Day Three: Seeing Saigon by Francisco Luzania

 Our first major outing brought us to the War Remnants Museum. It’s a stop that is hard to put into words. The museum confronts visitors with unfiltered stories and images of the Vietnam War—or, as it’s known here, the War of American Aggression. As an American, walking through the exhibits was a humbling experience. Photographs of children affected by Agent Orange, stories of families torn apart, and displays of military machinery served as reminders of the human toll of conflict. It was especially difficult to see the long-term consequences of napalm and chemical warfare, which continue to impact generations today. The museum does not shy away from depicting the war’s atrocities. While sitting at one of the benches, I decided to do some research online about all the things that we had seen that day in the exhibits, including war crimes committed by soldiers on both sides. What struck me was the revelation that American soldiers were held accountable for these crimes—a fact that complicates our understanding of justice. For example, Lieutenant William Calley was court-martialed and found guilty for his role in the My Lai Massacre, a horrific event where hundreds of Vietnamese civilians, including women and children, were murdered. Though his punishment was reduced significantly, his conviction remains a historical acknowledgment of wrongdoing. These reminders forced me to grapple with both the horrific acts committed and the attempts—however insufficient—to reckon with them. Though tragic, we must continue to be fully honest as to the reality of history.

After the museum, we continued our exploration of the city in bicycle carriages, or cyclos. At first, the experience felt lighthearted—a fun way to see Saigon at a slower pace. Rolling through the chaotic streets allowed us to take in the vibrancy of life here: children playing, food stalls bustling, and motorbikes weaving like water through narrow alleys. But the further we went, the more complicated my feelings became. There was an undeniable element of privilege in sitting comfortably in a carriage while being pedaled through areas where people face significant hardships. This became even more apparent when we toured low-income housing neighborhoods after visiting the well-known Post Office near the Presidential Palace. Seeing the realities of poverty firsthand—homes made of patchwork materials, children playing in alleyways—was sobering. Yet there was also a visible strength and resilience. Families gathered for meals, neighbors leaned out of windows to chat, and kids and locals waved as we passed their stands and restaurants. The contrast between observing these communities as visitors made me reflect on how tourism intersects with deeper social realities.

One of the highlights of the trip so far was meeting with Blue Dragon, a Vietnamese NGO dedicated to protecting children and fighting human trafficking. Their work is both critical and multifaceted. Blue Dragon rescues children who are trafficked for labor or sexual exploitation, helps reunite families, and provides education and vocational training for at-risk youth. Hearing their stories was equal parts heartbreaking and inspiring. For these kids, education and stability are not just opportunities—they are lifelines. Blue Dragon’s focus on long-term solutions, such as addressing poverty and inequality, showed us how grassroots organizations can create meaningful change in the lives of vulnerable children. After that meeting, my classmates and I sat together to reflect on the day so far, particularly the experience of the War Remnants Museum. We shared a collective sadness for the immense suffering caused by the war, but our discussion also turned to the complexity of history. While the atrocities were undeniable, we grappled with the broader implications of the Cold War. The question arose: what would have happened if the U.S. and its allies had chosen not to intervene in Vietnam to stymie the spread of communism? Could a failure to act have led to even greater instability and disaster for the people of Southeast Asia? There were no easy answers, but the conversation underscored the importance of critically examining history from multiple perspectives—a skill we continue to sharpen on this program.

That evening, we had the opportunity to see a cultural gem: the Bamboo Circus performance at the Saigon Opera House. A mix of acrobatics, music, and storytelling, the performance was mesmerizing. Artists leapt and spun with breathtaking agility, using bamboo as their only props. The show beautifully captured the spirit of Vietnam—its creativity, strength, and connection to nature. And, as if to add a bit of drama to an already full day, our evening ended with a quintessential Southeast Asian experience: a torrential downpour. We had planned to find a spot for dinner nearby, but the sudden storm turned the streets into rivers. Undeterred, our group did not have rain jackets and umbrellas, so we just accepted being soaked, and began walking through the rain-soaked city. Laughing, slipping through puddles, and searching for shelter became an adventure in itself. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, we found a cozy restaurant and the shared experience made it all worth it.

As I sit here reflecting on these first days in Vietnam, I’m reminded of why I continue to take part in these study abroad programs. The privilege of seeing the world through a different lens, of learning firsthand how history, culture, and resilience shape a country, is unmatched. Whether it’s grappling with the legacies of war, being inspired by advocates fighting for children’s rights, or simply walking through the rain with new friends, this program has already left its mark.