Sai Gon. May 11, 2001
Last night, I saw a man, who must’ve been no older than 35, perhaps only 30, who moved me more than almost any poor, disadvantaged, disabled person I’ve seen since being here. He travelled quietly down the street, not in rags, with a cane in his right hand, and a defining limp in both his legs. He faced forward, head up, eyes directed ahead, seemingly blind, and he moved in exact motions, step by step, inching towards his destination, if there was one. I don’t know what it was, but my eyes welled up. I couldn’t bear seeing him, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. I’ve seen, at the very least, hundreds of Vietnamese with a foot missing, a leg, sometimes both, an arm, sometimes two. I’ve seen the now-adult children who were born into wretched deformity from the chemical poisins that destroyed so many lives nearly three decades before. I have seen so very many poor, poor, poor people. And though I feel for all of them (which makes Vietnam a very difficult place for me to be), this man I saw made me want to know him, and I have no idea why.

Living where I live, and doing what I do, and eating the way I eat, it is sometimes a rude awakening as I think about how good I’ve got it. Ten fingers. Ten toes. Good health. Longevity. Heat. Air. People who bring me great joy. Food on the table and a roof over my head. I’ve always thought it so selfish of Americans who can’t seem to find a single good thing in their good life, and dredge on in their misery instead. How bad can it get, when you KNOW that someone out there has it far worse? I think, even as I lay dying on my deathbed, I’ll be having a good day. Why waste my last hours in sadness when I could be sharing jokes with friends over my last gin and tonic?

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May 11, 2001
While in Phan Thiet a couple of weeks ago, Linh (Chu Ngoc’s daughter) made an observation I don’t think I ever would have associated had she not said it. A German couple at the resort brought an assortment of mechanical puzzles. One was the size of Panang’s matchbook (about 1 cm square, 2 inches long, solid wood, with a small hole drilled down the center, parallel to the long side). A long tube that fit inside the hole drilled in the wooden block was attached to a triangular top. At the other end of the block, a portion of a rubberband stuck out of the bottom. The trick was to get the small notch at the end of the tube to hook with the rubberband that was inside the hole and to make the triangular tip snap back onto the block. I watched Chu Ngoc do it a few times. I took my turn. Couldn’t get it to work. Chu Thuong (Chu Ngoc’s associate) told me he fiddled for an hour before giving in to the Germans for the secret which he later passed on to Ngoc. Chu Ngoc’s wife, Co Oanh, took a stab. Then Linh took a turn. No avail. Chu Ngoc showed his wife how to line up the markings on the top and block, and to latch the rubberband by twisting and turning the triangle till it caught and then, fwwwing! I watched carefully. She tried again. Still, no elastic action. I took a turn. I had a revelation. Fwwwing! I cracked up, because the deception was a good one. I could barely re-demonstrate ‘cause my entire body was shaking with laughter. Linh and her mom kept trying, but gave in to share in the secret. See, there isn’t a rubberband at the bottom of the tube, even if they tell you there IS one and you can see with your own eyes that the other half of it is sticking out the bottom. It’s for show, as is the notch on the tube and the markings on the block. The TRICK is to pull the tube out of its home, pinch the triangle so it slides out of your fingers, and the top pops back into place, with all appearances of having been jerked back in by the unattainable rubberband.

Later in our room, Linh said to me, “you know, at first, I never did well in school because I always wanted to come up with my own answers for everything. If our teacher put a picture of a dog on the board, and showed us how to draw it, and then told our class to draw a dog, everyone would have to draw THAT dog. I would want to draw my own dog. You can’t draw another dog, because if you draw another dog, you get low marks. Your answer has to be the same as everyone elses and you have to learn to think like everybody or you won’t succeed in school. And everyone’s answer has to be the same as your teacher’s. So if my dad says that there is a rubberband at the bottom of the block, I have to believe it. It’s the way I’ve been taught to think.”

I think, “But that’s Vietnam’s communism rippling through your school system. It’s not what true communism is supposed to be about, but it’s the communism of this country.” I can’t say that, of course. It’s probably illegal, and besides, her family, all of whom I adore, were never Nationalists. So instead I say, “I see what you mean. In America, we’re encouraged to think for ourselves. [At least we were in the schools my friends and I attended and I unfortunately don’t think this is true of the entire U.S.] Independence and individuality are valued and prized in the States where in Vietnam, unity and harmony are more precious.”

I realized this years ago when dad told me how the French Catholic nuns in his prestigious school used to whack the back of his hands with a ruler when his handwriting differed from the other students. It still blows me away when I see people forcing VyVy (my boss’s 27 month-old) to use her right hand when she puts something into her left. I asked someone why Vietnamese still force southpaws to become right-dominated. She answered that it makes eating around the table more comfortable for everyone so no one knocks elbows. So I said “well, if that’s the reason, why don’t they just make everyone use their left hands?” Her eyes grew round like she’d never heard such an absurd thing and then laughed without an answer.

I continued with Linh that neither Individuality nor Unity is better or worse – that both have their virtues and both have their shortcomings. Our five day trip to Phan Thiet included a conversation about politics, which is very hard when my Vietnamese is only conversational, and Linh’s English long out of practice. We managed with two dictionaries by our side. It’s remarkable how politics develop inside people, how it grows in us. In the end, good people really just want what’s good for the most number of people, but everyone has their own idea about how to go about it.