THE GLASS OF WATER IS NOT EVEN HALF FULL
Tran Binh Nam
Summary: I went back to visit Vietnam for the second time in March and April 2001. I was not as excited as the first time two years ago. That time I had not seen the country for 22 years. The moment the immigration officer stamped his approval on my visa after a lengthy examination and questions I was amazed as if I were traveling to the moon. This time the exit process was much simpler. The young officer asked me how long I planned to stay in Vietnam. I said 5 weeks. He quickly looked over my application for entry, put his stamp on it and let me go. I stayed two days in Saigon with one of my nephew then I went to Nha Trang to see my brother and friends. Hanoi was my next stop where I visited Ha Long Bay, Cat Ba Island, the pass of Chi Lang and Nam Quan border post. My intention of visiting Dien Bien Phu did not materialize due to lack of time. From Hanoi you may go to Dien Bien Phu by land or by air. Either way will take you four days, two for going to and from, two for visiting the battlefield. I flew to Hue to visit my sister, the tombs of my parents and other friends, mostly my classmates of high school years. I went back to Nha Trang for three weeks to enjoy the beach with Luu and his wife Dieu Trang flying up from Saigon. Dieu Trang was the principal of Nha Trang high school for girls from 1973 to 1975. Her students and teachers hosted her with a heavy schedule that also involved Luu and myself. Time went by quickly. By early April I flew to Saigon to catch the flight back to the United States. I did not mention earlier that my son Cuong along with Phuong Tam and Paul (the eldest daughter and her husband) accompanied me to Vietnam too. All of them went back to the United States some days before me. Here are some notes on my trip.
OLD FRIEND NGUYEN XUAN THAM
Prior to my departure, one of my friends, Quynh Tieu, e-mailed me a note with the address of Nguyen Xuan Tham in Hanoi and asked me if I could manage to see him. Nguyen Xuan Tham was our high school classmate in Hue. In 1954, while in 11th grade, he joined the revolutionary movement against France for independence. He went to North Vietnam as the Geneva Accords dividing Vietnam in two parts went into effect. I wrote a short letter to Tham asking him to write or call me at my brothers address in Nha Trang.
As soon as I arrived to Hanoi, Tham called me. As his home on Ba Trieu Street was not far from Phu Gia hotel where I stayed, ten minutes later we were in each others arms in Phu Gia Hotel lobby. Forty-seven years! The last time we saw each other we were in our twenties, now we were two rather old men. Tham looked darkened and much older than I had imagined.
Tham told me what he did from the time he set foot in the North They settled in Thanh Hoa, one hundred kilometers or so south of Hanoi for the first leg of their journey. They worked for a living while attending school. Tham gathered firewood in the forest nearby, others moonlight as farmers, carpenters … After high school graduation he was sent to the Soviet Union for advanced study. He got an Associate PhD. Coming back to Vietnam he taught and wrote short stories. After 1975 he was rewarded with a post of advisor to Angola. Back again to Vietnam he taught at Hanoi polytechnic university as associate professor. He said he retired just a month ago. Unfortunately, a medical check up discovered he had upper jaw cancer. Surgery to remove the cancerous tissues was scheduled at the end of March. Tham recounted his life and his present battle against cancer with a monotonous voice as if nothing were important anymore in this earthly life. Nevertheless, he raised his voice from time to time as if he was optimistic with the current conditions, a necessary expression for people living a long time under a dictatorial regime when talking to friends. I inquired about the preparation for surgery and medication needed. He said his status permitted him to be admitted free to hospital and no charges for surgery. Doctors told him he needs better medicattion – which his status does not allow – for rapid recovery if ever the surgery proved successful. I asked how much money would be needed for good medication and where to buy it. He said good medication is available in Hanoi and the cost is around ten million dong. I estimated it to about 700 US dollars. Tham handed me a censured manuscript of his poems ready to go to print office and said his savings for the printing will be used for medication. Tham said: For now, just forget the poems. I want to save my life first and added: I went a long way to urge the surgeon who was about to operate on my cancer to save my life. I want to live a little longer to write. I have a lot of things to write. I asked Tham why in the world he had to solicit the doctors favor. All doctors are supposed to save lives of patients. Tham said he does not know how the elite members in the Politburo and the Central Committee of the Vietnamese Communist Party were treated, but as far as he knows people must pay handsome money to hospital staff if they want to be taken care of properly. If you do not have money what else you can do except to ask for favor. He concluded: Fortunately I still have some position in society. I hope my solicitation will not fall on deaf ears.
Two days prior to his admission to hospital I went out to lunch with Tham. He chose a seafood restaurant on the bank of Lake Ho Tay. From his house on Ba Trieu Street the taxicab drove us along the dyke of Hong Ha River. The dyke was such a large concrete highway that, without the exits to the bank of Hong Ha we would have a hard time knowing we were on a dyke. Until ten years ago the dyke – built for centuries – was still made of earth. Recently people in power in Hanoi had built their own houses on the base of the dyke. Hanoi residents reacted angrily to the controversial constructions, fearing that the weakened dyke would be unable to prevent Hong Ha River from flooding the city during the rainy season. The least influential persons houses were demolished; and a project to rebuild the dyke in concrete was in the makings. It was good for the population of Hanoi and it was a relief for people having houses built on the dyke.
We passed Thanh Nien Avenue (Youth Avenue), a large asphalted street made of stone wandering between Lake Ho Tay and Lake Truc Bach, a smaller lake on the right side. Tham told me: I had sweated profusely on this street. It was the romantic Co Ngu Alley for Hanoi poets before the revolutionaries took over Hanoi after the Geneva Accords. It has been rebuilt with stone and mostly by human muscles of youth coming from all parts of the North and youth from the South regrouping to the North, like me. Uncle Ho then named it Thanh Nien Avenue. I still smell the ripe pink-pulpet guavas growing plentifully along Co Ngu. They had to be cut down for the enlarged street. We ate them as much as we could; the rest was thrown away with regret.
Beyond the Tran Quoc Temple we saw the five-star Thang Loi Hotel before going over to the north side of Ho Tay to proceed to Phu Tay Ho, a small temple at the end of a split of narrow land originating from the north bank jutting out to the center of Ho Tay. A small street bordered in both sides by numerous seafood restaurants led to Phu Tay Ho. On the north bank of Tay Ho were many imposing red- roofed houses. Rumors had gone that, years ago the powerful members of the Communist Party appropriate the best parts of the north bank to build their retired mansions. I asked the taxi driver, amused: Whom those gorgeous houses belong to? Hesitatingly the driver said: The people! (of dan) Tham added: Of dan gian, you know! (dan gian taken together means the people, but taken as two separate words, it means bad people)
On the way back Tham asked the taxi driver to go by Lenin Park. In the middle of the Park a statue of Lenin made of stone stood tall against the cloudy sky, with a wall of trees as background. Tham murmured to my ears: This probably is his last statue in the world. To be different from all other countries, that is Vietnams trademark. I nodded approvingly. The taxi driver kept his silence. After the failed coup against Mikhail Gorbachev in 1991, Gorbachev dissolved the Soviet Unions Communist Party. People in Moscow took to the streets and pulled down the Lenin statue in Red Square. People in other Eastern countries did not wait long to follow suit. Passing Lenin statue, Tham asked me to stop in front of the hospital where he will soon be operated for cancer, located across the street from Hanoi Towers, formerly Hoa Lo, or Hanois Hilton as named by American POWs. Hoa Lo was the famous prison where the French colonial Administration jailed the revolutionaries and later on served as jail to keep the American flyers, among them the famous POW turned politician John McCain. The designer of Hanoi Towers saved a portion of Hoa Lo that included a tower for armed guards and some red-roofed cells. As official explanation goes, it helps to remember the atrocities of the imperialists. I asked Tham as to why he needed to stop by at the hospital. He said he had to get in, don his patients blouse and claim his reserved bed. Otherwise, he could lose his bed to other patients. I was surprised at the way the hospitals in Hanoi were managed.
We hugged each other. Tham stepped out of the taxi. I watched him walking through the hospital entrance with confused feelings. The next day I flew to Hue.
NAM QUAN PASS
Had Phuong Tam and Paul not have problems with air travel to China, I would not have been visiting Nam Quan Pass. Due to a minor booking problem, they were not listed on the scheduled flight to Con Minh from Hanoi; they decided to enter China by land through Nam Quan Pass. Cuong and I accompanied them for the trip to the northern border. Nam Quan pass was called Friendship Gate to emphasize the friendship between the two countries. Friendship did not mean the two countries have not been fighting each other bloodily down the road of Vietnams long history. The most recent war occurred twenty-two years ago. In 1979, a hundred thousand Chinese troops invaded Vietnam, destroying the city of Lang Son and Dong Dang, a smaller town further north. Chinese troops thrust their way deep into Bac Giang, and stopped right before the gate of Hanoi. Later western intelligence disclosed that China was afraid of Soviet attacks on its atomic facilities.
The portion of National Route No. 1 connecting Hanoi to Lang Son is about 150 kilometers long. The two-way enlarged route is well repaved with asphalt, bordered by lanes for motorcycles, bicycles and pedestrians. It was safe to drive at 80 kilometers per hours on the flat portion from Hanoi to Bac Giang before entering Lang Son. From Lang Son the route wandered through a mountainous area marked here and there by high stoned hills. If the scenery were filled by water you might think you have another Ha Long Bay on land. The narrow pass of Chi Lang was paved with cement on both sides. Scripts depicting the heroic ambush by king Le Loi six centuries ago annihilating the invading Chinese troops led by the famous Chinese general Lieu Thang could be seen. A chilling feeling went down my spinal cord as I imagined thousands of Vietnamese soldiers charging the Chinese invaders. The death of Lieu Thang marked the continuation of Vietnam as a sovereign nation.
Here is Lang Son, the largest northernmost city! Lang Son has seen the French colonial troops mauled by general Giap in their withdrawal in 1950. In 1979 Chinese troops leveled Lang Son to the ground as an act of revenging Vietnam for the overthrow of Chinese allied Pol Pot regime months earlier. Lang Son and Dong Dang have been partly rebuilt. The sign of reconstruction can be seen everywhere. It was hot, dusty and humid in this region in April. Folklore says Dong Dang has the market of Ky Lua. But Ky Lua was not in Dong Dang. It was right in the center of Lang Son. Why? Everyone was too busy finding an answer if there ever is one. Commerce activities along the border are the foremost occupation of Lang Son inhabitants. We left Lang Son going north. The milestones marked: Dong Dang 8 kilometers; Nam Quan Pass 11 kilometers. A large custom facility between Dong Dang and Lang Son controlled the flow of goods imported to Vietnam. Hundreds of trucks full of merchandises parked on the right side of Route Number One waiting to be checked by Vietnamese custom officials. Out of the pavements along the trucks the gathering made makeshift market. The row of trucks looked like a convoy bringing troops to the war front. In fact this was a war, an economic war. The amount of merchandises officially passing through Nam Quan Pass and other hundreds of tons of goods passing through other points along the northern border evading tax constituted a big economic battle for Vietnam.
After Dong Dang I could not wait to see the Nam Quan Pass. A picture of the Pass similar to the majestic gates of Thuong Tu or Dong Ba in the capital city of Hue I saw in a geography book sixty years ago still haunted me. At the border however, I did not see the Pass. Instead I saw a gate like the one of a paid parking lot with some policemen standing guard. I came to the custom facility, a large building, and as Paul and Phuong Tam were doing their paperwork I asked a custom officer: How can I see Nam Quan Pass? He said, gesturing toward the gate Twenty meters beyond that gate is the end of Vietnam territory. You cannot see the Pass from here. It is inside China. I was not satisfied with the answer, but I did not inquire further. Two years ago Vietnam signed a land border agreement with China. The contents of the Agreement were not disclosed. Rumors from dissident groups inside the country circulated around the world that the Vietnam Communist Party has ceded the high points near the border to China under the pretext of common security. Recently at the general convention of the VNCP in April 2001 Nong Duc Manh replaced Le Kha Phieu, until then the VNCP boss. The conventionists accused Le Kha Phieu of four counts, one of them was ceding too much to China in the Agreement. Nobody knows the truth, probably not until the Agreement would be disclosed by Nong Duc Manh. It is interesting to mention here the words of professor Nguyen Xuan Tham. Vietnam is quite a peculiar country in the world community; the people are deprived of the right to know the contents of an international agreement affecting the security of their country.
UNIFIED TRAIN S7
On March 27, Cuong and I took the express train S7 from Hue to go to Nha Trang. All express trains originating from Hanoi to Saigon and back were named Unified Trains. There were two kinds of Unified Trains, high-speed and ultra-high speed. S7 was of high-speed kind, stopping at almost all main stations. From Hue to Nha Trang S7 stopped at Lang Co, Da Nang, Tam Quan, Dieu Tri, Qui Nhon, Tuy Hoa, Nha Trang. The ultra-high speed trains stop only at the larger cities.
I missed the ultra- high speed train that morning because of the working of the black market with which I was not familiar. The ticket clerk lied to me that the ultra- high speed train I wanted to book would not stop at Nha Trang, so I took the high-speed train. Aboard the train I learned that all Unified Trains regardless of speed would stop at Nha Trang. But it was too late.
The compartment has two rows of beds; each row has three beds, one on top of others leaving enough space in between for you to lie down for a nap. Cuong and I had reserved two beds at the bottom. In the compartment I found three passengers. On the left, Ms. Lan, 45, professor of the school of pedagogy of Kontum, taking the top bed, Ms. Van 37, a military journalist taking the middle. On the right, Mr. Vinh, a police officer in his thirties, taking the middle bed. The top right was for Mrs. Hong, in her fifties, a passenger boarding the train at Hue. She complained as she climbed to her bed: I cannot take it anymore. You need to go in a hurry and you have to bribe somebody 50 thousand dong to get this damned bed! As soon as the train left the station she was snoring deep in her sleep. Ms. Lan, Van and Vinh engaged in small talk while Cuong went out of the compartment to watch the scenery. I chose to rest in my own bed.
Away from Phu Bai, S7 sneaked its way smoothly southward under a clear sky covered with cumulus. On the right a range of blue mountains appeared far away, and on the left green rice fields stretching toward the sea. A peaceful atmosphere reigned, except the voices of Ms. Lan, Ms. Van and Mr. Vinh. They conversed about their daily work. Ms. Lan, a good looking woman, was returning to Kontum after finishing an advanced course in pedagogy in Hanoi. She will disembark at Dieu Tri and catch an express bus to go to Kontum before dark. She was the sole daughter of an underground district party chief during the war against French domination. After the war (with French), then one-year old, she went to the north with her parents. She spoke with a Hanoi accent mixing with Binh Dinhs and she did not hide her compassion toward the south where she was born. Ms. Van of Hanoi was sent to NhaTrang to be part of a team of teachers for a short military reporters training session. She was a bit chunky, with fair complexion, easy going and spoke with pure Hanoi accent. She said the liberation of the South in 1975 did not have any significant imprint on her. She was only 10 years old at the time. She was satisfied with her present job as an expert in military reporting. Vinh, the police officer did not reveal much about himself, talking just enough to maintain the conversation with Ms. Lan and Ms. Van while sipping a can of beer. He offered beer to Ms Van. Ms. Van refused the offer saying she was not in good shape.
The train moved quietly, lightly oscillating, marking regular and distinct sounds when the wheels met the small space between the railways. Stretching on my bed I could not sleep nevertheless, listening to the conversation. They talked openly, but I thought they might not express their feelings if they had bitterness in their minds. The train stopped at Lang Co, adding one more locomotive to mount the Hai Van Pass. It was raining lightly. Some little girls covered with makeshift raincoats were selling boiled sweet potatoes, maniocs, and spring roll wrappers, cut sugar canes in small nylon packages. You may buy dried squids and beer from them. Handicapped people on crutches were approaching the train windows to ask for money from the travelers. Mrs. Hong was awakened by the noise. She climbed down from her bed, buying a package of sugar canes and a can of coca-cola. She gave money handsomely to the handicapped people, then sat down on the edge of my bed sipping her refreshment, not talking to anyone.
A middle- aged traveler walked by. Ms. Lan greeted him and introduced him as professor Man, her former teacher at the University of Hue. Ms. Lan talked about professor Man as a kind teacher toward the students. At a postgraduate course he gave good grades to all students regardless of the qualities of their work. Asked why he did so, he said amusingly Higher education should have high grades. Mrs. Hong reacted: Your story gave me a chill along my spinal cord. Education is the most important thing for a nation and should not be treated lightly. Bad teachers produce unqualified graduates. Your teacher Man may have a good heart but what he does has long lasting consequences for the countrys future. How this country could be raised to international level of intellect and technology? Cuong kept his silence. I expected reaction from Ms. Lan, and if not, from Ms. Van or Mr. Vinh. Nothing happened. Ms. Lan turned his back a little away from Mrs. Hong as if she did not want to argue with her. Vinh finished his beer and offered one to Ms. Van again, looking pensively through the windows.
Cuong engaged a conversation with Mrs. Hong to break the silence. Mrs. Hong opened her heart to Cuong: I am a merchant of convenience. In that memorable year of 1975 I already had six children. Unfortunately my husband made me pregnant before he was sent to the re-education camp. In 1976 I gave birth to my seventh child. Neighbors were much concerned about my familys survival. I struggled to survive anyway. Trains and railways were where I lived. I bought merchandises from one city and sold them in another city. My children stayed with my sister under the care of the eldest child, a 10-year-old girl. Lowering her voice Mrs. Hong said just for Cuong to hear: Life was hell. I married just a year short of graduation from the University of Hue. I had no experience in earning a living. Anyway I survived years of hardship in the face of a policy against all aspects of commerce by the new government. One of my sons left home, slipped out of the country with friends, and is now settled in Seattle. Others have grown up, married and settled. I only regret that they could not attend schools, as they should. Lack of money is one thing, to be on the wrong side of the war was another reason. Mrs. Hong said she is doing wholesale commerce now. Merchandises are packed and charged on the train. People at destination pick them up. I am there to receive the money. Her husband was released after 12 years of re-education and was eligible for Human Operation (HO) program. Unfortunately he died prior to being interviewed by US officials. The whole family was stuck.
The trio Lan, Van and Vinh appeared to pay no attention to Mrs. Hongs story. They continued their conversation with lower voice. Ms. Van told them she once went to DaNang by train and arrived at night. She saw the porters sleeping in the station courtyard. She thought it was so simple to sleep at night right where they work in the daytime. Mrs. Hong intervened provokingly: Really it was simple, but also it was so miserable. A country is like a family. If the father does not fulfill his responsibility misery falls on his children. People are still so poor and a large portion homeless after so many years of peace! Who is responsible? Ms. Van retorted mildly: But the leaders need time, dont they? Ms. Hong commented: Of course everyone needs time to learn. But education is the prerequisites of learning. A doctor may become a good farmer after 6 months of training, but a farmer may not become a doctor regardless how long he learns. The compartment fell silent. Only the wind due to the motion of the train and the regular noise of the iron wheels on the railways could be heard. Ms. Lan apparently irritated, turned her back further toward Mrs. Hong, and closed her eyes as if she were sleeping. The police officer took out a pamphlet trying to read. Ms. Van kept silent, looking outside. Cuong engaged in small talk with Ms. Van. She was about Cuongs age. She asked him about life in the United States and expressed her wish to have an opportunity to visit that country to refresh her thought. They traded e-mail addresses.
The police officer got off at Tam Ky. Ms. Lan prepared herself for next stop at Dieu Tri. She said to Cuong: It would be a favor if you help me move two luggages out of the station gate at Dieu Tri. I still have another two heavy bags. Professor Man promised to help me out, but I dont like to bother my former teacher. Mrs. Hong told to Ms. Lan, You should not ask the young man for help. The train stops only for a few minutes at Dieu Tri. He may miss his train. Just spend some thousand dong and a paid helper will help you out. Dont be so stingy. The possibility of Cuong missing the train scared me. I went over the next compartment and let professor Man know that Ms. Lan needed his help. Professor Man came over and heaved Ms. Lans two heavy luggages out of the compartment. Lan followed him with her own bags on both hands. I said goodbye to Ms. Lan, wishing her a safe trip back home. I murmured to professor Man: Teaching pretty students was indeed agreeable and at the same time bothersome, wasnt it? At Dieu Tri two female students came on to fill the compartments vacancy. Mrs. Hong, up again to her bed, and in a few minutes one may hear her snore pleasantly. I took a short nap before the train pulled in to Nha Trang station. It was exactly midnight March 27. The train was one hour late.
TRINH CONG SON ENDS HIS EARTHLY JOURNEY
Here I am in Nha Trang. Today is April 1. Frenchmen call it Poisson dAvril, the Americans label it April Fools, and Vietnamese imitating the Frenchs call it Ca Thang Tu. On April Fools you may disseminate any kind of false news you like. If someone believes them it is his or her problem. Some small things happened to me on that day that were real, not fools. My old friend Chuan, 78, took a 10-kilometer trip with his bicycle to come to Nha Trang at 6:AM to enjoy the beach with me. Phuong Tam flew in from Hanoi, Luu and Dieu Trang from Saigon. At 6:PM Luu and Dieu Trang, Lys, Chaus, Duys, Nhu and I dined out at Bien Tien, an isolated beach that looks out to Nha Trang bay and connects with the city of Nha Trang by a newly built highway crossing the mouth of Nha Trang River through Bai Duong and Dong De.
Domestically as well as internationally there was important news. In Hanoi members of the Politburo of the VNCP engaged in a deadly struggle for the position of general secretary. In Saigon, composer Trinh Cong Son died of diabetes complications. Over the South China Sea a Chinese jet fighter hit an American intelligence plane. The jet went down. The pilot jumped out and perished. The 24-man crew of the American plane landed safely in HaiNam Island. All this news, except Trinh Cong Sons death, were cynically treated as April Fools by people on the streets of Vietnam, even though Hanois political atmosphere could compromise the stability of the country. Rumors were everywhere that at some strategic locations in Hanoi anti-aircraft batteries had been positioned. The current general secretary Le Kha Phieu who maneuvered to be reelected, was changing his whereabouts every night for fear of being removed by force. People did not care much about political tension between China and the United States either. The sole news that occupied their mind was the passing away of Trinh Cong Son.
His death hit the headline in all newspapers. The traffic on Pham Ngoc Thach street in Third District was virtually blocked. There were too many motorcycles converging on Trinh Cong Son house where his body was being prepared for burial. Young people in Saigon revered Trinh naturally as if his songs with words coming from his dreams and defying all grammatical rules permeated their souls. Nguyen Minh Triet, member of VNCP politburo, party boss of Saigon, sensitive to public feelings came to pay tribute to Trinh Cong Son. He made arrangements to be photographed white shirt, black tie, seating beside two Trinhs sisters and the photos printed in all Saigon newspapers. Even well known retired officials like Nguyen Van Linh and Vo Van Kiet had condolence gifts sent, just to show that they are keeping pace with the people or at least with Nguyen Minh Triet, the man in power. People on the streets dissected every word of Khanh Lys condolence on Trinhs death. In 1995 in a hand written note Trinh Cong Son wrote of Khanh Ly, A friend of destiny, loving each other forever. She said to a BBC program in Vietnamese: Two years ago I met with him. I had the premonition that it was the last. In fact, Mr. Trinh Cong Son does not belong to anyone. He belongs to the people. His choice to stay with the fatherland and die there was the right choice because he loves the country and the Vietnamese people intensely. I owe him a name and, more importantly, the best way to live meaningfully. I have lived for forty years with his name attached to mine and with what he told me. He taught me to live with a good heart to all. Mr. Trinh Cong Son has been half of my life. Khanh Ly comments on Trinh Cong Son upon his death was burning with sentiment, but the third person she used to refer to Trinh Cong Son sounds so cool. Why does she need a decent interval between her and Mr. Trinh?
Most Vietnamese in their 60s have reservations with Trinh Cong Son political tendency. They blame him of having compromised the South Vietnamese peoples efforts in the war for freedom by composing the anti-war songs and for having drunk most of the time. A very small portion shares his feelings toward the war, according to which it is a war between two ideologies where the Vietnamese people happened to be caught in the crossfire. His drunkenness helped him extract the magic words and to compose songs that go straight to the heart of common people. The relationship between Trinh Cong Son and the VNCP was a struggle to preserve the dignity of an artist. What would be the thing the new government would like most, if not for Trinh Cong Son to compose a song hailing uncle Ho or the VNCP? Trinh Cong Son did not give birth to such a song, and he was kicked down to an empty position in Hue. They let him travel to Europe hoping he would not return and be rid of him for good. He came back every single time. He won in the process the psychological war with the communists and captured the heart of the people. The Vietnamese government could not turn its back on Trinh Cong Son. By paying tribute to Trinh they want to reclaim him as one of theirs. In fact Trinh Cong Son does not belong to anyone.
VIETNAMESE LANGUAGE AND THE EXISTENCE OF THE NATION
The policy of the communist government is to use Vietnamese language as much as possible. During the war and after taking over the South they pushed this policy to the extreme. Maternity ward became xuong de, students of different sex became hoc tro trai, hoc tro gai, restroom became nha ia … Those ridiculous vocabularies disappeared with time as nobody used them. Then a reverse phenomenon came into being. A lot of common Vietnamese words were replaced by words with Chinese origin. Dan bai (lesson plan) was called giao an, khoi cong (start a project) is replaced by thi cong… There were no rules to be adhered to.
The policy (or no policy) of the National Tourist Office (NTO) was another thing. Hanoi and Hue are the most attracting places to foreign tourists, especially Hue. The Old Imperial City of Hue and its royal tombs have been recognized as world heritage by UNESCO a decade ago. Tu Ducs tomb known as Khiem Lang by the royal family – was the most beautiful. It was built on the evergreen hill of Van Nien on the right bank of Huong Giang River. From afar it looked like a colorful curtain covering the pined hill.
Visiting Khiem Lang this time, my childhood playground, I had mixed feelings. Beyond the main entrance a paved lane bordering by white frangipanes covered with yellow flowers leading to the center of Khiem Lang. On the right was a lake for lotus, king Tu Ducs fishing pond, and on the left perched on top of numerous steps was the tomb of the King. Stepping to the top I found myself with a young Canadian tourist in his thirties, before a stele made of marble engraved with Chinese characters. I have seen this stele hundreds of time. I could not read them but I never cared. The tourist asked me after making sure that I was a Vietnamese: Are there two ways to write Vietnamese? Realizing that I did not understand his question, he explained, pointing his finger to the marble stele. I know that you write your language using a,b, c like us. So those characters would be another way to write Vietnamese? I said: No, we have only one way to write our language. Those characters are Chinese. He questioned me with curiosity: So why in the world there were no translation into Vietnamese for Vietnamese and English for foreign tourists? I had no answer. I could not say the NTO was busy with other things; or the NTO did not pay attention, or any other reason.
The inquiry of the Canadian tourist made me think back to other marble or stone steles, the wood panels with characters in yellow ink written on red background at Khong Tu Temple, Tay Ho Temple, Quan Thanh, Tran Quoc in Hanoi, and others at the royal palace in Hue. Standing before them was like facing a dense forest; you dont understand even one word. Suddenly I had the burning desire to understand them if ever they were translated into Vietnamese. I would know my countrys heritage better than what I had learned from the history lessons at high school, and probably I would feel more attached to the country. I asked myself why the leaders of the successive regimes in Vietnam, from Bao Dai back to the 50s, through presidents Ngo Dinh Diem and Nguyen Van Thieu, and the communists with more than 26 years of peace did not pay attention to such an evidence. I questioned myself why such a trivial question did not come up to me sooner, until a foreign tourist threw it to my face? Probably the Confucius teachings had permeated too deeply our mind making us blind to the first necessities required to make a nation a sovereign one. We are lacking in self-esteem and a self-culture as well. I suddenly realized one of the reasons why this S-shaped Vietnam favored by nature, inhabited by such a hard-working people, still remains a backward country at the dawn of the 21st century.
THE LEGEND OF CU CHI
On April 10, Dieu Trang, Luu, two of my nieces and I went to visit Cu Chis underground tunnels. District Cu Chi in the province of Binh Duong is located about 30 kilometers northeast of Saigon. The story went that in the flat part of Cu Chi covered with shrubs there was a network of underground tunnels the guerrillas used to harrass the American forces during the war. An official pamphlet described Cu Chi as an invincible fighting base. The American forces called on powerful means yet still failed to destroy the base. Cu Chi guides told visitors that during the war, guerrillas from underground tunnels often appeared right in the heart of the American base, killed Americans soldiers then disappeared again into the tunnels without leaving a trace. According to guides, the tunnels were 250 kilometers long, equipped with hospitals, surgery facilities, resting areas, conference rooms, and could handle a military unit as big as a regiment. Naturally Cu Chi became the magnet for tourism.
We arrived to Cu Chi on a hot and humid morning. The tunnels were located on the left side of the road to Binh Duong. On the right were the receiving facilities with ticket stand, film presentation room, refreshing stands and restaurants. All employees donned guerrilla outfits except the girls at the ticket stand. The scheduled film projection session had been just over when we arrived, the guides decided instead to show us the tunnels first. The portion showed did not impress us at all. Tunnels entrances and exits were 100 meters apart from one another. We were also showed the rudimentary booby traps of different designs, underground conference rooms, and rest area. A hole of 20 meters diameter and 10 meters depth covered with grass was presented as remnant of B-52 bombing. The flat jungle did not bear any proof of hundreds of holes now filled, as alleged by the guides. At another tunnel entrance a guide tried to convince a Japanese woman not to enter for fear of suffocation. The Japanese, probably a reporter eager to find the truth, insisted and entered anyway. I saw her reappear at the other end, smiling. Back to the projection room we watched a black and white film about the system of tunnels. It was another disappointment. The film was of mediocre quality, containing more wishful thinking than facts about the tunnels. I had strong feelings that Cu Chi was just another Hanois propaganda coup. Cu Chi story was at best a legend, built up with the help of anti-war American reporters. During the war, they lounged in air-conditioned coffee shops in Saigon, gathered and dispatched news aimed at justifying that Americans were on the wrong side of the war. The information related to Cu Chi such as its length of 250 kilometers, equipped with power plants, hospitals, surgery units, recreation facilities for whole battalions needs more substantiating proof. I dont see why the Americans could not destroy the complex with the firepower at its disposal. After the war was over a great number of American veterans visited the tunnels. Now most visitors were from Europe or Canada. Few Americans were to be seen. Why the American veterans did not speak out? Maybe this is a sign of self-respect. Losers wont argue with what the winners have to say. Moreover, the Americans themselves had helped create the legend.
I had a short but revealing dialogue with the guide, a young guerrilla:
- What do you know about Cu Chi during the war?
- Nothing, I was too young. But my father did fight in here.
- Probably you heard a lot about your fathers fighting activities in the tunnels?
- Not much. He is an old man now in his fifties. He is too busy with his small gasoline boat transporting people back and forth across the river nearby to earn enough money to raise my two brothers.
NOT EVEN HALF-FULL
On the way to Tan Son Nhat international airport to return to the United States I read a huge slogan written with red paint over the wall of a large building in First District: Market Economy in the Direction of Socialism to Make the Country Strong, the People Rich, the Society Civilized, and to Bring Equality to All At the end of the 1980s, the policy of doi moi allowed the retailers some extra space to breath, but people were not rich yet. People in power and a few others clever enough to exploit the system amassed large fortunes with impunity. Most, especially those living in the countryside remained desperately poor. Vietnam was not stronger. Neighbors respect diminished. China was more aggressive in her ambition on land and sea borders shared with Vietnam. There was no equality in the society because of one-party political system. And civilization? If we see civilization as color TV sets, air conditioners, gas ranges, cellular phones … Vietnam is a somewhat civilized country. But if we see civilization as a law-abiding society in which all components know their duties and the limits of their freedom, and people are helpful to one another, society in which judges are judges, teachers are teachers, workers are workers, the Vietnam as a civilized country still has a long way to go.
My thinking turned to Ho Chi Minh City where big houses looking down on beautiful boulevards all belong to the high-ranking officials in the communist party. Those people may never have known anything about Cu Chi
The Vietnam glass of water is not even half full and is gradually dwindling.
Tran Binh Nam
và Công Ước Dân Sự Chính Trị (Điều 25). 
sontrung
