 WHCvanguard.................
VIETNAM RUMINATIONS: PART 2
Robert Wilson, US
mooring our boat
in a harbor
darkened with secrets
War is never what it appears to be. All we know is what we see
and experience, which, in turn, is influenced by what we've been
told. I went to Vietnam because I was told by politicians, via the
media, that Communism was spreading in Southeast Asia, and that if
we didn't stem the tide, it would continue spreading like a virulent
cancer until it took over the rest of the world. They called it the
domino effect. If one country toppled, others would follow behind.
I was also told by the politicians that the Republic of South Vietnam
was a freedom-loving country. I didn't know that 90% of all tungsten
in the world was in this tiny boot-shaped republic. I also wasn't aware that
South Vietnam was ruled by a vicious
dictator. The majority of the men I served with disliked the Vietnamese
people and referred to them as 'gooks'. Some bragged about atrocities
committed by themselves or their fellow soldiers. Imprinted in my mind
is the photograph I was shown by a fellow GI of four smiling soldiers
holding up the decapitated head of a Viet Cong soldier.Atrocities were committed by the Viet Cong as well. The government
they served under the leadership of Ho Chi Minh, was equally desirous of the
abundant natural resources in the South. Houses were burned, villagers were
tortured and killed. I've seen their handiwork, first-hand.
War has a way of bringing out the worst in a person. A fellow soldier
once sneaked across the bay to an off-limits village hoping for some
recreational sex. The next day his decapitated body was discovered on the
beachhead below the village. His head was beside the body. His penis
was hanging from his mouth and his testicles were in his eye sockets.
The South Vietnamese people were sandwiched between the greed and
hatred of opposing sides, each with their own secrets. What looked
peaceful during the day could be another story at night.
soldiers fly home
in pine boxes
A young man, newly in-country, steps off of the airliner
that flew him across the Ocean to the tiny boot-shaped
country called South Vietnam. A dream? The air thick
with humidity—and something intangible. Soldiers clutching
rifles, dressed alike, the air scented with sweat and cooking
oil. 'Shit, what have I gotten...' A soldier carrying a clipboard
points to an old truck, 'Your chariot, ladies. And don't let
those gooks over there carry your gear. They'll want your
money.'
He says nothing during the trip. Everything around him a
documentary that won't turn off. Leather-skinned women
crouched on street corners stir frying food, hawking odd
shaped fruit, dressed in black pajama bottoms with white
blouses; the highway to Saigon teeming with bicycles and
motorbikes, unbound by traffic laws, honking like mad geese,
driving deeper into the dream....
A nightmare, actually. A reality series filmed in Super 8, without
commercial interruptions. The grand prize a trip home.
harvest moon—
that reed in the water
is moving!
Most of my tour of duty in the Vietnam War was spent on the YRBM-17, a
river repair boat barge, that looked, from a distance, like Noah's Ark,
except for the dull gray color indigenous to U.S. Naval vessels. It
was permanently moored in the man-made, brown water harbor forming a
semi-circle around Dong Tam, a strategic military base housing U.S.
Army and Navy Amphibian units.
Isolated from the villages that bordered the base, Dong Tam was a
wasteland carved out of what was once a rice field. During the day we
swabbed decks, painted bulkheads, repaired patrol boats, relegating our
activity, as much as possible, to the indoors; the heat oftentimes
unbearable. Nightfall was a different story. The Vietcong fought most
of the war at night.
I remember standing guard on the ship's stern one moonless night,
wondering why the Commanding Officer had assigned me to stand watch on the
back of the ship.' The enemy would never attack us from the water,' I
reasoned. The thought of it sounded ludicrous. 'This is the YRBM-17. The safest spot on Base. They have no S.E.A.L.
team, let alone scuba gear. Give me a break, Captain!'
I saw the enemy as inferior. And like many young men my age, I saw
myself as invincible. I was young. I was alive. And I was too green
to know otherwise.
Imagine my surprise later on when I learned about a Vietcong soldier
who'd once snuck into the brown water harbor using a hollow reed to
breathe air. No sound, no bubbles, no tell-tale trace. Reaching his
mark, he snuck up on an unsuspecting sailor standing watch, not unlike
myself, and slit his throat.
steeped in shadows,
a dragon laying
eggs
As the war progressed, more and more South Vietnamese saw the Americans in a dimmer light. At first we were welcomed as liberators, idolized
as symbols of freedom and prosperity, a prosperity many hoped they
could obtain if the communist insurgents were defeated. Unfortunately,
most American soldiers knew little about the Vietnamese culture,
harboring little if no respect for the people. As has been mentioned, it was
not uncommon to hear a soldier call Vietnamese people 'gooks,' a derogatory term
similar to 'nigger' or 'chink.' Women working on our Base in Dong Tam
were, more often than not, looked upon as sex objects, sometimes
grabbed inappropriately against their will. When military patrols
searched through villages in search of the enemy (the enemy was
literally everywhere), the treatment of civilians was, at times,
atrocious. No respect was given to the elderly, to village officials,
especially to women. Oftentimes, our example in the former Republic of
South Vietnam aided the enemy in their recruitment of soldiers and
informants.
return to top of page
|
