One of my favorite childhood memories is visiting the Plain of Jars with my grandmother, Noy. I come from a long line of artisans who crafted textiles and molded gold into jewelry in southern Laos. Grandma Noy weaved Lao sinhs and traded with other talented loomers.
She often took me to markets in other provinces like Xieng Khoang. This was when I first laid eyes on the megalithic jars that scattered all across this famous northern land. These ancient treasures have mystified archaeologists, historians, and other experts from all over the world.
Who made them? And why?
Spellbound by the jars, I ran amongst them, placing my tiny hands over weathered surfaces, tracing faint etchings and elusive motifs in reverence. Unlike the experts, I didn’t have to wonder about their origin or purpose. Grandmother Noy shared the secret with me: “The people of Laos are descendants of giants. Our ancestors made these beautiful jars to store padeak and Lao Lao.”
I believed her completely. These jars are our inheritance.
As a child, I didn’t know that danger was lurking underneath my feet at the time. Decades later, I visited the jars again in my capacity as CEO of Legacies of War, a nonprofit advocacy and educational organization dedicated to resolving the impacts of war by advocating for U.S. funds for humanitarian demining, survivor assistance, and explosive ordnance risk education. Legacies of War was founded in 2004 after recovering illustrations and testimonies from refugees fleeing the bombing in this province.
From 1964 to 1973 , the United States dropped at least 2.5 million tons of ordnance across 580,000 bombing missions over Laos. This is equal to a planeload of bombs every eight minutes, 24 hours a day, for nine years – earning Laos the title of being the most bombed country per capita in history. The bombings were indiscriminate and the overwhelming casualties were civilians.
The war did not end when the planes left. After 1973, civilians have remained the primary victims of unexploded ordnance accidents, with over 60 percent of those harmed being children today.
This is not only a history of devastation, but a story of transformation.
In villages like Ban Naphia, generations of artisans refused to let war have the final word. They gathered scraps of metal, shrapnel, bomb casings, fragments of violence, and melted them down. Weapons that once destroyed homes became spoons that nourished families. War debris became boats, stilts, planters, and daily tools, morphed by human hands.
This spirit of creation runs deep in Laos. It echoes in the deep hollows of the timeless jars. It rises in the bold standing stones of Hintang Park, where towering pillars, etched with human and animal figures, seem to carry the weight of giants’ hands, a testament to the strength and vision of those who came before. It lives in the temple complex of Wat Phu, where stone and spirit endure, and in the golden presence of That Luang, a symbol of faith and continuity. Laos is a country with roots as ancient as any great civilization, shaped by centuries of memory and by the hands – often women’s hands – that continue to carry it forward.
In 2008, Elizabeth Suda, an American researching Lao textiles, arrived in Laos with questions about craft and sustainability. Meeting artisans in Ban Naphia, she was struck by their ingenuity and by a history she had never been taught.
Moved by their creativity and bold initiative, Suda, with Lao artisans, co-created the Peacebomb bangle with the idea of “buying back the bombs.” Since then, ARTICLE22 (A22) has grown into a global social enterprise, offering an evolving collection of jewelry to customers in 40 countries, including actress Emma Watson. A core commitment of A22 is supporting non-profit partners like Mines Advisory Group through financial contributions and meaningful collaborations, such as the HOPE bangle.
Suda’s work reminds us that repair is something we make with our hands. Each bracelet, each spoon, each transformation from the remnants of war is an act of restoration.
This is the profound responsibility we honor on International Women’s Day for Peace and Disarmament. True peace is not merely the absence of bombs dropping; it is the active, daily work of restoring land, livelihoods, and dignity. It is work historically and continuously championed by women – from the grandmothers passing down our heritage, to the advocates demanding an end to the proliferation of weapons.
The giants my grandmother spoke of may not have walked the earth in the way I once imagined, but I have come to understand what she meant.
I know the giants are still here.
They are the artisans in Ban Naphia who reshape fragments of war into new possibilities. They are the women at the loom, powerful weavers preserving patterns that carry our memories across generations. Today, I see that exact same spirit in the fierce female deminers who step courageously onto hazardous land despite the risks. Thread by thread, inch by inch, they are reweaving the torn fabric of Laos.
We may never fully understand who built the Plain of Jars or why, but their presence points to something deeper. On International Women’s Day for Peace and Disarmament, we are called to stand with the giants: to end the cycle of violence, invest in demining and survivor support, and uplift the women and artisans turning destruction into hope. Peace is not given – it is forged, reclaimed, and built from the very fragments meant to destroy us.
