Jane Fonda in Viet Nam: Facts not myth

The truth may set you free, but a fabricated myth could condemn you forever.
As truth becomes available, it is our duty to reveal it and to dispel fabricated myth, especially when the myth "protects" the real traitors.

Although Fonda’s actions in visiting North Vietnam were sufficient to earn her the wrath of many Americans, in the years since those events took place they have been embellished to the point that the one tale most commonly associated with her Vietnam trip is an incident that never took place — a tale about U.S. POWs who furtively slipped messages to Fonda while she was meeting with them and whom Fonda promptly betrayed by turning those messages over to the POWs’ North Vietnamese captors (resulting in several of those prisoners’ being beaten, tortured, or killed):
Click on the link to read more:
https://www.snopes.com/military/fonda.asp#.Wk3cX7HmbiA.facebook

The Real traitor, was Nixon. Nixon and his cronies sabotaged the Paris Peace talks to extend the war so that Nixon would win the election. This was far worse than Watergate. Many more US military died and were wounded because Nixon's cronies threw a "monkey wrench" into  the Paris Peace talks. Nixon was afraid that if Peace came to Viet Nam that Humphrey would win the election.
The American people have been duped into believing that Jane Fonda was the traitor who caused American deaths, when it was Nixon who caused the added years of suffering and death to American military personnel.Jane Fonda was used as a convenient distraction away from the real traitors.
Click on the link to read more:
https://www.nytimes.com/2016/12/31/opinion/sunday/nixons-vietnam-treachery.html

BEAUTY ABOUNDS

The following is an excerpt from chapter 18. Our ship had been bombing the shore. I too advantage of a break between my battle station watch and my underway watch.

Night decorated the black sky with twinkling stars. The moon hid behind a lone cloud. I climbed up to the flying bridge and found a secluded place to meditate. The signalmen were nowhere in sight. I leaned my back against the steel bulkhead and slowed my breathing. After a few deep breaths my shoulders relaxed and I began my mantra. I floated into a meditation of me sitting on the beach with salt spray teasing my nose. The sunrise tinted the clouds pink, yellow and orange. Thunder boomed in the distance and someone gently touched my hand. A nude Vietnamese woman, about my age, sat next to me with her legs crossed, facing the water.

“Take in a deep breath and hold it,” she said in Vietnamese, but I understood every word. “Let it out slowly; let your breath take away all your deaths. Now breathe in slowly, let the air spirit restore your soul, let it bring in beauty.”

The rumbling of the ship threatened to pull me out of my meditative trance. I told myself to let it go. Refocus my attention back to the Vietnamese woman’s words.

“How can I do that? There is no beauty here,” I said. “There is only hate and death.”

“There is no death unless you hold it.” she said. “There is no hate unless you refuse to let it go.”

“But people are dying, we are shooting them.”

She stood up, stretched out her arms and twirled around. Standing up, I became aware of my own nudity, but not embarrassed by it. She put her arm around the small of my back as we walked along the water's edge.

“Beauty cannot be stopped, even amid ugliness and death,” she said. “It can only be ignored.”

She recited a poem in a singsong voice. The sound of her Vietnamese words illuminated everything around me.

“Beauty abounds. Just take a look.
I mean really look. Beauty abounds around you.
Under foot, overhead, side to side.
Awe.

Such splendor is gifted upon us. Beauty abounds.
See the fairy hiding in her wooden cloak.
"Look!" She shouts. "Down here, up there, everywhere.

Beauty abounds.
Ignore not the wondrous glory.
Open your eyes and see.
Beauty abounds all around you.”

Boom! I jumped. Our five inch gun fired at a target beyond the shore.

Shower Aboard Ship

A few days after we left Newport Rhode Island, on our way to fight in Viet Nam, the Hospital Corpsman removed the toenails from my big toes. My boots made them ingrown. I had to take a shower without getting my feet wet. It was the only time I was allowed to wear sandals while in uniform.

Part of Chapter 36 - NO! NOT JEREMY!

 I strolled along the water's edge, enjoying myself, kicking the cool and ultra-clear water onto the sand. The sea salt wafted in to my nostril as the early morning sunshine warmed my cheeks. Looking up from the water, I saw a tall and very beautiful Vietnamese woman walking out of the jungle. She wore a shimmering green tunic with gold trim and matching pants. Three teenage boys, wearing only shorts, were laughing and talking to each other as they walked along a short distance behind her. I recognized them. My eyes grew wide. I held my breath. Those were the boys we killed on our first day.

       “He was watching us. He let us die,” one of the boys said to the Vietnamese woman as he pointed at me with his left hand. His words came out of his mouth like ship's ropes, wrapping around my stomach and squeezing all of the air out of my lungs.

       The Vietnamese woman walked up to me, her gaze warm and caring. She asked, “That wasn't you. Was it?”

       I knew that she knew that it was me. She wasn't trying to find out. She was addressing the man I was supposed to be. I wanted to say that I was sorry, but no sound came out of my mouth.

       “Look how beautiful they are,” she said as she turned and pointed to the boys. “They make their mothers proud. Why would anyone want to hurt them?”

       The tone of her voice was firm yet nurturing, giving me the courage to say, “Yes, that was me watching. I am so sorry that I made their mothers cry.” Moisture left my throat making it hard to swallow. “I didn't stop the killing.”

       “Look into their eyes,” she said. “They do not hate you.”

       Trembling, I turned my head towards them. The boys came closer, becoming younger with each step, until they became toddlers. The Vietnamese woman took my hand and said, “See how beautiful they are.”

       The boys began running toward me, their arms outstretched and their faces aglow. As they ran closer to me, each of the boys looked exactly like my two-year-old son, Jeremy. I stood, mesmerized. They ran by me toward a church on my right.

       The heavy rumble of machinery behind me made me tremble. I recognized that sound. I turned around and saw the 22 foot long gray barrel of my ship’s five inch gun turn toward the church. I turned back to the toddlers, who all looked like my son. I wanted to run after them to make them stop, but I couldn’t get my feet to move. I shot my hands up, yelling, “Wait! Wait!” The sound of my own voice echoed and raced back to our first day on the gun line. I tried to scream louder but they kept running toward the church. BAM! I jumped. Sand, dust, smoke, fire and body parts flew at me from the blast knocking me over. “Oh God, not Jeremy. Not my son! Noooooooooo!” I cried.

       The Vietnamese woman knelt beside me and wrapped one of her arms around my shoulder. She wrapped her other arm around my head, pulling it into her bosom. She stroked my head, as tears slid down my cheeks and snot oozed out of my nose. Her hands were soft and warm, like my mother's hands.

       “We must do what we must do,” she said. I began to fall asleep in her arms. “We must do what we must do,” she repeated, her voice fading. “We must do what we must do.”

The Last Jedi Review

Today, Denise and I took our nephew, Daniel, to see the Last Jedi. 

I was overcome with sadness as I walked out of the theater.

My heart hurt. I couldn’t talk. I didn’t want to talk. 

I went up to my room to be alone, 

to erase the lessons of the movie, 

to smudge, and to heal from the visual trauma.
I thought about the lessons that this movie teaches: 

An eye for an eye. 

Violence is appropriate to fight the enemy. 

Might is right. 

Selling weapons will make you rich. 

Slavery is OK, or at least acceptable if you are rich.  
Star Wars, The Last Jedi made me sad. PTSD sadness took hold. It hurts.

This movie showed me is that people don’t evolve. 

I don’t believe that. 

I look at our own evolution in during my 68 years of life. 

The Civil Rights act was not law when I was born. It was illegal, in most states, for people to marry outside of their race. It was illegal to be gay. There were no environmental laws. I remember my lungs hurting from playing outside in the smog. I never saw a person of color as a store manager. 

Our evolution may seem slow, but it has moved very fast. And I see it moving faster. 

Make no mistake. What our children repeatedly watch (what we watch repeatedly) teaches them what is acceptable.
The movie glorifies the war efforts of the “resistance” but does not show the pain and suffering that war causes. 

During Viet Nam I saw children get blown up. They died. Their parents and siblings grieve. I grieve with them. How can I not grieve with them?