Frances Fitzgerald

Gigantic sewers, lakes full of stagnant filth.

And suddenly, a pebble sails out and falls gently on the stranger's back.

It is followed by a hail of stones.

I was sort of offended by it in the sense that I thought, what have I done?

But I could very well understand if I had to live in such a place.

I perhaps would be throwing stones too.

These refugees lose their lands, their families, their ancestral homes, and the structure of their lives.

They would realize that you are not going to come and blow up the village.

Well, sometimes it was absolutely impossible.

You just have to do the best you could.

Find other sources that said the same thing.

I think we're given certain leeway by our editors.

There was a rule that you couldn't prove anything in a story

by quoting a Vietnamese.

Not equal.

Not equal.

I went to see the civilian hospital and

Then, you know, we see all these Vietnamese on beds outside their rooms with terrible burns, which they had from napalm.

You know, to describe it right here is almost impossible for me.

It was so awful.