Carrier Commando

Putrid darkness surrounds me.

Where is the exit?

How long until we’re out?

Rather than dwelling on these questions, I move on.

Nao, pushing forth from behind me, does not seem to be phased by the stench of human excrement combined with restaurant waste and who knows what else in the blackness of this Saigon Sewer.

How is he not sick too?

My stomach wretches as I push forward.

This ends soon.

Keep pushing through.

The weight of more than 25kg of explosives on my back helps keep my stomach in check.

Crawling my way through the blackened liquid in the dark on this humid May night, I can make out a change in the shade of darkness ahead.

Pausing for a moment to let my eyes adjust, I feel Nao push my foot from behind.

Maybe that’s it!

He pushes again.

I start toward to deep gray circle ahead.

Yes, an end to the sewer!

We will be able to breath again!

Turning my head around, I whisper “I see the exit” just loud enough for Nao to hear me.

He taps my foot twice as I turn again to keep going forward.

Slipping down the end of the sewer pipe, into Saigon Harbor, my eyes need time to adjust.

Nao slips down behind me, the heavy pack on his back brushing me as he quietly half-submerges his body in the harbor waters.

Just meters ahead I can see our target, the aircraft carrier the Americans audaciously docked here to deliver aircraft to the puppet regime.

This harbor air smells and tastes so good!

Without acknowledging the change in air intake, Nao puts on his snorkel just before diving under the water toward the carrier.

Pulling my snorkel out of my pack, I put it on just in time to follow him by just a meter.

This water feels so good as compared to whatever was in that sewer.

Oily, filled with debris and algae, this water surrounds me with a fresh clean feeling of liberation.

Near the aft of the ship, Nao dives deeper.

I take a deep breadth before following him down.

No sense being seen this close to getting the job done.

He swims another fifteen meters alongside the curving hull of the ship, staying below the water line.

I follow him, making sure not to get too close while not losing him in the wet dark shadow of this massive metal monster.

Nao stops swimming, rising to surface under the bilge outlet flow.

I rise next to him, pointing to the hole out of which the bilge is being pumped.

We should place a bomb there.

He nods his head in silence, assenting to my idea.

Aligning my body with the curve of the hull, I put out my arms so Nao can mount my shoulders.

He deftly ascends the side of the ship, using me as a base from which to leverage his body against its hull, rising arm over arm until he’s in-line with the bilge outlet.

Once next to it, he places three American made plastic explosive charges securely against the metal skin of the ship in a triangle formation.

That should make a pretty big hole.

Connecting wires to each explosive, he pulls the lines down as he descends his body toward the water.

When Nao is back in the water, I take the other three explosives out of my pack.

He turns to look at me, at the explosives, then at the hull of the ship.

When he turns back I see a smile on his face.

Handing him the explosives, he turns again toward the ship.

He places them in a second triangle, just above the water-line, directly below the first set.

While he’s placing them, I get the wires and timer out of my pack.

He turns toward me again, pulling the lines from my hands without a word.

I smile.

This will make a huge hole! We’re going to sink this beast!

Nao connects the wires from both triangles of explosives to the timer, before diving under the water.

What’s he doing down there?

He comes back up, holding a handful of slimy mud from the bottom of the harbor.

Packing it with his hands, he then places it on the back of the timer, before attaching the timer to the hull of the ship.

Ingenious!

An empty pack on my back, a settled stomach, and a mission set-up, I turn to go back under the water and return to the putrid stench of the sewer.

Nao puts his hand on my shoulder, pushing to turn me back around again.

What did I miss?

As I turn toward him, I see him pointing to the timer, it’s not set.

Oh!

I look him in the eyes, smile, and move toward the timer.

Of course, what would the point of any of this be if we did not set the timer?

Placing both hands on the device, I turn the electrostatic nob halfway, which should give us ten minutes to get back into the sewer, and far enough way to escape the blast and any search party sent to find us.

Nao’s hand pulls on my shoulder again.

I turn to see him already heading back under the water toward the sewer.

I’m not staying here!

Diving silently into the water, I follow Nao to the sewer entrance.

May this drive the Americans to make a different choice than the French.

Get out!

On the night of May 2, 1964 two members of the National Liberation Front (NLF, aslo known as Viet Cong by Americans stationed in Vietnam) crawled out of a sewer in Saigon harbor near the United States Naval Ship (USNS) Card, an escort carrier from World War II which had been used for three years to transport aircraft and trained crews to South Vietnam. The NLF fighters planted American made explosives on the USNS Card before slipping back into the sewer from which they had entered the harbor. A few minutes later the explosives ripped a giant hole in the hull of the carrier, sending it to the bottom of Saigon harbor. This attack disabled the ship for less than 20 days, at which point it was repaired enough to be sent to facilities in the Philippines and Japan where it was rebuilt. The attack was not reported widely in the United States, but was a propaganda coup for the NLF, showing they could strike at a massive piece of American military equipment. This kind of attack was replicated in 2000 when the U.S.S. Cole was attacked in Aden harbor with explosives by Al Qaeda. At least in that attack, the explosives themselves were not of American origin. In war, bribery and corruption of your own, or allied personnel, may leave you vulnerable to your own weapons. Especially, when you’re not supposed to be there in the first place.

Desert

Voice work by Sara Raz.

Voice work by Sara Raz.

There he is again, slithering directly behind me.

 This soldier won’t leave me alone.

 I scurry a little faster, hoping to lose him in the crowded street, but he keeps up, maintaining an uncomfortable distance.

 I just want to get home.

 His eyes, dark under the pulled down military cap, stare intently at me when I glance back to see if he’s still there.

 Seek help from a stranger, that is the only answer.

 Reaching out to the first man I see, I plead “Monsieur,can you please help, this soldier is following me.”

 Looking up, surprised from the distractions of his ground-focused attention learned through years of NAZI occupation, the gentleman is a bit startled.

 The soldier comes closer.

 He’s not keeping his distance any longer.

 “What is the problem, madame?” the gentleman says, just as the soldier sidles up to tower over him.

 “Move along buddy” the soldier says, “my girlfriend and I are having a lover’s chase, if you know what I mean.”

 “This soldier is not my boyfriend” I exclaim with all authority.

 The gentleman is dazed, confused, and clearly wants to get somewhere away from this soldier.

 Shoving the gentleman on, the soldier turns to me, his back to the other man.

 “Look here sweetheart, we’re going to resolve this.” He says as he grabs my hand.

 “LET GO OF ME!” I scream.

 The gentleman stands there, stunned.

 “Come with me Lucille!” the soldier projects loud enough for all to hear.

 A crowd begins to gather around. The gentleman is still standing there, not knowing what to do.

 “My name is not Lucille. I will not go with you. I don’t know you. Let go of me!” I demand.

 Yes, a lot of noise, a crowd, attention. The last things he wants!

 The soldier lets go of my hand as he turns to the crowd.

 “Fine, have it your way honey. I’ll see you at home.” He says as a parting blow to my status among the strangers in the crowd.

 It worked, I am free of this monster.

 “I do not know him.” I plead as the crowd dissipates with knowing expressions.

 How dare he besmirch me near my home, this Cretan!

 Scurrying home,I turn on several wrong streets to make sure the soldier is not following me.

 I can’t have him know where I live.

 Finally turning onto my street, I see my building entrance in the distance.

 Home, safety, freedom.

 Making my way toward the entrance, I look around me.

 The soldier is nowhere to be seen.

 I walk through the outer gate, entering the front courtyard of the building.

 As I approach the front door, I look around again.

 I’m not opening this door until I know I’m safe.

 No one is around. I am alone.

 I reach into my purse, clasping the key to the door in my right hand.

 Looking up at the lock, a shadow breaks over mine on the door.

 NO!

 Swiveling around, I am prepared. The key to the door is locked between my forefinger and my middle finger.

 It’s not much, but it would hurt if jabbed in the eye in a quick thrust.

 Thrusting my arm, I see whose shadow it is.

 “Good evening Monsieur Horbac” I say in a startled voice as I let my hand fall to my waist.

 Thank god!

 “Allow me to get the door, Madame.” The kindly old gentleman says to me as he reaches up.

 How did he surprise me?

 We enter the building, Monsieur Horbac heading to the elevator, and me to the stairs.

 “Good evening Monsieur Horbac” I offer as I start up the staircase and he enters the open elevator.

 I’m almost home.

 My right foot just touches the first stair as the door behind the entrance to the staircase closes with a loud slam, and I hear “Hello again Lucille.”

Following the liberation of Paris in August 1944, the fighting units of the Allied armies pushed on through Eastern France toward Germany. Some of the soldiers from these armies decided to make their way back to the City of Lights, rather than fight on the front. For most, this was a chance to get out of the fighting, keep a low profile, and simply sit out the remainder of the war. For others, this was a chance to take advantage of the military uniform to steal, assault, rape and murder without compunction. Paris and other liberated cities were hit by a wave of violence and crime not often discussed after the war. Up to 50,000 American and 100,000 British soldiers deserted their units during World War II. Between June 1944 and April 1945 the US Army investigated over 7,900 cases of criminal activity. Forty-four percent of these were violence, including rape, manslaughter and murder. Eventually, law and order were restored in the liberated cities of Europe, but it took to the end of the war, and the reintroduction of strong civilian police authorities, to make this happen.

The Deserters: A Hidden History of World War II by Charles Glass was the source of information for this story.

Homeschooling and Socialization

Sent to Michael Martin (micheal.martin@oireachtas.ie) on hearing him state "I’m not a great fan of homeschooling. I think children need to socialise.” Thank you Issy from Stark Raving Dad for some useful material with which to write this.

Dear Sir,

I greatly appreciate your work for the country of Ireland and your passion to help make the world a better place. My family moved to this great country almost 3 years ago and look forward to becoming citizens one day. One of the big motivators for us to live in Ireland is the approach to homeschooling, enshrined in the Constitution, the support for which we did not experience as much in the United States.

My family was saddened to hear your expression about the lack of socialization you believe homeschooled children experience when you stated "I’m not a great fan of homeschooling. I think children need to socialise.” 

This sentiment could not be further from our experienced truth, that experienced by the other homeschooling families with whom my family is well connected, and by research into this subject. Our experience of homeschooling includes constant interaction with people of all ages in many environments, across our community and world. Kids in our community travel extensively, see the world far outside the four walls of a schoolroom, and are regularly figuring out how to work with, learn from, and help those older and younger than they are, rather than being confined to a cohort of only their age group.

If you ever have the opportunity, I invite you to observe homeschooled children living in the world. I would like to offer you the chance to see them out at the local library, in the skate park, at the pool, art gallery, museum, cultural heritage site, street market, beach, improvisational acting class, dance group, international affairs discussion seminars, university level classes as they naturally interact with all the different people in these spaces - librarians, skaters, lifeguards and surfers, gallery curators, market stall owners, park rangers, museum staff, actors, professors, etc. May you see them surrounded by other children passionate about the same things they are, see the varied ages, backgrounds, cultures and worldviews of all the people with whom they engage every day, and the natural environments in which they are experiencing these interactions.

Maybe, if you witness these things, you may come to understand how strange it sounds to hear officials say these experiences offer less social development and life experience than spending years in a classroom. 

I would like to quote a fellow homeschooling dad, who writes about this topic regularly:

The assumption is that by attending school, and attending a classroom, children will automatically be given a path to becoming balanced, confident, well-socialised adults. And if they don’t have that experience, they won’t.

But let’s just make sure that idea actually stands up.

Let’s take a 10 year old child as an example here. When that child first enters their classroom to start the year, what does that environment look like from a social development perspective?

Well, we know it’s where they’ll spend a lot their time for at least the rest of the year. That’s their base now. We know that the main interactions they will have, day to day, will be with the same group of children who are also arriving at that classroom. We know they’ll interact with their teacher, and maybe other teachers here and there. And we know they’ll probably have access to areas like a playground, and a sports field, and other children of different ages during some break times.

On the surface, they’re going to have plenty of social interaction. Especially compared to a home educated child, who won’t be allowed inside those gates and so won’t have access to any of those people or spaces.

But we’re not here for that surface perception. We’re here to dig a little bit deeper.

So let’s look closer at the environment this child’s social interactions will play out within.

Every child in that classroom is also 10 years old. Or, close enough to it. And every child in that classroom is there because they have been told to be. Maybe, if we gave them all the option, some of them would stay – but most of them would not.

So we have a group of children who had no say in whether they want to be part of that specific group. We have a group of children who are all the same age, whether they actually like interacting with others of their own age or not – and I can promise you, plenty of children don’t.

We have a group of children who must gather and stay in that one room until they’re told they can take a short break, or – eventually – leave for the day.

And then standing at the front of the class, we have the only person who is a different age, and the only person who has actually chosen to be there – more or less – the teacher.

But that teacher doesn’t just get to work with these children however they want. They must follow the plan, and keep up with a very clear delivery and testing schedule. Their interactions with that group of children will mostly – by necessity – be through a lens of needing to develop them against a standard not even they themselves had any say in defining or setting.

Which means, they’re under pressure.

So let’s be clear – this is not a natural social environment. It actually couldn’t be further from it. It’s a constructed space, with rules and guidelines and expectations.

Now let’s exit the classroom for lunchtime. Aside from the fact this is where inequalities are exaggerated more than anywhere – you only need to glance around at children’s lunchboxes, and who is sitting with who, to start getting a sense of that – this is also where all that pressure from within the classroom releases.

It happens in all sorts of different ways – some children express it through running and shouting for 30 minutes straight, others express it through picking on someone they perceive as weaker (which often just means younger) to give them some sort of feeling of control. We could go on and on, here. The mix of stresses and feelings, and the social behaviours that come from those in a playground…we could spend and entire episode on that.

But let’s just say that a playground space in a school ground – while it looks like a fun, relaxed area, and sometimes is – is also something that acts like a pressure valve, one that is released in both positive and negative ways.

And if you’re on the receiving end of that negative type, you cannot choose to leave. And you’ll likely face it again tomorrow, and the next day, and the next.

And if you’re the type of child who feels that pressure building, and struggles to control how you release it, you’ll be on that daily rollercoaster for a long time.

So what do we think? Is school – just by default – really bringing every child that walks through the gate a balanced, varied social experience that sets them up for life?

Does most of a child’s time spent in one room, or small number of rooms, with mainly children of exactly the same age offer that?

Does having one or two adults present in the room, but who quite clearly exist as a superior to you, and who are quite clearly under pressure to get you to make progress and to keep you on task, really develop your ability to interact and communicate with all kinds of different people?

Does spending time in a playground, or on a sports field, or in a lunch area, or in big hallways, when you have no choice to leave if things get uncomfortable, or scary, make you a more balanced, social person?

And does being put through all of this with little to no input from the child, really allow them to build confidence within themselves as they relate to other people on their own terms?

So let’s ask the question again: if a child attends school, how are we going to make sure they develop socially – positively – in that kind of environment?

Homeschooled children are not isolated from the real world. They are out there living, interacting, and helping build and shape it.

Thank you for all you do and for your continuing willingness to listen and learn. May we as a community use this opportunity to help the world better understand different approaches to the same challenge, offering personally effective solutions for each individual based on how we each interact with the world in which we live.

I invite you to reach out to me to share this experience, if that is of interest to you.

Sincerely,

Jeremy Strozer