We were warmly welcomed into a shaded room, with jackfruit pieces neatly cut and laid out on tables set up for us, by a – later to become a few – Viet Cong veterans from the American War. I distinctly remember his animation as he relayed a few stories from his time during the war. Throughout the visit, I heard some recurring themes that had been introduced by the course materials and earlier visits in Saigon, especially about the inevitably of war in Vietnam for some Vietnamese people who lived during the years of occupation. In the beginning of this course, I found it hard to understand how Vietnam was able to repair relations with the United States, and how diplomatically successful they seem to be when dealing with other countries as well. This idea about war, however, helped me reconcile some of these contradictions in my head. The VC veteran reiterated that war happens, and when it does, the countrymen mobilize to protect themselves and the country. War is part of the Vietnamese identity in this way. Directing anger at the foreign invaders is not a personal attack on the faces that actually fight on the ground, it is a way to preserve Vietnam and it is a constant struggle. He said this again when asked about whether or not he feels some kind of solidarity with the people of Iraq and Afghanistan. From what I gathered from the translation, he felt for them because he – and the Vietnamese people – know what it is like to suffer, but he also reiterated the fact that sometimes war happens and people have to deal with the consequences. He did not talk much about American foreign policy, or war policy specifically, but I sensed that he would not hesitate to voice disagreement with these policies if he did not like them, considering his ease in separating people from governments. That being said, it was more important for him to prioritize the people’s suffering and their spirit of resilience than details about the perpetrators of this suffering. When Americans came to fight his side, the VC veteran recognized the humanity in them, and he separated their allegiance to their country from them as men, even going so far as to tell us that the American soldiers were forced to fight for the American government, and he could not really blame them.

The second recurring theme was exactly this – that those fighting the VC were forced to fight for the other side, Americans and Vietnamese. Not only were they forced in his mind, they were not particularly good at fighting because of it. From what I gathered from his talk, the veteran believes that because the VC fought on the side of justice, they were better at the physical fighting. Those who were forced to fight for the other side must have recognized, at least at some level, the nobility of the VC, meaning that the main reason that they continued to fight against the VC was because of the pressures of the American government. This allowed him to both continue fighting, be proud of his service, and understand the humanity of his opponents, blaming the fragility and insincerity of their cause and not them.

The last part of the meeting that stuck with me was the brief discussion of Agent Orange. For the most part, the veteran was quite forgiving of the Americans – except for Agent Orange. That was one action that the veteran could not understand, and could not forgive. It did not affect his attitude towards us or towards his visit to the U.S., but it clearly stuck in his mind, especially because the victims and their children continue to suffer the consequences of the attack. I wonder how other Vietnamese who lived through the war feel about Agent Orange – to what extent does it taint their feelings toward America? How much does Agent Orange still affect Vietnam today, especially those who did not directly suffer from the chemicals?

I visited Vietnam after my first year of college in 2012, the first time since my parents and I immigrated in 1999. I had no what idea to expect from this family visit because I was so far removed from this part of myself. I grew up in the states and my knowledge of the Vietnamese was minimal. Throughout middle and high school, there were many moments when I felt uncomfortable and frustrated while speaking to my parents or grandparents in Vietnamese. I couldn’t find the right words to express myself even in the simplest of conversations. To be honest, so I wasn’t looking forward to taking the trip in 2012; I despised the idea of not being able to speak to my uncles and aunts. Throughout the trip I leaned on my English-speaking cousins (who also moved to the United States a bit after I did), I spoke to them throughout the visit because I was embarrassed to use my native language with extended family. I left Vietnam after those two weeks of near silence without any expectations of returning. Not being able to communicate was unbearable and flights are extremely costly.

Almost three years later, I find myself on another two-week trip to Vietnam. This time independent of family, a class trip centered on Vietnamese memory of the American conflict in Vietnam. Even though this trip had different purposes, I faced the same insecurities regarding language. How would I respond when people asked me questions or spoke to me in Vietnamese? Easy. Probably by fumbling a lot, grasping for the right words, using a lot of body language and praying that the person knew what I was saying. In Saigon, people didn’t understand most of the words I put together, while in Hanoi they called me out for being a foreigner with a Southern Vietnamese accent. It was tough. But I persisted because people in both cities were patient; they smiled, laughed and repeated themselves many times so that I could try to understand. These “conversations” were bittersweet, I was still frustrated at the lack of comprehension, but I learned a new word or two after each engagement. The mental barrier that I built throughout much of my life began loosening up by the end of the first week. I was beginning to accept my limited Vietnamese and work on it for the rest the trip.

I found great joy listening to people and reading street signs while walking through the cities. Slowly, I pieced letters and tones together to make words. Most of the time, I didn’t know what anything meant but I was thrilled whenever I recognized a word or phrase that I used when speaking with my parents. Back in the states my only exposure to Vietnamese was verbal. So being able to read these words was a monumental step in relearning. All these years I’ve been afraid to work on Vietnamese; I was waiting for chances to fully immerse myself in the language and culture so that the Vietnamese that I knew as a kid would magically spill out. Clearly this was the wrong approach.

After getting back from Vietnam on Sunday, I called my mother and the words flew out. I was able to speak about my trip to Vietnam, what cities I visited, what foods I ate with little hesitation. My Vietnamese had gotten better after spending two weeks in Vietnam, even though it didn’t seem like it at the time. Being in Vietnam was uncomfortable because of my relationship with the language but words cannot express how grateful I am to have the chance to go back and rediscover my culture and roots. After two weeks, I’ve gotten a little better at reading basic vocabulary and exchange pleasantries, but I hope to work on Vietnamese so that I can better understand Vietnamese history, my family and myself as a Vietnamese American/immigrant in the United States.

Going into our visit to the John McCain Memorial in Hanoi, my classmates and I weren’t sure what purpose a tribute to an American prisoner of war could serve in present day Vietnam. Now, after a few days to think about the monument and to talk to my classmates, its meaning is still unclear to me. We began our last full day in Hanoi with a visit to the Hoa Lo Prison, which was used from 1964 to 1973 to hold American prisoners of war, including John McCain. A section of the museum inside the former prison was dedicated to this period of the building’s history, and McCain’s flight suit and personal effects were featured prominently in the exhibit. There were also two photos of him: one depicted Vietnamese soldiers and civilians removing McCain from the Truc Bach lake, where he fell when his plane was shot down, and the other showed a doctor treating his wounds at the prison.

After finishing our museum visit, we drove to the memorial. The bus stopped at the side of the road by the Truc Bach Lake and we all walked over to the monument. It included a sculpted image of McCain alongside a brief description of his position in the U.S. Navy and how he was shot down while on a mission to bomb a power plant. The image showed McCain with his hands raised, though the meaning of the posture was ambiguous; he could have been falling from his aircraft, being lifted from the lake, or surrendering. In all three scenarios, however, McCain is in a position of weakness in relation to his captors, as well as to the modern Vietnamese state. Particularly given the level of political prominence he assumed in the 1990s and beyond, portraying him as helpless suggests the relative strength of the northern Vietnamese army and their modern-day successors.

While American tourists who have been exposed to John McCain’s accounts of his experiences during the Vietnam War might be interested in seeing the monument, it was certainly not very accessible for foreigners. It is just a small statue on a sidewalk a bit out of the way of many common tourist areas, and the Vietnamese inscription is not translated to English. The Lonely Planet’s Vietnam guidebook includes Truc Bach Lake as a tourist site, but makes no mention of the monument. The memorial was also erected sometime between 1975 and 1985, prior to the reopening of relations between Vietnam and the United States, so it certainly was initially intended for a Vietnamese audience.

McCain began his national political career in the early 1980s, so the monument presumably was designed to celebrate the capture of a “celebrity” POW. A quick Google Image search yielded a bizarre photo of John McCain and other members of an American delegation smiling next to this monument celebrating his own imprisonment – very obviously a photo op intended to represent a renewal of friendship between the United States and Vietnam at the political level. McCain has made highly publicized allegations of severe torture during his time in Hoa Lo Prison in the years since the photo was taken, sparking some controversy and anger in Vietnam.

This complicated relationship between John McCain and Vietnam made visiting the monument today feel all the more strange. Different people can have such different interpretations of it; Vietnamese visitors perhaps see in it a national victory over an occupying power or may feel the sting of McCain’s more recent public remarks, while American tourists – if they even realize what the monument is – may be more likely to recall McCain’s personal wartime accounts or other common American POW narratives. With the opening of relations between the two countries, both at a political level and in terms of rising tourism, the ambiguous message of the memorial seems more and more confused. McCain’s vacillation between supporting reconciliation and accusing his captors of torture, contrasted with the consistent argument in the Hoa Lo Museum that the American prisoners were treated fairly, also complicates the history that the monument represents. Does the monument today and the memories it engenders promote further understanding of the war, or deepen divisions by recalling a point of strong contention between many common Vietnamese and American narratives? Does it have any obligation to address these issues as remembrance of the war changes over time? With so many implications to the various interpretations of the monument, I find it difficult to come to any definitive conclusion about the purpose it serves or the real impact it has. The memorial itself may be physically unassuming and contain a simple narrative of the sequence of events leading to John McCain’s capture, but as with all of the representations of war history we came across in Vietnam, the meanings behind it become infinitely complex.

9:20am, the class arrives in front the Reunification Palace, formally known as independence Palace, in Ho Chi Minh City. When I first saw the palace I thought, ‘is this a hotel?” because dozen buses from various tourist groups and travel companies dropping people in front. This attendance has been typical during our visits to the few government sponsored historic sites. Makes sense, the palace symbolizes Vietnamese independence after defeating the United States puppet government. April 25^th 1975. This day is crucial in Vietnamese consciousness because it represented the success of nearly a century of French and then U.S. imperialism. At least that’s the sentiment that I’ve gotten from consulting the trusty Lonely Planet and guides.

The palace was chaos when we walked it; there was an endless stream of international tourists and several Vietnamese student groups visiting. After looking at ““Thanh niên Vietnam” on their blue uniforms and a little bit of Google, I found out that these students were from the Ho Chi Minh Communist Youth Union. Our guide said that these students went on this trip to learn about reunification to prepare for the 40^th anniversary of Vietnamese independence. Our class was there to get some perspective on ways the Reunification Palace has attributed to building national narrative and memory of the American War.

Touring Reunification Palace was a perplexing experience. Our tour guide was energetic, dynamic and really enthusiastic. She was confortable enough to joke with us, calling everyone VIP (Very International People). The majority of the site did not convey any distinct history of the war. I felt like the group was taking an open house tour of Ngo Dinh Diem’s palace, we started on the first floor with the reception space, then the meeting room, conference room, offices, then bedroom etc. Every floor gave us a look into where the Republic Of Vietnam’s leaders worked, lived and even partied. I thought the tour was a bit dry because I wasn’t expecting an open house, I wanted to learn the about the narrative of Vietnamese heroism. Reunification was a significant event in Vietnamese history and going from room to room did not give me a better sense of what this history meant to Vietnamese people and the national government. Though this absence of clear distinct message could be indicative of a larger memory construction project, filled with erasure of a heroic past and anti-imperialism.    There were two instances in the entire museum that gave me a clear picture of Vietnamese heroism, revolutionary struggle and the triumph of Communism. There was one room in the entire palace dedicated to the history of the Fall of Saigon. This photographic exhibit provided audiences with historical context for the war and – more importantly – it emphasized the defeat of the United States. I enjoyed this exhibit because of the clear chronological narrative of Vietnamese triumph and a historic reunification of Vietnam after nearly two decades of conflict. This room is more cluttered and dingy as compared to the other pristine and expansive rooms in the palace. Vietnamese reunification is an integral part of Vietnamese nationalism, but there was only one small worn-down room dedicated to this narrative throughout the entire palace.

The second instant that provided me with some context of Vietnamese history was a 37-minute propaganda video that gave viewers a history of the Vietnam War beginning with the defeat of the French at Dien Bien Phu in 1954.until the defeat of the Southern Vietnamese puppet government. The most striking aspect of this video is the demonization of United States government and imperialism on Vietnamese soil in an otherwise sterile historic site. The video also had clips that highlighted Vietnamese soldiers fighting and winning battles throughout the war. This video provided context that helped me understand the Vietnamese struggle throughout the war, which is significantly better than peering into the different luxurious guest rooms in the palace.

Though the palace’s architecture is grand, the rooms are beautiful, I believe that government has to be more deliberate in what it wants to convey in the reunification palace. As the space that represents Vietnamese reunification, there may need to be a stronger emphasis on the struggles against the United States in Saigon. I suspect that downplaying the victorious narrative of Vietnam is a part of a larger scheme to placate foreign tourists in order to generate more international attention and visitors to the Reunification Palace. I’m curious about how the Reunification Palace will be used to celebrate the 40 year anniversary of the fall of Saigon and 85 years of Vietnamese communism.