My Lai, 40 Years Later: Remembering a Massacre

"There's a silence on this bus that is absolutely deafening. We've never been this quiet this entire trip, and I believe that says it all. Only something as emotionally powerful as My Lai could get a group of college kids to just shut up and write."

The statement above was written on a bumpy, beat up bus, traveling the dirt roads of Vietnam just outside of Qui Nhon province. My travel mates and I were returning from the startling experience that is My Lai. Chances are, if you're under the age of 30, you probably have never heard of My Lai. It's not a standard subject in American history textbooks, nor is it a topic broached by any but the most passionate educators. Much like the victims of the massacre that happened there, it's a lost topic.

My summary will never give justice to the powerful event that occurred at My Lai, but in short, what happened there is one of the biggest disgraces to scar American history. On March 16^th, 1968, as the people of the hamlet of My Lai, Vietnam, lay sleeping, American soldiers crept into their community, allegedly searching for insurgents. They found none. Yet, convinced that the Viet Cong were being hidden among the villagers or in hidden bunkers, a group of approximately 120 American soldiers brutally murdered over 350 unarmed, unresisting Vietnamese men, women and children. They gunned them down in their houses, they lined them up in front of trenches, and murdered them, one after another, until the whole town stood quiet.

Yet this summary of Vietnam is only the "basic-news" version. What you cannot know about My Lai from news coverage or historical reports is the feeling that is My Lai. Today, the hamlet of My Lai, where a community used to stand, sits a memorial. In standard museum style, there is a photo gallery and plaques commemorating the event, but My Lai is no museum. My Lai is a gravesite. It is a tomb. It is the place where (by the more realistic, Vietnamese estimate) over 500 people lost their lives.

A pathway lines the way to each part of the hamlet; a seemingly innocent concrete path to keep what little greens there are from being trodden. The surface is bumpy, but after spending two weeks in Vietnam, any visitor will realize most roads in Vietnam are. Yet closer inspection brings truth as to why. Imprinted in the concrete are footprints. Large footprints, small ones, combat boots, bare feet - all set in close proximity to each other. No doubt these are reproductions, but the truth is these are the paces on which the Vietnamese citizens of My Lai took their final steps. Where you stand to read a plaque is where a mother and child prayed for their lives, and where they were laughed at for crying. It is where America forgot their dignity.

To the far end of the hamlet, which takes less than fifty steps to walk in its entirety, runs a small stream. It runs with clear water and has a calming cadence. Sitting next to this stream, a visitor may try to collect their thoughts and breathe. This moment of calm is almost definitely short lived however, when a visitor realizes how this stream - a trench, really - was used. Here, innocent families were lined up and shot execution style. They were told to kneel to save themselves, and then shot anyway. It is here that some of the only survivors fought for their lives, hiding beneath bodies and playing dead so that they may not be among the murdered.

The most astonishing spectacle to behold in My Lai is not any object, however, but a sound - or lack thereof. On my trip to Vietnam, I was surrounded by individuals who were typically thoughtful, articulate, and well-spoken. My Lai, however, rendered us - all of us - completely and utterly speechless. How are there words to express the grief and guilt for the event that occurred there? What is there to say when you cannot decide whether you are ashamed of your country or simply sympathetic towards the Vietnamese victims, or even if you are merely repulsed by the effects of war?

My Lai is not a resort vacation spot. It is not a lighthearted trip. My Lai will make you feel. It will make you hurt. It will make you think. It will force silence upon you. But eventually, it will make you talk. It will help you grow. It will open your eyes.

I encourage you to go to this hamlet in Vietnam, or to at least research it. Start with Lieutenant Calley, and search for why he was the only one of the American soldiers involved to be convicted of anything in this senseless crime. It has been 2 years since my trip to My Lai, and just now am I breaking through the silence that I was shocked into. Only now, even screaming doesn't seem enough.