I had spent two and a half years coming and going to Vietnam with the Navy’s Seabees. When news of the massacre broke I was finishing my enlistment stateside and had been attending anti-war protests. The massacre only deepened the disillusionment and disgust I felt for my government. Before the war I naively believed that America was a morally superior nation. Returning to Vietnam and My Lai forty years later was going back to the place where that belief began to die.

Prayers for the Dead
Judi and I toured Hanoi for a few days then flew south to Da Nang where we boarded a chartered bus to Quang Ngai City and rendezvoused with other members of a small group of Americans attending the commemoration. The next day we joined a group of Japanese peace activists, toured some villages in the area and visited with families who had received mini-loans from the Quakers to buy cattle. After lunch on the beach we went to My Lai which has been renamed Son My and is now a historical site.

We entered along a crowded promenade and headed toward a large canvas tent. The sun was high and the humidity began to increase. As we got closer I could smell incense and heard the steady beat of drums. To my right was a large marble museum. On the left was the former My Lai now mostly empty cement pads with signs indicating the names of and ages of the families that died. The pads were connected by walkways lined with manicured hedges interspersed with deep green fields of rice and banana palms. Such a beautiful site, I thought, with such a horrible past. (Click the small photos to read more.)