Nine Crooked Fingers
The next day, the 16th, was the official commemoration. When we pulled up in the bus my first impression was of a carnival. I immediately took out my camera and started snapping pictures of balloon sellers and women hawking cigarettes and chewing gum from boxes suspended from their necks. This was incredible! Boys with baseball hats and Adidas shirts clowned around and posed for photographers. Judi was interviewed by a local TV crew. Police officers in tan uniforms stood on the side observing. Mama-sans wearing the traditional silk pants and conical bamboo hats reminded me of Vietnam I had known while petite young women with tight designer jean knock-offs and high heels made me aware that Vietnam was rapidly changing.

As we approached the crowded area in front of the statue a guard helped us get seated. To my right some old women were standing in the aisle, craning their necks to see what was going on. One of them snatched the program from my hand, began turning the pages and then put her finger on a photo of a pile of bodies. She handed back the brochure, held up nine crooked fingers and pointed to her chest. I took this to mean nine members of her family died there. I wanted to say I was sorry but didn’t know how to apologize for my country when it didn’t represent what I believed in. I nodded and gave her a look that I hoped would convey my sorrow. (Click the small photos to read more.)