From War to Reconciliation
By John F. Terzano
We are all products of our times and generational experiences. And it is those experiences—some of which are tattooed deep upon our soul—that serve as constant reminders that we can always strive to make things better in our society. My parents were products of the Great Depression and WWII. They instilled their values, principles, and generational lessons in my siblings and me, but I am a product of a different generation: the Vietnam generation.
We came of age during a time that held so much hope and promise. Many of us answered the clarion call of our generation to service for the greater good. In his inaugural address in 1961, President John F. Kennedy issued the call when he stated his renowned call to action: “Ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.” In today’s world, that phrase sounds hokey, naïve, and a bit Hollywoodish—but to a nine year old boy at the time, it meant something: that I could be a part of something greater than myself.
My generation answered the call in various ways. Many joined the Peace Corps, many took part in the freedom marches in the South, many worked in poverty programs across the country, many were part of the women’s movement. The list goes on. Many others joined the military. Fifty-four million Americans came of age during the Vietnam War. Approximately 250,000 women served in the military during that time, in addition to 27 million. 9 million—a full third—wore the military uniform. Of that number, approximately 3 million served in Southeast Asia of which approximately half of them, or 1.5 million saw combat in Vietnam. Contrary to popular myths and beliefs, more than 2/3 who served during the Vietnam War were not drafted. They enlisted. (Which contrasts sharply with those who served during WWII, where 2/3 were drafted to serve.)
The 1960s began with the hopes and dreams of millions of Americans who believed we could change the world—but the decade ended with those dreams shattered with such intensity and suffering that the effects, I believe, are still being felt today. The U.S. was mired in a war halfway around the world in Vietnam, while violence erupted on our own college campuses, with students being killed at Kent State in Ohio and Jackson State in Mississippi. Fire hoses, dogs, and police batons were used on non-violent, peaceful protestors seeking simple equality, justice and respect, and our cities erupted in flames due to issues of poverty and race as well as the assassinations of our most gifted leaders, such as John F. Kennedy, his brother Robert Kennedy, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jr., and Medgar Evers, a WWII veteran.
Despite our experiences—or maybe because of those experiences—many in our generation remained committed to our values and principles, and refused to let the dream die; the dream of justice for all, in our society and beyond.
There was a popular saying among many Vietnam veterans upon their return home: “Now that I fought in Vietnam, I wish I had been serving my country instead.” Many of us caught up in Vietnam’s vortex knew that war did not represent what America is all about, and that war and what we did in Vietnam did not represent the best of this country. We were determined that once we were “back in the world” (that is, back home) to do something with the knowledge gained, the lessons learned, the pain and suffering endured in war. We remained resolved to turn those experiences into service for the greater good.
When I left Vietnam on a Navy destroyer in December 1972 for what I thought would be my last time, I had never been so happy to leave a place. My memories of those days are not pleasant ones—memories of war never are. I certainly never fathomed that I would return to Vietnam many times.
But I was fortunate to become a part of the first delegation of veterans to return to Vietnam after the war, in 1981. My dear friend and colleague Bobby Muller and I had been working in Washington, DC, trying to get our government to provide the necessary programs for our fellow veterans. One of those programs was to help those exposed to Agent Orange. Since our government had failed to act or provide information, we went to Vietnam to see if there was anything we could learn on the ground. At that time, there were no relations between the U.S. and Vietnam and we maintained an economic embargo.
We arrived in Hanoi a week before Christmas—not as statesmen or politicians, but as veterans seeking answers. At the time there were posters all around the city commemorating the 9th anniversary of the 1972 Christmas bombings, when the U.S. dropped more bombs on Hanoi than Germany did throughout the entirety of WWII. As we walked about, people approached us and asked if we were American veterans—when we replied yes, they responded by saying, “Welcome to Vietnam.” That simple act of kindness and friendship blew our minds. How could they be so welcoming, given the death and destruction we had caused?
We realized quickly that although there was still work that needed to be done for our fellow veterans, we also needed to begin the process of reconciliation. Advocating for lifting the embargo and normalizing relations with Vietnam was not a popular position in the United States at that time, but we persevered, along with others. To this day, I continue to work on war legacy issues; particularly with the International Commission on Missing Persons.
Addressing war legacies, namely removing landmines and unexploded bombs, remediating the effects of Agent Orange contamination, supporting people with disabilities, and providing a humanitarian accounting of those missing remain a cornerstone of Vietnam/US relations.
I think of relations between our two countries like an inverted pyramid. The wide space on top represents the comprehensive strategic partnership and the many issues that go along with that. But the point at the bottom of the pyramid is the war legacy issues—which is the foundation of our relationship and supports everything above it.
Many years ago I learned a lesson from Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who said:
“There is no shortcut or simple prescription for healing the wounds and divisions of a society in the aftermath of sustained violence. Examining the painful past, acknowledging it and understanding it, and above all transcending it together, is the best way to guarantee that it does not—and cannot—happen again.”
For over 40 years, Vietnam has assisted the U.S. in helping account for Americans missing from the war. In Vietnam, there are more than 300,000 persons still missing. Behind each of these numbers is a family that has lived with decades of unanswered questions and unhealed wounds. Since 2022, the International Commission on Missing Persons (with funding from the U.S. government) has worked to help Vietnam identify the missing. This partnership brings hope to countless families, but it also sends a powerful message: even after war, nations can choose cooperation over division, and compassion over bitterness.
For me and other veterans, returning to Vietnam has been a deeply personal and emotional journey—one that has evolved over the years from war, anger, and sorrow to reconciliation, peace, justice, and friendship. That journey continues.
In the end, the story of Vietnam—both the war and what came after—is not just a story about conflict, but about what we choose to do with its lessons. My generation was shaped by the pain and promise of that era, and many of us have spent a lifetime trying to turn that pain into meaning and purpose. My generation will not live to see all of the wounds fully healed. Reconciliation, whether between nations or within ourselves, is never finished—it is work that must be tended to, generation after generation. No generation should have to carry the burden of mistakes made before them—but such has always been the way of humankind.
The road from war to reconciliation and peace is long and uneven, but it is travelled by those willing to face the past honestly and act with compassion in the present. If we have learned anything from Vietnam, it is that even the deepest wounds can begin to heal when hands instead of guns are extended, when we choose understanding and empathy over blame, and when we remember that our shared humanity is stronger than the divisions of our history.
John F. Terzano lives in Ludington, Mich., where he works as a social justice and human rights advocate, locally and around the world.
Thanks for all you are doing. I visited Vietnam (not as a veteran) for a few weeks in 1999 and again in 2000. I didn't know what to expect, but I was struck by how friendly and welcoming people were. Reconciliation is very important work.
The greatest tragedy, to any humanist, of America is its total lack of solidarity with victims of its innumerable crimes: from the Hiroshima and Nagasaki crime against humanity of biblical proportions to destruction of Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, Afghanistan, Iraq. In Vietnam we talk of the most vicious ways of killing, napalm bombs, 1-3 million killed, an unimaginable number to me - and yet, most Americans will endlessly talk of scars its left on them, basically never what it did to Vietnamese. Mind boggling and heartbreaking. It reminds you of post WW2 movies, where Japanese were not human beings, just bodies piling up after being eliminated.
No lesson ever learned, while one democracy after another gets toppled: Iran, Brazil, Chile, Argentina, Salvador, the list goes on and on. And so today, the US is directly enabling the genocide of Gaza and the total destruction of people and their land - and most stay silent with complicity. I cannot comprehend for the life of me how one grow to be so heartless to feel nothing, no solidarity, no empathy for others. Is it because they are not white, which is why the racism cannot die off? Think of this: even the best of the US presidents (say Obama) love to practice international terrorism, like bombing of Yemen say - and we speak of distant lands the US has no contact with. And so we have here yet another heartless article masquerading as humanistic expose - instead of crying over unbearable destruction of Palestine today, the author muses - almost poetically - over the past without ever saying clearly: from Vietnam to Iraq we, the US, have been practicing one massacre after another, one destruction after another, while never in war with those countries. One uses the language of war, as if the US had been threatened by those countries, as if those countries were potent enemies, as if they had gotten in contact, as if those countries had potent armies able to fight back.