Laughing Little Buddha and the Vietnam War

It was the coldest temperature recorded for the month of July in many years. Living in the Dandenong Ranges, mountains/hills over looking the city of Melbourne; the air is always 2 degrees colder than the flat lands. Our heater upstairs was looking and sounding like it would conk-out at any moment. Although the time, relatively, was early, 2100 hrs, we decided to go to bed, and rough-it downstairs in bed under heavy blankets. The problem is, I couldn't sleep. I hadn't been called by the agency in 3 weeks. Working for a teaching agency, they would call me usually the night before, if a substitute position was available. The phone rang, and my assignment was a little elementary school on the edge of south east Melbourne. That's all they could tell me: name of school and the address. Turning on the lamp, I looked the address up in the city street directory, (before google maps) and realised it would take at least 1 hour in peak hour traffic. Sleep turned out to be impossible.

After an hour of horns blasting, smog, and bad tempered drivers on a Monday morning, I skidded into the school parking lot at 0845. The principal met me at the main entrance.

“You must be Mr. Middleton?”

Mrs. Anderson had to be in her early sixties: all white hair, slightly over weight, and very kind, pale blue eyes.

“We are just beginning Monday assembly. Please follow me.”

The school had to be at least half a century old. Anyone who has walked the halls of an old school, know it has a certain odour. Most have the aroma of stale lunches, cleaning fluid, and the hint of human perspiration. This one smelled of Asian food, cleaning chemicals, and construction paper. As we entered the back section of the building, outside, all standing at attention, were about seventy little bodies in uniform singing the Australian National anthem. One could see the student body had been organised by grade, because on the right hand side stood the 6^th graders, awkward and self conscious, moving down the line to the 1st graders, munchkin-like and confident.

To my surprise, all the children were Asian, specifically, all Vietnamese.

*

In 1964/5, our little street in Northglenn, Colorado, felt its first casualty of war. Ed Adams. Every neighbourhood in mid western America had their own Ed Adams. Ed was cool, rode a motorcycle and played electric guitar. His hair was slicked back like Elvis Presley, and every girl in town wanted him. Before Ed was drafted and left us, he started a band. On those hot nights in August, all the kids around would find them playing in some backyard. I remember looking over the high wooden fence to catch a glimpse of the musicians, while below us, the little kids of the neighbourhood, danced with each other. Imagine 4 to 9 year old's dancing to live music by an old wooden fence? Soon dusk arrived, and we all had to be home before dark. This was Ed Adams. This was the Ed Adams who was forced to go to Vietnam, and died, blown up from a mine, that he stepped on while on patrol. He came home in a body bag, and the neighbourhood was never the same.

*

After the National Anthem, the students reported to their various Home Rooms. As usual, not knowing exactly what to do, Mrs. Anderson finally told me, that I would be teaching maths and language to the 2A class.

“Don't worry Mr. Middleton, they're a good group of children. By the way, how are you with Year 2 maths?”

“As long as it's not Algebra, Mrs. Anderson, I believe we will get through..”

The principal smiled in a slightly ironic way. “I'm sure you will do fine Mr. Middleton. We walked down the main hall. “This will be your classroom for the duration. If you have any questions....”

I understood all too well what, “If you have any questions” meant. Find yourself over your head, please call for help, and we will never hire you again.

For the little time remaining before the first class arrived, I found the teacher's notes, her lesson plans, and began hastily studying them, when the students arrived. Immediately, I wrote my name on the board.

“Hello, my name is Mr. Middleton.”

All 14 2^nd graders, all Vietnamese, broke into hilarious laughter.

My heart and mind, sank.

*

The Vietnam War, (now called a “conflict”) was based on lies. The Gulf of Tolkin, where allegedly the North Vietnamese shot at a US battle ship, was the falsity to justify President Johnson sending more troops to the little country. From there, death and destruction escalated.

But for what reason?

We were told that Communism would strike at the hearts of God-fearing people, that China and Russia were our dangerous enemies, that these ruthless country's were intent on taking over our inalienable freedoms, that they needed to be stopped on the border between North Vietnam and South Vietnam. The American propagandists called this threat the “Domino Effect”. One country falls to these atheistic monsters, the rest would follow, falling like chips, one after the other. Therefore, following this tainted logic, North Vietnam, now Communist under the totalitarian dictator, Hi Chi Min, must be prevented from corrupting South Vietnam, our “democratic friend”. This evil must be stopped, no matter the cost! This propaganda was certainly effective during the height of the Cold War. And it was all *false*.

*

No matter the year level, in order to teach a lesson as a substitute teacher, at the start, establishing authority is absolutely essential. As the children laughed, I merely stood there in stoic silence. After a few moments the classroom turned silent, many of the pupils faces showing a little fear.

“Now, Miss Rockwell has left a maths worksheet, and expects it to be done before she returns tomorrow. Find a partner and begin”.

The class went into motion, moving the desks around to accommodate a two partner study format. Try to imagine a group of seven year old children, organising a classroom in military precision. Because it was a 4 page exercise, the lesson lasted until lunch. Only a handful of students raised their hands for help. My teaching advice was assured, as the worksheet held only equations of addition and subtraction. Later that day, I decided to stay back and correct the worksheets. Out of 14 students collectively, only about 11 incorrect answers. I thought, 'These children need to move on to at least Year 4'. So far so good. Now I had to engage with the permanent faculty of the school. Sometimes much more confronting than facing a classroom of students.

The lunch bell rang, and my class all looked at me simultaneously, excitingly, waiting for permission to leave. I stood at the door, and told them to line up. I remember the wafting scent of garlic and ginseng in the air. After telling the group not to run, opened the door, and walked down the long hall towards the foyer. I decided to follow them.

A large crowd of parents and grandparents spilled out side the front doors of the school. I really had never seen this before. Each parent had a hot lunch for their children, waiting patiently to hand it to them. The scent of garlic and various spices that filled the room was glorious. After about ten minutes, each student received their personally cooked hot lunch After a kiss and a hug, the children dispersed outside under an old corrugated roof, wooden picnic tables below and began to dine.

A tap on the shoulder. “Mr. Middleton, how was your morning?”

The principal, Mrs. Anderson, stood there with her arms crossed, and intent for delivering a message. “The morning went surprisingly well. We began with the maths worksheet, and the students, for Year 2, are exceptionally bright.”

“Yes they are. I'm afraid I have to tell you, that you have been assigned a double yard duty over lunch. You can have your lunch during late afternoon recess. I hope this is fine with you.”

Over the school year as a substitute teacher, I learned very quickly that you would be given yard duty, automatically, giving a permanent teacher a break for the day – this was a given.

“Of course, Mrs. Anderson, not a problem.” I said.

Throughout the lunch break, watching the kids play, my mind wandered to the same conclusion: In a supportive and safe environment, children are children, no matter their ethnicity, all across the world.

Returning to my room, their were only 4 students lined up at the door. What happened to the other 10? A young woman in her early twenties, came running up the hall. “You're Mr. Middleton?”

“I'm sorry we didn't tell, but most of your class on Monday's have music for the remainder of the afternoon.” She smiled, “Looks like you will have a pleasant rest of your day.”

*

The Vietnam war began in November of 1959, and ended in the fall of Saigon in April of 1975. Many revisionist historians have written that the reason the US lost the war, is that it was a “politicians” war. Meaning the generals took orders from the WH, and the military followed these orders. From the US perspective, it was a strategy about *attrition*: the more Vietnamese we can kill the better our chances of a victory. This turned out to be a disastrous strategy, It has been estimated that 1.5 million N. Vietnamese (likely much more) died as a result of unrelenting carpet bombing, not only in N. Vietnam, but Cambodia and Laos, as well. For many of us, Vietnam appeared more to be an attempted act of genocide, because so many civilians lost their lives.

Napalm is an incendiary agent that the US first used during the fire bombing in Japan before dropping the Atom bomb on said country. The agent is gasoline based, and has a tendency to stick on the intended targets. In Vietnam's case, civilians, women and children. We, as a public were, really, first informed about Napalm from the Pulitzer prize winning photograph of Phan Thi Kim Phuc, a 9 year old S. Vietnamese girl running naked down a street, Napalm burning her back. Napalm is a chemical weapon. Let me say it again, Napalm is a chemical weapon. It is fair to deduce that more Vietnamese, Cambodian and Lao's civilians, mostly families and children, died under the bombs of the US.

*

The 4 students that entered my classroom on that cold Monday afternoon, gave me the impression of being the misfits of the school. One boy stood out apart from the other 3 students. He was quite tall for his age, and chubby, like a little, old man. At first my afternoon class of 4, seemed quite nervous, but once sitting them together at one table, passing out the language worksheets, all relaxed, and “little Buddha” could not stop smiling. Rather than stand above them, shouting directions, I sat in one of the “chairs made for children and hobbits”. Now we were all on the same level. A language lesson on English nouns, the worksheet had the Vietnamese word and English equivalent beside it, with an illustration. Rather than let them carry on their own, I decided to work through the lesson with them.

The first noun on the sheet: Pig. Pointing to the picture, I said “Pig”.

All at once, the entire group burst into hilarious laughter. I have to say, this laughter was certainly contagious, as I laughed right along with them.

Second noun, Man. I pointed to the picture, and announced, “Man”.

There was no laughter this time. “Repeat after me,”Man”.

All the group appeared confused. Using hand movements, I managed to get my request for “repeat after me” across...in unison the group uttered, “Man”.

Now it was my turn to smile, and the group grinned along with me.

Next two nouns were “Goat” and “House”. Following the same procedure, the students repeating the words out loud to me in unison. Out of the blue, the little chubby Buddha uttered:

“Pig Man in Goat House.”

This time all of us fell into laughter, that seemed to go on for some time.

The door opened and the principal, Mrs. Anderson, entered the classroom, with a concerned smile.

“ All of you have missed afternoon recess, and the last bell is about to ring.”

I looked at my watch and it read 3:25. We were so engrossed in the lesson, that we didn't hear the recess bell, and even more astonishing, the students didn't hear it, either. In my experience, this had never happened before. For one, as a teacher, I can get carried away with a lesson and lose track of time, but never have my students, )more often “watching the clock”), missed a recess bell.

“Mrs. Anderson, I apologise...”

“Don't apologise Mr. Middleton, I'm just happy you all have had such a good lesson.”

The bell rang signalling the end of the school day.

*

Living through the Vietnam war, and later studying it in college, after the millions of deaths, this “conflict” achieved absolutely nothing. What did the US have to show for all the death, war crimes and destruction? Close to 60,000 American boys dead, and 1.5 million Vietnamese, Cambodian and Laotian deaths, mostly women and children. The original propaganda reason for going to South East Asia in the first place, was to stop the spread of communism. This was a lie, as the US lost this conflict and Vietnam merely became one country again. In any war, however, it's always the innocents that take the brunt of the suffering. To my mind, this unacceptable; war is wrong, period.

*

After correcting the mornings maths worksheets, I walked to the front of the school to find the “little Buddha” and a woman, sitting in the foyer. Once spotting me, she stood up, and approached,

“Are Mr. Middleton? “ I nodded. She went on to say, “I wanted to tell you that my son, Ho, thinks you a funny/good teacher. He wanted me to tell this.”

Tell “Ho” he is a funny and smart student, too.”

She turned to him and translated my statement from English to Vietnamese. Ho smiled then laughed, a contagious laugh, as his mother and I laughed as well.

Driving home on that Monday evening, I thought of the Vietnam war, its utter waste of life, that children are the same the world over, and my special, new friend, the Laughing Buddha.