COLONEL NGUYEN SAT IN the center of the chicken barn that served as Coi Than Tien’s town hall. On his left, his old friend Duong Dang sat with the council of elders, the nominal governing body of their community. On his right, “Dan” Pham sat with his followers, principally the younger members of the settlement.
The two groups could not have been more polarized. It was the old guard versus the young Turks, the voice of conciliation pitted against the voice of resistance. And there seemed to be no middle ground that either side could accept.
Dang tapped a small gavel. “Now that we have resolved the guard-duty issue, we will address Dinh Pham’s suggestions about a possible response to last night’s incident.”
Pham leaped to his feet. “We must fight back! We must retaliate!”
Dang pounded his gavel. “You have not been properly recognized.”
“Everyone knows who I am.”
“That is not the point. It is a matter of courtesy, of tradition—”
“I’m not interested in traditions. I’m interested in retaliation.”
“There are proper ways to proceed—” “My grandmother was shot!” Pham shouted. His voice echoed through the barn, rattling the rafters on the roof. A horrible silence blanketed the barn.
Colonel Nguyen closed his eyes. As he had learned last night after the black pickup disappeared, some of the ricocheting pellets had pierced a window and struck Pham’s elderly grandmother. Although the injury was not itself terminal, at her age, any wound could be life threatening.
Dang stroked his white beard. “We all grieve with you for Xuan’s injury.”
“Grieving is not enough. It is time for action!”
Nguyen shook his head. There was such a difference between Pham and Dang. Dang still spoke in the old traditional ways; Pham had fully assimilated the slang and rhetoric of his adopted country. And what they said was as different as the way they said it. Dang spoke with caution, with concern for all possible ramifications. He was slow to anger, and equally slow to take action. Pham was younger in spirit and temperament; he was unwilling to accept the world as it was. There was more of America about him than of Vietnam.
Pham turned to address the entire assembly. “A gentle woman in her seventies who has never done harm to anyone was struck by a shotgun blast to her shoulder blade. What are we going to do about it?”
Nguyen watched Pham as he made his appeal to the masses. He was impressed with Pham’s bearing, his strength, his natural aptitude for leadership. At the same time Pham’s words filled him with apprehension. Nguyen knew Pham’s inflammatory speech could only lead Coi Than Tien in one direction.
Another elder, Vanh Truong, intervened. “I am told that your grandmother will recover.”
“Her shoulder blade is shattered!” Pham spat out. “This is intolerable!”
“It seems to me,” Dang said, “that we have a choice.”
“We must choose to fight!” Pham yelled, interrupting Dang. A spattering of cheers punctuated his cry, mostly from the younger men in the barn.
“That is not among the choices,” Dang said, maintaining a calm, even voice. “The choice is whether we remain and endure, or whether we move on.”
“Whether we run! That’s what you mean. Whether we run like cowards as we did before. Well, I for one will not run!” More cheers and applause followed, even stronger than before. His support was growing.
“If we remain here,” Truong said, “we risk continued harassment.” He looked directly at Pham. “If we fight, we risk extermination.”
“And where will you go when there is nowhere left to run?” Pham demanded. “When the forces of hate have hounded us to the ends of the earth. What then?”
Dang waved his hands. “The decision to leave has not yet been made. This is simply an open discussion. We must consider our options.”
“I will not accept an option without honor!”
A smart boy, Nguyen thought. Pham was reaching out now, sounding a chord that would appeal to the older members of the community as well as the young. This was the turning point. If Nguyen was going to speak, he could delay no longer.
“Excuse me, Elder Dang.” Colonel Nguyen quietly interjected himself into the debate. “It is possible that honor can be found in all options.”
Pham looked at him with dismay and disappointment. “Colonel Nguyen! Surely a warrior such as yourself does not say we should run.”
Nguyen diverted his eyes. “A brave man knows when to show his back to the enemy.”
“And what does that mean?”
He hesitated. “It means there is no honor in fighting if it costs us our souls. Or our families.”
“I cannot accept this. I cannot believe the great Colonel Nguyen would say these words.”
“What would you have us do, Pham? Would you have us kill someone? Exact your vengeance? We do not know who shot your grandmother.”
“Of course we do. It was those murderers from ASP. The pious assassins who go to church under our noses on Sunday morning, then set fire to our homes on Sunday night.”
Nguyen felt the heat radiating from all sections of the barn. “We do not know that for certain. It is conceivable that … there could be other motivations for last night’s attack.”
“Such as what?” Pham demanded.
Nguyen paused. It would be so easy, so much simpler if he could just tell them what he knew, what he had seen.
He glanced back at Lan, who was sitting with Mary and Holly. No. They would all be placed in danger. And Coi Than Tien couldn’t protect them. Coi Than Tien couldn’t protect anyone.
“I do not know,” Nguyen answered. “But there are many motives for violence. Hatred is only one of them.”
“Colonel Nguyen,” Pham said. “I mean you no disrespect. But you are wrong. You speak the words of a coward.”
“Pham!” Dang said harshly. “Think what you are saying! Colonel Nguyen is one of our most honored citizens. He is your elder.”
“Yes,” Pham growled. “And his elder wisdom got Tommy Vuong killed!”
There was an audible gasp, followed by a suspended silence. The unspeakable had been spoken.
“Pham,” Dang said, “you bring shame on us all. You do not know what you say.”
“I know what I know!” Pham fired back. “I know Colonel Nguyen was the last to see Tommy alive. I know he counseled Tommy to suppress his anger, to turn the other cheek. And look what happened.”
All heads turned toward Colonel Nguyen, obviously awaiting a reply. But none was forthcoming. The Colonel retook his seat. He did not like what Pham had said, but he would not dispute it. How could he? He had advised Tommy not to seek retribution against the man who attacked him in the bar. He had left Tommy just when he needed him most. If anyone could have saved Tommy, it was him. And he failed.
“Dinh Pham, you have disgraced this assembly,” Dang pronounced. “We must ask you to leave—”
“Fine. I’ll leave. But I won’t leave alone.” Again Pham turned to face the crowd. “Who is with me?”
The response was slow at first, just a few young men who were known to be Pham’s close friends. But then Thung Hieu, a man in his midfifties with three children, joined him. Then Elder Tran, whom the Colonel had known all his life. They were joined by women, mothers, even children. The sentiment spread like a dandelion in the wind. Pham’s isolated few became a majority, a defiant congregation that would not be driven from their homes again.
Pham marched proudly out the barn door. Over half of those in attendance followed.
Dang tapped his gavel faintly on his table. The sadness in his eyes was unmistakable. “Under these circumstances,” he said, “I see no reason to continue this meeting.”
Nguyen knew the significance of these events as well as Dang. All chance of solidarity, as well as all chance of negotiating a peaceful solution, were lost. Pham was the real leader of Coi Than Tien now. And he would lead his followers into direct confrontation with ASP. A confrontation that could only lead to death, mostly on the side of Coi Than Tien. All the valor in the world could not mitigate the effectiveness of well-organized hate.
Nguyen followed Dang and the remaining few out of the barn. He knew now that violence was inevitable. And at least in part, it was his fault.