Capitalist goals of Vietnam War realized, but remnants of the horror remain

DOUG LANSKY COLUMNIST

SAIGON, VIETNAM

One of the most visited sites in Vietnam is the Cu Chi tunnels. Cu Chi, just 20 miles outside of Saigon, is a carpet-bombed slice of jungle with 90 miles of tunnels that served as the staging ground for the Viet Cong before they launched the Tet Offensive in 1968.

Because the tunnels are less than an hour away, local tour operators, eager to stretch it into a full-day excursion, couple the trip with a stop at the Cao Dai Great Temple, two hours from Cu Chi. Cao Dai is a fusion of Buddhism, Christianity, Islam, Confucianism and Taoism. I appreciate the idea of a peaceful coupling of religions, but I'd like it even better if they hadn't joined with a shared appreciation of bad architecture.

With ominous serpents coiled around candy-cane columns, the Great Temple looked as like it had been designed by Salvador Dali and painted by a third-grade arts-and-crafts class. This may seem like a superficial observation, but a 20-minute tour bus visit hardly invoked much feeling for the faith.

I ate something unpleasant at our post-Cao Dai lunch stop, and my innards felt as if they were about to explode during the two-hour ride to the tunnels. Our first stop in the Cu Chi area was at a new pagoda, where everyone milled around while I spent most of my time keeled over in the restroom. I managed to reach the base of a pagoda tower to see what was attracting the attention of so many tourists: a concession stand.

A short stroll from the pagoda, tourists were allowed to shoot AK-47s and M-16s. Between intermittent bouts of stomach cramps, I made my way to the firing range. Some businessmen from Hong Kong were already blasting holes into a dirt mound 50 meters away. I would have gladly paid the $5 to fire five shots, but I decided the kick from the gun, together with the muscle-spasm-inducing noise, would not be good for my physical condition.

Tunnel tour

Back on the bus for a quick trip to the tourist-approved tunnel area. The first order of business was crowding into a small theater to watch an old black-and-white film shot by the North Vietnamese, which gave us a pretty good sense of how the Viet Cong lived underground during the war (and why they never won any major awards for cinematography). Then there was a short lecture from our guide, who was nearly impossible to understand.

We split into two groups, and I decided to join the second guide in hopes he'd be a bit more coherent. He led about 15 of us to a small clearing in the trees and told us to look for an entrance to the tunnels.

Brushing aside some twigs and leaves with our feet, we began searching for an entrance. After a few minutes, we gave up. The guide brushed away some dirt that revealed quite possibly the world's smallest human entrance -- about the size of a GI's helmet. He asked if anyone wanted to try getting in and the most malnourished person in the group volunteered. With some painful wedging, the twiggy 22-year-old Brit barely made it in. I wouldn't have been able to get my size-11 feet through, much less the rest of me. And given my condition, the sight of a small hole in the ground was triggering more pertinent thoughts.

The tunnels used during the war were about two-feet high, two-feet wide and 15-to-30 feet underground. They were once fitted with trap doors, living areas, weapons factories, field hospitals, kitchens, TV rec rooms and -- toward the end of the war -- Jack La Lanne fitness centers. Most of our group wedged through a 100-meter section of tunnel.

Well, not an ``actual'' tunnel used during the war. This was an enlarged-for-rotund-and-claustro
phobic-tourists-with-backproblems section of tunnel. With the dim lighting and low ceiling, it was nearly impossible to navigate the short passage without getting a dirt scuff mark or two on your shoulder, which a Swiss couple dubbed ``a Cu Chi kiss.'' Back in Saigon, this identifies the travelers who've just returned from the Cu Chi tour, and probably keeps the local laundry services relatively prosperous.

The most difficult part of the tour for me was looking at a showcase of traps the Viet Cong used to ensnare soldiers, on display along the path between the tunnels and the lecture hall. Most involved a carefully covered, human-size hole in the ground lined with pencil-size, barbed metal spikes. The young guide, who had likely led this tour several thousand times and felt somewhat detached from it, couldn't help laughing as he demonstrated each trap.

``Soldier fall in trap, spike go in leg, not come out. Ha, ha.''

War Remnants Museum

My next stop was the most frequently visited war tourism site, Saigon's War Crimes Museum, now renamed the War Remnants Museum. The courtyard was filled with felled U.S. jets and helicopters, bombed U.S. tanks and artillery, and unexploded munitions. They didn't turn the old weapons into plows, but tourist attractions may be the next best thing. Visitors were climbing on the tanks and posing next to the artillery as though they were in some sort of Oliver Stone theme park.

Unlike the war museums in Hue and Hanoi that display guns with informative plaques proudly stating how many U.S. soldiers were killed with each one, this museum tried to capture the horrors of the war -- a fairly easy feat given what took place.

Exactly what took place during the war was not explained, but the Vietnamese losses displayed in numbers painted their own picture: more than 200,000 South Vietnamese killed; roughly 1 million Viet Cong killed; approximately 4 million Vietnamese civilians killed; 2 million affected by chemicals; 500,000 infants malformed; 20 million gallons of defoliants sprayed; 7.8 million tons of bombs dropped; 2,923 schools, 1,850 hospitals, 484 churches and 465 temples destroyed.

I can't say visiting a few villages, museums and old battlefields helped me visualize the war and all its horror, but I was able to get a better feel for the terrain, meet some extremely hospitable Vietnamese, see stunning scenery and pay my respects to those who lost their lives. The 58,000 U.S. casualties, multinational casualties and the roughly 5 million Vietnamese deaths from the war produced a tragedy beyond measure. The horror continues for millions still living with injuries, mental anguish and chemically-induced deformities.

The Americans, multinationals and South Vietnamese who fought on the losing side of the war can perhaps take some comfort in knowing that much of what they fought for has been realized. While officially still communist, with the moi doi (economic reforms) in high gear and restored trade relations with the United States, Vietnam seems to be fully embracing capitalism. You can now buy Hanson's latest CD in Hanoi, new Nikons in Saigon and Coca-Cola everywhere. There are more Internet cafes in Vietnam's small towns than you'd find in New York. You can toss a Frisbee the length of Vietnam and hit a Karaoke bar on every throw.

I hope we've learned a lesson about fighting for capitalism. Next time, we might, for the price of a couple tanks and helicopters, air drop 100,000 Nintendo Game Boys, TV sets, Walkmans, Cuisinarts, Garden Weasels and electric shavers and let the infectious forces of capitalism do their thing.

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