Friendship Village

Today I learned a lesson in life that no school could ever teach: a lesson about how the toll for what they call “the sins of our fathers” must be paid by the children instead of the men and how the innocent suffer for the transgressions of those before them made against mankind. War, in all its glorified destruction, does not always end when the last bullet is fired and the white flag raised.

Today I visited Friendship Village, a small compound where 130 Vietnamese children live together. In this village, there are no parents, only children a small staff of underpaid and overworked individuals who care for them. The children that abide here live in worn down houses with no doors and play with broken toys that are reddened with rust. It is these kids, these innocent and helpless children, who pay the price for a war waged decades ago by their fathers and grandfathers. Some children cannot speak, some cannot hear, other children are missing limbs, or have such severe deformities that it shocks you at first sight. All are so intellectually challenged that they cannot learn.

The children in this village share one thing in common: they were made this way by Agent Orange. Agent Orange was an herbicide used by our country to defoliate the jungles and destroy the food supply of the enemy. This herbicide contains deadly dioxins that became so deeply embedded in the soil and water they will continue to wreak havoc on the bodies of the Vietnamese people for generations to come.

Understanding all this, I had to ask myself if the leaders of our country knew what they were doing when they authorized the use of Agent Orange in Viet Nam—I found the answer is yes. By the early 1960s our government understood what the consequences of this deadly agent would be. But, of course, war is not about saving lives, it is about taking them, and if the children of countless generations must suffer for the failed promotion of democracy then so be it…right? I am not one to be easily upset; tears are not easily coaxed from my eyes. Yet, as I walked through the village and played with the children I felt my stomach churn, and my heart felt as if it were being ripped from my chest—I did not know whether to vomit or cry…knowing we lost the war but managed to defeat the youth of this small nation.

In all of my education, all of the books and lectures, I somehow was not taught about this part of war. What a strange thing to teach students about the Viet Nam war, but fail to mention the 8 million Vietnamese who live today with the effects of Agent Orange. Why do I feel guilty? It wasn’t me who did this to these people. I can’t blame the soldiers, they were just following orders…and after all, they too suffer the consequences. We still lose veterans to Viet Nam. It is not bullets that kill them, but cancer, from a liquid they were told was safe to use by men that knew better. You know why I feel guilty? Why I feel hate for what we did? Because good men did nothing to stop it, and that is all that it takes for evil to prevail—or in this case children to suffer. And now that I know, what can I do? I am just one person, just a number. All I can do is make these kids laugh and be happy even for just a moment, so maybe they can forget that their parents dumped them in a broken down “Friendship Village” and abandoned them for life. In Vietnam, deformity is believed to be a reflection of sin. Thus, these children are seen within their home villages and families as “evil.”

The lesson I learned today, is something that can never be untaught, and I feel it will weigh over my head and heart for the rest of my days.

 -Devon C. Smith