War and Viet Nam

On my last day in Viet Nam, I went to the Mekong Delta on a trip organized by Semester at Sea.  Our guide, in his early 40s, talked a bit about how the war (they call it “the American War” ) affected his family.

His father was a South Vietnamese Army intelligence officer, working closely with the US government.  He was even brought to the US for training.  This worked out well for a while, but after Saigon fell in 1975, Hau’s father was sent to a re-education camp for 5 years.  Then the whole family was made to go work in the jungle for several more years.  The family’s house was seized as well.  It was a very hard time, and Hau remembers foraging for food.

When Hau came of age, his father advised him to avoid military service by running away, but Hau decided to fulfill his obligation.  He says the whole family would have faced prison if he hadn’t.  But his father was so upset by the decision that he disowned his son.

Hau finished his term of service and asked the government to give his father back his house.  He said, “I am a good man.  I have served my country, and this is all I ask.”  He pursued this for about five years until the government finally gave the house back.  Because of this, Hau was able to reconcile with his father.

I find this story very moving—and astonishing.  Hau’s persistence and his success amaze me equally.  Because of his father’s work for the US, three generations of his family are denied membership in the Communist Party, a huge impediment to economic success. 

The Vietnamese approach to the war seems to be, “it’s over, move on.” Certainly there are war museums, and the old news footage they show has a strong anti-American slant, but in the present, there’s no animosity towards Americans.  As Hau said, “Viet Nam is a small country.  We can’t exist on our own.  We have to get along with everybody.”

I was talking about this with one of our professors, who made this observation:  for me, there’s nothing between the Viet Nam war and my trip to Viet Nam.  Those are my only two points of connection to the country.  But for Viet Nam, the American War, destructive as it was, was only one of many wars.  Not their first, not their last.  Since then, they’ve invaded and they’ve been invaded.  There’s also a big element of civil war in that conflict.  The Americans spent a lot of time and money intervening, but we did not divide the country into two.  The South had benefitted from capitalism and many in that area worked willingly with the US.

Earlier in the week, I visited the Reunification Palace, which was the South’s government headquarters before and during the war.  It’s four floors plus a basement.  The top floor is a rooftop garden.  The three floors under that are largely ceremonial.  It reminded me of the Shogun’s Palace in Kobe (someday, perhaps I will write about that, too), with rooms for presenting credentials, and waiting, and being received by the President, the Vice President, or the First Lady.  A cinema, a room for gambling.  Several dining rooms and conference rooms.  A private apartment and a library/classroom.  In all three floors, there are only two for conducting what looks like business.  The President had an office (with a secret passage to the basement for a quick escape), and there’s a map room.

In contrast, the basement is a hive of radios and phones and teletype machines.  And maps.  While the President was in his chair on a raised platform receiving guests who sat in chairs with varying heights indicative of relative power, the Americans were in the basement, running the war.

It’s a jumble of images, not easy for me to sort out.

Watching the world go by

If you are big, you do what you want.

If you are small, you do what you can.

Everybody honks, but only once.

I waited for the bus for about half an hour today, watching the people and watching the traffic.  I find both fascinating.

Our guide told us yesterday that there are 3,000,000 motorbikes in Saigon.  There are 8,000,000 people, and half of them are children, so this adds up to a lot of motorbikes. 

Our guide, Huang, said his grandmother walked from the Mekong Delta (about 40 miles away) to sell her wares at market.  His father road a bicycle and he has a motorbike.  He hopes that his children will one day drive cars.

"No, no!" we said.  "Fight for public transportation!"  Saigon has no subways or light rail and not much of a bus system.  You see a surprisingly small number of bicycles, and they are almost always transporting senior citizens.  Most of the cars are taxis, transporting Western tourists.  More than 95% of the vehicles on the road are motorbikes.

It's hard to get a picture, because they are darting in and out of traffic.  Here are some verbal snapshots.

Helmets are required, but there does not seem to be any standard for helmets.  I saw ones that looked like batting helmets for baseball, and others where the helmet was covered up by another kind of hat.  As with other laws, there are plenty of people who simply ignore the helmet law.

Since motorbikes serve as the family car, it is common to see young children on them.  Children stand in front of the driver, sit between their parents, and are held in their parents' arms.  Today, I saw several motorbikes tricked out with actual chairs for little ones.  They are real chairs, however, not seats designed for motorbikes.  Those are nonexistent.

Both men and women commonly wear masks.  You see a lot of masks on motorbike passengers, but far fewer on pedestrians, unlike Japan and China, where as much as 25% of the population is wearing surgical-style masks.  Women also commonly wear hoodies or a kind of scarf/hat combination that covers their face and front.  I have seen several children with mosquito netting (though I have not seen nor been bitten by a single mosquito, despite my refusal to use DEET).  Very young children are often completely wrapped up in blankets.

Motorbikes are used for transporting goods home, and for operating mobile businesses.  They might have a big cardboard box strapped to the back, but I didn't see motorbikes with storage built into the design.  And none pulling trailers of any kind.

On the way back to the port, the bus driver came to an intersection, gave a blast of his horn, and turned left on a red light, blending smoothly into cross traffic.  Honking, in addition to expressing your opinion, can signal intent.