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<h2><b>Tom Dispatch</b></h2><font size=3>posted 2008-01-24 15:31:37<br>
<a href="http://www.tomdispatch.com/post/174885/nick_turse_from_the_missing_archives_of_a_lost_war" eudora="autourl">
http://www.tomdispatch.com/post/174885/nick_turse_from_the_missing_archives_of_a_lost_war<br>
<br>
</a></font><h1><b>Tomgram: Nick Turse, From the Missing Archives of a
Lost War</b></h1><font size=3>On
<a href="http://news.bbc.co.uk/onthisday/hi/dates/stories/january/31/newsid_2648000/2648951.stm">
January 30-31</a>, 1968, the Tet holiday, the North Vietnamese and the
National Liberation Front (NLF, known to Americans as "the
Vietcong") struck at five of the country's six largest cities, 34
provincial capitals, 64 district capitals, and numerous military bases.
NLF sappers even briefly captured part of the heavily fortified American
embassy compound in the center of the South Vietnamese capital, Saigon.
<br><br>
Vietnamese government troops allied to the Americans were badly bloodied
and American casualties were high. Fighting continued in parts of Saigon
for three weeks and in Hue, the old imperial capital, for almost a month
until, as with Fallujah in Iraq in November 2004, most of its buildings
were destroyed. To retake major urban areas, air power was called in. In
perhaps the most infamous phrase of the Vietnam War, an anonymous U.S.
major said of the retaking of Ben Tre, "It became necessary to
destroy the town to save it." <br><br>
In a wave of TV images of unexpected carnage, all this broke over the
American people, who had been assured that "progress" was being
made, that, as American commander General William Westmoreland put it,
"We have reached an important point when the end begins to come into
view." (Sound familiar?) <br><br>
The Tet Offensive was a home-front televisual disaster and proved a
breaking point in terms of pubic support for the war effort (despite
massive losses on the other side). A shocked Walter Cronkite, the
avuncular anchorman of CBS News and an American icon, declared the war
"mired in stalemate." President Lyndon Johnson, who was
watching that broadcast, promptly turned to an aide and said, "It's
all over." And yet the war, already visibly hopeless, would continue
through another seven years of carnage as American ground troops were
drawn down, while air power was relentlessly ratcheted up. (Again, does
any of this sound familiar?) <br><br>
Now, 40 years later, we are nearing Tet 2008 (February 7th), embroiled in
another faraway war in another faraway land where Americans are dying and
another people, another society is suffering grievous wounds, once again
on an <a href="http://www.tomdispatch.com/post/174882/csi_iraq">almost
unimaginable scale</a>. Once again, an administration is assuring
Americans that "progress" is being made, that a corner is being
turned. Once again, the
<a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2008/01/10/AR2008011000675_pf.html">
planes</a> are being
<a href="http://uruknet.info/uruknet-images/secret222.jpg">brought
in</a>. And once again, the voices we seldom hear are those of the
civilians who are suffering. Barely noted in our world while the war is
ongoing, they will promptly be forgotten -- if the Vietnam experience is
any measure -- when it's over (as someday it must be), while Americans
focus on the "lessons" to be learned from an "American
tragedy." <br><br>
Nick Turse and photographer Tam Turse are now in Vietnam meeting with
Vietnamese who ended up on the other end of American weaponry (and, in
some cases, the Vietnamese versions of present-day Hadithas). Traveling
through the distant Mekong Delta, they offer these unforgettable voices
from the missing archives of a lost war. <i>Tom</i> <br><br>
<br>
</font>
<dl>
<dd><h2><b>Two Men, Two Legs, and Too Much Suffering</b></h2>
<dd><font size=3>America's Forgotten Vietnamese Victims<br>
</b>
<dd>By Nick Turse <br><br>
<dd>Nguyen Van Tu asks if I'm serious. Am I really willing to tell his
story -- to tell the story of the Vietnamese who live in this rural
corner of the Mekong Delta? Almost 40 years after guerrilla fighters in
his country threw the limits of U.S. military power into stark relief --
during the 1968 Tet Offensive -- we sit in his rustic home, built of wood
and thatch with an earthen floor, and speak of two hallmarks of that
power: ignorance and lack of accountability. As awkward chicks scurry
past my feet, I have the sickening feeling that, in decades to come, far
too many Iraqis and Afghans will have similar stories to tell. Similar
memories of American troops. Similar accounts of air strikes and
artillery bombardments. Nightmare knowledge of what "America"
means to far too many outside the United States. <br><br>
<dd>"Do you really want to publicize this thing," Nguyen asks.
"Do you really dare tell everyone about all the losses and
sufferings of the Vietnamese people here?" I assure this
well-weathered 60-year old grandfather that that's just why I've come to
Vietnam for the third time in three years. I tell him I have every
intention of reporting what he's told me -- decades-old memories of daily
artillery shelling, of near constant air attacks, of farming families
forced to live in their fields because of the constant bombardment of
their homes, of women and children killed by bombs, of going hungry
because U.S. troops and allied South Vietnamese forces confiscated their
rice, lest it be used to feed guerrillas. <br><br>
<br>
</font><div align="center">
<dd>
<img src="http://www.tomdispatch.com/pdf/nguyen.gif" width=218 height=350 alt="[]">
<br><br>
</div>
<dd>After hearing of the many horrors he endured, I hesitantly ask him
about the greatest hardship he lived through during what's appropriately
known here as the American War. I expect him to mention his brother, a
simple farmer shot dead by America's South Vietnamese allies in the early
years of the war, when the United States was engaged primarily in an
"advisory" role. Or his father who was killed just after the
war, while tending his garden, when an M-79 round -- a 40 mm shell fired
from a single-shot grenade launcher -- buried in the soil, exploded. Or
that afternoon in 1971 when he heard outgoing artillery being fired and
warned his family to scramble for their bunker by shouting,
"Shelling, shelling!" They made it to safety. He didn't. The
105 mm artillery shell that landed near him ripped off most of his right
leg. <br><br>
<dd>But he didn't name any of these tragedies. <br><br>
<dd>"During the war, the greatest difficulty was a lack of
freedom," he tells me. "We had no freedom." <br><br>
<dd>A Simple Request</b> <br><br>
<dd>Elsewhere in the Mekong Delta, Pham Van Chap, a solidly-built 52
year-old with jet black hair tells a similar story. His was a farming
family, but the lands they worked and lived on were regularly blasted by
U.S. ordnance. "During the ten years of the war, there was serious
bombing and shelling in this region -- two to three times a day," he
recalls while sitting in front of his home, a one-story house surrounded
by animal pens in a bucolic setting deep in the Delta countryside.
"So many houses and trees were destroyed. There were so many bomb
craters around here." <br><br>
<dd>In January 1973, the first month of the last year U.S. troops fought
in Vietnam, Pham heard the ubiquitous sound of artillery and started to
run to safety. It was too late. A 105 mm shell slammed into the earth
four meters in front of him, propelling razor-sharp shrapnel into both
legs. When he awoke in the hospital, one leg was gone from the thigh
down. After 40 days in the hospital, he was sent home, but he didn't get
his first prosthetic leg until the 1990s. His new</i> replacement is now
eight years old and a far cry from the advanced,
<a href="http://www1.va.gov/opa/fact/pros-sensory.asp">computerized
prosthetics</a> and carbon fiber and
<a href="http://www.usatoday.com/sports/olympics/2007-12-09-stockwell-paralympics_N.htm">
titanium</a> artificial legs that wounded U.S. veterans of America's
latest wars get. His wooden prosthetic instead resembles a table leg with
a hoof at the bottom. "It has not been easy for me without my
leg," he confides. <br><br>
<br>
<div align="center">
<dd>
<img src="http://www.tomdispatch.com/pdf/pham.gif" width=256 height=350 alt="[]">
<br><br>
</div>
<dd>When I ask if there are any questions he'd like to ask me or anything
he'd like to say to Americans, he has a quick response. He doesn't ask
for money for his pain and suffering. Nor for compensation for living his
adult life without a leg. Nor vengeance, that all-American urge, in the
<a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/ac2/wp-dyn?pagename=article&contentId=A30216-2004Mar27">
words</a> of George W. Bush to "kick some ass." Not even an
apology. His request is entirely too reasonable. He simply asks for a new
leg. Nothing more. <br><br>
<dd>Ignorance Means Never Having to Say You're Sorry</b> <br><br>
<dd>I ask Nguyen Van Tu the same thing. And it turns out he has a
question of his own: "Americans caused many losses and much
suffering for the Vietnamese during the war, do Americans now feel
remorse?" I wish I could answer "yes." Instead, I tell him
that most Americans are totally ignorant of the pain of the Vietnamese
people, and then I think to myself, as I glance at the ample pile of
tiny, local potatoes on his floor, about widespread American indifference
to civilians killed, maimed, or suffering in other ways in Iraq and
Afghanistan. <br><br>
<br>
<div align="center">
<dd>
<img src="http://www.tomdispatch.com/pdf/phamleg.gif" width=218 height=350 alt="[]">
<br><br>
</div>
<dd>Even those Vietnamese who didn't lose a limb -- or a loved one --
carry memories of years of anguish, grief, and terror from the American
War. The fall-out here is still palpable. The elderly woman who tells me
how her home was destroyed by an incendiary bomb. The people who speak of
utter devastation -- of villages laid waste by shelling and bombing, of
gardens and orchards decimated by chemical defoliants. The older woman
who, with trepidation, peeks into a home where I'm interviewing -- she
hasn't seen a Caucasian since the war -- and is visibly unnerved by the
memories I conjure up. Another begins trembling upon hearing that the
Americans have arrived again, fearing she might be taken away, as her son
was almost 40 years earlier. The people with memories of heavily armed
American patrols disrupting their lives, searching their homes, killing
their livestock. The people for whom English was only one phrase, the one
they all seem to remember: "VC, VC" -- slang for the pejorative
term "Viet Cong"; and those who recall model names and official
designations of U.S. weaponry of the era -- from bombs to rifles -- as
intimately as Americans today know their sports and celebrities.
<br><br>
<dd>I wish I could tell Nguyen Van Tu that most Americans know something
of his country's torture and torment during the war. I wish I could tell
him that most Americans care. I wish I could tell him that Americans feel
true remorse for the terror visited upon the Vietnamese in their name, or
that an apology is forthcoming and reparations on their way. But then I'd
be lying. Mercifully, he doesn't quiz me as I've quizzed him for the
better part of an hour. He doesn't ask how Americans can be so ignorant
or hard-hearted, how they could allow their country to repeatedly invade
other nations and leave them littered with corpses and filled with
shattered families, lives, and dreams. Instead he answers calmly and
methodically: <br><br>
<dl>
<dd>"I have two things to say. First, there have been many
consequences due to the war and even now the Vietnamese people suffer
greatly because of it, so I think that the American government must do
something in response -- they caused all of these losses here in Vietnam,
so they must take responsibility for that. Secondly, this interview
should be an article in the press."<br><br>
</dl>
<dd>I sit there knowing that the chances of the former are nil. The U.S.
government won't do it and the American people don't know, let alone
care, enough to make it happen. But for the latter, I tell him I share
his sentiments and I'll do my best. <br><br>
<dd>Nguyen Van Tu grasps my hands in thanks as we end the interview. His
story is part of a hidden, if not forbidden, history that few in the U.S.
know. It's a story that was written in blood in Vietnam, Cambodia, and
Laos during the 1960s and 1970s and now is being rewritten in Afghanistan
and Iraq. It's a story to which new episodes are added each day that U.S.
forces roll armored vehicles down other people's streets, kick down other
people's doors, carry out attacks in other people's neighborhoods and
occupy other people's countries. <br><br>
<dd>It took nearly 40 years for word of Nguyen Van Tu's hardships at the
hands of the United States to filter back to America. Perhaps a few more
Americans will feel remorse as a result. But who will come forward to
take responsibility for all this suffering? And who will give Pham Van
Chap a new leg? <br><br>
<dd>Nick Turse is the associate editor and research director of
Tomdispatch.com. He has written for the
<a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/nationworld/nation/la-na-vietnam20aug20-sg,0,7940522.storygallery">
Los Angeles Times</a>, the San Francisco Chronicle, the Nation, the
Village Voice, and regularly for Tomdispatch.com. His first book,
<a href="http://www.amazon.com/dp/0805078967/ref=nosim/?tag=nationbooks08-20">
The Complex</a>, an exploration of the new military-corporate complex in
America, is due out in the
<a href="http://www.americanempireproject.com/">American Empire
Project</a> series by Metropolitan Books in March 2008. <br><br>
<dd>Tam Turse is a freelance
<a href="http://www.tamturse.com/Artist.asp?ArtistID=13836&Akey=2B7T2E5R">
photojournalist</a> working in New York City. Her photographs have
appeared most recently in The Progressive and at TomDispatch.com for
which she is the official photographer. More of her photos from these
interviews can by viewed by
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/double_t/sets/72157603758539463/">
clicking here</a>.<br><br>
</i>
</dl>Copyright 2008 Nick Turse <br><br>
<br><br>
<x-sigsep><p></x-sigsep>
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</font><font size=3 color="#008000">415 863-9977<br><br>
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