The horror of forty years ago

My last two days in Vietnam have unintentionally focused on the American war years, with visits to the War Remnants Museum and the Cu Chi Tunnels in quick succession. Take care reading on if you're easily offended by graphic images and descriptions. The Vietnamese don't pull any punches. This is a pretty sombre post.

After a quick sojourn around the Independence Palace I grab a bite for lunch and head on to the War Remnants Museum. This is a powerful experience, and I regard it as a must-see for anyone visiting Saigon/HCM. The war was raging when I was a teenager completing Te Awamutu College, and I have vivid memories of the images splashed across my TV screen, accompanied by the anti-communist propaganda that accompanied it, justifying Western involvement in this brutal war of occupation and repression.

On entry to the museum I'm confronted by a huge variety of American weaponry - planes, helicopters, tanks, bulldozers, guns, bombs - all well maintained and able to be examined close up.


The engineering side of me marvels at 175mm guns able to fire shells over 32km,

and F5-A jet fighters capable of flying at over 1,200 kph while carrying five bombs and an array of rockets and machine guns. The moral side of me shudders at the damage these weapons do, more often than not to innocent civilians on the ground.

More chilling are the Tiger cages where "stubborn" political prisoners were incarcerated and tortured by the South Vietnamese regime, under French then American tutelage.

But more chilling still are the images of mangled and burned bodies (napalm and phosphorous), and real foetuses hideously deformed from Agent Orange exposure floating in jars of formaldehyde before my eyes.


This image of a terror-stricken child running down the road with outstretched arms, her body covered with third degree burns from a napalm attack, was portrayed across newspapers and TV screens in 1972. The sheer horror of this image viewed in living rooms around the world brought home just how repugnant this conflict was, and hastened the withdrawal of American forces a year later. Nick Ut, an Associated Press photographer, earned a well-deserved Pulitzer Prize for his photography. For those who don't know, the little girl, Kim Phuc, miraculously survived due to Nick's intervention, and went on to become a UNESCO goodwill ambassador.

It's impossible to walk around this place without tears welling up in my eyes. But it has to be seen - if only to remind everyone of the sheer senselessness of the innocent slaughter. I sense I'll be subjected to similar horrors when I get to the Cambodian killing fields.

A final image reminds us that through our children we do have an opportunity to live in peace, and that those who were once enemies are now our friends.

Sunday sees me on the bus to the Cu Chi tunnels. I'm sitting next to Leigh from Seattle, who coincidentally I'd bumped into the day before. We chat away before stopping at a workshop where the handicapped (some from Agent Orange exposure) make exquisite inlaid prints, plates, jewelery and furniture.

I'm sorely tempted by some stunning lacquered plates and bowls, but just don't have room to fit them in my pack.

On the bus we're treated to the entertaining life story of our guide, Mr Binh. Binh grew up in the south and received naval military training in the States before returning to fight the Viet Cong (VC), captaining a patrol boat up the Mekong. On surrender in 1975 he was detained for four years in a "re-education" camp. He had chosen to stay in Vietnam rather than flee to the States, no matter the consequences. As he says, this is his homeland.

We arrive at Cu Chi to find hordes of tourist buses have beaten us to it. We're rushed through a video (which could be improved considerably in quality and content - it's excessively strident in its anti-Americanism), and then proceed to visit a number of foxholes. Binh warns us that "fat-arses" should not attempt to get in to the hole, and relates the unfortunate story of a large woman who lost her clothing being dragged back up.


Fortunately my arse isn't that fat!


This tank was destroyed by a delayed action mine. The VC were quite cunning - noting that the rear of a tank is more vulnerable due to the location of the fuel tank, they set the mines to explode as the tanks rolled off them, not on to them.

We encounter a number of booby traps before spending 10 minutes at a cafe, where we also have the chance to fire off a few rounds from (I think) an AK-47. At $1.30 a round, combined with the moral dilemma of firing weapons at a place that has seen untold death and destruction, I decline the opportunity.

A new guide (whose parents fought on the VC side) explains the strategy employed by the VC. The Cu Chi region consists of hundreds of kilometres of tunnels, bunkers and living quarters, where the VC lived underground for four years. Essentially the VC were invisible, appearing apparently at random to engage American troops. Trenches were set up 500m apart. As the Americans advanced, the VC would retreat underground to the second and third trench positions. Once the Americans were across the first trench line, the VC would race back underground and attack from the rear, trapping the troops in a deadly crossfire.

Despite extensive bombing, napalm and defoliants, the Americans never succeeded in defeating the Cu Chi VC - a testament to skillful guerrilla strategy combined with a burning desire to repel the invaders of one's homeland.

We enter the first layer of tunnels (we're too big to even consider going deeper to the second and third layers), and zig zag our way crouched double to the first exit point. It's incredibly hot, tiring and claustrophobic, and some choose to exit at this point. I carry on, and as the tunnel narrows and my muscles scream, and I'm forced on to hands and knees in the lower sections, I start to think I should have done the same.

Finally, light appears ahead, and with relief I shoot up to the surface like a diver surfacing for air. I'm hot, sweaty and sore after just a few minutes underground, and can't imagine how the VC could endure these conditions for so long.

On our way back I find myself sitting next to Emma from London. More chatting and more email and blog addresses exchanged.

Thanks Leigh and Emma - great chatting with you.

For all my fellow travellers, be assured you'll receive a warm welcome in Auckland if you ever make it Down Under.