Unlike America where suffering is well hidden behind locked doors, here in Vietnam, it is in your face: lottery ticket sellers.
They could be an under-age child, a blind man, or the worst case, a young man who dragged himself (both feet paralyzed) along an extremely crowded street peddling tickets.
Even the Cu Chi tunnel, once hot and carpet-bombed, now welcomes visitors to its hollow chamber of suffering. Underground resistance come clean.
To be here, to see those sites, to feel the heat, the smell, the suffering which might be raw to us, but taken for granted by everyone, is to face reality.
No pain killers, no aspirin.
Just raw sewage and suffering.
And when it heats up, in the middle of the day, you will know what it was like to endure, to persevere and to fight for survival.
A generation of leaders in politics and media have come of age: TV anchors (now retired) ambassador-nominee (J Kerry), committee head ( J. McCain) all had walked this ground. One word that sums up Vietnam: HOT. Hot war during the Cold War, hot because of the heat, and now, “hot” is used for Retail during Christmas.
First-time visitors to Vietnam, from America, would step off the Cruise Ship.
Checked in an A/C hotel and showed up for tours.
He/she might find out at nearby bookstores that Vietnamese readers browse all sorts of literature from Russia, France, Japan, Australia, Eastern Europe and occasionally US.
In short, military powers don’t equate with cultural influence.
By 2030, studies reveal that Asia blocks and other emerging nations will share the various seats at the table. The dialog and discussions will be diverse.
The best outcome of America’s experience in Vietnam goes beyond the Powell Doctrine. It’s to produce a generation of leaders whose mindset now look beyond the surface (glossy), to the suffering.
Cu Chi Tunnel or other tunnels. They are there to invite searchers and researchers to face and learn about other people, their aspiration and operation.
I haven’t yet taken that tour, but everyday, suffering is in my face. I shared a table with a blind man this morning over coffee. He stepped off a ten-person passenger vehicle (xe lam), found his way to the usual spot and lit up.
Then he pulled out a pocket-size radio for background music. I listened to that song (about mid-night mass rendez-vous) and felt what he felt: when your world is reduced to darkness and only darkness, you “dig” your way out of it, via other senses (touching and hearing). He used his fingers to measure the level when pouring his tea, while enjoying his portable music.
This was just one story of suffering. There are many more. If one cares and dares to face them instead of hiding them behind institutional doors.
Thang Nguyen 555 