Truth

How much I’ve forgotten. Now, upon viewing the series “The Viet Nam War”, I realize the importance of remembering the main historical events of my time.

My husband and I sat in perfect silence watching the ten episodes, directed by Ken Burns. What heartbreak observing the graphic footage of soldiers, both American and Vietnamese suffering, killing, dying. The scenes of attacks on villagers were difficult to watch. Equally shocking, were the lies, cover-ups and deceit carried out by the American Administration of the time and the military advisors during those years.

The scenes of massive student protests caused me to wonder what I was doing, where was I during those years? In 1963, Madame Nhu, wife of the South Viet Nam premier and sister-in-law to the President, made a public relations tour in the U.S. One of her stops was the University of California in Berkeley where I was a Political Science student. I sat among the 7000 students in Harmon Gym. I went as an observer, not a supporter. She defended the much-questioned South Vietnamese regime, urging us not to believe the American news media’s treatment of her husband and brother-in-law. The audience received her with a mixture of applause and hisses. Outside hundreds of leftists protested her presence. During her trip, her husband and the country’s president were assassinated

In May 1965 thousands protested against the war for two days on the Berkeley campus. I was serving in the Peace Corps in Colombia at that time and returned to Berkeley in 1966 to work towards a teaching degree. Were there more anti-war protests then? I have no memory of participating in any. If I knew then what I know now, I would have been there. In 1970 I did become involved and handed out leaflets on the streets of Oakland and San Francisco protesting the bombings in Cambodia.

 I wonder how aware I was of what was happening in Viet Nam when I moved to Chile in 1972. In Chile we received scant international news, although now I realize that the official news was not to be trusted.

What upsets me deeply as I follow the unfolding of events on the series is the realization of the total lack of transparency by several U.S. administrations. In those days most Americans trusted what the government told us.

Now, once again, our government is lying to us. How is it possible that we just let it happen? The lies and deceit are more blatant now that in the 60’s and 70’s, yet so many people refuse to see it and cling tenaciously to their trust in the president. Perhaps they fear opening their minds to the truth.

At what point is a person able to stop believing the official story?

Environmental and financial regulations are being rolled back. The President has withdrawn America from peace and climate treaties, ignoring the advice of his own advisors. I feel as if I’m being rolled over by a rumbling tank. I want to PROTEST! I want to join a crowd of hundreds of thousands and shout “NO MORE.”

To my readers: In the past I vowed not to touch politics in my blog, but I can stay silent no longer.

In the Good Old Summertime....

Punta de Lobos, Chile. Though the beach is windy, it’s ideal for walking along the shore where incoming waves wash up little crabs, who then tumble back to the deep again. Our son leads our group of six on a trail he discovered along the cliff tops away from the beach crowds. The only sign of human activity are the ropes of seaweed laid out to dry by the local collectors. The landscape is barren, dry and windswept, a stark contrast to the Point Lobos State Park we visited in California just two months ago that teemed with a rich variety of plants adapted to ocean clifftops. Why the difference I wonder? It’s the same ocean, similar latitude. Climate? State protection? Geography? Precipitation? Below us, stretches a long, unpopulated beach. Someone comments that soon the land facing the beach will fill up with summer houses.

Days later we head north for an apartment we’ve rented in Marbella, an exclusive community of white houses and condominiums stretching along ocean hilltops. Most of our group is anxious to hit the beach, lather on sun screen and stretch out on their towels. I can’t expose my fair skin to long bouts of sun so keep clothes over my swim suit and seek cover under an umbrella, while the others work on their tans. I feel like a white whale surrounded by lean, bronzed figures.

Walking along the wet shore is one of my beach pleasures, breathing in that energizing air sweeping off the ocean. One morning I wander the streets of this community of beach homes, admiring their gleaming facades and neat gardens. But, then, a disturbing thought interrupts my admiration. All these houses and apartments are second homes and possess all the comforts and space of city homes.  I suddenly think of those who have no home: recent victims of a tsunami in Malaysia, war refugees living for years in temporary camps, all around the globe. The inequality and injustice rattle my vacation tranquility.

Back at the apartment, I voice my thoughts.

“Don’t spoil our vacation,” says my husband.

“That’s not my intention. Just sharing my ruminations.”

            A member of our group relates how she devotes her time to the needy and that her husband is very generous with his money.

“That’s fine” I say. “I do the same … but it’s- just- not- enough.” No one has an answer for that. I’m thinking of the need for drastic changes in life styles and strong government measures.

We drive north to visit one of my favorite and long-missed beaches and walk a trail carved into the rocky shore. From there we spot sea otters. I point out wild flowers growing in that sandy soil. This is more like California’s Point Lobos.

We are not alone on the trail. January is the height of the summer season and our favorite spots have been discovered by others. We’re shocked to see the tiny beach in a hidden cove cupping turquoise waters teeming with people from the nearby town. The time has arrived to share.

On our way home I notice rows of new condominiums built on once grassy hillsides overlooking the ocean. Again I’m dismayed, this carving up the land to accommodate the very few. I know these gloomy thoughts have something to do with the book I’m reading, “The Overstory”, which reveals the age-old wisdom of trees and sounds the alarm about the massive destruction of forests worldwide. A call to arms. Not the typical summer vacation reading.

I’m left ruminating.