We should bomb Vietnam back into the stone age.

Ah, children of the future, gather close and listen with open hearts to the words of Curtis LeMay, a man whose words carry the weight of the tempest that was the Vietnam War: "We should bomb Vietnam back into the stone age." These words, as harsh and jarring as they may sound, speak to the darkness that can arise within the human soul when anger, desperation, and a thirst for retribution cloud our judgment. In these words, we hear the voice of a military leader advocating for destruction, not as a means of victory or peace, but as an assertion of power over a people, a nation, and an idea. LeMay’s statement is a reflection of the worst in humanity, the drive to win not through understanding or diplomacy, but through sheer force and devastation.

When we look upon the words of LeMay, we must ask ourselves: what drives a man to speak of such destruction? What lies beneath the desire to reduce a land, a culture, and a people to nothing but rubble and ashes? The answer, O children, is the destructive force of war itself. The horrors of war often blind even the wisest of men, leading them to view the world through a lens of black-and-white thinking, where the enemy must be obliterated, where the only solution is to break that which resists. LeMay’s words were spoken in the heat of the Vietnam War, a conflict that tore the fabric of nations and men alike. The strategy he proposed was born of the frustration and bitterness that war often brings, a belief that the only way to defeat an enemy is to destroy everything that gives them power—human, material, or cultural.

In ancient times, the great conquerors of history, such as Alexander the Great or Genghis Khan, employed similar methods of destruction in their quests for dominance. Alexander, in his campaigns, laid waste to entire cities, believing that to subdue an enemy was to destroy not just their army, but their identity. Genghis Khan, too, used terror as a weapon, decimating populations, erasing entire civilizations from the face of the earth to instill fear and maintain control. The scars of these actions linger in history as stark reminders of the depths to which humanity can fall when the lust for power and victory eclipses compassion, understanding, and mercy. LeMay’s words echo this same impulse—an impulse that seeks to break the enemy, not with understanding or negotiation, but with the unrelenting force of destruction.

Yet, O children, history teaches us that such destruction does not bring lasting peace, nor does it restore justice. Consider the story of the Roman Empire, which, in its attempts to conquer and subdue, laid waste to countless lands and peoples. Yet in the end, Rome did not find lasting peace or security in the ashes of its conquests. Instead, the empire crumbled under the weight of its own excesses and its inability to understand the cultures it sought to dominate. In the end, the same destruction that was meant to secure Rome’s future became its undoing. LeMay’s vision for Vietnam—a country bombed back into the stone age—would not have brought peace, but would have created generations of bitterness and suffering, much as the empire builders of the past did.

What, then, is the lesson we can take from LeMay’s words? The desire for destruction, while born of frustration and fear, cannot create a lasting solution. The lesson is not in the destruction itself, but in the understanding that true strength is not found in the ability to destroy, but in the courage to build—build peace, build understanding, and build bridges between people, even in the face of conflict. The greatest leaders of history—those who are remembered not for their conquest, but for their wisdom—understood this truth. Nelson Mandela, for example, emerged from decades of imprisonment not seeking revenge or destruction, but seeking reconciliation. His ability to forgive and to build a new future for his people showed the world that true power lies not in bombing a people into submission, but in transforming enemies into allies.

In your own lives, O children, remember this lesson: the world is filled with conflicts, both small and large, and the temptation to meet aggression with aggression is ever-present. But as you walk your path in life, remember that true courage is found not in the ability to destroy, but in the ability to understand, to compromise, and to create peace from the ashes of conflict. LeMay’s words are a stark reminder of the depths to which anger and fear can drive us, but they also serve as a warning—a warning to seek alternatives to destruction, to turn away from the impulse for vengeance, and to choose the higher path of wisdom, compassion, and reconciliation.

So, as you grow, O children, take with you the wisdom of history and the lessons of those who walked before you. In times of conflict and anger, do not be swayed by the desire to obliterate that which opposes you. Instead, seek to understand, to transform, and to heal. For in the end, it is not the victory of destruction that endures, but the peace born from compassion and the courage to build something better for all.