A Sense of Duty

The only people Chuck Searcy encountered on the broad, barren field were two young boys. Nearly a quarter-century earlier, the field had been the scene of the battle of Khe Sanh, one of the bloodiest standoffs of the Vietnam War (1954-75).

The boys led Searcy to an unexploded rocket lying by a ditch. One of them reached out to give the bomb a kick when Searcy cried out, “No, stop!”

“It was my first encounter with unexploded ordnance,” Searcy says of that moment in 1992. “I had no idea that I would be dedicating my life to removing them.”

Searcy had served as a U.S. Army soldier in Vietnam in 1968, the same year as the battle of Khe Sanh, and came away disillusioned. As an intelligence analyst, he had access to a range of raw information, from the enemy’s body counts to exaggerated claims of American progress in the war (see timeline slideshow, below).

“We got to see almost everything,” he says. “And I saw that our friends back home were being given information that was not just misleading but deliberate lies.”

The only people Chuck Searcy encountered on the wide, empty field were two young boys. Nearly 25 years earlier, the field had been the scene of the battle of Khe Sanh. It was one of the bloodiest standoffs of the Vietnam War (1954-75).

The boys led Searcy to an unexploded rocket lying by a ditch. One of them reached out to give the bomb a kick when Searcy cried out, “No, stop!”

“It was my first encounter with unexploded ordnance,” Searcy says of that moment in 1992. “I had no idea that I would be dedicating my life to removing them.”

Searcy had served as a U.S. Army soldier in Vietnam in 1968, the same year as the battle of Khe Sanh. He came away disillusioned. He was an intelligence analyst who had access to a range of raw information. He knew everything from the enemy’s body counts to exaggerated claims of American progress in the war (timeline slideshow, below).

“We got to see almost everything,” he says. “And I saw that our friends back home were being given information that was not just misleading but deliberate lies.”

Searcy found himself doubting not only the war but his own character.

“I’ve really sometimes wondered if my timidity or refusal to step up and say this was wrong, whether this was a moral failure on my part,” he says. “It was a worry that made me feel that I was failing in a duty that I had as
an American.”

That sense of duty has propelled him to commit his life to redressing one of the most deadly legacies of the war: the millions of unexploded bombs and land mines that continue to kill and injure people every year.

Now 79 and living in Hanoi, Searcy may be the most widely known American veteran among Vietnamese, often giving local interviews and making statements that stress his antiwar views, and helping bend American policies toward engagement with Vietnam.

Searcy found himself doubting not only the war but himself.

“I’ve really sometimes wondered if my timidity or refusal to step up and say this was wrong, whether this was a moral failure on my part,” he says. “It was a worry that made me feel that I was failing in a duty that I had as an American.”

That sense of duty has led him to commit his life to fixing one of the most deadly effects of the war. There are millions of unexploded bombs and land mines that continue to kill and injure people every year.

Searcy is 79 and lives in Hanoi, Vietnam. He may be the most widely known American veteran among Vietnamese. Searcy often gives local interviews and makes statements that stress his antiwar views. He works to help shape American policies toward engagement with Vietnam.

“Chuck was one of the pioneers among the veterans in normalizing relations between the two countries,” says Hoang Nam, a senior government official in Quang Tri province.

Together the two men founded Project Renew, based in Quang Tri. Since 2001, the group has been deploying teams of deminers, teaching schoolchildren how to stay safe, and providing prostheses and job training to mine victims.

Searcy says he’s often asked what motivates his commitment to the welfare of Vietnam. It’s not guilt, he says. It’s a sense of responsibility to try to remedy the damage his country has caused.

“Chuck was one of the pioneers among the veterans in normalizing relations between the two countries,” says Hoang Nam, a senior government official in Quang Tri province.

Together the two men founded Project Renew, based in Quang Tri. Since 2001, the group has been deploying teams of deminers, people who work to remove unexploded land mines and bombs. They teach schoolchildren how to stay safe and provide prostheses and job training to mine victims.

Searcy is often asked what motivates his commitment to the welfare of Vietnam. It’s not guilt, he says. It’s a sense of responsibility to fix the damage his country has caused.

Quang Tri province, the site of Khe Sanh, is just below the Demilitarized Zone that divided South and North Vietnam. It was the most heavily bombed region in Vietnam, Searcy says.

Altogether, he says, the U.S. dropped 8 million tons of ordnance on Vietnam from 1965 to 1975. Bombs that failed to detonate became de facto land mines, which the Vietnamese government estimates have caused 100,000 deaths and injuries in the years after the war.

Since Project Renew began its work—in partnership with Norwegian People’s Aid, a group that conducts land mine-clearing operations in more than a dozen countries—the casualty toll in Quang Tri declined from about 70 incidents a year to 0 in 2019.

Quang Tri province, the site of Khe Sanh, is just below the Demilitarized Zone that divided South and North Vietnam. It was the most heavily bombed region in Vietnam, Searcy says.

Altogether, he says, the U.S. dropped 8 million tons of explosives on Vietnam from 1965 to 1975. Bombs that failed to detonate became de facto land mines. In the years after the war, the Vietnamese government estimates that 100,000 deaths and injuries have been caused by unexploded bombs and land mines.

Project Renew partnered with Norwegian People’s Aid, a group that conducts land mine-clearing operations in more than a dozen countries. Since their work began, the casualty toll in Quang Tri declined from about 70 incidents a year to 0 in 2019.

The goal, says Nam, is to bring the problem under control so that people can go about their lives without fear. But every day, Searcy says, the deminers receive reports of newly discovered ordnance.

In the past three years, two people have died in Quang Tri: a man digging a new floor for his kitchen and a boy who picked up and threw a cluster bomb, a munition designed to eject dozens of smaller explosives. In addition, annual flooding causes the ground to shift, making it difficult to declare an area definitively cleared of ordnance.

“It’s impossible for a province or a country to be absolutely free of bombs,” Nam says.

The goal, says Nam, is to bring the problem under control so that people can go about their lives without fear. But every day, Searcy says, the deminers receive reports of newly discovered ordnance.

In the past three years, two people have died in Quang Tri. A man was killed as he was digging a new floor for his kitchen. A boy died after he picked up and threw a cluster bomb, a munition designed to eject dozens of smaller explosives. In addition, flooding causes the ground to shift, making it difficult to declare an area definitively cleared of ordnance.

“It’s impossible for a province or a country to be absolutely free of bombs,” Nam says.

One victim, Ho Van Lai, 34, now works with Renew, teaching schoolchildren to identify and avoid unexploded bombs. He was 10 when he came across a cluster bomb by the side of a road.

“We thought they were toys to play with,” he says. “I began banging on it with a stone. I didn’t hear the explosion, but I heard my friends screaming.”

He lost both legs below the knee, one arm below the elbow, and the sight in one eye.

One victim, Ho Van Lai, 34, now works with Renew. He teaches schoolchildren to identify and avoid unexploded bombs. He was 10 when he found a cluster bomb by the side of a road.

“We thought they were toys to play with,” he says. “I began banging on it with a stone. I didn’t hear the explosion, but I heard my friends screaming.”

He lost both legs below the knee, one arm below the elbow, and the sight in one eye.

After his time as an Army intelligence analyst in Vietnam, Searcy returned home to Athens, Georgia, in 1970.

“I was angry and confused,” he says.

He enrolled at the University of Georgia, where he joined the antiwar group Vietnam Veterans Against the War and began to speak out publicly about his views.

His father, who had fought the Germans during World War II and been imprisoned, was furious but eventually came to the conclusion that Searcy was right about his opposition to the Vietnam conflict.

After colllege, Searcy worked as a journalist and later as a U.S. Senate staffer. In 1992, he and an Army friend returned to Vietnam “to see what the country looked like in peacetime,” Searcy says.

They spent a month on the road and found a country still suffering, cut off from international aid by an American embargo and struggling in poverty under Communist economic strictures.

“We were amazed at the warm welcome from the Vietnamese people, who seemed to have forgiven us for the terrible pain and suffering we caused in the war,” Searcy has written. “I realized then I wanted to come back and find some way to help the Vietnamese people recover from the tragic war the United States had caused.”

After his time in the Army, Searcy returned home to Athens, Georgia,
in 1970.

“I was angry and confused,” he says.

He enrolled at the University of Georgia. He joined the antiwar group Vietnam Veterans Against the War and began to speak out publicly about his views.

His father, who had fought the Germans during World War II and been imprisoned, was furious. But he eventually realized that his son was right about his opposition to the Vietnam conflict.

After college, Searcy worked as a journalist and later as a U.S. Senate staffer. In 1992, he and an Army friend returned to Vietnam “to see what the country looked like in peacetime,” Searcy says.

They spent a month on the road and found a country still suffering. Vietnam had been cut off from international aid by an American embargo, and the people were struggling in poverty under Communist economic strictures.

“We were amazed at the warm welcome from the Vietnamese people, who seemed to have forgiven us for the terrible pain and suffering we caused in the war,” Searcy has written. “I realized then I wanted to come back and find some way to help the Vietnamese people recover from the tragic war the United States had caused.”

His first chance to help came in 1995, when the Vietnam Veterans of America Foundation asked him to set up a humanitarian project to help disabled children, amputees, and others who had been crippled by disease.

When Searcy heard how many people were still being killed by unexploded bombs, he says, “my jaw dropped.”

This became his mission. He and the Norwegian group founded Renew with half a million dollars in seed money from private donors.

In 2003, Searcy received Vietnam’s National Friendship Medal, the highest award to a foreigner who has contributed to the country’s welfare. He has become a fixture of Hanoi’s expatriate community—a tall, lanky figure who speaks the language and seems to know almost everybody.

In Project Renew’s two decades of operation, it has detonated or taken out of action 815,000 bombs, Searcy says: aerial-dropped bombs, cluster bombs, artillery shells, booby traps, grenades, and mortar rounds.

That number always amazes him.

“Imagine that—815,000,” he says. “My god!”

His first chance to help came in 1995. The Vietnam Veterans of America Foundation asked him to set up a humanitarian project to help disabled children, amputees, and others who had been crippled by disease.

When Searcy heard how many people were still being killed by unexploded bombs, he says, “my jaw dropped.”

This became his mission. He and the Norwegian group founded Renew with half a million dollars in seed money from private donors.

In 2003, Searcy received Vietnam’s National Friendship Medal, the highest award to a foreigner who has contributed to the country’s welfare. He has become a recognizable part of Hanoi’s expatriate community. He is a tall, lanky figure who speaks the language and seems to know almost everybody.

In Project Renew’s two decades of operation, it has detonated or taken out of action 815,000 bombs, Searcy says. This includes aerial-dropped bombs, cluster bombs, artillery shells, booby traps, grenades, and mortar rounds.

That number always amazes him.

“Imagine that—815,000,” he says. “My god!”

Seth Mydans reports from Vietnam for The New York Times.