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The Seven Children of Le Ba Thuan

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2014 Profile by Peace Fellow Seth McIntyre

Le Ba Thuan dashes into his home for his silver rimmed glasses and a white button-up shirt. He returns with a woven floor mat, the kind often laid out for guests, and invites us to sit. His wife serves us hot artichoke tea from a white porcelain teapot adorned with a flower motif. She disappears as quickly as she came, vanishing into an adjacent room where the distinct sound of a person moaning can be heard.

As Thuan tells us the story of his life during the American War, he gazes, every so often towards the room. When he speaks, his glasses become murky, as if a fog were forming behind his eyes. He is a deeply emotional man, and for everything he has seen, one would wonder how you could be any other way.

Thuan had just finished his teenage years when he joined the National Front for the Liberation of Vietnam in the American War. An exceedingly bright and astute young man, he was sent to the Ho Chi Minh Trail, and its peripheries along the southern trade corridors of the Laos/South Vietnam border, where he was trained as a political advocate for the military. His task was to encourage rural Vietnamese to join in the resistance against South Vietnam.             


 
Seth McIntyre, the author of this profile, with Le Ba Thuan and AEPD translator Tra My. One of Thuan’s children was born with severe birth defects and died several hours after birth. Another died during a miscarriage. Two others have degenerative muscle diseases.

He remembers the work being rewarding, but taxing. In his experience, the American military strategy of winning the “hearts and minds” of the Vietnamese people through non-violent action was working in the rural highlands; and the large, seemingly-endless supply of resources coming from the South was more than enough to persuade many middle-of-the-road Vietnamese in the North to detract.

Far from straight forward, but armed with tact and the ideas of Ho Chi Minh and Vo Nguyen Giap, Hang’s job was to bring a new perspective, to draw the argument away from the short-term promises of the South, and plant the thinking deep in the annals of Vietnamese history. The country’s history was one near endless colonization, imperialization, and war: first by the Chinese, then the French, and now the Americans. This time, Vietnam was in the midst of an ideologically driven, proxy war–the outcome of which would determine the future of Vietnam and its independence from foreign bodies.

During the war, Thuan was stationed all over South Vietnam: Quang Tri, Quang Nam, Da Nang, and Saigon. He recalls the American planes overhead and the steady stream of Agent Orange. By intuition, he knew that the air and water had been exposed and made every effort to avoid the contaminated areas. But he did not have much choice. To this day, he copes with the symptoms he developed during the American War: ischemic heart disease, high blood pressure, stomachaches, joint pain, constant headaches, and skin rashes.

By the end of the war, he returned home to Quang Binh Province, an adult at the age of 30. He was unable to find work in politics—his commune had already established a political entity. So he returned to a life of fishing. 

He gets up and fetches an old ziploc bag filled with photos. This is my eldest daughter, he says, producing two photos. She died of nose cancer. In the photos, his daughter lays in white clothes on a wooden bed. Her arms and legs are emaciated to the bone, bending at the joints as if they were broken. One of her eyes is swollen closed, the other, stares distantly out of the frame. Her neck is filled with four soft-ball sized lumps that seem to be crushing her airways, and her nose has small black spot on one side.


 
Family photos of Thuan’s eldest daughter, who died of nose cancer

In addition to his eldest daughter, Thuan had another child that was born with severe birth defects who died several hours after birth, and another that was miscarried. Of his remaining four children, he has two boys that are fishermen. They live nearby, in the same commune as Thuan, and visit often. They are married and both are healthy—save for frequent bone pain.

Both of Thuan’s remaining two daughters have degenerative muscle diseases. One of his daughters was born with myasthenia gravis and porphyria cutanea tarda, but the effects of the diseases have been gradual, following a pattern of severity and remission. This has enabled her to live a somewhat normal life, attending school and getting married. But now, as her muscular fatigue intensifies, her concern has turned outward, to her daughter. Her daughter was diagnosed with rickets at a young age, and it remains to be seen whether or not medical treatment will help her condition.

Thuan’s youngest daughter, Le Thi Hang, lives with her parents. She is epileptic and has been paralyzed from the neck down since birth. She is unable to move or communicate, and her eyes have degenerated into blindness. During our interview, she was in an adjacent room, suspended in a hammock, and rocked tenderly by her mother. When she experiences a seizure, she often cries, says her father. He describes Hang’s seizures as unpredictable “oscillations.” Because Hang is completely immobile by herself, Thuan and his wife must carry her to their pit latrine multiple times per day. They bathe her, feed her, massage her, and play the radio for her—soft Vietnamese ballads, the only thing that seems to calm her through the night.

In his household, Thuan and his daughter are the only members of their family that receive a governmental allowance for exposure to Agent Orange/dioxin. Thuan receives 1,500,000 VND ($70.00 USD) and his daughter receives 1,200,000 VND ($56.00 USD). Thuan says the amount is enough to meet the needs of his daughter and his wife, but he cannot say it without tears. The anguish of his children transfers through him, a pain he has known most of his life, and all of theirs.

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2014 Profile by Peace Fellow Seth McIntyre<\/span><\/h4>\n
\n\n

Le Ba Thuan dashes into his home for his silver rimmed glasses and a white button-up shirt. He returns with a woven floor mat, the kind often laid out for guests, and invites us to sit. His wife serves us hot artichoke tea from a white porcelain teapot adorned with a flower motif. She disappears as quickly as she came, vanishing into an adjacent room where the distinct sound of a person moaning can be heard.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

As Thuan tells us the story of his life during the American War, he gazes, every so often towards the room. When he speaks, his glasses become murky, as if a fog were forming behind his eyes. He is a deeply emotional man, and for everything he has seen, one would wonder how you could be any other way.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

Thuan had just finished his teenage years when he joined the National Front for the Liberation of Vietnam in the American War. An exceedingly bright and astute young man, he was sent to the Ho Chi Minh Trail, and its peripheries along the southern trade corridors of the Laos\/South Vietnam border, where he was trained as a political advocate for the military. His task was to encourage rural Vietnamese to join in the resistance against South Vietnam.<\/span>             <\/span><\/p>

\n

\"\"
 \nSeth McIntyre, the author of this profile, with Le Ba Thuan and AEPD translator Tra My. One of Thuan’s children was born with severe birth defects and died several hours after birth. Another died during a miscarriage. Two others have degenerative muscle diseases.<\/span><\/span><\/b><\/td><\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n

He remembers the work being rewarding, but taxing. In his experience, the American military strategy of winning the \u201chearts and minds\u201d<\/a> of the Vietnamese people through non-violent action was working in the rural highlands; and the large, seemingly-endless supply of resources coming from the South was more than enough to persuade many middle-of-the-road Vietnamese in the North to detract.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

Far from straight forward, but armed with tact and the ideas of Ho Chi Minh and Vo Nguyen Giap, Hang\u2019s job was to bring a new perspective, to draw the argument away from the short-term promises of the South, and plant the thinking deep in the annals of Vietnamese history. The country\u2019s history was one near endless colonization, imperialization, and war: first by the Chinese, then the French, and now the Americans. This time, Vietnam was in the midst of an ideologically driven, proxy war\u2013the outcome of which would determine the future of Vietnam and its independence from foreign bodies. <\/span><\/p>\n\n

During the war, Thuan was stationed all over South Vietnam: Quang Tri, Quang Nam, Da Nang, and Saigon. He recalls the American planes overhead and the steady stream of Agent Orange. By intuition, he knew that the air and water had been exposed and made every effort to avoid the contaminated areas. But he did not have much choice. To this day, he copes with the symptoms he developed during the American War: ischemic heart disease, high blood pressure, stomachaches, joint pain, constant headaches, and skin rashes.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

By the end of the war, he returned home to Quang Binh Province, an adult at the age of 30. He was unable to find work in politics\u2014his commune had already established a political entity. So he returned to a life of fishing. <\/span><\/p>\n\n

He gets up and fetches an old ziploc bag filled with photos. This is my eldest daughter, he says, producing two photos. She died of nose cancer. In the photos, his daughter lays in white clothes on a wooden bed. Her arms and legs are emaciated to the bone, bending at the joints as if they were broken. One of her eyes is swollen closed, the other, stares distantly out of the frame. Her neck is filled with four soft-ball sized lumps that seem to be crushing her airways, and her nose has small black spot on one side.<\/span>
\n<\/span><\/p>\n\n

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\n\t

\n\t\t

\"\"
 \nFamily photos of Thuan’s eldest daughter, who died of nose cancer<\/span><\/b><\/span><\/td>\n\t<\/tr>\n<\/tbody>\n<\/table>\n\n

In addition to his eldest daughter, Thuan had another child that was born with severe birth defects who died several hours after birth, and another that was miscarried. Of his remaining four children, he has two boys that are fishermen. They live nearby, in the same commune as Thuan, and visit often. They are married and both are healthy\u2014save for frequent bone pain.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

Both of Thuan\u2019s remaining two daughters have degenerative muscle diseases. One of his daughters was born with myasthenia gravis and porphyria cutanea tarda, but the effects of the diseases have been gradual, following a pattern of severity and remission. This has enabled her to live a somewhat normal life, attending school and getting married. But now, as her muscular fatigue intensifies, her concern has turned outward, to her daughter. Her daughter was diagnosed with rickets at a young age, and it remains to be seen whether or not medical treatment will help her condition.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

Thuan\u2019s youngest daughter, Le Thi Hang, lives with her parents. She is epileptic and has been paralyzed from the neck down since birth. She is unable to move or communicate, and her eyes have degenerated into blindness. During our interview, she was in an adjacent room, suspended in a hammock, and rocked tenderly by her mother. When she experiences a seizure, she often cries, says her father. He describes Hang\u2019s seizures as unpredictable \u201coscillations.\u201d Because Hang is completely immobile by herself, Thuan and his wife must carry her to their pit latrine multiple times per day. They bathe her, feed her, massage her, and play the radio for her\u2014soft Vietnamese ballads, the only thing that seems to calm her through the night.<\/span><\/p>\n\n

In his household, Thuan and his daughter are the only members of their family that receive a governmental allowance for exposure to Agent Orange\/dioxin. Thuan receives 1,500,000 VND ($70.00 USD) and his daughter receives 1,200,000 VND ($56.00 USD). Thuan says the amount is enough to meet the needs of his daughter and his wife, but he cannot say it without tears. The anguish of his children transfers through him, a pain he has known most of his life, and all of theirs.<\/span>
\n<\/p>\n”,”class”:””}]}]}[/content-builder]

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