Some thoughts on how Vietnamese
people are represented in the Burns/Novick documentary
This
is a documentary focused on the American Experience, so it has only small slots
of time allotted to the Vietnamese. We
have to be grateful that those Vietnamese selected to speak in the film are so
articulate and passionate. More on this below. But when it comes to the main
issue -- was our combat role in Vietnam a well-intentioned mistake? -- the
audience is forced to draw its own conclusions. We never hear a clear statement
from a representative of the Vietnamese government as to why they believed they
had to fight. From the interviews with
former marines and US government advisers, we learn that they knew little about
the people they had come to protect. Over time they realized that many
Vietnamese resented their presence, but we do not hear anyone state the
obvious: we were invading a sovereign country that had never attacked the
United States. The country we claimed to be defending, the Government of
Vietnam with its capital in Saigon, was our offspring, as JFK is quoted as
saying in an early episode.
Watching
episode two, and the long segment on the battle of Ap Bac in 1963, I found it
odd that the narrator extolled the power of the APCs that the US had furnished
to the ARVN, without mentioning that these behemoths were destroying the
peasants' rice crops. Planting rice is arduous work in the flooded paddies; it
is usually women who spend hours in the muddy water to plant each seedling by
hand. The mud dikes between the fields are built up over the years to keep the
water in -- did our soldiers and military advisers not realize how unpopular it
would make our army when they tore up the rice fields to search for "the
enemy"?
These
ten episodes on the Vietnam War do include some excellent interviews with a
group of Vietnamese, as I said above. Overall
their views on the war add greatly to the picture being presented. Some viewers complain that there is no
representation of the South Vietnamese government, but the same is true for the
official DRV point of view. We hear the
honest views of people who are non-official spokespeople. However, it would have helped the viewers to
put their remarks into context if they had been better identified and introduced
from the outset.
In
the case of Nguyen Ngoc, an important literary figure in the history of
post-war Vietnam, this is especially true. He was the head of the Writers'
Union during the few years of Vietnamese "glasnost", when important
new authors including Bao Ninh were first published. He was removed from this post in 1989, as the
communist bloc began to crumble and the Vietnamese leadership decided that
political reform had gone too far. Bao Ninh himself, the author of The Sorrow of War, should also have had
more of an intro, as it is important to know that he is still one of the rare
popular writers who has been willing the criticize the DRV's sacrifice of young
men and women to the war machine. Finally, Huy Duc, the younger commentator who
appears throughout the documentary, also deserves a special introduction. He
first became known as a dissenting blogger, "Osin". He has held two
scholarships to study journalism in the US and during his last one at Harvard,
he published in Vietnamese a two-volume history of post-war Vietnam, The Winning Side.
As
it transpires from this work, he is critical of post-war policies, but a
supporter of one of the more powerful figures in the wartime leadership, Truong
Chinh. Truong Chinh's former personal secretary is a key source for his
critique of Le Duan, the wartime first secretary of the Workers' Party. One of
the things that Huy Duc contributes to the documentary is a strong endorsement
of the idea that from 1960 Le Duan was the all-powerful chief of the DRV Politburo,
who designed the aggressive strategy and tactics of the DRV, including the Tet
Offensive. This is a popular view that
is also being promoted by young US scholars; it conveniently deflects
responsibility for the war from the US.
Originally the vision of LD as the evil leader who countermanded Ho Chi
Minh's policies was promoted by a pro-Chinese leader in Hanoi, Hoang Van Hoan.
In 1979 he defected to China. One can see that Le Duan's original sin was to accept
Soviet support for the Vietnamese campaign against the Khmer Rouge, and to
refuse to join the Chinese sphere of influence.
This
singling out of one member of the Hanoi leadership as an oppressive promoter of
war, leaves the impression that some in Hanoi doubted the legitimacy of their
fight to unify their country. This is a clear misrepresentation -- the
differences that existed among the Hanoi leadership concerned, among other
things, whether and when to negotiate
with the Americans, but not the legitimacy of their struggle for unification.
There is compelling evidence to show that Le Duan himself was always more
favorable towards a negotiated peace than the more Maoist members of the
leadership. This seems to have clearly been the case in 1966. Zhou Enlai in
June of that year accused "pro-Kremlin revisionists" of infiltrating
the DRV leadership, "producing a struggle between those who backed
fighting until a military victory... and those who favored talks to end the war
quickly." Zhou Enlai referred to Le Duan as someone who had "changed
course". "Until now he had been a leftist," Zhou said (The Third Force in the Vietnam War, p.
119).
--Sophie Quinn-Judge
--Sophie Quinn-Judge
Ho Dang Hoa
For
helping show the Vietnam War in a new light
HO DANG HOA
TV PRODUCER, 61
VIETNAM
TV PRODUCER, 61
VIETNAM
BY JAMES PALMER
The war
came to Ho Dang Hoa when he was a child, as the first American bombs fell on
his hometown of Hanoi in 1966. “I was a curious boy,” he recalls. “I used to
run to see the fires and the people killed.” Nine years later, he was a student
learning Russian and planning to study in the Soviet Union when the North
Vietnamese Army drafted him as part of the call-up for its final push against
South Vietnam. He served for 13 years, at first in the anti-air artillery, then
the air force as an intelligence officer.
But it took two Americans, he says, to give him the chance to see
the war in its full light. Ho’s relationship with the United States had been as
long and twisted as his country’s. As a child, he thought of the Americans only
as invaders; as an adult, the army taught him the enemy’s language in order to
study its war plans; once released from the military, he became one of
Vietnam’s Fulbright scholars in 1993, studying for an MBA at Vanderbilt
University in Nashville, Tennessee, before returning to Vietnam as a lecturer
himself. In 2011, Ho began working with Lynn Novick and Ken Burns on the epic
documentary series The Vietnam War, released on PBS this
September, that traces the stories of Vietnamese fighters. “These people had
disappeared when the war ended,” he says. “Tracking them down, I found stories
I had never heard.”
Ho was
introduced to Novick and Burns by Thomas Vallely, a U.S. Marine veteran who
runs Harvard University’s Vietnam program and was an advisor on the series. The
filmmakers wanted Ho to be another bridge to Vietnam, emphasizing their desire
to tell the war from both sides, giving the series’s American audience a chance
to see the conflict through the eyes of the Vietnamese.
Ho is modest about his own role, but his work was critical for
the film. He shaped the Vietnamese side of the story, finding individuals who
had played roles unknown to Americans and aspects of the war forgotten even in
Vietnam. The scope of interviewees he collected ranged from North Vietnamese
propaganda artists to veterans of the anti-French war in the 1950s, who had
taken the skills they learned fighting one occupier and passed them down to a
new generation of soldiers.
In Vietnam, the war gets plenty of attention — but largely as a
matter of patriotic monuments and victory celebrations, not individual stories.
“I was looking for the Vietnamese soldiers who had fought on Hill 875 [at the
Battle of Dak To in
1967],” Ho says. His quest took him from one end to the other of Vietnam, in
what was often a winding and complex investigation: “I found the name of the
unit, and a veteran gave me the name of one of the survivors of the battle. So
I went to a mountain village to talk to him, and it turned out he’d joined
afterward, but he gave me the name of another man, in the south. I went down to
see him, and he’d been wounded just before the battle and evacuated. But he
gave me one more name — in Hanoi. That was the actual veteran of the battle,
and he lived a mile away from my house.”
In contrast, America’s vision of the war has too often been an
exercise in self-reflection; the needless deaths of young men in muddy rice
fields half a world away or the students at Kent State. Vietnamese were mostly
in the background, the body count mere numbers. The
Vietnam War strives to correct this; the audience hears the cracking voices of
soldiers who lost comrades, parents who lost children, and South Vietnamese who
lost their country. In September, after the series aired, Vallely told a reporter that a
friend had called it “the re-education camp for America.”
Like all
of his generation, Ho’s whole life was shaped by the war, from his lost
education to his memories of the dead. Being a part of this series was not an
end to that story, but perhaps an unexpected addendum that brings a new kind of
clarity. “Americans are good people — kind, friendly, interesting,” Ho says. “We
should have been friends 50 years ago — there should never have been a war. And
I hope the sons and daughters of Americans no longer have to go to die in
foreign countries.”
James
Palmer is Asia editor at Foreign Policy.
https://gt.foreignpolicy.com/2017/profile/ho-dang-hoa?92cb47faa7=