At first glance the grounds at My Lai seem tranquil in the heat of the September day. Three small statues guide you on a path by the museum proper toward the large memorial, which lies directly ahead. A small patch of corn sits perhaps 15 yards on the right. The path then leads you past the mass grave containing the remains of most of the victims. Simple markers at the sites of homes, which are no longer occupied, list the names of individual families and the names of their slain relatives.
Trees still bear bullet holes.
It is impossible to walk through the grounds and not be moved. At one point I had to walk away from the group for a private cry. Later, conversations showed that John and Ken had had to do the same thing. The irrigation ditch where so many innocents were slain still resonates with an oppressive tension. As I looked into it my mind almost convinced me that I could still, after 27 years, hear the screams and the pleas for mercy.