Radical Peacemaking

by Mary Gerardy (United States of America)

Making a local connection Vietnam

It was time to go, but I wasn’t ready to leave. Around me, there were new friends sharing last ceremonial drinks (oh, the rice wine), hugs, and high-fives. Some of the children we’d played with shared small tokens of their love – woven grass dolls and clay water buffaloes. I was ugly crying as I hugged everyone in sight. Our “host mom” came up and pulled me into a warm embrace. Then she cupped her hands and rested them under my chin, drawing my face up so that we were eye-to-eye. A week earlier, my students and I had arrived at the small village in the Mekong Delta region of Vietnam. We were there at the request of the local Ministry of Education to refurbish a primary school. While the expertise rested in the village, we came to assist in any way that we could, in addition to providing partial funding that made the refurbishment possible. Every morning, we would file into our “host family’s” house and drop off our backpacks and supplies before we headed out to begin working. From the day we arrived, our host family was clearly delighted with our presence there. Our “host mom” and her four sisters loved to laugh, sing, and cook together. Our “host dad” was warm and funny, and he especially liked hanging out with the guys in our delegation. Each day, the family provided us with succulent fruits and other snacks mid-morning and mid-afternoon, but our favorite time together was lunch. The front of our family’s house became a makeshift restaurant featuring tables covered with bright tablecloths and smothered by a variety of incredible dishes. With bilingual Vietnamese students at each table translating, we slowly learned more about each other. After each meal, we enjoyed singing together. One of the sisters taught us a song that we sang daily with gusto. The family clapped with delight every single time! During lunch one day, I noticed a picture on the family altar. Nearly every family in Vietnam, regardless of their spiritual beliefs, has such an altar to honor their dead relatives. Sometimes, pictures of other family members are displayed also. I carefully studied one photo of our “host mom” and one of her sisters. They were much younger, wearing black pajamas and carrying rifles. I’d seen this before in anti-American propaganda videos. I couldn’t get the photo out of my mind. After lunch, there was free time until the heat died down a bit. During this rest period, students would wander the village with children who were home on lunch break, journal, read, or nap. The sisters insisted that I nap too. They helped me into a hammock above their all-purpose table. Every day, I was lulled to sleep by the sounds of meal preparation for dinner. Occasionally, someone would push my hammock gently, as if to rock me to sleep. On our last day in the village, we had a completion ceremony. We gave the children backpacks full of things they needed – paper, pens, pencils, erasers, fortified crackers, and more. Some of the children sang and danced for us. There were the requisite speeches I’d come to expect, and finally, a true feast at our “host family’s” house. It was time to go, but I wasn’t ready to leave. When our host mom lifted my chin so that we could look into each other’s eyes, I stared at her and she stared back at me. Both of us were emotional as we nodded at each other. We understood a heartbreaking reality; decades earlier we could only have met on the opposite sides of a gun. Our countries were enemies then. Yet here we were now, understanding that the past was over. I loved her and love her still. I learned in that poignant moment that radical peacemaking begins one person and one village at a time. When we look into another’s eyes and see their soul, the seeds of peace are planted.