The war is over.

It’s been ten days now that I’m taking in Vietnamese cities, sights, sceneries and situations. Ten days amongst the most positive and friendly locals I have ever experienced on a trip. Always helpful, talkative, eager to learn and happy to practice their knowledge of Shakespeare’s language.

There’s only one subject about which I feel avoidance. A topic not taboo but suppressed. Not forgotten but ignored. Important but not anymore.
The Vietnamese war killed hundreds of thousands of people. Millions of lives were destroyed by agent orange, the deadly dioxin sprayed over vast areas by US airplanes. Even today children are born, missing limps or suffering from serious aberrations. Yet nobody speaks a word.

Visiting the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, I asked an eighteen year old girl if her parents and grandparents told her stories about that era. Did she get first hand information from her relatives? The girl left me devastated and speechless when she told me her grandfather was killed and her grandmother raped and murdered by US troops. Her parents’ village was set to fire and only a handful of people, including her daddy and his wife, managed to escape.

Chatting with a university student later that night I repeated my question. The answer was as simple as clear: “It’s the past. We talk about school. About boyfriends and girlfriends. About soccer and badminton. About dresses and shoes, but not about the war.”
Let bygones be bygones.