Camp Champions Blog

I debated writing about the Vietnam War.  Many of the wounds are still fresh and well-meaning people have very different opinions on the subject.  My blog has generally been designed to share thoughts on family, travel and culture; not serve as a political commentary.  With this in mind, it seemed wise to avoid the topic.

I, however, must share some thoughts.  Here, I hope to avoid anything political, but instead make observations with appeal to any reader.  If I offend, please know that this is not my intention.

The War Does Not Define Vietnam

My first impression is to marvel at how irrelevant the war seems to be today.  Less than 37 years ago (half a lifetime), North Vietnam was in a vitriolic and ugly war with South Vietnam and the US.  The Viet Cong fought the best-trained army in the world that was armed with superior weapons.  Most never understood entirely why we were involved.  They do know that it was ugly and that they lost loved ones.

Yet today, we Americans walk the streets, eat in restaurants, talk with locals and even sleep in their homes next to the altars of their ancestors.  Our guides talk about the war as if it took place centuries, not decades ago.

Some of this is attributable to the fact that tourists are good for their livelihoods.  That is certainly a factor.  But they could love tourists from Europe and Australia and China and not the US, yet they seem not to differentiate.  [Note: China is probably a bad example.  They have even more contentious history with Vietnam than the US.]

Some of the indifference to the war is generational.  Over half the population was born a decade after the US withdrawal.  Probably less than 15% have distinct, first-hand memories of the conflict.

I suspect that the most important reason is that they simply want to live their lives.  Worrying about the war brings sorrow and produces no food.  For a people that seem to have an optimistic streak in them, this is not a combination that helps at all.  The people of Vietnam want to look forward to a better life ahead.

The Scourge of Agent Orange

Much has been written about the way both sides fought the War.  Critics of the North Vietnamese will point to their cruel traps and guerilla tactics.  Not only might an armed Viet Cong soldier appear suddenly in ambush, he (or she) rarely wore identifying insignia or uniform.  As a result, the important line between “combatant” and “non-combatant” was wiped out.

The Vietnamese created elaborate tunnels that enabled them to essentially disappear in the jungle and reappear suddenly later.  Here are some photos of our tour of the tunnels.

Liam waiting to spring on Virginia

Even room for old guys! My wife stood on this top when I was underground. All the people on our tour laughed. Ha ha. I am married to a sadist.

They also set booby traps that were designed to create slow and painful deaths.

It looks like a past of a standard field of grass, but a trap door opens to a pit with sharpened bamboo spikes

Yikes

Just in case you cannot picture the agony, they had a helpful illustration

I understand why the North Vietnamese felt a need to resort to deception and cruel, primitive traps.  They could not win in a direct, conventional fight.  But the results are still horrific.

There was no love lost here.

Critics of the US/South Vietnamese tactics point to several massacres (My Lai being the most disturbing) and the widespread use of indiscriminate weaponry.  By “indiscriminate weaponry”, I mean weapons that create great amount of destruction and casualties to both combatants and non-combatants.  These include carpet bombing, napalm and herbicides (like Agent Orange).

I understand why the South Vietnamese and US forces felt a need to resort to these tactics.  Since the line between combatant and non-combatant was blurred, indiscriminate weapons made more sense.  If the enemy is hiding in jungles or being fed from rice patties, raze the jungle/patties with fire or poison the plants with herbicide to take away this advantage.  [Note: When I say I understand some of the tactics of both sides, I am only talking about the tactics. Nothing justifies the atrocities committed by individuals on both sides.  Lt Calley’s actions at My Lai and the frequent abuse of prisoners of war by both armies are never excusable.  War is a place where sociopaths and sadists can flourish.  When war becomes unconventional and soldiers become stressed, the worst of humanity is often laid bare.]

Of all the tactics used by the US, the one I most wish had never happened is the use of Agent Orange and other dioxin-based herbicides.  I am a believer in the basic decency of our nation.  We have had some poor moments (Watergate, Tea Pot Dome scandal, propping up the occasional dictator), but I do not believe that our people or leaders want to commit acts of overt evil.  With this in mind, I see the decision to use Agent Orange as a combination of military desperation combined with an ignorance of the long-term consequences of its use.

Dioxin does more than kill plants.  It also causes a multitude of long-term health issues (including cancer, extreme dermatitis, lung disorders, massive joint pain) and, more horrible, terrible birth defects.  An entire room in the “War Remnants Museum” is dedicated to pictures of children suffering the most ghastly birth defects, ranging from conjoined twins to missing limbs to distorted features to compete mental incapacity.  Tragically, there are still areas that have dioxin in the soil and people with dioxin in their reproductive organs, so children continue to be born with these defects.

A poster about Agent Orange

The effects were not limited to the North Vietnamese.  Many US and South Vietnamese veterans suffered as well as did many of their children.  One of the children that served as poster child for the March of Dimes was the son of a soldier exposed to dioxin in the war.

With a crystal ball, I believe that the war leaders would have chosen a different approach to counter the use of jungles as camouflage and fields as food.  But we had no crystal ball and the effects are truly saddening.

A Barrage of Bias

I know I have already written about history and the fact that winners write the histories.  I have recently developed a critical approach to all history, asking “Who wrote this and why?”, “What do they emphasize certain points and why?”, and “What do they leave out and why”.

I was late to discover the malleability of history.  I was in college before I truly appreciated how variable narratives can be or how important they can be.

Our children are learning this lesson much earlier than I.

We saw bias when we visited the “Hanoi Hilton” museum in Hanoi.  We ‘learned’ about the atrocities heaped upon ‘patriotic’ Vietnamese fighters at the hand of the French, but we heard nothing about the mistreatment of certain US pilots as described by John McCain.

Hanoi was not a down-payment on the two museums that we saw in Saigon.  They were so biased that I worry that the children missed important lessons in the sea of Vietnamese spin.

The “War Remnants Museum” was previously the “Museum of War Crimes of American Imperialism and Puppet Government”.

The renamed museum

The name changed when Vietnam and the US normalized relations, but the displays inside remain the same.  Some of the presentation is often deceiving (actions of the French and South Vietnamese jailors are implied to be American behavior) and over-stated.  They also report on all the anti-American protests from within the US and across the world during the war as if the world were unified in its views.  For a country that has no internal protest, these protests must look like prima facea evidence that the world was entirely behind them, including US citizens.  While this was largely true at the end of the conflict, it was less so at the outset.

Also, no mention is made of any poor behavior on the part of the “patriotic fighters” of North Vietnam.

In the US, it does not take much of an effort to learn about the ugly aspects of war.  We know about My Lai and Agent Orange.  While I am not proud of these horrors, I am glad that we face them and try to improve.  Seeing a country that admits no mistakes is disorienting.

Finally, the war is terribly difficult to explain to the kids.  When I attended the London School of Economics, I took a Political Science course called “The Ethics of War”.  It looked at two separate questions.  First, when is it ethical to engage in war?  Second, once in a war, how does one fight ethically?  The first is about justification, the second is about actions.

Clearly, there is much about the Vietnam conflict that violates conventional “ethical” fighting tactics (attacking without identifying clothing, killing known non-combatants, proper treatment of POWs).  It is usually used to show a multitude of examples of fighting a war poorly,  The question of justification is far more difficult to discuss with the kids.

In retrospect, the “domino theory” seems to be flawed.  First, most of Ho Chi Minh’s appeal and success are a response to years of French colonialism.  He was not simply a pawn of China.  Second, it is hard to explain to the kids the fear of communism.  It would be like me explaining to any of you the fear of scurvy or polio: it is something that no longer plagues us.  It is even harder to explain when the “communist” countries we have visited seem so darn free market oriented.  The “communist threat” seems less ominous when billboards advertise Marc Jacobs and Apple.

They somewhat understand that our nation was scared of this “communism” thing, but that was a time long ago – like a fear of witchcraft or sea monsters.

In the end, these museums have been a powerful learning experience for the kids, in war, bias and history.

Here are a few additional pictures.

Cu Chi Village had around 150 miles (!?!?) of tunnels like these. They were tight even without weapons.

Susie getting tanked. Oops, I mean Susie IN a tank

Virginia, armed and planning vengeance on Liam

Terrill tackling a tank turret

Steve Sir

I know I have already announced our flight to New Zealand, so you know that the blogs currently describe events that happened a day or two ago.  I have been endeavoring to catch up after the handful of days in the Vietnamese countryside where I was unable to post the blogs I wrote then.

I have three blogs from Vietnam that I would like to share before we focus on New Zealand.  The first (this one) will describe Saigon briefly, the second focuses on our visits to Vietnam War museums and the final shares an odd trip to an odd temple.

Seeing Saigon

I have been making a strong effort to call Saigon Ho Chi Minh City.  After all, this is their country, not mine.  Just because we have called it Saigon for years does not mean we have the right to call it that now.

Yet I no longer am making the effort.  Every Vietnamese person we met called it Saigon.  When I asked why, they said, “We all call it Saigon.  No one calls it Ho Chi Minh, except the government.

So I now join the natives.

For us, Saigon was indistinguished.  Perhaps we have simply visited too many Asia cities, but nothing about Saigon struck me as unique.  Sure, we saw French-influenced architecture, but we saw some in Shanghai and Hanoi as well that was more impressive.

The Cathedral of Notre Dame (Saigon Style)

We saw historical buildings like the Reunification Palace.

You do not get more 1960'esque than this gem

This was the headquarters of the South Vietnam and US forces.  It is the structure from which the last American diplomats were air-lifted out as the Viet Cong tanks ran through the gates.  Interesting, but still much less compelling that some of the historical structures we have seen elsewhere.  And, to be honest, I am not a fan of the 1960’s architecture of this building.

They had a flower festival going on that featured this fantastic floral dragon (for the Year of the Dragon), but not a great deal else.

A floral dragon - does that make it a flagon?

As I wrote in my blog on Tet, the famed scooters were not in force.  Perhaps the one aspect of Saigon that would have left an indelible impression was simply not on display (though I am OK with that).  We were impressed with the versatility of scooters.  Cars here are rare because 1) most people have low incomes and 2) all cars have a 200% import tax.  Since Vietnam manufactures no cars, all cars are subject to the import tax.  The mathe is pretty compelling: when you have a $25,000 car going for $75,000 in a country that has an average household income below $4,000, you are not going to sell many cars.  So scooters do everything.

They carpool.

Just an afternoon out with the ladies of the house

They have child seats.

This passes for child safety in Vietnam - the head area is padded!

FInally, Saigon was really hot and humid – think Houston in July.   Oddly enough, for a city that is constantly hot and humid, its facilities often lack adequate air conditioning.

In short, we liked, but did not love Saigon.

As is our custom, we tried to walk everywhere.  I have come to believe that cities hide their souls in their side-streets.  We came to understand Paris in the ethnic neighborhood we stayed in more than the Champs-Ellyses.  Beijing releaved itself in the various Hatongs, markets and streets.  Hanoi virtually burst with energy and possibility.  We watched how people shopped and what made them smile.  Since much of Saigon was closed for Tet, the city seemed sluggish and flat.

I, however, did get a few photos from our walkaround.

Here we are in front of a statue of Ho Chi Minh near the Communist Party Headquarters.

Hanging with Ho Chi

This young girl found a spot in the shade to cool off and enjoy her candy.  She seems old beyond her years in this shot.  She was not interested in smiling which saddened me.

So serious

I mentioned the photocopied US bills used in funerals to help provide funds for the dead in their next life, but I did not have a good shot at the time.  The front looks exactly like a US $100 bill, but the back makes it clear that this is not real.

The $100 usually has less Vietnamese on it, right?

We had a couple of ironic shots as well.  The first shows a group of Vietnamese Communist soldiers taking a rest on the sidewalk.  What I love is the “Chanel” sign directly over them.

Do you think they got their outfits there? I hear olive drab is the "new black"

My favorite irony came from two impressive floral displays.  The first is the Communist hammer and sickle, symbolic of the struggle of te worker and the farmer against the oppression of the profit-seeking capitalist and his poisonous corporations: “Workers of the world unite!!!”

Marxist mums?

Roughly 100 feet away is this dragon, the symbol of the Vietnamese people (the legend says they are the descendents of dragons) in the auspicious Year of the Dragon!  Power to the people of Vietnam!!  Oh, and if any of you Vietnamese Communists get thirsty while fighting profit-seeking corporations, you can enjoy a Pepsi!

The Choice of the New Generation (of revolutionaries?!)

As I have said before, the word, “Communist” has lost any economic meaning. The party has no interest in promoting a communist or ever socialist economic system.  They pay lip service to Ho Chi Minh and his teachings, but no one really buys in anymore.  The party is interested in staying in power.  A strong, growing economy makes for happy people and more national clout.  Free markets and private ownership (most of the time) seem to be the best roads to this goal.  So, we practice free market semi-capitalism and call it communism.

This linguistic flexibility is kinda appealing to me.  Can I be a camp director, but call myself and astronaut?  I would also like to stop calling my musings a “blog” and instead use “scripture” or “historic document”.  Fenway is no longer a dog, but a unicorn.

Language is fun when it loses its pesky insistence on meaning!

Steve Sir

“My parents aren’t cool!” – Liam Baskin

The uncool ones with the kiddos

Every now and then, you get a comment from your children than makes you think you are going something right.

At first glance, the above comment does not seem to fall into this category, but it does when you hear the rest of the quote.  He was talking to a woman from California who had moved to Cambodia.  She had told Liam that he thought he was lucky to have cool parents.  He responded quickly,

“My parents are not cool.  They are interesting, but not cool.  They do not want to be cool in the eyes of teens.  They want to be parents.”

This is exactly what we want, but we did not think a 15 year-old would notice.

One of the parenting trends we see as camp professionals is the desire to be friends with children.  Such a parent often wants to appear tuned into the culture of their children, even listening to the same music and wearing similar clothes.

Even before we had children, the Silver Fox, my mother, shared a thought with me.  “Your children will have many friends, they only have 2 parents.  You must be the adult and set the limits even if you are disliked or derided.”

This advice has found its way into our camp lexicon.  We often tell counselors that there is something a little pathetic about a college student who needs to feel “cool” in the eyes of a 10 year-old.  [Note: the more you understand what a 10 year-old boy thinks is cool, the more you wonder why anyone – including a 10 year-old boy – would want to be cool.]  They also have many friends.  They do not have enough heroes and role models.  Also, if you [still talking to the counselors] are simply yourself and engaged with the campers, they will admire you and want to be like you.  You will redefine what “cool” is: confident, caring and compassionate.

As parents, we have strived to follow the Silver Fox’s advice.  It is not always easy, but it is important.

Children crave limits.  They will say differently (“everyone else gets to  . . . “), but limits provide structure and security.  The world is a big and chaotic place.  It is immensely difficult to process as a child.  Limits put order in the world.  They also send the non-verbal, but undeniable, message that they are protected.

Ironically, some parents set unnecessary limits in some areas (my child cannot go to camp), but none in more critical areas (limits of TV or internet time).  Finding right balance is one of the great challenges for parents.  When do we say no and when do we stretch our children?  Clearly, this trip is an effort to stretch our children.  Sending each of them out of state for at least a month to camp is another.  But we also want to limit the technological tether.

They do not always appreciate our efforts.  They still share one mobile phone between the four of them (we have it for our convenience, not their amusement) and virtually all of their friends have their own. [Note: please do not read into this a criticism of parents who provide phones to their children.  If we lived in a major city with activities occurring at multiple locations, we would certainly have provided our children with individual phones.  Marble Falls, however, is sufficiently small and all their activities have readily available phones.  In the rare circumstance where one of them will be away from us and without a phone, we give him or her the “kids’ phone”.  With this set of facts, giving them their own would simply be a texting tool.  I have no doubt that my children will eventually be facile with texts, but we prefer to steer them in the direction of eye-to-eye communication as much as possible.]

As we strive for this balance, we focus on the goal of “preparing our children for the road and not the road for our children” (as psychiatrist Wendy Mogel puts it).  We want each of them to be caring and confident.  We want them to be resilient and optimistic. We want them to be independent.  We do not want them living in the house when they are 30.

Susie likes to talk about “letting out the umbilical rope”.  By this she means the following.  Each baby starts literally connected to the mother by an umbilical cord.  Eventually, they will grow into contributing and successful adults that do not require any help from the parents at all (once again, hopefully before they are 30).  In between these two extremes, parents reduce their level of protection and involvement and the child/teen/young adult increases independence.  In her mind, it is like letting out a little more rope each month until it is now longer connected.  She does not mean disconnected, but truly independent.

I am not sure how that analogy works for you, but I like it. I have met many parents that want to protect their 12 year-old like he is a 5 year-old.  Yet I have not yet met the parent who hopes to be roommates with their children at college (or, at least, I have not met one that will admit it).  When I ask them how their child will develop the independence, confidence, risk-assessment skills needed to succeed in college, they often have no answer.  If the parents do all the risk-assessment, the child is left under skilled in this area when she is a freshman, without any limits on curfews, activities or behaviors.

But being a parent is not easy.  Heck, I like to be liked; especially by the four young people I love the most.  Setting limits takes effort, especially when the children have inherited their father’s stubborn streak (Liam might be the “penguin” for his tenacity, but the Silver Fox called me the “heat-seeking missile”).

But they have friends.  They need parents.

We had assumed that our efforts, if successful at all, would help produce good adults in the long run, but not a lot of appreciation in the short run.  Liam’s comment was a delightful surprise.

Of course, I am not delusional.  I am certain that his opinion, and those of his siblings, will wax and wane many times before they leave for college.  Undoubtedly, we will at times be the most embarrassing and clueless klutzes ever to stride the earth.  But for today, we know he understands.

Not a bad day.

Steve Sir

[Note: we are about to go to the airport to fly to New Zealand, so I am not sure when we will next be able to post a blog.]

We should have arrived a day earlier in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon).  We came from the Mekong Delta on Tet, the first day of the Lunar New Year.  We thought we would see a great celebration.  It turns out that the Vietnamese, like Americans, do fireworks and public celebrations on the evening before New Year’s Day ring in midnight.

So rather than see an epic pyrotechnic display, we were in a home in a small village.

This might not seem like too great a loss to most of you, but I am a “pyro-phile”.  OK, I just made that word up, but it sounds better than pyromaniac and does a better job of describing my deep affection for quality fireworks.  Last summer, Burnet County (and most of Texas) was under a strict burn ban that forbid any pyrotechnics.  It was a sad time for all of us at camp, but for Moak Sir and me in particular, as we are the primary “pyrotechnicians” along with the Leadership Team.

But, it was not to be.  Instead, we stayed in the spectacular home I described in the previous email (built in 1931 with carvings, mother-of-pearl inlay and the most tasteful shrine I have seen in Vietnam).  It was actually as impressive as some of the museums that we have visited.

I know I showed this before, but it merits a repeat.

One of the columns

The next morning, we went on a bike ride along extremely narrow paths.  As we were leaving, Zu (our guide) issued this warning: “Be very careful and stay way to the right.  Today, everyone walks, rides bikes and drives scooters to everyone’s house.  At each house, they will share “happy water”.  So many of the people on scooters and bike will be drunk.”

“But is it 9AM.”

“It is Tet.”

It got narrower. People were passing us going both ways.

We saw several singular sights.  We saw young people dressed well and unusually effusive.  We watched several families visit our hosts’ home and pray at the altar of their ancestors.  We watched men gamble while yelling and gesticulating wildly with fists of cash.  We saw home after home filled with people drinking and eating.

We also saw lots of roosters.  Sure, we have been hearing roosters 24/7 whenever we are in the country, but we have never seen this many.  Each was in an individual cage, had a generous amount of food but looked irritable.  It was Wiley who guessed their purpose.

“I bet they are getting ready for cock fights.”  He was right.  Apparently, gambling is considered a “social evil” by the government, but all bets are off for Tet.  As a result, villages host cock fights on this day.  We approached one group of men looking over 6 feisty fowls.  One of the men was giving the second largest rooster a bath while the other 5 crowed aggressively.  Zu engaged the most senior man in a brief conversation and reported back to us.

“They are preparing the roosters for the fights.  If you want your rooster to fight one of theirs, you must be willing to pay for the opposition rooster.  If your rooster wins, your opponent’s owner must pay you the value of the rooster.  The most valuable rooster here costs $250.”

This is the high dollar rooster!

I made her repeat the price.  In a country where families typically make between $1000 and $2000 a year, a gambling chicken can go for $250.  The families also buy massive floral bouquets, flowering trees, gifts and orange trees for Tet, often spending virtually all their annual discretionary income on these couple of weeks of celebration.  They do so partly because they love a celebration, but also because of their superstitious nature.  Tet celebrates bounty and they believe that the more bounty you display at Tet, the more you will receive during the following year.  In essence, their profligate behavior is an investment in their future.

On the bike ride, we ran into an elderly widow who lived with her daughter.  The daughter was out visiting friends, so the woman was alone in her home.  We had talked to her because she lived next to a huge brick kiln and the rice husks piled there for fuel were smoldering.  We wanted to make sure that this would not become a scary fire, so we told her about it.  She thanked us and invited us in.

She did not offer happy water, but she did share the best watermelon and pomelo we have had on this trip.  She also offered us some candy.  Clearly, she had essentially nothing, but was sharing it with us on this auspicious day.  After consulting with Zu, we learned (to our delight) that a standard custom is to offer some money to those who share with you (even friends and family) so we were able to give her a gift that I hope brought some cheer to her.

Our clan with our host

After the ride, Susie, Terrill and I went for a walk along the road we had biked.  We had over an hour before lunch and we did not want to sit at the house.  After about 15 minutes, we were waved into a home with 4 older men, a group of 5 women, a young couple and 3 children.  They offered us smoked fish, beer, cigarettes and non-verbal companionship.  We learned who was related and married to whom.  We explained that we have 4 children.  [Note: I learned - mid-pantomime – that there is not easy or non-embarrassing way to describe “boy” or “girl”.  Without going into any additional detail, let me simply assure you that the collective gathering was quite amused at my efforts.]

Realizing that I had my iPhone in my pocket, I shared pictures of the rest of the family.  It would have been far less embarrassing if I had thought of this before my pantomiming, but what can I say?  I showed them pictures of us with tigers and elephants.  I wonder if they thought “what an interesting family” or “how is it that these people still live – aren’t they the type that Darwinism predicts will get eliminated?”

All of us were touched by their genuine hospitality and desire to connect with complete strangers.  For a brief cynical moment, I wondered if they were doing this in hope of a tip, but I quickly dispelled the thought.  We were the only non-Vietnamese people in a 20 mile radius.  These people were farmers, not vendors or folk who ever interact with foreigners.  Also, the air atmosphere was legitimately inviting.  Having been the recipient of manufactured hospitality, I can recognize the disingenuous.  Nope, these folks were glad we were there, even though the grey-haired American makes odd hand gestures when talking.

This cracks me up. Upon arrival, they handed the 3 of us open beers, 13 year-old Terrill included. She held it like it was slightly radioactive.

We returned to our homestay for lunch and more celebration before we boarded our van for Ho Chi Minh City.  The city is remarkably sleepy. Famous for its crazy traffic and aggressive tsunami of scooters, we saw a different Saigon.  Apart from the fireworks display the night before (did I mention that I missed it?) the city is not a big Tet site.  Most of its residents are first generation city-dwellers.  Like China, Vietnam is experiencing a massive exodus from the farmlands to urban areas.

But the parents and grandparents still reside in the villages, so this most family-oriented of all holidays sparks a brief 3-6 day counter-exodus out of the cities.  By arriving on Tet and leaving 3 days later, we inadvertently arranged a counter-commute from the majority of the natives.  We are OK with this.  We have seen mad traffic and sprawling markets.  We have choked on the fumes of scooter-horde. [Note: Ho Chi Minh is a city of 9 million people and 6 million scooters.  This seems improbable since scooters often have 3 or 4 people on them.  I would think that 6 million scooters would support 15 million daredevil Vietnamese.  But I guess we have more cars than we require in the US.]

A little quiet is OK with us.

Steve Sir

PS  I have a few nice shots that simply do not fit into my narrative, but I want to share them.  They are from an afternoon floating on the Mekong River.

I love the feel of these travellers

A Catholic Church festooned with Tet flags

A houseboat with lucky mums

The rudder of a commercial boat

The front of a smaller boat - these are "Dragon Eyes"

And a few more.

Wiley with a Buddhist flag

This man had a form of Viet massage done earlier. The marks will fade (or so I am assured)

And I leave you with this wonderful face.

She was happy to pose.

As I have documented, there is a superstitious streak in the Vietnamese people.  One of the most important beliefs regards the fear of evil spirits and the protection of the home.

The threshold of the home is a sacred part of the Vietnamese home.  You generally take your shoes off before you enter, but you NEVER step on the threshold.  Instead, you step over it so that it can wipe the evil spirits from your feet.  Failing to do so is a true faux pas.  Further, I think that stepping on the threshold just might suggest stepping on the ancestors (though I cannot be sure).

In any event, Susie stepped on the threshold.  We think we heard a gasp.

Without plumbing the exact details, lets just say that Susie escorted some evil in with her.

Since we were arriving at this homestay at Tet (Vietnamese New Year), the family was paying special respects to their ancestors.

Before I complete this story, I should note that the home that we stayed in was exquisite.  Built in 1931, it features wood carvings, a remarkable shrine and furniture with mother-of-pearl inlays.

This is the living room - nice!

The current generation is the seventh to live in this home.   The home exuded sense of place that made us almost expect to see the ancestors join us.  In fact, we only had to step outside to ask them as they were all buried in the front yard.

I have seen cheerier entryways

This illusion might have been fed by the fact that two tables were set for dinner (exclusively for the ancestors). One table was set for dinner, the other for tea.  The second table had a beautiful flower arrangement in a ceramic vase.

Waiting for the ancestors (or Wiley)

This second table was set after we initially arrived.  I share this because we were told to leave all of our luggage against the wall that would be closest to this table.  After our arrival, they set the second table.  Soon thereafter, we were told to leave for a boat ride on the Mekong River.

As Wiley was leaving, he saw that his path was blocked by our luggage, so he decided to take an alternative path to the door that went between a column and the ancestors’ tea table.

He cleared the span, but then forgot the fact that he was wearing his backpack, that then clipped the ceramic vase and hurled it smashing to the ground.

Happy New Year.

If you know Wiley, you know that he is the child who suffers the most in these situations.  The other children might be tempted to deflect the blame, but not he.  He owned his error.  In fact, he looked at me as if had played hacky-sack with our hosts’ great-grandparents.

Happily, the vase turned out to be a standard issue item available in any market, not an heirloom.  We were also happy to learn that our hosts have a generous spirit and quickly forgave us all.

Life Among the H’Mong

On the eve of Tet, we ate with Zu, our third and final guide.  She is a lovely woman from the north of Vietnam who is Black H’mong (one of the 53 minority ethnic groups in Vietnam.  Until last night, these groups were just names and clothing styles to me.  Their names (White Thai, Green H’mong, Black H’mong) refer to their distinct ethnic clothing.

As we ate, I came to understand that the differences can be quite distinct.

The Black H’mong have a tradition that baffles and even offends.  They remain the one minority that still practices this tradition.

I am not talking about arranged marriages; many minorities still have these.

No, I refer to the “Kidnap”.

During festivals and market days, a single man who finds a young single woman he likes can execute a “kidnap”.  He gets his friends together, surprises the woman (usually 15-18 years old) and with the help of his friends, takes her back to his home, regardless of her wishes.

Let us be clear, this is not a chivalrous charade between two people with a mutual interest in each other.  This is a guy summarily choosing an unsuspecting girl and taking her without permission from anyone.  The parents are no more aware than the victim.

Once kidnapped, the girl must remain with the man for 3 days and 2 nights.  On the first day, the man cooks for her and attempts to earn her affection.  That night, she will sleep with a sister or female cousin.  On the second day, the courtship continues.  The day ends with the woman expected to sleep with the man.  She can refuse, but this choice is still not ideal.  Even if she refuses, all the villages assume that she slept with him and is, essentially, ‘damaged goods’.

At the end of the three days, she returns to her village.  She can accept the marriage invitation or refuse it.  Of course, the latter has real consequences.  First, she is assumed to be no longer “pure”.  Second, if she is kidnapped a second time, she cannot refuse the proposal at all, so she could do worse.

I was aghast as I heard about this tradition.  To be honest, is sounded like something from Braveheart or 17^th century China.  But this is happening in 21^st century Vietnam.

Zu admitted it was dangerous for her to be in her village at Tet, their New Year festival and the most popular day for kidnappings.  She shared the details of her somewhat harrowing near-kidnapping 7 years ago when she was 15.

Zu in a less harrowing moment

It involved several tactics.  The first was remaining in an internet café for 2+ hours once she realized that the young man who want to “talk” outside was accompanied by a dozen of his nearest and most inebriated friends.  The second was knowing that at the boys would have a midnight game of street hockey that would deplete the ranks of the abductors.

Finally, she pulled the tradition card.  After using the most modern venues as her first line of defense (the internet café), she appealed to the spirit of tradition.

Without his friends in tow, he was still larger and more physical than she.  He did not join the street hockey game, so he was still there when she emerged from the café as it closed.

She saw an opportunity in her modern attire.  Knowing that he would be taking her back to his home, she said that she wanted to go with him, but would vastly prefer to wear her traditional Black H’mong attire to meet his family.

“So wait for me here.”

She then went to her apartment with a friend.  Unfortunately, another “friend” was paid by the boy to reveal her location once he realized that she was not returning.  This now-former friend led them to the apartment where they almost smashed the door in.  She jumped out the second story window and hid outside until around 3AM until the groups left (due, I assume, to a lack of beer).

I am no marriage counselor, but this sounds like an inauspicious first date.

Seriously, I was aghast and open-mouthed as she described this ordeal.  She is 22 (too old for kidnapping now!?!?!) and is telling about something that happened in 2006.

Wow.

Stories like these make me deeply conflicted.  For most of our trip in Asia, I have been fascinated and even charmed by the minority people of China, Nepal and Vietnam.  I have bemoaned the fact that their lifestyles and traditions will soon fade into memory.  As TV and the Internet expand, cultures become more homogeneous.  I mourn the loss of ethnic identity.

But I suspect that the romance of these ethnicities is easiest when you see their attire and watch them smile than when you really examine their traditions.  Most undervalue their women (there are some matro-centric groups, but they are very rare indeed) and they have some brutal practices.  While the ‘kidnap’ might be among the most offensive, I suspect that there are many more terrible ones.

Also, none of the minorities seem to value education.  Personal improvement not emphasized.  Instead, the village expects its children to remain at home and practice the vocation of their parents, be it fishing, farming or weaving.

It seems like a high cost of human potential in exchange for cultural diversity.

Yet, on a final note, these people seem generally content, more so than most people that I see in our culture.  Are they deceiving themselves or could our culture be slightly off-base as well?  Have we become so focused on the individual that we have under-stressed the importance of community and group-identity?

I do not know.

Before I get any more philosophical, let me end this blog.  We will be ending our visit to Vietnam in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) for 3 nights.  More on that as it happens.

Steve Sir