The cocktail bar is a mash-up of dark wood and brass steampunk décor, with a uniting narrative that relies on the globetrotting adventures of the wizard Merlin. I’m not going to scratch too hard to see what’s below the surface because the drinks are pretty amazing. As was the pho pizza.
This is Ho Chi Minh City, and mash-ups are a defining part of the experience. As I eat my breakfast I can look out over the Ben Thanh Market and the massive traffic intersection it borders. Hundreds of scooters flow like blood cells around pedestrians and each other, in a semi-chaotic stream that, in defiance of reality, doesn’t seem to cause accidents. A couple in wedding garb are having their photos taken on a large traffic island, a few metres from not one but three hip-hop troupes performing routines for their camera crews. And above it all, electronic billboards with their shifting messages in Western-alphabet Vietnamese.
Travelling provides lessons in perspective, and these different perspectives have their roots in history.
Apparently, there are five communist nations. You can probably easily guess three, and Vietnam is a fourth. I’ll leave the last as a Google challenge for you. As a tourist, the main marker of communism in Vietnam is the ever-present five-pointed yellow star representing the people and the five main occupations. And they appear very patriotic, which is unsurprising given that 100 years of French rule ended in 1954, but was followed by 20 years of squabbles and conflict till the resolution of the Vietnam War and reunification of North and South Vietnam in 1975.
The “souvenirs” of that war are dotted around the city, in the museums but also forecourts of government buildings: American helicopters, planes and other military paraphernalia. We visited the War Remnants Museum, which tells the story of the Vietnam War from the Vietnamese (and therefore governmental) perspective and it was confronting. Three floors of small arms displayed between many, many photographs and diagrams that tell of the atrocities committed, primarily by American politicians and military.
It’s hard to argue with the evidence that Agent Orange was an atrocity, but what struck me most was the photographs of casual dehumanisation. American soldiers standing over Vietnamese bodies, cigarettes in their mouths as if it’s morning smoko. I realise most of what I think I know about the Vietnam War has come to me through the lens of media – The A-Team, Rambo and the like.
I’ve been to the concentration camp at Dachau, and I find the juxtaposition of these two records of history so jarring. We know the Nazis were the bad guys, which means the Yanks are goodies, right? Not according to this (one-sided) exhibition in Vietnam, but that apparent nonchalance in the face of death begs the question: how can people do these things?
This is complicated. The average age of the US soldiers dropped into Vietnam was 19, and I’m pretty sure I would have been at least as ill-equipped as those young people. Having taken a sampan ride along the Mekong, I can imagine the absolute surreal horror 19-year-old me would have felt in this unfamiliar land. Not to mention the paranoia of waiting for a Vietnamese soldier to emerge from the undergrowth, or a well-hidden tunnel. Our everyday lives do not prepare us for this.
As a result, I can imagine that soldier standing over a dead Vietnamese with a mantra of “this isn’t real, this isn’t real” running through their thoughts. That’s not a person; it’s just a thing.
And, of course, they were doing the right thing. They were holding back the tide of communism. Protecting the Western way of life from the encroaching hordes. Unfortunately, all sides believe they’re on the side of the righteous. The War Remnants Museum is at least as much propaganda as it’s a record of a particular version of history.
