[Marxism] Andre Vltchek: Coming Back to Hanoi

[Walter Lippmann]

(This eloquent essay may help to explain why the Vietnamese
retain such close ties with Cuba after all this time. They fully
remember the price they had to pay to win their independence.)
==========================================

ZNet Commentary

Coming Back to Hanoi 
October 02, 2006
By Andre  Vltchek 

http://www.zmag.org/sustainers/content/2006-10/02vltchek.cfm

There is a guillotine placed in the courtyard of Maison Central, its
blade sharp and shining. The former Hoa Lo Prison is a gloomy
reminder of dark days of torture and humiliation; this is where
thousands of Vietnamese patriots vanished without a trace, victims of
French colonial ambitions. This is where the resistance with its
struggle for justice and independence was savagely muzzled and where
it became painfully clear that liberty, equality and fraternity were
and still are the terms designed strictly for us, not for them.

The French court of “justice” had been strategically placed right
across the narrow street from the prison. It was conveniently
located: dissidents, nationalists, Communists and intellectuals were
briskly tried, sentenced; then shackled, tortured, starved, raped,
then often executed. During the American War (known as the Vietnam
War in the West) Hoa Lo Prison served as detention center for
captured American pilots and was quickly nicknamed Hanoi Hilton.

Maison Central is now a museum containing chilling replicas of
torture rooms, death-row cells and photographs from colonial times
and the American War. It has shrunk in size: right behind its walls
were erected two impressive sky-scrapers called Hanoi Towers, a place
which I called home for almost three years.

If I put my face very close to the window which covered almost the
entire wall of the living room, I could clearly see the blade of
Maison Central’s guillotine. From below, I could see the light in my
living room through the blade.

Hanoi Towers were designed by European architects. The legend says
that after construction of the buildings had been completed,
Vietnamese people refused to live or work there, claiming that
because it was built right in the middle of the former prison where
thousands of people died in agony, the entire place is haunted by an
army of ghosts. Management had to invite a Chinese architect who
fully restructured the interior of apartments and offices, creating
fantastic broken lines and hidden corners; a design which was
supposed to appease the dead.

This is where I lived and worked for years, often struggling in this
capital of – what was then - one of the poorest countries in Asia,
devastated by countless invasions and wars. And before I left I
realized that in fact I had been given the unique privilege of
experiencing life in one of the most fascinating and unique but
tortured places on earth. Once I closed the door and surrendered my
permanent residency permit, wherever I went in the world I had to
carry a dull pain inside my heart, a low-key but constant nostalgia;
the desire to come back and live again in this city.

The beauty of Hanoi is in the details, although some of its entire
areas are strikingly photogenic and elegant. It is the whole setting
that makes it one of the most attractive places on earth: mysterious
lakes with tree branches touching the surface of water, tamarind
trees, Chinese temples and French villas, tasteful art galleries and
cafes, countless legends, the traditional long dresses of women
caressed by a gentle breeze, the never ending vibrancy of the
streets; colors and sounds, laughter, endless optimism through the
tears and pain which is brought by memories of the past.

As holder of a U.S. passport, I had never been a target of wrath,
discrimination, ridicule or reproach. It was almost surreal and one
couldn’t help but feel humbled by this tremendous generosity. More
than 3 million Vietnamese people died because of the U.S. invasion
and terror: victims of carpet bombing, poisonous gasses, combat,
executions and torture. Probably more than 3 million, but we will
never know exact numbers. The U.S. never apologized, never helped to
rebuild the country, to clean poisoned land where still today people
are dying from contaminated water, food and unexploded substances.

Four years ago, a friend of mine summarized the feelings of the
Vietnamese people: “We fought Americans and we won the war. We
struggled and we suffered, but now we want to look forward, to build
our country, our future. There is no point in feeling angry. Anger
will not improve this land.”

The Vietnamese people forgave but they never forgot. Museums and
monuments speak about the brutality of the invaders. Countless
photographs document the past. People are still dying from
“mysterious” illnesses. Each family has some horror story to tell.
There is almost no adult person in this country that did not
experience hunger and extreme hardship in the past.

On 9-11, I went downstairs to buy some food, keeping the television
tuned to the BBC World, volume down. When I returned to the
apartment, one tower of the World Trade Center in Manhattan was
burning. I paid no attention, thinking that the BBC was running yet
another movie review. It was dark outside. I noticed some lights and
when I fully opened the curtain, I realized that makeshift rockets of
celebration were shooting towards the sky from surrounding villages.
The next day the Vietnamese government expressed its outrage over the
terrorist attacks and sent condolences to the American people. The
fireworks were never mentioned.

I learned later that there was no contradiction in these two acts.
The Vietnamese people felt genuinely sorry for those who died in New
York City, even in the Pentagon. They felt grief and pity for the
individual men and women who were murdered and they felt grief for
their families. They knew exactly how it feels to be bombed; they
knew it, unfortunately, too well.

Condolences expressed by the government on behalf of the Vietnamese
people were genuine, not just a diplomatic act. Celebrations were
genuine as well. But those who celebrated did so because the empire
which caused them so much suffering was under attack.

9-11 brought to surface complex emotions the Vietnamese people harbor
towards the West in general and the U.S. in particular. That
significant and tragic day evoked in many of them feelings of
sympathy, grief and outrage but also joy. They had forgiven the
people of the invading countries, but they never forgave the empires.

During the war, Hanoi itself was not bombed as savagely as other
Vietnamese cities and the countryside. However, by the time
“hostilities” ended in 1973, a quarter of all buildings had been
destroyed; tens of thousands of people were dead and almost one half
of the population evacuated.

“I didn’t grow up in this city”, remembers Dinh Tien, a high-level
official at the Ministry of Trade, general director of Vilexim Import
Export who deals on a daily basis with foreign companies, including
those from the U.S.. “I came to Hanoi from the area near the port
city of Haiphong. That’s where my childhood was. But it wasn’t a
childhood that many people in the West would recognize. My street was
bombed several times by the US air force. We – the kids - were almost
constantly hungry. And the only toys we knew were empty shells from
spent American ammunition. Sometimes we played with unexploded
substances. Remembering it now makes me shiver, but it was absolutely
normal then. That’s how I grew up.”

Probably no other country (with the possible exception of East Timor)
in the post-war history suffered such intensive terror inflicted from
outside as Vietnam did. After it won a bitter war for independence
with France, Vietnam found itself facing the mightiest military power
on earth – The United States. Years and millions of deaths later
Vietnam had to face “punitive action” from China after it intervened
in Cambodia, provoked by constant cross-border raids of the Khmer
Rouge, and unable to stomach the genocide taking place at its
doorstep.

As a response, the U.S. threw its full diplomatic weight behind the
Khmer Rouge, demanding at the UN and elsewhere that Vietnam withdraw
its forces and the Khmer Rouge immediately return to power.

The disintegration of the Soviet Union and the collapse of the East
European trading block landed yet another tremendous blow to Vietnam
which was then just beginning to recover from the decades of wars and
aggressions.

The exact extent of the suffering of the Vietnamese people is
unknown, but estimates speak of about 1.3 million Vietnamese soldiers
killed during the American War alone, alongside 2 million civilians.
The U.S. and its allies dropped 1.2 million tons of bombs on Vietnam
each year, flying 400,000 sorties annually. The defoliated area
(1962-71) covered 2.2 million hectares. The average number of
civilians killed each month was 130,000.

The most intensive bombing campaign in the history of humankind –
Operation Rolling Thunder – began on March 1965 and ran through
October 1968. In that period, twice the tonnage of bombs was dropped
on Vietnam and Laos as during all of WW2. 4,000 out of 5,788 villages
in North Vietnam were hit. General Curtis Le May explained at that
time with remarkable and disarming frankness: “We should bomb them
back into the Stone Age.” 1.7 million tons of Agent Orange had been
used by 1973, and 20 million bomb craters still dot the Vietnamese
countryside, from north to south.

Death and terror did not come only from the sky. Tens of thousands of
Vietnamese people had to endure severe torture in the hands of
American troops and Special Forces. Tens of thousands of Vietnamese
women and children were raped, a fact very rarely discussed in the
United States.

Back in Washington and Canberra, 57,605 American and 423 Australian
soldiers who died in the “Vietnam War” have their names engraved in
memorials honoring their sacrifice. There is hardly any domestic or
international discussion about whether these memorials are “moral”; a
sharp contrast to the bitter discussion over the morality of the
Yasukuni Shrine in Tokyo commemorating Japanese soldiers who died
during WW2, some of them war criminals.

Words like “mass murder” are never mentioned in the mainstream US
media in relation to mass killings of Vietnamese, Laotian and
Cambodian citizens. International courts have not tried either
American military nor political elites on charges of genocide.

Obviously the lives of those gooks mattered not at all and to this
day they still don’t matter much. Killing more than 3 million of them
doesn’t mean that we have to consider abandoning any deeply rooted
beliefs in our superiority, our undeniable right to lead the free
world to the shining glory of liberty and democracy.

But due to the countless and heinous crimes we have committed in
Korea, Indochina, Central and South America, the Middle East and
elsewhere, it is possible (let’s stipulate this just for the sake of
the argument) that in the eyes of the majority of the world we
transformed ourselves into nothing more than an outlaw state, a power
spreading terror and fear through the unbridled murder of innocent
men, women and children all over the world; a frightening specter and
an incurable disease all in one; a catalyst for the second coming of
Fascism.

In Vietnam, Cambodia and Laos we are remembered for our B-52s which
dropped bombs from tremendous heights (people received no warning
that the attacks were coming), for burning civilians with the
chemicals, for gang-raping little girls, for supporting any corrupt
and brutal dictatorship as long as it was willing to lick our boots.
It is truly a fine way to be remembered! A true shining example of
heroism which will surely inspire our young men and women to fight
for freedom and democracy in many other oppressed countries whose
citizens can’t wait to embrace our values and our liberties.

And back to the gooks: these “gooks” happened to be my neighbors for
almost three years. Some became my close friends. With tremendous
sacrifice and determination they resurrected their country from
rubble, attempting to build the society on principles of equality.
They often failed but never gave up, moving forward, determined, hard
working and endlessly optimistic. One step back, two steps forward,
that’s how it looked to me.

Vietnam is a beauty dotted with bullet-holes, an elegant Asian
landscape sprinkled with blood. It is a poem with letters blurred
with tears; with gentle traditional music whose monotonous beauty is
interrupted by desperate screams of pain. It is our endless shame.

In front of what used to be the Citadel stands an old jet fighter -
MIG-21 - with nine stars painted on its fuselage. Each star
symbolizes an enemy aircraft (ours) it had shot down during the war.
Behind it is Cot Co, the Flag Tower. Cot Co is all there is left of
the once impressive citadel attacked and captured in 1882 by Francis
Garnier and his French troops.

Garnier’s pretext for attack was exactly the same as the one used a
few decades later by US policy makers: he said that “he had to attack
because the Vietnamese were planning to attack him”. His logic was
readily accepted in Europe, regardless of the fact that he and his
troops were 10,000 kilometers from home, already rampaging a foreign
land.

I walked all over the city for long hours, taking in Hanoi’s beauty,
its colors, smells and sounds. I strolled around Huan Kiem Lake, then
alongside West Lake, towards my hotel. I desperately wanted to come
back and live here again. Late at night I parked myself at the roof
bar of Sofitel Plaza, one of the few places open at that hour.

Paddle boats carried lovers on Petit Lac more than 20 stories below.
The entire city was in front of me and so was its majestic Red River
illuminated by the moon and by the weak lights of cargo ships in the
distance. I had several drinks trying to get drunk, but it didn’t
seem to work. I tried to write a poem but I couldn’t.

Looking at the sky I suddenly imagined hundreds of tons of bombs
falling on the city and on me from the height of 57 thousand feet. I
imagined thousands of dead bodies dotting the pavement below. What
would I have done? What had been on the Vietnamese people’s minds
when it was not just an imagination but reality? How the hell did we
dare to do it and how did we manage to get away with it?

Then I noticed the International Herald Tribune on the table in front
of me. In the dim light I read excerpts of the speech by John Bolton
who was defining US policy towards Iran. I felt suddenly scared;
terribly, endlessly scared.



ANDRE VLTCHEK: writer, journalist and filmmaker, co-founder of
Mainstay Press (www.mainstaypress.org), publishing house for
political fiction. His latest published books include the political
novel “Point of No Return” and the book of essays “Western Terror –
>From Potosi to Baghdad”. He is the producer of “Terlena - Breaking of
a Nation” the 90 minute documentary film about Suharto’s dictatorship
(www.millache.org). He is based in Southeast Asia and the South
Pacific and can be reached at: andre-wcn at usa.net.