American Scandal - The Massacre at My Lai | Justice on Trial | 4

Episode Date: September 2, 2025

Lieutenant William Calley stands trial for the murder of Vietnamese civilians at My Lai, becoming both the face of the massacre and a lightning rod for a deeply divided nation. As the courtroom drama unfolds, the U.S. military, the media, and the American public are forced to confront the true cost of the war in Vietnam – and come to a decision about who’s ultimately responsible.Be the first to know about Wondery’s newest podcasts, curated recommendations, and more! Sign up now at https://wondery.fm/wonderynewsletterListen to American Scandal on the Wondery App or wherever you get your podcasts. Experience all episodes ad-free and be the first to binge the newest season. Unlock exclusive early access by joining Wondery+ in the Wondery App, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. Start your free trial today by visiting wondery.com/links/american-scandal/ now.See Privacy Policy at https://art19.com/privacy and California Privacy Notice at https://art19.com/privacy#do-not-sell-my-info.

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and may not be suitable for all audiences. It's November 27, 1969, in Key Biscayne, Florida, an island just off the coast of Miami. President Richard Nixon has retreated to his private estate here to discuss strategy with his team. It's been two weeks since news of the Mi-Ly-Lyye. Massacre hit the front pages. Since then, the press coverage has been relentless. Journalist Seymour Hirsch was once only known in certain circles, but now he seems like a household name, and every one of his stories seems more damning than the last. Then there are soldiers like Paul Medlow and Michael Bernhardt, who have gone public giving interviews on

national television about what they saw and did at Milai. Nixon has had enough of it. Hold up with one of his most trusted aides. He jabs his finger at a yellow legal filled with notes and ideas. Now, all the talk about this massacre business is going to destroy my Vietnam policy, just as we're getting traction, just as I'm about to turn the damn time. We've got to bury this story. Get it out of the papers. Well, I understand, sir, but people seem to want accountability. They see this as a moral crisis. It's not a moral crisis. It's a political one. And we're getting boxed in by the press. These guys, they're not on our side. They don't care about the truth. Nixon looks through his pages of notes.

This Ridenauer kid, he's a liberal punk, a washout. Why was he the one who started kicking up the dust? He wasn't even there. And Seymour Hirsch? Some nobody freelancer just trying to make a name for himself. Now we've got Mike Wallace giving them a platform on 60 minutes. The Army photographer, who sold his pictures. How much did he get?

His parents are Cleveland Peasnick, you know? And if you ask me, Meadlow is a little too smooth for a farmer. I don't trust any one of them. So, sir, what do you? you want me to do? I want to smear them so hard that their next interview ends up on the cunning room floor. The Pentagon's too scared to touch them, so it'll have to be us. I want to make sure no one leaves another word out of their mouths. Well, we could float something through a senator, someone senior who could raise just enough doubt to muddy the water. All right,

all right, maybe a big senator, a gunfighter, stand-up senator, someone who'll ask hard questions and get the press to chase their own tail. Time, life, CBS will make them all pay for running this story. By the time President Nixon boards Air Force One to head back to Washington three days later, he has a concrete plan for how to deal with the Milai scandal. Soon there is a covert team at the White House running background checks and assembling dossiers on the men on his list. Nixon's instructions are blunt, bury the story, crush the sources, and make sure no one

traces it back to him. What if I told you that the crime of the century, is happening right now. From coast to coast, people are fleeing flames, wind, and water. Nature is telling us, I can't take this anymore. These are the stories we need to be telling about our changing planet. Stories of scams, murders, and cover-ups, and the things we're doing to either protect the Earth or destroy it.

This is Lawless Planet. Follow Lawless Planet on the Wondry app or wherever you get your podcasts. It's your man, Nick Cannon. I'm here to bring you my new podcast. podcast, Nick Cannon at night. Every week, I'm bringing out some of my celebrity friends and the best experts in the business to answer your most intimate relationship questions.

So don't be shy. Join the conversation and head over to YouTube to watch Nick Cannon at night or subscribe on the Wondery app or wherever you get your podcast. From Wondery, I'm Lindsay Graham, and this is American Scam. By late 1969, the massacre at Mi-li was no-law, it was no longer, it was front-page news.

Thanks to the work of a handful of whistleblowers and a relentless freelance. reporter, the world now knew what happened that March morning in Vietnam. U.S. troops had gunned down hundreds of unarmed civilians and the army and tried to sweep it under the rug. With public outrage growing, a formal investigation was launched at the massacre and the cover-up that followed. Led by three-star General William R. Pierce, the inquiry was tasked with establishing the facts and identifying the guilty men. But the question of what justice really meant would linger for the survivors, for the soldiers, and for a nation still struggling to face up to what it was doing in Vietnam.

This is episode four, Justice on Trial. It's early afternoon on December 5, 1969, outside of the Pentagon in Washington, D.C. A chilly wind whips through the air as Lieutenant William Cali steps from a government car and makes his way toward the building. Accompanied by his attorney and an army officer, he wears his dress uniform with his captain. low and his jaw clenched. Cali led Charlie Company's first platoon when it entered Meli and has been named as one of the protagonists in the violence that followed. Now he's been summoned to the Pentagon to testify before the peers' inquiry, which is now in

its third day of closed-door hearings. Callie tries to slip into the building through a discreet side entrance, but it's too late. He's been spotted. Nearly a hundred reporters, photographers, and onlookers swarm the sidewalk toward him. He shields his face as camera cameras flash in rapid bursts. Voices rise in a chaotic blur of questions and accusations. Callie's attorney and the Army officer carve a path through the crowd, guiding him toward the building's doors. Callie keeps his gaze downward and moves as quickly as he can, refusing to engage with the barrage of hostile comments. Then as he climbs the final steps, one reporter shouts above the noise, Lieutenant Callie, are you sorry you couldn't have killed

more women and children? There's an intake of breath from the the crowd. But Callie doesn't stop to answer. He simply pushes through the doors and lets them swing shut behind him. Three flights down in the belly of the Pentagon, Callie enters the Army Operations Center. Here behind closed doors, the Peers Commission awaits. But despite all the excitement outside, testimony is short. Callie refuses to answer any of the panel's questions except one. When asked about whether there was an internal investigation of Milai, he tells the room that Colonel Orrin Henderson and Lieutenant Colonel Frank Barker never asked him about the events of that day. Then with that, Callie stands, nods to no one in particular, and walks out.

Callie may have stonewalled most of the questions, but he has provided General Peers with one interesting piece of information. If Henderson and Barker did investigate the massacre as they claimed, there would be no excuse for them to not speak with Callie. He may be lying. But if not, it's yet another sign that the internal investigation supposedly conducted, were perfunctory at best. Other witnesses called by the peers' inquiry don't get as much media attention as William Callie, but many of them are far more useful. Day after day, the testimonies mount.

Helicopter pilot Hugh Thompson recounts what he saw from the air and what he did to try to stop the unfolding massacre. Soldiers, crewmen, and officers from all areas are summoned to explain what they know or what they did. Some are reluctant to talk at first, but most of them break under the commanding gaze of General Pierce. And the picture that begins to emerge is more horrifying than even Pierce himself anticipated. What happened in Milai was clearly part of a far larger crime. During the operation that morning, soldiers in other units in other villages also committed atrocities, and it points

to a systemic issue that went beyond just the men and Charlie Company who were on the ground in Mili. General Pears is determined to get to the bottom of it. He hopes to complete his investigation into these other potential war crimes out of the public gaze, but in mid-February, 1970, the story breaks in the press. General Pears is sitting at his desk, working late through a stack of classified briefings in his dimly lit office. A small television plays in the background, although he pays little attention. It's just white noise. But then something flickers on the screen that catches his eye, just a few words. He reaches for the remote and turns up the volume. On NBC's evening news, two Vietnamese civilians appear on camera, seated beside a translator.

Their faces are drawn and their voices low. Through halting translation, they begin to describe what happened in their village of Miquet. It's a familiar-sounding story of American soldiers storming in without warning and shooting civilians indiscriminately. They talk about neighbors dragged from their homes and executed, about children gunned down as they ran. Nearly a hundred people were killed in this village during the same operation that leveled Meli. General Pierce leans forward, staring at the screen. This is just further evidence for what

he and his investigators have already pieced together behind the scenes, but now it's public knowledge. And with anger over the scandal likely to grow after these revelations, Pierce knows he has to say something soon. So only a few days later, on February 21st, 1970, Pierce makes his move. After months of exhaustive work, General Pierce informs his superiors that the inquiry has identified more than two dozen men who should face court-martial. Most are still on active duty. Fourteen are officers, some of them senior men with distinguished careers and powerful connections. But time is short. The military has a two-year statute of limitations on certain charges, such as dereliction of duty or failure to report a crime. And that deadline is only 23 days away.

If charges are not filed by the second anniversary of the massacre, many of the accused could walk free on a technicality. But before Pierce can officially submit his report and get criminal proceedings underway, the Army insists on doing a review of his work. They want to be careful about what becomes public record. So in the days that follow, Army lawyers and senior officers

begin combing through Pierce's findings. His report runs more than 250 pages with appendices, sworn statements, and detailed maps. But by the time the lawyers and top brass have finished with it, only 50 pages are cleared for declassification. Those pages offer only a sanitized account of the massacre. There's background information on Kwongnai province, some organizational charts, and official rules of engagement. But the sections on the operation itself and the cover-up that followed are all removed.

Officially, the army cites the need to protect the legal rights of the accused, but critics are quick to ask whether that's really the case, whether it's more about the army trying to shield itself from deeper embarrassment. If peers had the time, He might push for more information to be released to the public. But once the Army finally signs off on his report, there's only one day left on the charges deadline. So he goes ahead and officially submits his findings to the Department of the Army. Indictments begin to follow immediately.

And then on the morning of March 17, 1970, General Peters calls a press conference at the Pentagon. Flanked by two civilian attorneys from his inquiry team, General Peers sits behind a table in his full-dressed uniform. His expression is grave as he looks around the room. It's packed with reporters, photographers, and television crews. After an introduction from Secretary of the Army, Stanley Reeser, General Peers thanks his team, and then he gets to the main reason they're all here.

Our inquiry has clearly established that a tragedy of major proportions occurred in the vicinity of the village known as Milai on the 16th of March, 1968. Today I can announce that charges have been filed against 14 U.S. Army officers in connection with those events. The room stiffens and a few reporters exchange glances. Peers continues. Included among those charged are Major General Samuel Costa, Brigadier General George Young, Colonel Oren Henderson, and Captain Ernest Medina. The charges range from false swearing to dereliction of duty to murder. However, in order not to prejudice the rights of individuals concerned, I am not.

not able to further discuss the events which transpired. All around the room, hands shoot into the air. Pierce picks out one reporter in the second row. Yes, you go ahead. General Pierce, as a career professional in the Army, are you disturbed at all by the fact that 14 officers, some quite high-ranking and senior, were engaged in the suppression of information and false swearing

and by implication in condoning this great tragedy, as you describe it? I'm certainly greatly concerned. It does make a difference, whether it's a general, but I think the same criterion must be in effect throughout our entire officer corps. We all have obligations as officers, and as a consequence, we must have extremely high standards, and we must make sure our officers stand up to those requirements. After all of this, would you say there was a cover-up in the field investigation following the Milai incident? I would respond to your question by saying that there was testimony and evidence

to indicate that certain individuals either wittingly or unwittingly, by their actions, suppressed information from the incident from being passed up the chain command. How far up the chain of command did personal knowledge of what happened that day go? We have no indication that this got beyond the Ameri Hall Division itself. So was this an isolated incident or was it happening elsewhere too? Are there more Milis out there that we're yet to hear about? If there are any other such incidents, I have no precise knowledge of them. Well, what about in nearby villages that day? Looking at this list, your charge is placed against a member of Bravo company, but he wouldn't have been in Milai at all, would he? He would have been in Mi K, where, as I

understand it. Another 100 civilians were killed. Pierre's pauses, choosing his words carefully. If you read our prepared documents, you'll see that we refer to the whole area as Sone Me. When we went to South Vietnam, we found that the Vietnamese did not know what we were talking about when we said Meilai. That's the name we associated with the hamlet where Charlie Company was deployed, but that area is really considered part of Sone Me. So that's what we're talking about here, a collection of sub-hamlets and a general area of which Meilai and MeK are just two. But yes, there were incidents across the other hamlets on that same day.

They all fell within the area of operations for Task Force Barker. So why call it the Meleai massacre? Doesn't that understate what really happened? Peers looks out over the crowd of reporters, his jaw tightening slightly. Meilai has become shorthand for what occurred, but our investigation makes it clear this was not just one village. It was a breakdown in command across an entire region and an entire day. So we're looking at it as one cohesive event. We're not seeking to minimize the scope or mislead anyone. After this series of tough questions, the rest of the press conference proceeds smoothly. General Peers believes that his inquiry has now done what it's set out to do, expose the

truth of what happened in March 1968. Now, it's up to the courts to decide what to do next. How hard is it to kill a planet? Maybe all it takes is a little drilling, some mining, and a whole lot of carbon pumped into the atmosphere. When you see what's left, it starts to look like a crime scene. Are we really safe? Is our water safe? You destroyed our town. And crimes like that, they don't just happen. We call things accidents.

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Join Wondery Plus right now. In the hours following General William Pears' press conference at the Pentagon, reporters across the country race to be the first to publish the story. The Army has done what was once unthinkable. It has recommended charges against some of its own top brass. Fourteen senior commanders with distinguished careers are all now facing court-martial for their parts in the Mili Massacre. News anchors lead with the story on nightly broadcasts.

Pundits call it the Army's biggest scandal in decades, and there are calls for accountability for everyone involved, from the men who pulled the triggers to the officers who gave the orders and those who helped cover it up. But inside the armed forces, reactions are mixed. Some officials express quiet pride and general peers document, believing that this report sends a clear message that no one is above the law, not even general.

others feel more concerned about what unintended consequences the report may have. Their worry is that if army officers start fearing prosecution for command decisions they make in combat zones, then they may second-guess themselves on the battlefield and hesitate at the worst possible moments. Nowhere, however, is the reaction more fraught than inside Richard Nixon's White House. The administration's attempts to undermine witnesses and kill the story have failed. Now the Peer's report has been released, and to President Nixon, it is more than just an embarrassment. It's a threat.

Nixon is up for re-election in 1972, and anything that undermines public faith in the war or the military could become a political nightmare for him. So one evening, in the spring of 1970, Nixon is pacing in his private study at the White House. He pours himself a drink and stares at the amber swirl in his glass for a moment. for reaching for the phone and getting his national security advisor Henry Kissinger on the line. Yes, Mr. President. Henry, you've seen the papers? Every outlet in the country is parroting that damn Pierce report like it's the Ten Commandments. Yes, sir. It's quite extensive. They're crucifying our commanders. Koster runs West Point, for God's sake, and now he's being dragged through the mud like some two-bit war criminal.

My first instinct was the same, Mr. President, but some of the stories are awful. Pears is just trying to make himself look good while he kicks his colleagues around. a pretty cheap shot, if you ask me. These are not bad men. You know, there are women over there with hand grenades, kids wielding rifles. You think the press gives a damn? No, sir. Where are the stories about all of that? They just want martyrs and monsters, and peers has given them both. Nixon paces getting swept up in his own thoughts. You know the real irony. It was covered up because it was in the interest of the country. These commanders were doing the patriotic thing, and now we're going to punish them for refusing to hand the communists of propaganda

three? That's not what matters anymore, sir. The cover-up is the story now. Nixon slams his drink down on the desk. Well, then we need to smother it. If I may say, sir. What? Silence may be the strategic move here. Attacking peers directly might only make things worse. Nixon grimaces, takes a large swing of his drink. This thing's poison, Henry. The more we pretend it's not there, the more it'll fester. But if we engage, Mr. President, we elevate it. If we ignore it, we might just contain it. I don't like it. I understand that. Nixon takes a deep breath, collecting himself.

Fine, we'll try it your way. No press briefings, no comments, nothing. I think that's wise. The less oxygen we give it, the faster it'll die away. God help us if it doesn't. If this thing runs into 72, we could be finished. President Nixon hopes that Henry Kissinger is right about staying silent, and that by refusing to engage, the White House can write out the storm.

But deep down, Nixon knows better. This isn't a matter of a few bad headlines. If he's not careful, this story might define his entire term in office. In the months after General William Peer's bombshell press conference, the Army's internal legal machinery grinds slowly forward. Military prosecutors and investigators work to transform the scathing language of the Peers' report into formal charges, building cases that will stand up in a court-martial. Meanwhile, at the White House, silence remains the strategy.

Administration officials stonewall the press and declined a comment. The goal is to wait it out and let the public's attention drift, but the Mi-Lai story refuses to fade. If anything, it only grows. The constant drumbeat of revelations fuels new anti-war demonstrations on college campuses and in major cities, continuing to dominate headlines and further divide Americans. It all comes to a head on the morning of November.

17th, 1970. It's been two years, eight months, and ten days since the massacre at Milai, and now the court-martial of Charlie Company's Lieutenant William Callie is about to begin. The setting is a modest and somber military courtroom at Fort Benning, Georgia. It only seats 59 people. Half in the room are journalists. The rest are military officers from the base or nearby areas. Callie sits at the defense table in full-dress uniform. With his slight frame and a clean shave, he looks even younger than his 27 years. But despite his innocent looks, he's facing serious charges, and if he's found guilty, he could spend the rest of his life in prison.

Deciding his fate is a judge and jury of six men. Five of them are Vietnam veterans. Prosecutor knows, with that background, they will want to believe Cali is innocent, so it's his job to prove their instincts are wrong. But from the start, it's an uphill climb. Several early prosecution witnesses are openly sympathetic. to Cali. And even when Army photographer Robert Haberley shares the disturbing photographs he took

of the victims in Mili, those in court note he doesn't actually implicate Cali specifically, just Charlie Company as a whole. Still, as the trial stretches on over the weeks that follow, the evidence against Cali begins to seem overwhelming. Members of Callie's own platoon testify against him, and helicopter pilot Hugh Thompson again gives his damning account of the day. Then finally comes the testimony of one of the most anticipated witnesses to take the stand. Paul Meadlow, the former rifleman from Cali's platoon, whose appearance on 60 minutes shocked America. But at first, Meadleau refuses to speak. Now that he's in the courtroom, rather than a television studio, he seems scared he might say something

that could get him in trouble. Although he's been granted immunity in exchange for his testimony and cannot be criminally prosecuted for what he says, Meadlo knows that doesn't necessarily. mean he's safe from civilian lawsuits, so he thinks silence is his safest option. This doesn't impress the judge, who threatens to hold Meadlow in contempt of court if he doesn't start talking. Meadlo's lips tremble as he looks first at the judge, then his lawyer, then the U.S. Marshal staring at him from across the court. Finally, Meadlo gets to his feet and limps over to the witness stand. Slowly, he begins to give his evidence. His voice is flat and his answers to the

prosecutor's questions come haltingly as if he's reliving each moment as he speaks. He tells the jury how he watched civilians being herded into a ditch and that he didn't understand why at first, but then he received a direct order from Lieutenant Callie to shoot them. Meadlow obeyed. He says he pulled the trigger over and over again. He stopped only when his rifle jammed. People around the room glance at the defense table, watching for any sort of reaction. But Callie just stares straight ahead. Then Meadlow tells the jury that Callie's commanding officer, Captain Ernest Medina, arrived on the scene shortly after the shooting.

He saw the bodies in the ditch, so he must have realized that they were mainly women, children, elderly men, without a weapon in sight. And yet he said nothing to suggest anything was wrong. To Meadlo, that meant the killings must have been acceptable, because if that wasn't the case, then surely his captain would have disciplined them. The courtroom hears Meadlo's evidence in silence. After he's done, the prosecution rests his case, and it's time for the defense. When he gets to his feet, William Cali's attorney, George Latimer, tries to suggest another narrative.

He insists that Cali is being made into a scapegoat, saying that the stress of combat fractured his client's judgment and that the chaos of war cannot be judged from behind a courtroom bench. Latimer adds that if this hearing is really about accountability, then the military command structure and the politicians in Washington should be the ones on trial, not a young, impressionable man who was just taking orders. The courtroom battle continues back and forth for months. Finally, in the middle of March 1971, the attorneys for both sides finish, and the jury is set off to deliberate.

Lieutenant William Cali has reason to be hopeful. At the beginning of the year, another soldier was acquitted by a military jury despite admitting that he'd killed civilians. His defense was that he, too, was just following orders. Then more recently, charges against Division Commander Major General Koster were dropped entirely. Despite being the highest-ranking officer named in the Peers report, he's walked away from the scandal with only a reduction in rank and no court-martial whatsoever. For William Calley, those two outcomes feel like lifelines.

But whether he wants to admit it to himself or not, his case is different. He's always been the face of the massacre at Milai. And if anyone is going down for the atrocity, it will be him. On March 29, 1971, after four long months of testimony and 13 days of deliberations, a military jury delivers its verdict, Lieutenant William Callie is guilty of the premeditated murder of at least 22 unarmed Vietnamese civilians. Judge sentences Cali to life in prison with hard labor. For a moment, it looks like the Army is making an example out of Cali, and that some semblance of justice will be done for the dead of Mili.

But within hours, the American public erupts in outrage. Callie's face flashes across newspapers, television screens, and protest signs across the country, not as a convicted war criminal, but as a symbol of sacrifice and betrayal. Polls show that more than 75% of Americans disagree with the jury's verdict. Some blame the chaos of Vietnam itself for the tragedy. Others point to the failure of leadership up the chain of command.

To them, the real responsibility lies with the generals in the administration back in Washington. The only remaining court-martials on the horizon are for Captain Ernest Medina, Colonel Oren Henderson, and an intelligence officer. All three are men in leadership positions, but none of them are top brass. And Cali is the only lower-level officer on trial, even though there were other lieutenants and sergeants on the scene and other soldiers who pulled the trigger that morning in Milai. To the public, it looks like Cali alone is being punished for the crimes of many.

Draft board members resign in protest. Veterans turn in their service medals, and politicians on both sides of the aisle denounce the conviction. At a protest in New York, a young veteran named John Kerry, delivers a fiery address, arguing that blame should not be laid at the feet of a single lieutenant, but with the system and the policymakers that put him in that position. A national campaign known as the Free Cali Movement quickly takes root.

Rallies are organized and fundraisers are launched. Free Cali bumper stickers appear in towns across the country. And by the beginning of April, 1971, over 5,000 letters about the case have been sent to President Richard Nixon at his San Clemente Estate that's known as the Western White House. Nixon glares at a handwritten letter that's been forwarded to him, the words free Cali, screaming out from the page. All these people think I should let him go.

They're practically begging me to set him free, like I'm the only one who can make it right. Nixon's chief of staff, Bob Haldeman, stands a few feet away, his arms folded cautiously. Well, we need to be cognizant of the political fallout here, sir. I'm not saying don't get involved, but we don't want to step on the military's toes. I'm the damn commander-in-chief. I am the military.

Well, of course, sir, I'm just thinking through the options. Nixon looks out the window toward the Pacific Ocean. The people writing these letters, they're my people, my base. They don't see a criminal, they see a kid hung out to dry. If I don't do something, they'll think I agree with the jury. We'll lose all support for our Vietnam strategy. Pentagon isn't going to like you undermining them.

The Pentagon's already made a mess of this, and I'm not going to wait around for them to fix it. I'm thinking about the majority of good, honest Americans here. They see Cali as just one of their own, some poor kid from Georgia who got in, over his head. Alderman hesitates. So, what's the plan, sir? Nixon sits down behind his desk, he clasps his hands together, thinking. Well, the boy's technically guilty of violating the rules of engagement. There's no doubt about that. But in a larger sense, he doesn't deserve this sentence.

I want to keep my options open while we figure out what the appeal procedure would look like. Nixon makes a note on a yellow legal pad. In the meantime, let's get the Pentagon on a line. Have them pull Cali from prison and put him under house arrest. All right, sir? And put out a press release, too. I want the people to know I took action. But don't make any other comments beyond that. I'll pardon him in the end. But if anyone asks

now, this is just temporary. Pending legal review, understood? President Nixon's order is carried out, and William Cali is removed from his cell at Fort Benning and placed under house arrest. Officially, the move is merely procedural. But to the growing free Cali movement, it feels like

a victory. And to Nixon, it's one more fire contained and one more obstacle to his re-election removed. And over the next several months, the momentum of justice for the victims at Milai slows to a halt. In September 1971, Charlie Company commander Captain Ernest Medina is acquitted at his court-martial. And in December, Colonel Oren Henderson is cleared of covering up the killings. All told, of the 26 men who were initially charged following the peers inquiry, only William Cali is convicted. But following the acquittal of these other men, Callie's life sentence is quietly reduced first to 20 years, then to 10. He serves just months before qualifying for parole. In late 1974, to the approval of most Americans, William Cali is a free man

once again. And by this point, America's military involvement in Vietnam is all over. Despite the shadow of the Milai scandal, Richard Nixon won a landslide victory in the 1972 presidential election. And soon after he began his second term in office, he signed a peace treaty with the North Vietnamese. The bulk of U.S. troops then left Vietnam, but the civil war in the country didn't end there. Fighting has continued, and after losing America's support, its former ally South Vietnam is increasingly on the back foot. In April 1975, its capital Saigon falls to communist forces, finally bringing the long and destructive struggle to an end. And while the people of Vietnam deal with the aftermath of the conflict in their country,

the millions of Americans who served in the war tried to rebuild their lives back home. Many receive what feels like a cold welcome. Vietnam was an unpopular war, and those who fought in it are rarely hailed as heroes. Even men who showed courage under the most harrowing circumstances find themselves shunned. For years, helicopter pilot Hugh Thompson is vilified for his attempts to intervene at Meiline. A congressman pushes for him to be court-martialed, and he receives death threats after speaking out about what he saw. But eventually sentiments shift, though it takes decades, and men like Hugh Thompson

received the recognition they deserve. On a cold, gray morning in March 1998, reporters crowd around a small podium at the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, D.C. cameras click as a military band plays softly under the overcast sky. Beneath the looming dark stone of the memorial, Hugh Thompson stands in his ceremonial dress uniform beside his former doorgunner, Lawrence Coleman. The two men are older now.

Their faces are weathered and their hair has gone gray. It's been exactly 30 years since they hovered over the village of Milai in their helicopter and tried to stop the killing. Today, the United States Army is finally rewarding their courage. An officer steps to the microphone and reads the citation. Thompson has been awarded the Soldiers Medal, the Army's highest honor for heroism not involving combat with the enemy. With his actions at Mili, Thompson set the standard for all soldiers to follow. Plaus echoes through the cool spring air.

The moment is solemn and dignified, a small and belated acknowledgement of moral courage in a war that needed more. Because the massacre at Mili was not an isolated incident, a secret Pentagon investigation would later identify over 300, other war crimes committed by U.S. troops in Vietnam, including mass killings, rapes, and torture. What made Milai unique was its scale. And it wasn't just the killings that horrified the public, but the cover-up as well, the chain of silence that stretched from a muddy hamlet and Kwong-Nai, all the way to the Pentagon and even the Oval Office. Together, the massacre and the cover-up shattered what was left of America's moral certainty about the war in Vietnam. And for many soldiers still in the field, it's a war in the field, it

deepened their sense of confusion and betrayal. While for those back in the States, Mili became a symbol of everything that had gone wrong with the war because it wasn't a story of a few men losing control, but the story of what can happen when a conflict devalues human life so thoroughly that murder becomes policy and silence becomes strategy. From Wondery, this is episode four of the massacre at Mili for American Scandal.

In our next episode, I speak with former U.S. Army colonel and historian Fred Bork about the William Kelly case and how the military justice system changed in response to the war in Vietnam. If you're enjoying American scandal, you can unlock exclusive seasons on Wondery Plus. Binge new seasons first and listen completely ad-free when you join Wondry Plus in the Wondry app, Apple Podcasts or Spotify. And before you go, tell us about yourself by filling out a survey at Wondry.com slash survey. If you'd like to learn more about the massacre at Milai, we recommend the books,

Meilai, Vietnam, 1968, and The Descent Into Darkness by Howard Jones, cover-up by Seymour Hirsch, and the forgotten hero of Milai, the Hugh Thompson story by Trent Andrews. This episode contains reenactants and dramatized details. And while in most cases we can't know exactly what we've said, All our dramatizations are based on historical research. American Scandal is hosted, edited and executive produced by me, Lindsay Graham for Airship, audio editing by Christian Paraga, sound design by Gabriel Gould, supervising sound designer Matthew Filler, music by Throne.

This episode is written and researched by Alex Burns, fact-checking by Alyssa Jung Perry, managing producer Emily Burr, development by Stephanie Jens, senior producer Andy Beckerman. Executive producers are William Simpson for Airship and Jenny Lauer Beckman, Marshall Louie and Aaron O'Flaherty for Wondering. I find myself reliving old patterns and having heavy thoughts. I feel stuck. I struggle to feel secure and authentic. You don't have to stay stuck. Mental health professionals at the Center for Interpersonal Relationships

are available to provide you with confidential, compassionate services customized to you to help you feel well, secure and alive. Psychotherapy starts at $75 per session. Book an initial session online or in person in Toronto at 790 Bay Street. Visit cfir.ca.ca.