The great thing about post-grad life is that schedules are no longer dictated by research papers and hundreds of pages of readings. When I leave work, I’m free to read books I find interesting (not that I didn’t enjoy the assigned readings of Herring or Todorov…), go out every night, or binge-watch TV shows. As someone who graduated two years ago (cue the existential angst), this also means that in order to be a semi-informed citizen of the world, I have to take the initiative to read about current events. Unlike at Tufts, workplace discussions of socially and politically-driven topics are often discouraged, and rarely come up. And even if they did, you would see me quickly avert all eye contact, and make a beeline towards my desk.
Even though I try to keep up with the news and often read about and see images of the devastating effects of war — ruined cities and villages and the death of thousands of civilians — it feels so foreign and too-far removed from my personal life that it rarely leaves an impact. In the age of the 24-hour news cycle, the plethora of information leaves me feeling paralyzed and helpless. Have I become so jaded and conditioned to hearing terrible news that I don’t even think twice about it later?
To avoid feelings of helplessness, I try to distract myself with lighter subject matters (i.e. Netflix).
Unfortunately, I love watching sad films. Not just the occasional Nicholas Sparks-esque drama flick (although, I do sometimes enjoy those). No, I’m talking about mentally-crippling, emotionally-scarring movies and documentaries that leave me hysterically sobbing, with snot dripping down my face, to the point of getting headaches. Needless to say, I watch them alone. Last weekend, I decided to watch Peter Davis’ Hearts and Minds (1974) — a documentary about one of the most controversial events in American history — the Vietnam War.
Given the sensitive nature of the topic and how close it hits to home (If it’s not obvious by my name, I’m Vietnamese.), this documentary left me so emotionally-drained that I had to pause the video several times to grab a new box of tissues and gather myself to prevent swollen eyes in the morning.
Throughout the film, one can see an abuse of power, loss of innocence, and death — nothing new in the world. Why then did watching this documentary, about an event that happened nearly 40 years ago, affect me more than reading about present-day conflicts? Maybe it was the graphic war footage. Maybe because a 2-hour documentary allows for deeper exploration and understanding of a topic. Or maybe because it was war that left my family’s country in economic and social ruin, and was the catalyst for them emigrating.
By the end of the film, I realized how little I knew about my family’s history. Growing up, there were bits and pieces of stories here and there, but out of fear for stirring up potentially tear-jerking memories, I never willfully brought the topic up. A close friend told me it’s normal to want to ask parents about their experiences, especially if it’s such an important part of not only American history, but also their own identities, and essentially mine as well. It’s not exactly a light subject, but I’ve made it a goal to ask more questions and learn more about it. Maybe they’ve just been waiting to be asked. Today, while some still live there, most family members are scattered throughout the US, Canada, and Belgium. I’d regret it forever if I never learned the details of how that came to be.
(I’d recommend Hearts and Minds (1974) to everyone. It can be seen here.)
The Medford Pact 