weekly pack
of weapons of mass destruction cigarettes and occasional gifts for friends and
family. The daughter could speak English fairly well and we would chit-chat
about this and that. The mother would usually just glance up and smile,
crocheting, and listening to a CD recorded in the Vietnamese language.
One day, I asked the daughter if she ever visited her native
country and she told me, “Only twice… to visit cousins”. The shop had no other
customers, then from somewhere…something welled up inside me and our exchange
happened:
“Did your mother live
in Vietnam during the war”?
“Which one”? the daughter asked.
“Ugh..ugh… the American occupation” I stammered.
“Yes” she named the
province.
“I would like to apologize to her” I explained, as I’m
gazing at her confused look.
“ I would like to ask
her forgiveness, and yours too”. The daughter says something and her mother
comes to the counter next to her daughter.
“I fought in the
Vietnam war, and I know that I was part of killing and hurting many of the
Vietnamese people…they may have been some of your family….I hope that you will
forgive me”.
The daughter translates, and mother comes from behind the
counter with daughter following. Mother places her hands on one of my arms,
looks up into my face, says something in her native tongue. The daughter
translates:
“Do not be afraid of things gone away…I am afraid that it
will happen again”.
Mother says something to daughter, she goes to the fridge
and brings a bottle of cold apple cider and hands it to me. Mother speaks and
daughter translates:
“Thank you and have a
good life”. They were smiling and nodding as I made my exit.
I avoided their shop for months after that. Maybe it was a
guilty feeling, having revealed to them what I had done in my past. Maybe it
was because I didn’t want anything to happen that would spoil my shallow
feeling of redemption. I drove to their shop not long ago and found they had
sold out and moved away.
I wanted to buy an apple cider and ask them their names. I
wanted to know if I would feel clean again when I saw their faces.
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