Democracy Wall

Well, I just finished some in depth chats with some friends and I put down in 1s and 0s what I wanted to say, so rather than trying to recreate my conversation I'm going to copy and paste. I'll edit some of it, but I'll let you know what I cut out or added. With luck, you'll get the gist of what I want to say this way, better than if I rewrote it in an essay format. I'm going to cut and paste this with all the mistakes intact, on both our parts, if that makes us look like fools, oh well.

This first part I cut and paste from another conversation because it is what inspired the following one.

22:42:56) anhgiacop: Basically, the idea that as a country we have developed a massive trade deficit with China in all the wrong things. Yes, we get goods more cheaply, but if we want to kill communism in China, we need to make investments in the middle-class, the small business owners, the well educated. We need to build up a strong middle-class in China in order to provide them with an alternative to the old regime. Only then, once they see an economic incentive besides the old system, will there be a group of people large enough and powerful enough to challenge communism.

Okay, here's the bulk of it.

(01:40:30) anhgiacop: Any parting shots?
(01:40:41) Mau: shots?
(01:40:57) Mau: you make it sound like we were debating
(01:41:05) anhgiacop: We were.
(01:41:14) anhgiacop: In an amicable way.
(01:41:26) Mau: alright
(01:41:52) Mau: here's something to add to what you just said
(01:41:52) Mau: ...
"(01:41:56) Mau: Small enterprises make up a large part of Vietnam's rapidly growing economy, but small businesses have historically had limited or no access to capital, seriously constraining their development and growth. For the vast majority, the only resources available are personal savings, profits and foreign remittances. In addition, local banks lack efficient procedures for lending to small enterprises because they have little capacity to assess credit or manage risk. Bank employees require training so they can provide small businesses with better access to financial resources, but Vietnam's commercial training market is still young. And when it exists, relevant, high-quality training remains too costly for most organizations.
(01:42:32) Mau: To help small businesses get easier access to credit, USAID surveyed several banks in early 2004, then obtained additional feedback in a follow-up roundtable workshop. After finding that the banks saw lending to small enterprises as a top priority, USAID established a partnership with TechcomBank, a leading bank in Vietnam, to develop and offer a pilot risk management course. The first course was offered in August 2004 to 25 TechcomBank middle managers in Hanoi.
(01:42:43) Mau: By all accounts, the training was informative, relevant and useful, and in pre- and post-training evaluations, participants' overall scores improved 90 percent. Loan officers have already begun to incorporate many of the new credit analysis techniques into internal loan proposals, and TechcomBank has asked to work with USAID on developing a course on marketing for small-business loans. Due to the success of the pilot course, TechcomBank and another Vietnamese bank are exploring prospects to deliver this course for a fee through a local training provider for, potentially, the entire Vietnamese banking sector. The spread of quality training options promises to help Vietnamese banks to better serve small enterprises and contribute to Vietnam's dynamic economic growth." (See USAID)
(01:43:20) Mau: this is even possible
(01:43:28) Mau: only because
(01:43:38) anhgiacop: First, where did you get that, and second, yes, we need to help build the infrastructure to help small businesses gain access to the funds they need to succeed.
(01:43:50) Mau: of the bilateral trade agreement with the u.s.
(01:44:08) anhgiacop: I would rather see the US spending money on small businesses in foreign countries than in cheap labor.
(01:44:21) Mau: which was pushed by the gov't
(01:44:23) anhgiacop: Yes, it means competition for US companies, but it also means more healthy trading partners.
(01:44:54) anhgiacop: And I'd rather have more countries with enough money to buy US goods.
(01:45:09) anhgiacop: That means a more fair balance of payments and a more stable world economy.
01:45
(01:45:55) anhgiacop: My issue is not with bilateral trade, it's with the inconsistent application of human rights requirements.
(01:46:01) Mau: this is how their economy will be able to grow into somethng like what you hope
(01:46:03) Mau: for
(01:46:10) anhgiacop: That's good.
(01:46:21) Mau: ya
(01:46:24) anhgiacop: That's exactly what Vietnam and China need.
(01:46:35) Mau: i see what you are sayign
(01:46:49) anhgiacop: Not an antagonistic US government and hundreds of multinationals seeking cheap labor.
(01:47:41) Mau: ya
(01:47:51) anhgiacop: By shipping our labor to China and Vietnam we are only increasing the lower class which helps the communist government to remain in power. If the people don't need to gain an education to survive, they won't, and in turn they'll maintain the same low level of income they currently have, perpetuating the cycle and the communist government.
(01:48:09) Mau: cheap labor is not the way to go for a solid world economy
(01:48:18) anhgiacop: No it's not.
(01:48:53) Mau: if you take a look at history though
(01:48:57) Mau: sadly
(01:49:34) anhgiacop: Well, that's the problem with history. Nations are not out to build a solid world economy, they're out to build a world economy that benefits themselves.
(01:49:43) Mau: england and the usa went through its own period of VERY cheap labor
(01:49:51) Mau: to build itself
(01:50:03) Mau: over time it was corrected
(01:50:19) anhgiacop: And yes, it's part of the industrialization process, but how many of those countries had outside support to help build their middle class. England and the US did it on their own.
01:50
(01:50:40) anhgiacop: I'm saying accelerate the global industrialization and help bring many of these countries into a first world status.
(01:50:52) Mau: but that is because our government is structured so that individuals actually have the ability to correct it
(01:51:04) anhgiacop: True.
(01:51:22) anhgiacop: And there is the danger of tyrants and despots.
(01:51:36) Mau: so that is why i am happy for these outside pressure on vietnam
(01:51:43) anhgiacop: But with certain regulations, loan caps, financial need establishment, it is possible.
(01:51:50) anhgiacop: Oh, okay, we're talking about two different things.
(01:51:52) Mau: because it leads to the empowerment of its own people
(01:52:40) anhgiacop: Okay, well, what I'm suggesting would allow for that empowerment, and is in fact, that very empowerment.
(01:52:56) Mau: what's that?
(01:52:57) anhgiacop: Ultimately, I think that is the best way for an outside government to influence a foreign country.
(01:53:12) anhgiacop: What we've been talking about, building up the middle class in a country through small business loans and support.
(01:53:17) anhgiacop: Not cheap labor.
(01:53:45) anhgiacop: I don't think mandates and requirements and embargoes are effective. They only piss off the other country.
(01:53:59) anhgiacop: What's effective is the subtle building up of those within the country who are able to affect change.
(01:54:48) Mau: the subtle building up....? how do you suggest?
(01:54:59) anhgiacop: That's what I've been suggesting from the beginning.
(01:55:24) Mau: ???
01:55
(01:55:28) anhgiacop: We build up a strong middle class filled with small business owners and entrepenuers, who are educated and who realize what they are missing.
(01:55:43) Mau: how?
(01:55:56) anhgiacop: Help them to understand that the communist government isn't the only way and they begin to see alternatives to the old regime.
(01:56:42) anhgiacop: The communists don't want that. They don't want a massive educated elite because that threatens their stronghold. If we help build that up through mid-level investment rather than cheap labor, we provide a different way, something beside the communist rule.
(01:56:58) anhgiacop: It may take some time, but eventually, that middle class will affect change in the government on its own.
(01:57:09) anhgiacop: Because they will grow tired of the corruption and the silly regulations imposed by communism.
(01:57:36) anhgiacop: That's why what you say about USAID is so good, because it provides the infrastructure to give those loans and that help to the middle class instead of simply providing cheap labor opportunities.
(01:57:51) anhgiacop: We want to build strong middle class peoples in these countries. That's the best way for us to fight communism.
(01:58:03) anhgiacop: Not through the military or through propaganda, but through economics.
(01:58:40) Mau: okay
(01:58:51) Mau: i've been saying that this whole time
(01:58:57) anhgiacop: So have I.
(01:58:58) Mau: ou've been saying it
(01:59:31) anhgiacop: That's what my first thing was about back when Triet was still here.
(01:59:32) Mau: i couldn't agree with you more
(01:59:36) anhgiacop: Thank you.
(01:59:48) Mau: but i do have a question
(01:59:53) anhgiacop: Yes.
02:00
(02:00:53) Mau: i am wrong, or have you been saying that our gov't and other outside influences are not the way to go about that?
(02:01:13) anhgiacop: I'm saying that I think this is what our government should limit itself to.
(02:01:33) anhgiacop: I don't think our government can effectively mandate changes in the culture and the morals of other societies.
(02:02:12) anhgiacop: But if they build up an educated middle class, such a group of people could then change their own behaviors according to world standards on their own, without outside imposition.
(02:02:29) anhgiacop: That's what I'm saying.
(02:02:38) anhgiacop: Like on the mail order brides issue.
(02:02:55) Mau: so, empower the people
(02:02:59) Mau: ?
(02:03:13) anhgiacop: I would rather keep the government to economics, which would yes empower the people and open foreign governments to individual efforts.
(02:03:17) Mau: give them the tools they need to make those changes?
...
(02:03:47) anhgiacop: Not so much give them the tools, as open the door for the tools to reach them.
(02:04:11) Mau: i think that is the key reason behind all of our interests in the country
(02:04:18) anhgiacop: Indeed.
(02:04:34) Mau: okay, well here is what i'm saying then
02:05
(02:09:37) Mau: I'm not sure if it will bring all the changes you are talking about but, i do think the gov't can do more than what you may beleve. Since we've been talking about it I will use the bi-trade agreement as example. It is more extensive than what it sounds like in name. It opens up lines for economic developement in the private sector (middle class), opens up communication (so people in vietnam will see what they are missing), opens up better avenues for practical and ethical law, ......
(02:10:04) Mau: so human rights are improved
(02:10:19) Mau: by their own people
(02:10:19) anhgiacop: Well, everything you just mentioned falls into the infrastructure to build that middle class.
02:10
(02:11:25) anhgiacop: As your quotes from USAID earlier implied, it is currently not feasible to provide large scale aid for small businesses because certain laws, practices, policies, and educations prevent it. All of these things must be built up before we can really help build a middle class. That's the first step, and then we dive into what I've hit already.
(02:11:40) Mau: the middle class is built simply because it has the ability to do so. it is empowered.
(02:12:17) anhgiacop: With luck, each one of these steps will help improve human rights, but is the government really directly imposing human rights reforms? No. They are, as you say, empowering the people to make those changes by themselves through economic reforms.
(02:12:29) anhgiacop: We're saying the same things but with a slightly different vocabulary.
(02:12:38) Mau: ya
(02:12:44) Mau: it's good though
(02:12:55) anhgiacop: Yeah.

Well, there it is, in a nutshell, my ideas about foreign policy in communist Vietnam and China. I post this conversation with permission from Mau and of course, myself.

The Golden Mists of Hue - Part II

I awoke at first light, my neck and back sore from sleeping against a corner. I quickly gathered my notebook and pencil into my bag. Gunshots still echoed through the ancient streets of Hué, the stone roads picking up each shot and throwing it for miles. I heard yells in the distance, set my bag down, and jumped into the Phuong River. The brown water chilled me and I shook as I emerged, any evidence of my mishap the night before hidden by mud and dirty water. If anyone asked, I accidentally fell into the river.

Shivering I walked in the direction of the shouting. As I neared I moved close to the building walls. I clung to the textured stucco and leaned my head to look around the corner. Duc and several of my comrades from the Trail stood over a pair of young men with their hands tied, squatting in the road. I watched as Duc screamed at them. He slammed the butt of his machine gun into one’s face. The boy reeled back, blood spattering the ground from his nose and mouth.

“Traitors,” Duc yelled, stepping back and aiming his gun at the boys, “You have betrayed your country and must die.”

One of the boys started crying, “We love Viet, we wouldn’t—”

Duc pulled the trigger twice, releasing a short burst into each boy’s chest. They fell back to the dusty stones beneath them, their blood flowing through the cracks, pooling in the corners of the stonework. I couldn’t believe what I just saw, a good Buddhist man taking the life of two innocent boys in cold blood.

I stepped out from the corner. Two of the group turned abruptly and aimed their guns at me. I waved them off and walked to Duc’s side. He still stared down at the two boys. “God Duc, what did you do?”

“I don’t know Thanh,” the thin haired man with glasses whispered.

The other men of the cadre didn’t move. I looked at each one, most avoided my eyes, but the ones who scared me even more stared back with animus, as if daring me to say something wrong so they could kill me too. I refused to accept it, these men once cherished life, a basic tenet of Buddhism and Confucianism both, but now they discarded their beliefs without scruple.

“I’m leaving,” I whispered back to Duc and stepped around him heading into the city toward the Citadel. As I walked I thought of Hoan’s words. Did we all walk with three legs or was it just a clever old man trying to confuse his younger colleague?

***

The next day I saw an old woman, bent and wrinkled, walking on three legs. She waddled out of a house, screaming at some soldiers. “You bastards, you killed my son. You deserve death without burial.”

Several of the soldiers tried to calm the woman but she refused, hitting one of them over the head with her cane before shuffling back into the building. The leader of the cadre pointed for one of the soldiers to follow the woman, I did too. She led us into her house and through the narrow first floor room to a set of wooden stairs. We climbed them, waiting for the woman to pull her feet up each one. Reaching the top she continued shuffling, muttering at us the whole way, calling us wicked monsters of an evil demon, and other things.

She pointed to a closed door with her cane. “He’s in there, dead, because he didn’t want to give you the chance to kill him.”

“I’m sorry,” I tried to tell her, but she refused, pushing me away.

I stared into those ancient eyes, eyes that mothered a family, eyes that saw unfathomable pain and suffering, eyes that mourned her son’s death. She deserved to walk on three legs, to hide from the realities of life in Vietnam.

“Oh God,” the soldier gasped.

I left the woman and paced to his side. Her son crouched on the toilet. A pistol hung loosely from his lifeless hand, blood stained the brown wall behind him and dripped from his mouth. I gagged, but this time stopped my breakfast rice from escaping. I needed to get out, to flee the suddenly stifling building. I ran on two legs down the narrow stairs and rushed into the street. I kept running for several blocks before I stopped and squatted against a wall. I held my head in my hands and started crying. This was not what I expected to see in Hué.

I was supposed to see the heroic cadres fighting for freedom, showing the world how important Vietnamese independence was. Not murder and suicide, not an endless line of offenses to our ancestors.

But heroism is what I wrote.

That night, sitting in a commandeered room, I scribbled the events of the day, describing the old mother as a heroic woman showing the liberating soldiers to a traitor, a traitor who hid away like a coward, shuttered in a toilet. The words came in a trance, a perfect propaganda piece, written mechanically.

I finished the story and extinguished the lights. The nightmare of Hué filled my mind as I lay down to bed; images of death and murder flashing over and over until I squeezed them out through my tears

At some point I slept, and dreamed.

My father appeared, walking on a cloud of golden mist, his figure full and well fed, not like the starving man I knew before I left Vinh as a child. He came close to me and smiled. I smiled back.

“Thanh, you have done well. Do you know of your ancestor, Nguyen Ai Linh?”

I shook my head.

“Linh fought centuries ago with the Trung sisters against the Chinese. He killed many of the enemy, bringing great glory on our family, and victory to the sisters. Returning from war he saw a nobleman beat a beggar. A man of great heart, Linh stopped the noble, killing him in the process. Captured and tried, the expected punishment of execution was pardoned because of his valor in the wars. Instead he was banished from our country—”

“Yes,” I said, “I know it now, he wandered the earth and did good, helping the poor and aiding heaven and nature by ensuring justice.”

My father smiled and turned, as he walked back into the golden mist I heard him say one last thing, “You have a grand heritage, be true to it.”

I awoke and my eyes burst open. The darkness of predawn filled my room. I quickly rose from my bed and lit a candle. A small altar sat in the corner of the room. I hurried to the desk and ripped two pieces of paper from my notebook. I wrote the names of my parents in bold letters across the pages. Carrying them across the room I set them on the altar. A bundle of incense lay beside the small table. I pulled out three sticks and quickly lit them. Kneeling, I held the sticks to my forehead and bowed, letting the smoke float to heaven. I had to express gratitude to my parents for their blessed vision.

***

I found Duc easily. In the last two days he had become a butcher, so I simply followed the screams. He worked in a colonial schoolhouse, one left over from French occupation, surrounded by soldiers. I bluffed my way past the guards at the door, citing my job as a writer. I found Duc in a classroom interrogating a woman.

“You worked for the quisling government. What makes you deserve mercy?”

“I needed the money,” the woman sobbed. I could see blood on her lip and a bruise forming around her eye.

Duc wrapped his fist across her face, “You don’t deserve to live, you betrayed your brothers and sisters. Worse, you betrayed heaven—”

“Duc,” I pushed the door fully open and stepped into the room.

“Thanh, I’m glad to see you’ve recovered from pissing your pants.”

I blushed, but did not let the embarrassment stop me. I knew what must be done. “You can’t kill this woman, she has done nothing. Let her go.”

“Let her go? You are a coward,” Duc grinned and bared his yellow and cracked teeth.

“What you are doing is wrong Duc, my ancestors have visited me.”

Duc grabbed the woman’s hair and slammed her face against the table. Her nose gushed blood and she spit a tooth on the wood. “Can your ancestors save her? Or do you expect to?”

“I—I—”

“Guards,” Duc shouted.

I heard pounding in the hallway and in an instant the door swung open. Heavy arms gripped mine and pulled. My feet lost their ground and I fell helpless into their hold.

Duc pointed at me like a dog, “He is a traitor, take him to the graves.”

“But—”

The guards dragged me from the schoolhouse. I didn’t resist. I walked into this with two legs, knowing what might happen. I simply relaxed and let them pull me through the streets, my feet hitting against the uneven stones laid centuries before. They dragged me to the east of town where several cadre members carried spades and shovels, digging and moving earth.

I craned my neck to see between my captors. Rows of large pits dotted the field, some of them already buried mounds. They reached one and tossed me inside. I crouched to cushion the fall, my hands sinking into a woman’s breasts. She stared up without seeing, her body ripped by soldier’s blades. Her pants gathered around her ankles. I stared at the body and wanted to kill the bastard who raped her.

The dirt came next, stopping my anger, and flying into the hole shovel by shovel. Some of the scoops held rocks and I groaned when one hit me in the head. Otherwise I made no sound. I lay beside the woman’s body and buried my face in her shirt. The weight above me slowly increased until I couldn’t move my hands or my head. Heavier and heavier the load grew. It mounted higher and higher. I couldn’t breath. I tried to open my eyes but only saw brown earth.

After what seemed like days of ever-increasing pressure I finally took my last shallow breath. I finally understood Hoan’s words. No longer did I walk with three legs, blinded by lies and propaganda, now I walked with two legs, seeing everything before me, and ready for what lay ahead. With a smile on my face I walked back to my parents, walking through the mists of gold on two legs.

Copyright 2005

The Golden Mists of Hue - Part I

I’ve never walked with three legs before, but Hoan almost convinced me otherwise. Nguyen Cong Hoan and I squatted outside the main office of Nhan Dan newspaper in Hanoi. A chilly November rain fell heavily in the streets, soaking our thin shirts as we shared a cigarette and talked.

“I have strange vision Thanh,” he said, waving his arm toward heaven, invoking some ancient spirit, “When I look at a person, I ask myself, why does he walk with two legs?”

“We all walk on two legs.”

Hoan took a puff of the unfiltered cigarette and handed it over with a snort, “Thanh, three legs would be more normal. Nowadays they say everybody has to have two legs, but that’s not how I see it.”

“I don’t understand,” I let the cigarette dangle between my fingers, smoke rising into my face. “Everybody has two legs, three legs would be monstrous.”

“When you’ve written for old man Tung as long as I have, you’ll understand.” Hoan pointed to the main office with his head.

Hoan’s comment stung, but I said nothing. My three months of work on the paper prevented any protest. After all, Hoan started writing shortly after the paper’s creation in 1951. How could I expect to merit the same respect he did?

“Looks like you’re wanted Thanh.”

Standing just outside the entrance to the offices, a dark skinned Montagnard beckoned for me. I handed the cigarette back to Hoan and hurried across the street. He ushered me upstairs and into Tung’s office.

I bowed respectfully and stood in front of Tung’s desk, waiting for him to speak. The rain drizzled through Tung’s bomb shattered window and a breeze made me shiver. From my position of fealty I barely saw his head move, his eyes examining me. When the door closed behind me he stood up, immediately taking charge of the interview. “Thanh, I’ve just received word of an upcoming offensive in the South. You are the youngest reporter we still have here in Hanoi.”

I nodded and risked a sideways glance at him. He was older than me, maybe by twenty years. The sides of his eyes showed wrinkles and his face was fine, hidden from the noonday sun by the office roof. He stepped around the desk and moved close, standing in front of me, and breathing in my face. He smelled like fish and garlic, I closed my eyes, trying to block the stench.

“You will go to Hué. Your country needs you there. The offensive will start sometime around Tet. I cannot tell you all the details. You know that area well, I expect good work, as good as, if not better, than what you’ve already given me.”

“Yes sir,” I nodded, more enthusiastically than I felt. “I won’t disappoint you.”

“You will travel the Ho Chi Minh Trail with a group of sappers leaving in two weeks. Bac will give you all the information.” Tung flashed his trademark toothy grin and rubbed my arm. “You’ll do well.”

“Thank you.”

He didn’t say anything else, just returned to his seat and started editing a story. I bowed again and backed out of the room. I wasn’t sure if I felt ecstatic or scared or both. To be frank, my earlier conversation with Hoan troubled me, I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to walk with two legs or three anymore, and going into the field to report a major offensive didn’t promise to clarify my confusion.

***

Whether I walked with two or three legs I did it a lot over the next two months. We marched endlessly for hours on end, strengthening our muscles for the long trek south to Hué. When we didn’t march, we squatted in crowded huts and listened to the indoctrination of the people’s party. I barely had time to think about Hoan’s comments except during the meetings. While I squatted between thirty other men my mind flew to Nghe An Province, and Vinh city, the memories of my youth. As the discussion leaders talked about glorious dreams of independence and sacrifices of generations past, I thought of my own sacrifices, of my father’s death, and a dream too personal to share with even my closest friends in Hanoi.

Two years ago I traveled back to Vinh on assignment to write Brave Men of Nghe An, a novel of the heroic people there who helped soldiers on the Ho Chi Minh Trail. While I meandered the province searching for information and stories I discovered my father’s death. He died nearly a decade before, but the information was kept from me, hidden by the cadres and by my caretaker, Huynh Thong Nhat. Seeking his burial mound I found it outside the city, next to my mother’s. I prostrated myself for hours mourning my loss, angry at Nhat and the men who stole my rights of worship from me.

As I drifted into sleep, my mother appeared, draped in a beautiful white ao dai. She took my hand and spoke to me, telling me of my father’s happiness and contentment, telling me that they both smiled and desired only my continued obedience to faith, ancestors, and Buddha. She said to pay particular attention to my new religion, for its teachings would save me. I agreed and she disappeared, leaving me cold and sore on my father’s grave.

Each day of training that passed evoked stronger memories. My discussion with Hoan and my dead mother’s words dominated my thoughts. How could I walk with two legs if I had three? I didn’t know, and the constant marching through mud with heavy backpacks did not relieve my growing puzzlement.

***

We finally left in the second week of February. I traveled with a group of two-dozen warriors, trained and ready to fight the dreaded Americans. They traveled light, carrying Russian munitions and a small bag filled with rice balls and crackers. I carried food, but also three notebooks of blank paper, and a supply of pencils. I wanted to bring a camera, but Bac, Tung’s secretary, said the cost wasn’t justified.

A week into our journey I thanked him. We walked through the thick foliage of Laos; palms and tropical underbrush grabbed at us in spots. Teak, palm, and rubber trees hovered above, only sometimes offering shade from the tropical sun. The constant up and down of the mountainous region burned my legs. One day we ran across a small cluster of cots hanging from fat branches overhead. We stopped briefly to find them filled with sick comrades, men stricken with fever on their trip south, and left to die. One of the men already lived with his ancestors. Maggots crawled over his flesh and ate his eyes. A green fungus grew on his face and hands. I gagged and ran away, throwing my lunch of rice onto an ant mound.

We continued to march for another week and a half before leaving the Trail and heading east toward Hué. By the twenty-sixth of January we stopped several miles from the city in a stand of oak trees. I asked the group leader, Duc, what was going to happen. He told me to wait and then disappeared.

When he came back, his face seemed haggard, hollow. I sat in with the other men, listening as he told us the plan. We would unite with several thousand troops, attack tactical positions in the imperial city, and take Hué. It was a large task, but one we would accomplish. The cause was just and would frustrate the Americans and their quislings.

I smiled as I heard him say that. I had said similar words years before not far from where we squatted. It would indeed be a glorious victory.

The next day on the twenty-ninth we attacked.

We moved at night, sneaking through the young rice shoots, hiding among herds of water buffalo. Through the trees I saw the lights of Hué. Fireworks exploded and cracked as they celebrated Tet, New Years. The moon withheld its light, Tet corresponding with the new moon. We crept through the darkness, slowed by the swampy rice paddies, and Duc led us past several huts. I heard the sound of rushing water and Duc pointed for us to follow the hard river path into the center of Hué. We ran now, rushing past insignificant territory into the heart of the city. I could see the crenellated roofs of the Imperial Citadel rising to points against the sky.

The shooting started and I heard war erupt throughout Hué, each shot ringing louder than the loudest firework. We were assigned to immobilize a police station just north of the river. As we approached our target I slipped into a doorway and pulled out a notebook and pencil. I described the night: the thick darkness smothering the world, the brave soldiers throwing themselves into battle and sacrificing everything for their country’s freedom, and I wrote about the bullets flying through the air.

I didn't mention the bullet that zinged past my ear and imbedded in the wood frame beside me, nor the wet warmth that spread between my legs as I crouched into a ball and let the fight continue, unreported until the dawn.

Copyright 2005

The Resurrection of a Blogger

It's been quite some time since last I blogged and I hope to repent of my failing. I don't have much to say politically at the moment, as I haven't immersed myself in the world of politics. The world of entertainment, as I discussed in my last post, leaves me cold.
So what does one do, then, if current events don't offer a venue for discussion?
Make stuff up.
A few years back I wrote a short story for an English class. It revolves around a Vietnamese reporter's experience during the Tet Offensive and it's the best piece of work I have that discusses Vietnam at the moment. In honor of the Prime Minister's recent visit to Washington, I thought I would post this story here and hope, maybe, a few people get a look at it. I'm going to post the story entitled "The Golden Mists of Hue," in two parts as it runs about 3400 words and twelve pages of double spaced text. Hopefully someone runs across this and enjoys it and if you do, please let me know.
Catch y'all later.
Chao.