The language of touch

“It’s a beautiful place,” says Daniel Martin, a massage therapist and Vietnam War veteran, when asked to describe Vietnam. It’s a surprising sentiment to hear from a veteran of that still-haunting war, but Martin is a surprising person, not least in his infectious enthusiasm for the still-ravaged country he describes as “magical.”

That attitude is far removed from how he felt about Vietnam 35 years ago. Martin was assigned to a Marine Corps base outside Danang from September 1968 to October 1969. The experiences he had there have troubled him throughout his life, and he’s had a hard time reconciling himself to his past. “You realize you were a pretty ugly guy at one point in your life," he says, adding, "I’m a Buddhist now: I don’t believe in killing; I don’t believe in war.”

In 2001 he returned to Vietnam to face his fears with a group of veterans from a southern Arizona nonprofit organization, Tours of Peace (TOP). TOP veterans return to the places where they saw action, then make peace with their memories and with the people of Vietnam by doing volunteer humanitarian work. They visit poor villages and urban neighborhoods, orphanages and senior homes, giving their time and labor as well as badly needed goods and medical supplies.

For Martin, the key to coming to grips with Vietnam and his own past was, at least partly, bodywork. As a massage therapist and a Rolfer, he saw an opportunity to help people on a very direct and nurturing level. Working on poor Vietnamese was, of course, immensely different from working on middle-class Americans. Faced with large groups of people “lined up out the door” who had never received bodywork before, Martin found himself spending five to seven minutes on each person, doing what he could to help as many people as possible.

“They loved it," Martin says. "They knew that we were helping them.” He tells of nervous children holding hands with playmates while on his table. The experience was unique. “I was physically exhausted, but my heart was just full of love.”

Martin’s subsequent trips to Vietnam have been full of happy accidents that seem to validate his decision to return. As though the place itself were guiding events, he tells of being able to give a soldier’s family the poncho that he died in after a Vietnamese man—who had kept it through the years—gave it to TOP veterans. He talks with joy about the little Vietnamese girl from Danang, where Martin was assigned during the war, he and his wife have adopted. “Those kinds of things happen when you go back," he says. "Things just occur, they’re all serendipitous. It’s really a magical process of healing yourself.”

Martin plans to continue and expand the work he is doing in Vietnam, with more volunteers providing bodywork. He envisions living there part of the year. Asked about a language barrier (he does not speak Vietnamese), Martin admits that one exists, but adds that “universal touch” transcends it.

— John Cafiero