George Mizo founded the Friendship Village near Hanoi in 1992. His life is worth remembering. This blog is a tribute to a Vietnam Veteran who grappled with his own guilt about his role in the war. He achieved some degree of reconciliation with former enemies by joining with them to alleviate the suffering of innocents exposed to Agent Orange. Together they have sought to bring awareness to the ongoing problems of Vietnamese exposed to dioxins and the country’s continued problems with birth defects attributed to the widespread spraying during the war.

The Friendship Village cares for up to 120 children at a time, each with severe disabilities attributed to Agent Orange. As a previous blog delineated, epigenetic studies show there are transgenerational transmissions of certain birth defects now embedded in the genes. Nobody knows for how many generations this will continue. Many of these children will never give birth to their own. There is evidence that exposure from the environment is diminishing over time. Hot spots of contamination are being cleaned. The half-life of dioxin is between seven and eleven years when exposed to the sun. Buried in the soil or in streambeds the toxins have a longer life. Birth defects of children remain a heartbreaking consequence still occurring. See Le Ke Son and Charles R. Bailey’s From Enemies to Partners for a concise and unbiased fact-based account of the most current research.

Michelle Mason’s, The Friendship Village, is an excellent documentary filmed at the center. Most scenes are with the children on the grounds. Released in 2001, an ailing George Mizo appears in short segments throughout the piece. His speech slurred, he speaks candidly about his tour as a soldier and how his disillusionment with the war evolved. Three American veterans visiting the village and an Australian are also interviewed. Children cluster around the veterans in moving scenes transcending cultural and generational differences.

I am reminded of a Catholic orphanage I visited during the war. Children wrapped their arms around my legs as they openly sought human bonding and affection. When I sat on a bench on the grounds, several sat close and wanted to hug. I realized I had come seeking the same connection, human warmth in the war zone. Run by nuns, the children were well cared for and fed. There were too many orphans to receive the love and affection they needed. There were many smiles but also sadness in some of the eyes. The trauma of the war obvious in some of the faces.

George Mizo died early in 2002 not long after Michelle Mason released her documentary. Born in 1945, his death at 56 years is most often cited as due to complications from Agent Orange exposure. Here is his story.

Discharged from the Army in 1966 after a three-year stint spent entirely in the U.S., Mizo re-enlisted in 1967 on the condition he be sent to a combat unit in Vietnam. Wounded in a battle prior to the 1968 Tet Offensive, while recuperating at Ft. Lewis, he learned his entire platoon had been wiped out a week after he was medevaced. The silver star and purple heart recipient refused to return to the war he no longer believed in. Court martialed, George Mizo spent two and a half years in prison before being dishonorably discharged.

His health problems began in 1974 when he got very sick and his temperature spiked to 105 degrees. His immune system was deficient and his joints chronically ached. He had his first heart attack in 1987 at the age of 42 (in 2010 ischemic heart disease was added to the VA’s list of Agent Orange related diseases). Adult photographs of the man show a strikingly handsome face. By the 2001 interview Mizo’s speech is coherent but slurred. His eyes are alert, but his health is failing. He appears much older than his 55 years. He died on March 18, 2002.

The more I learned about the man, the more I felt I had in common. The events in his life were more extreme. I don’t want to exaggerate mine.

George Mizo’s father was a Blackfoot Sioux. My grandfather had a Dawes Roll number (7592) issued on September 20, 1900, one month before his second birthday. Born in the Indian Territory eight years before Oklahoma became a state, we had ancestors on the Cherokee’s “Trail of Tears.” My grandfather was granted U.S. citizenship on June 2, 1924, five years after his honorable discharge from the Navy.

George Mizo was wounded. I never was. We shared a common reason for turning against the war. To paraphrase him, we were destroying the people we claimed to be in Vietnam to help. I am not exaggerating when I say as a medic, I treated dozens of civilian war casualties, from a three-year old with his intestines spilling out of his abdomen to the elderly and infirm. Our country’s stated goals were not the truth. The Pentagon Papers provide the proof. A soldier deserves a good reason to die, and an even better one to kill.

George Mizo returned from Vietnam to find his wife pregnant from another man. My girl, not pregnant, ran off with someone else during my tour.

We both spent time in prison after the war without doing a violent crime. We had both served honorably in Vietnam yet felt the rigidity of the Army’s handling of troubled young men home from the war.

George Mizo married a German citizen and settled in her homeland until his death in 2002. I settled in Canada in 1975, burnt out from constant reminders of the war in the country of my birth.

George Mizo can be proud his activism produced the concrete reality of The Friendship Village. It has survived his death and will continue. Many of my fellow Vietnam Veterans have made a difference in positive ways. I am always proud when a veteran shows compassion over hatred and emerges from the war with a message emphasizing our shared humanity rather than nationalistic xenophobia. I came to realize that war is transformative on our human psyches. The negative can easily prevail, but it is not a given. The opposite can be just as true because there is nothing like participating in a war to realize how important our shared humanity is.

Watch Michelle Mason’s The Friendship Village. It is worth your time.