HUNGER
"You
would not know what hunger really is like until you have lived in a Communist
re-education camp for a while," my cousin Vu said quietly, his eyes
drifting to a memory that never left him. "See, most people really got it
wrong. They thought the Communists don't feed people any thing when they went to
the camp. The Communists are smarter than that. They give you food to eat, but
not a lot of it. Then they make you work really hard. Yet, when it comes time to
eat, you get only one half or one quarter of what you need. That was not even
enough to make up for the energy you lost. Your hunger accumulates day by day,
until you totally forget when was the last time you feel happy.
I listened attentively, while taking a close look at my cousin. Haggard, old,
and weary, he was just a shadow of his former self. Twenty-seven years ago, I
had done the same thing as I did now. As a little boy, I sat and listened with
fascination to my cousin's war stories. Then, he was a young, strong warrior, a
battalion commander in the 18th Infantry Division of the Army of Republic of
Vietnam. The year was 1972. His unit was involved in some of the bloodiest
fighting in that summer of Red Fire (Mua He Do Lua). It all began when several
North Vietnamese Army regular divisions crossed into Central Vietnam from their
sanctuary in Cambodia. The results were several months long of some of the
heaviest fighting in the entire Vietnam War. In my mind, I still had the
memories of several million of refugees from the Central provinces running
desperately for their lives and the endless piles of dead bodies that were
strewn along Highway One. As a nine-year-old boy then, I was old enough to
understand what I was seeing on TV. Unfortunately, what I saw was so gruesome
and tragic that they never left my mind.
On that hot summer day in 1972, I was in Saigon with my parents for a visit to
my uncle Tien, when my cousin Vu got a few days of vacation from the battle
front. Wearing his green battle fatigue, which still smelled of acrid smoke, Vu
told his war stories in a booming voice to me, my brothers, and cousins. As
young, excitable boys who thought that war was great and glorious, we listened
in fascinated horror as Vu told the story of his friend who was cleanly
decapitated by the enemy's gunfire, when his unit charged down hill in M113
armored vehicles.
Yet, I was even more impressed by my cousin's devil-may-care attitude. As a
front line soldier in hot battles, he flirted with death in every waking and
sleeping moment. He didn't worry much about dying, saying it was nothing he
could control, so why worry about it. He was not yet married, and had no wife
and children to care for. At twenty-eight, he was a big, strong man with
boundless energy and a fearlessness that was infectious. For hours, my brothers,
my cousins, and I sat spellbound, listening to him recounting his daring
battlefield exploits. In my eyes then, my cousin Vu as a real life hero. There
was nothing or anyone that could ever get him down.
The fall of South Vietnam in April 30th, 1975 had changed all that. Now, sitting
in the living room of his house in the suburban city of Watauga, Texas, my
cousin looked feeble and much older than his fifty-five years. The fire of
defiance I saw in his eyes twenty-seven years ago was gone. What I saw now in
those eyes were just sadness and some tired reflection. The muscular body of
youth had shrunken to a thin frame. His head was almost bald. The skin of his
face was leathery and creased with lines every time he spoke.
I could hardly think of anyone who had suffered more than my cousin Vu. The best
10 years of his youth was spent in the Army of Republic of Vietnam, fighting one
bloody battle after another. He had seen more of his friends died next to him
than he wanted to remember. When the war ended in 1975, he wasn't as lucky as
some of his superiors, who were quick to catch the few planes and ships to get
out of the South Vietnam sinking ship. Captured by the North Vietnamese
Communist Army, cousin Vu spent the next 10 years in various re-education camps
in North and Central Vietnam. When his captors finally let him go, he was just
slightly more than a little flesh pasted on a disease ridden skeleton. Two years
after his release, he got married. Then, more tragedies struck. His son was born
a year later, retarded with a severe case of Down syndrome. Worse, the boy had a
hole in his heart and his legs were somehow shriveled. Up until he turned
five-year-old, the boy could not walk. While he could make some sounds with his
mouth, he could never talk and make anyone other than his parents understand
him. No one thought that the kid would live beyond his first year.
Yet, with his parent's unbounded love and care, my nephew Hai lived. But my
cousin's troubles were not yet over. One year after his son was born; my cousin
Vu had a heart attack that nearly took his life. The stroke left him even weaker
than when he first came back from the re-education camp. Doctors told him that
he had a severe case of high blood pressure, and the only way for him to live
longer was to be extremely careful with his diet, never smoke, and do anything
strenuously. For my cousin Vu, there was no more joy in living. The only things
left to him were duty and responsibility to his wife and his son. In his Army
days, he didn't expect to live beyond thirty. With his deteriorating health in
the mid 1980's, he didn't expect to live to forty-five.
Yet, he survived and his life took a turn for the better. In 1991, he and his
family were allowed to emigrate to the US. Sponsored by his brother-in-law, my
cousin's family came to Dallas, Texas. With their very limited English, my
cousin and his wife could only find very low paying jobs. Yet, they worked hard,
spent very thriftily, and were able to support themselves without relying on
welfare. With better medical care, their son's health also got much better. The
boy's twisted legs were straightened, and he now could play soccer like a normal
kid. The hole in his heart had healed as well. Still, there was no cure for his
mental retardation. My cousin Vu and his wife were glad for their son's
improving health. Still, they lived with the anguish of knowing that the kid
could never take care of himself when they are gone.
"I have several friends, who were very tough soldiers when they first went
to the re-education camps," Vu continued. "After a few months, food
was the only thing they could think about. When we had breaks during our labor
in the jungle, they would fantasize about what food they could get to eat when
they finally get to go home. One guy said that if he ever gets to go home, he
would eat for three days straight. Even if he were to die of overeating, he
would do it. What else is there to be wanting after what we have all been
through? Other guys didn't say the same thing, but in their sleep, they kept
muttering about the dishes they hadn't had in years. As the years went by, the
hunger only increased to the point that even the occasional lizards or snakes
that we came across would look so good. On the few occasions that we caught
them, we would roast them over the fire, and get a few morsels of meat. Do you
ever know hunger like that before?"
"No," I shook my head. Recalling my own hunger in the three years of
living under the Vietnamese Communist regime, I continued "In the two years
after 1975, we didn't have much to eat. But our family were able to fill our
stomach with the cheap "bo bo" we could buy and the "khoai mi"
that we planted. They didn't taste good, but at least our stomach was filled. At
first, I didn't want to eat them. But then, I got hungry enough that the taste
didn't matter any more. I knew that I used to dream about having meats to eat in
those years, but things didn't get so bad that we had to think about eating
snakes or lizards.
"Then you knew enough to understand what I am talking about," my
cousin observed. "The hunger we had was so intense that we couldn't think
about anything else. We dreamed of food day and night, whether we were awake or
asleep. That's why the Communists were so smart. They didn't beat or torture us
too badly, at least not like what we expected. They just kept us hungry, and
worked us hard, so that we would always be weak to ever think of resistance. You
know, in the first few years when they didn't allow families to bring supply to
us in the camps, no one bothered to think about protesting or escaping. We
didn't even have the energy to raise our arms when we came back to camp at
night. Do you know what I am getting at?"
"I think so," I nodded lightly. "The power of the hungry stomach,
is that it?"
"Yes, that's it," cousin Vu agreed. "More than any one else, the
Communists understand the controlling power of keeping people hungry. As long as
people are hungry, they worry only about food, about survival. Who cares about
freedom, democracy, higher principles when your mind keeps playing trick with
you and your stomach keep telling you that it needs food.
He paused for a moment as if trying to recall what happened to him in the camp,
before continuing "In the camp, we hated our prison guards. Yet, many
people told on their friends when the guards gave them a larger ration. It was
not until the early 1980's that many people started getting supplied by their
families. In my camp, people whose families were still rich got supplied pretty
good. I didn't have anyone to bring anything for me, except for uncle Tin's one
visit. So, I asked to do the work for some of these people. In return, they ate
the food their families gave them, and let me eat their camp allotted ration.
That's how I survived the last few years of camp. By the time I got out, I
looked a little better than a ghost. Even if the prison guards were to open the
camp's gate and let me escape, I wouldn't do it. I would not get very far any
how."
Vu stopped again to sip his tea then continued "I thought only prisoners
like us always think about food. When I came back home, I found out that
everyone else also worried mainly about food. The difference was only in degree.
The civilians were never as hungry as we were, but they were hungry enough to be
occupied mainly with the thought of finding the next meal. That's when I
realized how smart and cruel the Communists really were. Keep people hungry, and
you effectively keep them under control. You don't have to kill too many or
putting too many in prisons. Keep prisoners hungry, and you reduce the chance of
them escaping or making trouble for you. Keep people hungry, and you reduce them
to a little more than animals. They are easier to control. Only when people are
well fed, have enough clothes to keep them warm, and a roof over their heads,
then they started thinking about what freedom they don't have. That's when they
started resisting and demanding for more."
"I know, anh Vu," I smiled smugly. "I studied something like that
in psychology in college. I think it was called something like the Maslow's
hierarchy of needs. The theory is a little bit more complicated than what you
said, but pretty much means the same thing. Maslow, a Western psychologist,
basically concluded that people's most basic need is survival, or food, then
security, then belonging, then self-actualization. The lowest needs have to be
satisfied first before people can move on to the next level of need. So, people
have to have enough food to eat, have a home, and feel some what safe before
they want to belong to something or do something more. I guess what I am saying
is that the Communists manage to bring our people back to the very first level
of needs, food, and keep them there."
"I am not as lucky as you," my cousin Vu shrugged. "I didn't get
to spend more than a year in college before I was drafted. I am just an old,
sick, and tired soldier who knew only what I saw. I am only trying to get by
with my life here in America. I don't know about Maslow. I don't know what his
theory means. I only knew that I and just about everyone I knew in Vietnam when
I was there always worried finding the next meal for our family. Young people
like you are so lucky. You get good education and good future to look forward
to. You never have to have blood on your hands, nor live with nightmares of
seeing your friends blown up, nor ever have to dream of food in every waking and
sleeping moment."
"I lived through a few years of it too, anh Vu," I protested quietly.
"I know what it means. My hands still have traces of the hard calluses from
the years of working in the fields. I still remembered those days when I all I
wished for was a good bowl of Pho since I didn't have one for five years. I
never take my good fortune and the life I have here for granted."
"I didn't mean you, specifically," my cousin Vu smiled weakly. "I
know you had lived there under them, so you could understand. You also returned
there to work in the past few years, so you may have learned something else too.
But I knew there are many people here who never spent a day with the Communists,
never live through the hardship, never have to dream about having a piece of
meat to eat, and think they know how best to fight the Communists. They say they
want democracy and freedom for people in Vietnam, but they want Vietnamese here
to stop sending money to their relatives back home. They say they want to make
the lives of people in Vietnam better, but they want the Americans to not trade
with Vietnam. I don't know whether they never understand or they know but they
don't care .I don't think they know best how to fight the Communists, but they
certainly know best how to make other people pay for their ideas."
"Everyone has his own idea about how to oppose the Communists, anh
Vu," I shrugged while leaning back in the couch. Outside, the afternoon sun
had long descended below the western sky, and the evening darkness had enveloped
the house. While my cousin turned on the light in the living room, I continued
"I guess the only thing we Vietnamese agree on is that we don't like the
Communists, and we want them out. Other than that, there are very few things we
do agree on. There are even less thoughtful discussions about politics where
people don't get too emotional and then lose all their reasons."
"I know, and I don't get drawn into them. Even some of my friends who came
here in 1975 didn't get it. They keep arguing why we should pressure the US to
not let Vietnam sell its goods here, do everything we could to make the country
poorer. If the country gets poorer and people get hungrier, then they will start
to oppose the government and force them to change. That's how we will beat the
Communists. I disagree with them, but I could never make them understand.
They've never known hunger like those of us who stayed behind have known, so
they never understand how hunger and poverty could rob us of the little skin of
civilization we have left. They never could understand how hungry people would
only care about filling their stomach and nothing else. And they probably never
understand that if the country get poorer and poorer, then the people who get
hurt first are people like us and our families, not the Communists and their
families."
"I understand, anh Vu," I interrupted my cousin. "I have heard
those "If we want to cure the disease, we have to kill the patient
first" arguments too. I don't agree with them neither. I've worked in
Vietnam for three years, and I knew that people there don't care to have any
more war, too. I had to deal with some of the Communist officials for my
company's business. I know how stupid, corrupt, and selfish they are. As long as
people like that rules the country, there isn't much hope for Vietnamese to see
prosperity, human rights, freedom, or anything that decent human beings
deserved. I guess we are stuck at a dead end, then, aren't we? If we don't do
anything against the Communists, then people in the country will continue to
suffer under their rule. Yet, for everything we think we could do against the
Communists, then some innocent people will get hurt first. I think the Americans
call it "collateral damage". For those of us who really care about
Vietnam, then it is a tough problem. If we don't do anything, then we feel
guilty. If we do something, then we do not know whom we may inadvertently hurt.
I guess that's why people keep arguing with each other. I don't know if anyone
has the right answer, or even if there is a right answer whether people will
know it when they hear it."
"I don't know the answer to it neither," my cousin Vu smiled wearily.
"I am not smart enough, and I am too old and too useless to do anything. I
don't have any more guilt to feel, because I have shed enough blood and tear for
my country, and I had paid more than anyone had a right to expect from me. I
only have a lot of pain and regrets left. I never had the time to care more for
my father, and I always have to live with the mistakes I've made as a commander
that caused other men to die. If there is anything I could tell you, it is the
painful lesson I learned as a commanding officer. When you lead your unit in the
battlefields, if you make a mistake, then other men pay for it with their lives.
You may survive your mistakes, but your conscience will never let you forget it.
In my dreams, I still see the faces and the dead bodies of my friends who died
because of my stupidity. When you are a civilian leader, the responsibility of
power is just as heavy. Other people will pay the dear price for your wrong
decisions too. Except the consequences will happen to so many people that you
don't know, who are so far away from you, and they will happen much later than
when you make your mistake. You may not know it, may never realize that it is
you who cause other faceless people to die or their lives to be shattered.
Whether you know it or not, the price of those mistakes will still be on your
conscience, on your soul. May be I am too old and too superstitious, but
sometime I wonder whether all my sufferings in this life was payments for the
men that I killed, and for my men who were killed because of me. I never wanted
to kill, but I was a good soldier, and I did what I have to do to live. Life is
never fair, and I accept it. You are luckier. You are young, so well educated,
and have so much to look forward to. You may have many more chances to affect
the lives of other people, here or in Vietnam. I just hope that you will never
make the mistakes I made, and never have to live with a troubled conscience in
your life."
My cousin Vu stopped speaking, looked at me for a long moment, then let his gaze
drifted to the wall behind me. It was as if he was seeing the ghosts of all his
friends there again. We both remained silent for a long time. I thought about
all the insignificant things I have done in my life so far, and realized that I
was much luckier than I knew. I never have to live with the pain of regrets like
my cousin did, never make any decisions that have other people's lives hanging
on the balance. The thought lingered in my head for a long time, as if it would
be imprinted in my memory forever.
Finally, I broke the silence "I understand, anh Vu. I understand. I won't
forget, and I hope I will never make a decision that hurt innocent people. I
don't think I will ever solve world hunger or the liberation of Vietnam from the
Communists. I can only hope to do the right things for my family, and other
people I can help."
"When I was young like you, I thought I was going to save Vietnam," my
cousin said while standing up to get himself another cup of tea. "I thought
the war was going to last for only a few more years, then I would be home to be
a civilian again, and do the things that I had to put off before. I thought I
was going to take care of a lot more people than just myself. Now, thirty years
later, the few hairs that I got left have turned gray, and I could barely take
care of my family. I guess what I am trying to say to you is you don't have to
feel like you have to worry too much about the problems of the world, or the
problems of our country. Vietnam always had problems, always had sufferings for
the past several hundred years of our history. Before the Communists was the
French. Before the French was the Trinh Nguyen Civil War. The Communists are
around for only the past 50, 60 years. They are a blip in our history compared
to what have come before them. Someday they will be gone, just like all the
oppressors that came before them. And there will be new bad guys that come along
to take their place, only under different names. You are here now, you are
American now. May be you will go back to Vietnam again someday. May be you
won't. Even if you do, your children may never care to go. Vietnam is the
problem of people who still live there. If they want a better life someday, then
they have to do something about it. If you care, you should do something to
help, but don't feel like it is your problem alone, or force yourself to play
God with other people's lives."
"Yes, anh Vu, I know," I nodded. "I never thought I am going to
change the world. I can only change myself and help people around me. Any way,
it's late. I am going to sleep soon. I have to drive to Dallas tomorrow."
My cousin nodded, got up and brought me some blanket and pillows for the night.
After he left, I thought about our conversation for a long while. Unable to
sleep yet, I went outside to the front yard, looking up at the million tiny
stars on the night sky. A light breeze blew against my face as I took in long,
deep breaths to clear my head. Watching the light in my cousin's bedroom went
off, I silently prayed that the old soldier would have a dreamless, good night
sleep. When I finally went to sleep that night, I had an fitful, uneasy dream of
bony, haggard prisoners who only dreamed of one day coming home to a good meal.
Copyright 1999
Trinh Do
May 16, 1999
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