Some 400 kilometers to the northeast of Hồ Chí Minh city lies Yok Đôn National Park, one of the few places in Vietnam where elephants still roam freely. Nestled amongst coffee farms and dry dipterocarp forest tracts, the park is located a short drive from Buôn Ma Thuột city in the central highland province of Đắk Lắk. The region has a prominent history of fierce political resistance, first in response to the French colonial occupation and later to the advancements of the ever-hungry Americans. During the final days of the American War, as it is known in Vietnam, Buôn Ma Thuột played host to a battle that saw the People's Army of Vietnam issue an incontrovertible death knell to Kissinger's project in the south. The battle decimated South Vietnam's Corps Tactical Zone and precipitated the eventual evacuation of the Americans who remained after the US's "official" withdrawal from the war. Then Sài Gòn fell.

That was a lifetime ago, but the bones remain in one form or another. I arrive to Yok Đôn well after sunset to a fat, orange moon rising over the silhouetted tree line. I wonder if the height of the forest would be different had an entire generation of trees not been defoliated. 3.1 million hectares of trees, to be precise. Agent Orange wrought havoc on this land and her denizens, and yet, its effects are rarely mentioned by those who bemoan Vietnam's "empty forests" and "animal genocides" (e.g., https://www.nytimes.com/2019/04/01/travel/vietnam-wildlife-species-ecotravel-tourism.html). In fact, even throughout the scientific literature exploring Vietnam's biodiversity loss, only a handful of publications implicate Agent Orange by name. It strikes me as a curious lack. And yet, at the same time, not.

The next morning I trek to find the elephants. These are not wild elephants. They are individuals who, up until a few years ago, were ridden and bathed by tourists looking for a wildlife experience—another reminder of how our bumbling species often confuses possession with love. Training elephants to let strangers bathe and ride them typically requires cruel and inhumane husbandry methods, but thankfully, more and more of us are finally starting to see this as unacceptable. Since 2018, Yok Đôn no longer allows tourists to ride or bathe the elephants in their care. The park has also rescued a handful of elephants from substandard conditions outside of the park. The elephants are free to go (or not go) where they wish, when they wish. There are no bars or electrical fences. They are kept in groups of two, and each group has a team of four mahouts who rotate shifts so that at least two people remain with the elephants throughout the day. The elephants are not acclimated to live entirely independent of human interaction (and it would be cruel and unrealistic to make them do so now). In many cases, the mahouts and elephants have known each other for years—indeed, one man and elephant had known each other for over fifty years. The mahouts call the elephants their family. 

It strikes me that these elephants have good reason to be distrustful of strange people. And yet, they tolerate us. Being near an elephant is like being near a ... well, I don't know, actually. An elephant is so large that it usually serves as the metaphor, not the actuality. Several times, when one of the elephants starts to approach the place where we stand, our guide prompts us to move so that we are not right in front of her. Because they are herbivores, elephants' eyes face to the side and not the front, and our guide explains that, if we stand right in front of them, we may inadvertently startle them. Several times, when one approaches, I covertly look around to see if there is a tree I can climb in case I need to make a fast getaway (is it obvious I've worked with chimps?). But then I remember that these creatures can easily uproot a tree! When I finally feel the immense presence of her passing body, a strangely-constructed faerie tale friend more graceful than a ballet dancer, I am transported out from space and time to a place that I am sure doesn't exist. Suddenly, everything seems so ... tidy, of all things. Perfectly tidy, like someone is holding me.