68

History sometimes comes in full circle. 1968 gave us the battle at Hue, but also at the picket line in Chicago. It’s been 50 years and it might as well be yesterday. My class 68 marked a rough and interrupted start – hell, the US Embassy in Saigon couldn’t even get themselves together for a work day, much less school children like ourselves. Then when my classmates were about to graduate in 1975, the US called it quit. Just like that: choppers ferrying Ambassador Martin and the US flag out while defense contractor’s barges pulling up their anchors. “Where are you going?”. “Out of here” was the reply.

Back to 68. VC’s in black pajamas and sandals trying to outrun the local police.

I saw two of them outside my window. Bang, bang.

Heads down! (but I could not help looking up and out)

Later, when B/W documentary showed the defense of the Embassy, we watched the US Marines guarding it, flak jackets and M-16’s, clearing inch by inch of the US sovereign ground (the VC’s were charging in and climbing over the high walls in a suicide mission). Meanwhile, protesters charging the Chicago convention center, at about the same time the Five-o-clock follies reports kept churning out optimistic assessment of the war.

Until Walter Cronkite decided to step out of his anchor desk to see for himself.

Johnson later said, “If I lost Cronkite, I have lost America”.

Stalemate. Decent interval. Peace with honor. Resignation not without shame.

Peace-signs farewell from Air Force One helicopter (Nixon).

Number 3 Ford stepped up to the plate, sworn on the Bible to uphold the Law.

America finally woke up from a long nightmare (Watergate) but mine had just begun. So were a few hundred thousand refugees. My sister’s kids fared pretty well, since they did not carry the burden of guilt and shame.

But we should, for all the lies we have told, the shameful acts we have committed (My Lai).

Until recently, the nation honored John McCain who was “guest” at Hanoi Hilton.

Jane Fonda herself expressed guilt over her younger years. And the John Kerry of the world turn their backs on history, selling memoirs and memorabilia. We were young once, in 1968.

A year in delay is a year one too many. There was a dent, a rift and a hole in that calendar. As if the gods have rifted it out of our human timeline. President Johnson decided not to seek reelection – and grew his hair instead.

Lady Bird tended her Austin garden while Jackie accepted a millionaire’s proposal.

Life went on for some, but for others, whose lives were lost, hopes dimmed, 68 was quite a scar. What were we doing back then and there, at the Capital of South VN and Chicago?

I can still smell the tear gas. Moist eyes and fainted hearts. Optimism crushed and dead bodies exhumed and exposed (a few thousand were buried in Hue). The propaganda TV kept playing its underlying sound track (Exodus) while its 16mm camera slowly panned across Hue’s mass graves. May they rest in peace and God shed some light on the situation, 50 years on. I did not know better, then or now.