Humble pie-
This was the 2nd time I’ve have my previous blog post quickly put to the test. First time was in New Zealand when I wrote about becoming the “Yes Man” and never turning down a possible adventure or activity. Within minutes of that post two hardcore Canadian girls from my hostel invited me to jump in to the freezing lake with them in the middle of the night, which of course I did. When we got back to the guesthouse wet and shivering people could not believe we just came back from a swim. As it karma would have it, my patriotic post about never hiding my nationality fought back with a vengeance in no time at all, and this time the subject matter was less trivial than a late night swim. The following day after I posted that entry I arrive into Vietnam, where there in no memory loss of the war and a very one sided opinion of Americans. I decide to take a city tour with a stop at the National War Museum.
Before you enter the museum there is a little carved out nook to the side where people with genetic deformities play instruments and make jewelry under a sign that reads “Please donate to victims of American induced Agent Orange”. There is an entire wing dedicated to American war crimes, showing the very worst of the worst atrocities committed by G.I. During the war. Dead babies, mass graves, begging elderly, burning villages etc etc. Another wing showing all the anti war protests, internationally and within the US, begging for the pullout of the American Army. There was a sobering photograph area as well as a wing bashing the US for Agent Orange and other chemical weapons. I suppose it would be a little like a German walking through a Holocaust museum. It’s definitely an uncomfortable feeling. The tone of the entire museum is extremely anti American. There was no neutrality in the story telling (nor is there required to be), but the purpose of the exhibits was more propaganda laden than educational. It’s a very thin line on what you can say or how you defend yourself as an American when your country was undeniably responsible for such a tragic part of world history, and as far as I know, all accounts are factual with nothing fabricated. Throughout the entire museum people walked around sniffling and teary eyed as every story and picture tugged hard on the heart strings. As an American, although not even alive during it, it’s impossible to walk around not feeling responsible. I received no dirty looks, nor overheard any negative comments, but as interesting as the museum was, eventually I had to leave early with my head down and tail between my legs. As I was waiting for the rest of the tour group outside the museum entrance a guy comes up and asks where I’m from. While still clearly portraying distressed humility I look at him and say with as much pride as I could “I’m from the US”. He shakes my hand and says “I am from here in Vietnam, very nice to meet you.”
Bob
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