By MARK THIESSEN and JULIE WATSON

ANCHORAGE, Alaska (AP) — The Vietnam War greatly impacted U.S. society from the passage of the War Powers Resolution that restricts the president’s ability to send troops into extended combat without congressional approval to the cementing of college campuses as centers of student activism.

Millions of U.S. troops fought in Vietnam. For some Americans, the war that effectively ended with the fall of Saigon 50 years ago Wednesday on April 30, 1975, continues to shape their lives.

They include: A woman dedicated to recovering her father’s remains after the bomber he piloted disappeared over Vietnam’s Gulf of Tonkin. A Vietnam veteran who was heckled like scores of other troops when he returned home and now assists fellow veterans in rural Alaska. And an anti-war movement stalwart who has spent decades advocating for free speech after her brother was wounded when Ohio National Guard troops fired into a crowd of protesters at Kent State University.

Here are their stories.

This photo provided by Jeanie Jacobs Huffman shows her, right, with Principle Deputy Director of Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency Fern Sumpter Winbush, left, during an unveiling ceremony for the 2025 National Recognition Day poster. (Dave Huffman/Jeanie Jacobs Huffman via AP)

Still waiting for dad to return home

Fifty years after the fall of Saigon, Jeanie Jacobs Huffman has not lost hope of bringing her father home.

Huffman was only five months old when her father, Navy Cdr. Edward J. Jacobs Jr., was reported missing in action after the plane he was piloting to photograph enemy targets vanished in 1967 over the Gulf of Tonkin, off the coast of North Vietnam.

Huffman has dedicated her life to finding the plane and recovering his remains and those of his two crew members. She also serves on the board of directors of Mission: POW-MIA, a nonprofit group dedicated to finding unaccounted Americans from past conflicts.

“It’s a lot of missing, you know, a huge void in my life,” she said, breaking into tears.

A professional photographer, Huffman has made a poster featuring the faces of the 1,573 missing service members from Vietnam.

“After this many years, we should never leave anyone behind,” she said.

A year ago, she visited the Gulf of Tonkin through a trip with the United States Institute of Peace, a nonprofit that promotes education and research on conflicts to prevent future wars. The group’s translator, who was from North Vietnam and also lost family members in the war, walked with Huffman into the water. Holding hands, they both cried, sharing their grief.

“So that was the closest I’ve been to him in 58 years,” Huffman said of her father.

She’s pushing for the Defense POW/MIA Accounting Agency to conduct an underwater search operation next year in hopes of recovering the plane. The U.S. Department of Defense agency is responsible for recovering and identifying service members listed as missing in action or prisoners of war.

“He deserves to be brought back home,” she said. “Even if it’s just a bone or a dog tag. Even the tangible things, like a dog tag or a piece of his plane, mean a lot to me because I don’t have anything else.”

Finding salvation after so many decades

For George Bennett, the road to sobriety and mental health continued long after flying home through San Francisco in 1968, where “sneering” protesters met returning soldiers in the terminal.

Someone yelled out, “baby killer.” Another spit at them. He and his fellow soldiers were turned away from one airport restaurant.

Only later did he realize how much Vietnam had changed him because the war went against the strict sense of values and Indigenous practices instilled by his parents.

A member of Alaska’s Tlingit tribe, Bennett said, “I would go get my beer and come home … just drink beer and do nothing.”

“I think part of it was the fact that I was ashamed and guilty because I was part of the atrocity that occurred in Vietnam. I feel that I violated the value and some of our cultural norms, and it made me want to run.”

And he did, from bar to bar and job to job.

Finally, he wound up receiving help for alcoholism and post-traumatic stress disorder.

It’s taken him 30 years to feel better, largely because of the support of Mary, his wife of 55 years. She insisted they move to the southeast Alaska city of Sitka, where he has integrated back into his native Tlingit culture.

He’s now Alaska’s sole rural veteran liaison, helping veterans secure benefits in the military’s health care system.

“I really had to find my spiritual way again,” he said. “It took me a while to get there, but here I am.”

FILE – Chic Canfora gestures during an interview, May 2, 2024, in Kent, Ohio. (AP Photo/Sue Ogrocki, File)

Kent State University protester sees lessons for today

Chic Canfora still becomes emotional when she talks about the fall of Saigon.

Canfora was part of an anti-war protest at Kent State University in 1970 when Ohio National Guard troops fired into the crowd, killing four fellow students and wounding nine others, including her brother. The bullets sent Canfora diving for cover.

She believes the protest helped galvanize public opinion that would hasten the withdrawal of U.S. troops and ultimately lead to the fall of Saigon and the war’s demise.

A decade ago, Canfora visited the Vietnam Veterans Memorial Wall in Washington and was overcome at seeing how the number of names of the fallen dwindled after 1970.

“That was the first time it really hit me the impact of the anti-war movement and, so it’s particularly meaningful for me this year,” she said, choking up.

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Canfora, who teaches journalism at Kent State, has spent her life sharing what she experienced. She said the lessons learned are more relevant than ever amid the Trump administration’s crackdown on student protesters, fears of deportation for international students and what critics describe as unprecedented attacks on campus speech.

She said she sees echoes of the past when then Ohio Gov. James Rhodes, who sent in the National Guard, called the Kent State demonstrators “the worst type of people that we harbor in America.”

“I was too young and too naive to recognize the danger of such inflammatory rhetoric because, in essence, all of these leaders in our country were putting targets on the backs of American college students who have historically served as the conscience of America,” Canfora said.

“I think students today are going through that same metamorphosis of awareness that I did in 1970.”

Watson reported from San Diego.

By KATHY McCORMACK

A federal appeals court has paused a judge’s order to bring a Turkish Tufts University student from a Louisiana immigration detention center back to New England this week so it can consider an emergency motion filed by the government.

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The U.S. 2nd Circuit Court of Appeals, based in New York, ruled Monday that a three-judge panel would hear arguments on May 6 in the case of Rumeysa Ozturk. She’s been detained for five weeks as of Tuesday.

A district court judge in Vermont had earlier ordered that the 30-year-old doctoral student be brought to the state by Thursday for hearings to determine whether she was illegally detained. Ozturk’s lawyers say her detention violates her constitutional rights, including free speech and due process.

The U.S. Justice Department, which is appealing that ruling, said that an immigration court in Louisiana has jurisdiction over her case.

Congress limited federal-court jurisdiction over immigration matters, government lawyers wrote. Yet the Vermont judge’s order “defies those limits at every turn in a way that irreparably harms the government.”

Ozturk’s lawyers opposed the emergency motion. “In practice, that temporary pause could last many months,” they said in a news release.

Immigration officials surrounded Ozturk as she walked along a street in a Boston suburb March 25 and drove her to New Hampshire and Vermont before putting her on a plane to a detention center in Basile, Louisiana.

Ozturk was one of four students who wrote an op-ed in the campus newspaper, The Tufts Daily, last year criticizing the university’s response to student activists demanding that Tufts “acknowledge the Palestinian genocide,” disclose its investments and divest from companies with ties to Israel.

A Department of Homeland Security spokesperson said in March, without providing evidence, that investigations found that Ozturk engaged in activities in support of Hamas, a U.S.-designated terrorist group.

By TERRY TANG

During his adolescence, William Fong’s entire world was contained in San Francisco. But in 1967, over a decade into the Vietnam War, he was drafted.

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At age 20, he left his home in the city’s Chinatown neighborhood for basic training, and then found himself in Asia for the first time. Anticipating he would be surrounded by American soldiers who were mostly white, Fong grew anxious about being perceived as an enemy combatant.

That anxiety only strengthened his conviction and determination to be the best soldier possible, he said.

“I wanted to be accepted like anybody else, not necessarily Chinese or Asian or, you know, from any particular part of the country, but just to be myself,” Fong said. He didn’t want to be seen as any of the racist stereotypes about Chinese men he grew up hearing.

Fong, 77, went on to serve as an armor intelligence specialist during his yearlong tour in Vietnam, ultimately forming some of the most important friendships of his life.

Five decades after the Vietnam war ended, more Asian American and Pacific Islander veterans are reflecting on the life-changing ordeal that was at times made more complicated by their race. Service members — from the Army to the Marine Corps — are now sharing stories about the racism they faced growing up and again while serving their country. They were often reminded that they resembled “the enemy” and faced hostility and increased violence.

Still, many say they ultimately found camaraderie with their brothers-in-arms and are proud of their service. Now, a half-century later, many of these veterans want their voices to be heard.

Preserving veterans’ oral histories

The conflict known in Vietnam as the “American War” began in 1955 when northern Vietnamese communist forces rose in power. It ended on April 30, 1975, when tanks from the north rolled into the South Vietnam capital of Saigon. The U.S. was forced to withdraw. Roughly 58,000 Americans; 250,000 South Vietnamese allies; and an estimated 3 million communist fighters and civilians perished. Out of 2.7 million Americans who fought overseas, an estimated 35,000 were Asian American, according to the Library of Congress.

Since 2000, the Library of Congress’ Veterans History Project has gathered roughly 121,000 submissions of veterans’ personal histories. Archivists say only about 700 identified as Asian American or Pacific Islander, but that’s likely an undercount since the vast majority of participants didn’t disclose their race.

A lot of the credit for those contributions goes to the volunteer-run Asian American Community Media Project, which has submitted over 100 in just the past two years.

The project is a labor of love started by volunteers Don Bannai and George Wada. The Los Angeles area residents, who are both in their 70s and Japanese American, decided to take filmmaking classes for seniors a few years ago. Neither is a veteran. But, both are passionate about preserving veterans’ voices. They channeled their newfound documentary skills and personal funds into interviewing and filming veterans’ testimonials.

“The hardest thing is to find people to talk to,” Bannai said. “We’ve got a list of 250 guys and a hundred of those have said ‘No, I’m not ready to talk about that. I’m not interested in talking about my story.’ So, that’ll tell you there are other stories out there that are still difficult to tell.”

Looking like ‘the enemy’

Bannai and Wada have dug up fascinating stories of Japanese American veterans who served in Vietnam. Some revealed their parents were incarcerated in camps during World War II. Others had family members who served in the 442nd Infantry Regiment, an all-Japanese American unit that is arguably the most decorated group in U.S. military history.

“The culture that their sons grew up in, of course it was a valid option … going to serve your country because your dad did or your uncle did,” Bannai said.

Some Japanese American veterans recounted hostile encounters with fellow officers in Vietnam. One recounted a superior pointing to him at boot camp, telling everyone “This is what your enemy is going to look like,” Bannai said.

In one video, a former marine describes how a sergeant hit him on his first night in Vietnam because he assumed he was Vietnamese. The sergeant was then shocked to hear him respond in English. Because of his looks, the man was also prohibited from going on night patrols.

Many veterans who have shared their stories through the project have come away feeling emotional but appreciative of the opportunity to reflect.

“I’m not a counselor,” Bannai said. “But for some of these guys, it’s the first time they’ve ever told these stories. And that feeling of relief, emotional relief, is almost euphoric for some of them.”

Finding commonality in Vietnam

Fang Wong, 77, of East Brunswick, New Jersey, came to New York City from China in 1960 at age 12. Three years later, he obtained citizenship. In 1969, he was drafted. He went to South Carolina, for basic training, then deployed to Germany. Tired of constant snow and homesickness, he volunteered to relocate to Vietnam.

He was stationed right outside Saigon and working military intelligence. The only Asian in his unit, he also found connection elsewhere.

Wong soon found a special kinship with Chinese civilian contractors who worked on the base and introduced him to Cholon, a Chinese enclave in Saigon still considered one of the largest Chinatowns worldwide. He had meals of Cantonese food that were almost “as good as home” and hung out with other Chinese youths.

“Once they find out that I could speak Cantonese, we communicate and every once in a while when we have a chance, I’d go out with them,” Wong said. “I go down to Cholon and find out that they have a bunch of young guys, they play basketball. I happen to like basketball.”

Wong went on to serve in the Army for 20 years. In 2011, he also was the first Asian American and person of color elected national commander of The American Legion.

For Fong, a retired grandfather of three living in the Bay Area suburb of Redwood City, talking about the war isn’t easy. He saw fellow soldiers die and then returned to the U.S. where the public’s perception of the war was contentious. It’s hard for civilians to understand, he said. So, he prioritized keeping in touch with fellow veterans. As an active member of the nonprofit Veterans of Foreign Wars’ Chinatown Post, he is intent on being a resource available to other veterans.

He hopes these discussions can help other Asian Americans who have served process their experiences.

“Hopefully,” he said, “this might give them an understanding that they’re not alone.”

By PETER SMITH

Whoever succeeds Pope Francis will inherit his momentous and controversial legacy of relations with Indigenous people throughout the Americas.

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Some found Francis to be a reconciling figure, others a disappointment. Even those who applauded the actions he took during his 12-year papacy said they were just a beginning, and that his successor will need to continue to work toward healing.

Francis, who died April 21, at age 88 issued a historic apology for the “catastrophic” legacy of residential schools in Canada and oversaw the repudiation of the “Doctrine of Discovery” — the collective name given to a series of 15th-century papal decrees that legitimized colonial-era seizure of Native lands.

But some Indigenous leaders criticized him as slow to fully recognize the traumatic impact of Catholic missionary efforts and for canonizing Junipero Serra, the 18th-century missionary accused of mistreating Native people in present-day California.

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“It’s 150 years of trauma. It’s going to take us a bit of time to recover,” said Wilton Littlechild, a residential school survivor and former Grand Chief of the Confederacy of Treaty Six First Nations in Canada. “He put us on a real strong path to reconciliation, but it can’t stop.”

Perhaps the most dramatic of Francis’ encounters with the Indigenous community occurred on a July day in 2022 in Maskwacis, a small town in the Canadian province of Alberta and the hub of four Cree nations.

There, Pope Francis paid respects at a cemetery near a former residential school for Indigenous children. He then delivered a long-sought apology for Catholic complicity in the 19th- and 20th-century residential school system for the First Nations, Metis and Inuit people of Canada.

“I am deeply sorry, sorry for the ways in which, regrettably, many Christians supported the colonizing mentality of the powers that oppressed the Indigenous peoples,” Francis said.

The Rev. Cristino Bouvette recalled being unexpectedly emotional at that moment.

Bouvette, an Alberta priest of Cree and Metis heritage who was liturgical coordinator for the pope’s Canada visit, recalled hearing the applause and seeing some onlookers weeping.

Bouvette said his late grandmother had attended a residential school and never felt the pope needed to apologize — but he, too, began to weep.

“My thoughts immediately turned to my grandmother,” he said. “I think she would have been deeply touched had she been alive to hear those words herself, despite her not thinking it needed to happen.”

The first pope from the Americas also offered an apology in Bolivia for Catholic complicity in colonialism and he supported the use of Indigenous languages and customs at Catholic liturgies in Mexico.

Francis “was a human being who tried to love and respect and honor people,” advocating for the poor and migrants, said Valentin Lopez, chairperson of the Amah Mutsun Tribal Band in California. “But regarding the Native Americans specifically, there’s a number of negative items that were pretty much totally ignored by the pope, and for that we’re disappointed.”

Kenneth Deer — a Mohawk activist from Canada who was part of a Native delegation that urged Francis in 2016 to rescind the Doctrine of Discovery — saw Francis as “very progressive, and he could have been more progressive if the Vatican wouldn’t hold him back.”

Deer noted that while the church was unwilling to state that the residential schools were an act of genocide, Francis was willing to say that in personal remarks.

“That’s who you want to listen to, the unscripted Pope Francis,” Deer said.

Francis’ successor will need “to continue working, continue to evolve,” said Deer. “You have to change.”

Mixed messages? Some activists said that was a problem

Visiting Bolivia in July 2015, Francis asked forgiveness “not only for the offenses of the church herself, but also for crimes committed against the Native peoples during the so-called conquest of America.”

Later that year in his only U.S. visit, Francis officially declared Serra to be a saint.

Many Native activists lambasted the canonization, calling the missionary priest a prime culprit in what Francis had just apologized for in Bolivia — complicity with destructive colonization.

Serra founded California’s historic missions, where thousands of Native Americans were converted. But some were also whipped for misbehaving or trying to flee. The missions became centers for horrific disease outbreaks, with mass fatalities.

“Saintly people are supposed to live lives that we are supposed to emulate,” Lopez said. “How can those actions be considered saintly?”

Lopez, whose Amah Mutsun Tribal Band includes descendants of those who lived in the spheres of influence of two California missions, had written multiple times to Pope Francis, unsuccessfully urging him to cancel the canonization.

Defenders of Serra’s canonization said he wasn’t perfect but had exemplary qualities. Francis contended that Serra actually defended “the dignity of the Native community” from the threat of worse treatment by secular Spanish colonial authorities.

Historic Canada trip

In 2022, Francis addressed the Catholic Church’s operation of residential schools, which shattered Indigenous children’s ties to family and culture in the 19th and 20th centuries. Canada’s National Centre for Truth and Reconciliation documented more than 4,000 child deaths at residential schools, and some experts believe the number is much higher.

Della Lizotte, whose parents attended a residential school, welcomed Francis’ apology.

“For me, it felt genuine,” said Lizotte, an elder in Sacred Heart Church of the First Peoples in Edmonton, Alberta, which the pope also visited. “I just wish it had been sooner, because my parents had already passed away and they would have really appreciated hearing that.”

The event sparked controversy when Littlechild presented Pope Francis with a ceremonial headdress. Historically, the headdress has been a symbol of respect, worn by Native American war chiefs and warriors. Some Native commentators found the image jarring.

Littlechild said the pope’s apology enabled him to forgive the church for his own experiences during 14 years in a residential school.

“When I gave him the headdress as a gift from our people, I told him, ‘I forgive for what happened to me as a child,’” he said. “And many people have told me since then that it was a new journey for them to heal from the traumas.”

Doctrine of Discovery

In 2023, the Vatican formally repudiated the Doctrine of Discovery, which legitimized colonial-era seizure of Native lands by Spain and Portugal. The concept forms the basis of some property laws today in the United States.

The Vatican said the related decrees, or papal bulls, “did not adequately reflect the equal dignity and rights of Indigenous peoples” and have never been considered expressions of the Catholic faith.

Fernie Marty, an elder in Sacred Heart Church of the First Peoples, a parish that uses Native language and customs, said the action showed the pope was moving from words to deeds — what Marty called “reconcili-action.”

“I thought, wow, this is another proof that he’s on the right track,” he said.

But Lopez said Francis didn’t go far enough by not rescinding the papal bulls. To Lopez, that means they’re still technically on the books.

Not only do Native people have historical traumas, Lopez said, but the church itself needs healing from the “soul wound” of this legacy. But it has to fully make amends, he said.

“We have trouble with the papal bulls, we have trouble with Junipero Serra, we have trouble with Pope Francis not wanting to listen to or ignoring this devastating history and impact on Indigenous people,” he said.

AP writer Graham Lee Brewer contributed from New York.

Associated Press religion coverage receives support through the AP’s collaboration with The Conversation US, with funding from Lilly Endowment Inc. The AP is solely responsible for this content.