TIMEZONE 7 - VIETNAM

Vietnam

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Ho Chi Minh

February 27 - 28

We were on an airplane headed for Vietnam when the thought of "Vietnam" set in. It is not just the backdrop for a movie, even though there are many people that probably wish it were. It is millions of people’s home, and millions of people's horror. Possibly because we were products of the sometimes, not-so-perfect, public school systems, or maybe because we were the "slip through the cracks 80's generation", or maybe its because by the time we got to "the 60's" in American History it was mid-May and our attention was directed out the window, but whatever the reason, we felt very ignorant about the Vietnam War. However, there we were, right in the middle of its remains. The most likely reason for our ignorance is that during the war we were too young (not alive yet) to comprehend, and after the war, the acts of our government were hidden because of guilt and remorse. We wanted to change this ignorance of ours and find out some facts that were not as readily available back home.

For some reason (TV?) when we visualized Vietnam we picture a war-ravaged countryside and rice farmers with pointy hats. This in mind, you may understand our surprise when we landed in Ho Chi Minh City (Saigon) and found it bustling, clean, and highly modern in development. There were large beautiful hotels, tour buses, taxis, and even e-mail/cyber cafes a plenty. Happily, we sampled some local, but westernized, cuisine, looked at e-mail, hung out at a tourist caf?, and made plans for the following two weeks.

We got up early (8:30 am) the following morning and rented a taxi for the day. The driver agreed to take us to the Vietnam War museum, the Cuchi tunnels and the Cao Dai temple. We were still tired and recovering from our last two nights in Bangkok and were slightly uneased by the fact that out of hundreds of nice, brand new, air-conditioned taxis the driver led us to an old Ford maverick that didn't say taxi anywhere on it.

Emotions ranged from anger, to sorrow, to guilt, to pride, to sickness, and back again, inside the Vietnam War Museum. The Photos depicted the events from 1947, the beginning of the Franco-Vietnamese War, to the present. Questions like "Why were we involved?" and "How could this have happened?" came to mind at first. "Who should be blamed for this madness?" The Soldiers? No, they were following orders, and fighting for their lives, with the passion enflamed from watching their friends/brothers dying all around them. The communists? No, violent to be sure, just as cruel definitely, but only wanting the self-ruling freedom, that we so passionately protect and enjoy. The Government? Yes, the governments of the world, it was quite easy to place blame there. In World War II, Vietnam fought by America's side against the Japanese and received our support. This led them to believe they could gain their freedom after the war from France (who had colonized and were controlling Vietnam for the hundred previous years). The Vietnamese were repaid by America. They were repaid by the continued support of America funding the ongoing French colonization, all in the name of freedom. When the French realized that civil war was eminent they divided the Country into North and South and abandoned ship, as it slowly began to sink into an abyss of frenzied violence and confusion. Vietnam had become a chessboard of the most violent and deadly kind. It was a chance for the powers of the world to flex their muscles; it was a square off, us vs. them, democracy vs. communism. The fear of nuclear war and World War III, kept both sides on alert and at a distance, America gave soldiers and weapons to protect the free south, while Russia and China gave weapons and money to the communist north.

As we continued to walk through the museum, we saw pictures of the death scenes, both American and Vietnamese. People mutilated and deformed, soldiers losing their minds, villages and jungles destroyed from Agent Orange, and whole communities burned to the ground. The need for blame became secondary to feeling of sorrow and sadness for the families of these tortured souls. We saw the cells where the prisoners of war were held, called Tiger Cages. These miniscule dungeons with leg irons caused nausea.

We went into a room that showed the peace protestors from Cuba, Argentina, Australia, Algiers, England, Italy, Spain and most ironically USA, France, and Vietnam. The museum was filled with anti-America propaganda. There was a photograph of a U.S. soldier holding a Vietnamese body that had been blown to pieces. The caption underneath it read "U.S. soldier laughing as he holds a dead Vietnamese." It was awful to see, and in our opinion, it looked as though the soldier was closer to tears than joy. In the end, as we all know, Communism prevailed, the damage was done, and nearly 2.5 million were dead. What a waste!

We got back in the taxi and started our voyage to the town of Cuchi. A combination of 6 villages, Cuchi had been a large communist base in the Democratic/free south during the war, and had fought the U.S. by using Guerrilla tactics. All 6 villages were connected by a three tiered underground network of tunnels, that had sleeping bunkers, fighting bunkers, kitchens, trap doors, booby traps and areas even further underground for hiding while bombs were dropped.

In the usual fashion of our trip, half way to Cuchi, on a fairly deserted road, in the middle of some rice paddies our taxi broke down. We tried to fix the car to no avail. Finally, the driver hopped on the back of a motor scooter, told us to stay put, and sped away. One hour later, starting to feel rather deserted, cooked from the heat, and hungry, we headed out down the road in search of taxi, bus, or restaurant, or ANYTHING! Suddenly, our driver came speeding up behind us, horn wailing, arms waving out the window of a new car. Apparently, he had called his buddy in Saigon to come pick him (and us) up.

In Cuchi we found a war memorial like none we had ever seen. It began with a communist propaganda film, that showed the people of Cuchi in the 60's and early 70's gathering used artillery and bomb casings to build primitive, weapons of death. It told how the "heroes" of Cuchi, about 8000 guerilla warriors, young and old, men and woman, side by side held Cuchi during the war and never let it fall to the "aggressors" (U.S.A.). The movie only showed how happy and festive these people living underground were. They had celebrations and tended to their farms. As the movie said, "a gun in one hand, a plow in the other." What the film failed to mention were the thousands of civilians in Cuchi who were killed during the fighting, because the southern armies were never sure if an old woman, small child or anyone at all was a Viet Cong soldier.

Using the intricate 250 kilometers of underground tunnels, with the use of hidden trap doors, they were able to "pop-up," attack and then disappear back in to the tunnels. It was nearly impossible to detect their presence, and when the trap doors were found they were too small for the Americans to fit through them. There were normal stairways that led into these tunnels and even though they were hidden, they were often discovered. The surprise waiting at the bottom of these stairs were pits full of big wooden spikes sticking straight up into the air, the soldiers would come running down the stairs and fall into the pits. The tunnels were filled with pits and booby traps of this kind. No maps were ever produced.

Cuchi was an incredible display of tactics and intelligence, but it was still a killing field designed and used to kill other human beings in horrific ways. Instead of being the somber memorial it deserves to be, Cuchi is a place of national pride for the north, and it has, unfortunately become a tourist playground. Anyone, for a nominal fee, can dress in Guerilla Uniforms like the Viet Cong, during the tour. You can even go to an artillery range to fire an authentic gun for one U.S. dollar. There was also a small zoo were the animals that once existed in the wild at Cuchi were stuffed into tiny cages.

The day came to a close with an enlightened tone. We drove nearly two hours from Cuchi to the enormous Cao Dai Great Temple. We were allowed to watch a beautiful prayer service taking place. While a small acoustic band playing traditional Vietnamese instruments accompanied a choir of young children, hundreds of people dressed in all whites, kneeled in prayer. They chanted to themselves and would simultaneously bow and rise in rhythm with a gong that was rung in the main hall.

As we rode back to Ho Chi Minh, we all contemplated the day's events. It began to rain and that increased the heavy feelings within us all. It was easy for us to believe that Vietnam would have many emotional highs and lows for us, as humans, and Americans. Undoubtedly, we would have more questions about this land after two weeks of travel than we had when we arrived.