We Are Vietnam Veterans

              Joseph Volpe
WE ARE VIET NAM VETERANS
Then, as a young mun, and in Ihe enmpany ofmuny young men, I saw the
w UDtry for Ihe lirst time. II uppeartd on the It rt side ofth t airplane pt'eking
Ihrough Ihe mists of the rising monsoon -- mounlainous and m e na ~ing and
incrl-dibly green. I was sitting at a window st'at and I rtmemlx-r looking down at
Ihis place I could nollx-lien I was coming to and fecling hollow.
Now. as a nol so young man, and in the company of mostly yo ung women. I
am returning 10 that place I firsl saw Ihirty-four years ago. I am not sitting al a
window seat Ihis lime. I need the ai slt now. And 1 am not feeling hollow, but in slead
dteply apprehensin and, mort un expt'~ t edly. slrangely t motional.
Then, it was Cam Ranh 8a)' thai was m)' en'I")' 10 Viet Nam. Cam Ranh 8a)'
was a sprawling mililal")' base and I rtmemlx-r being slruck and s urprist'd by its
muss, but most ly by ilS look ofpt'rmanence. I don't know what I was upt'cling, but
it wpsn't whall saw. This was my nl")' li rst of many surp ri ses about the war.
Now, I'm returning 10 Viet Nnm by way ofllnnoi. Then. this would han
been unthinkable. 8ul, hert I am. in lIanoi, shuffling down one oflhose glass
enclosed airport walkways musing about the dislanee between then and now. As I
make my way, 110014 onr m)' left shoulder and I am brought to a stop. Framing the
conspicuously emply tarmac Urt two hangurs Ihull remembe r from watc hing
lele" ision cow rage of Ihe rtlease of the POW's in 1973. For whate,'er strange
reason, my angle of"ision srtms identica l to the anglt shOI on thai day of release so
long ago. I start at the hangars rtmemlx-ring. I feel odd. And il happt'ns. Then
becomes now and now, then. A flash of temporal di slocation. but jusl a flas h. Gone
as quickly as it comes. I hurl")' on in Ihi sl'erily empty airport to claim m)' baggagl'
and meN up wilh Ihe SlOdenlS with whom I am trUHling.
Then, I tl'll"ded ollen. On the road _. north 10 Bong Son and wesl to An Khe.
Ry htlicopler -- " est 10 I'lt iku and Kontum and south 10 Tuy lIoa and Nha Tl'lIng.
Rull did nOI know Iht eountl")·. My tranls wert narrow and limiting. I kntw only
my routt and sometimes t\"en thaI ft lt like knowing too much. Those with whom I
tran led were often hard and lalked often a hard lalk.
Now. I'm Iru"eling from lIanoi to Saigon. The rOllte is still narrow bllt, al
least. it's long and with mun}' stops. Those with whom I am trPHling, studenlS, are
anylhing but hard and Ihey talk nOI u hanl talk. bUI the talk of joy. Toduy we art on
Ihe cenlral eoasl ofa unilitd Viet Nam and we art tra,'eling 10 My Lai, the site of
the not orious massacre.
We arrh'c at the sill'. Our guide is a yo ung woman. yo ung enough to be one
of my Sludent s. She Ix-g ins her narration oflht ewnts of 16 Ma rth 1968. We art all
familiar wilh the gruesome details of Ihul day. ha" ing rtad a stomach lurning,
minult-by-minult aeW'IOI on our ninet een hour night. That we art informed in tbis
way u lIows us to rtceiw tbe a b!;olultfy compt'lii ng and o"e .... ht lm i ng emotion of htl'
narration. Shl' tl'lIs us Ihut m u nr ml' mlx-rs of hl'r fu mill' were ki lied hl'rt'. She
becomes angl")'. She gric\"es. She implorcs us 10 uplain how this could huppen. She