Red flag fades to pink in commercial Vietnam
Anti-fungal foot powder, helmets and belt buckles are bringing in the loot of Vietnamese cashing in on the war, says Conrad Walters.
It may have been an American who first declared “war is hell”, but it the Vietnamese who are writing its corollary: victory is profitable.
From Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh City, the market forces of a hungry economy are accomplishing what military forces never could. Tourist dollars are being milked in a phenomenal rush to capitalize on the Vietnam war.
In Ho Chi Minh City, where faded red flags of communism dot the cityscape with surprising regularity, Westerners commonly meander through a downtown market largely devoted to war memorabilia. Stall owners at the “war market” – located beside a pagoda which pays homage to the Buddhist goddess of mercy – happily clamber over surplus gas masks, helmets and belt buckles to reach a battle-scarred knife, US Army anti-fungal foot powder or some other trinket that has struck a potential buyer’s curiosity.
Zippo cigarette lighters are particularly saleable, and many stalls have a box of them featuring a variety of the irreverent sayings popular with American and Australian soldiers of nearly 20 years ago. Among the favoured sayings: “Don’t tell me about Vietnam because I’ve already been there” and “If I die in Vietnam, bury me on my stomach so the army can kiss my ass”.
Military uniforms line the stalls, but their clean pressed state is a give-away that much of the war market merchandise is significantly younger than the eager teenage shopkeepers. If there’s any doubt of this, a sidetrip along a nearby alley reveals a row of tailors, heads down over khaki-coloured cloth.
War medals are another popular item, and there’s a plentiful supply of one awarded to Viet Cong soldiers. Its inscription, translated with little, if any, self-consciousness by vendors reads: “Viet Cong kill Americans”. The asking price is $US2.50 ($A3.30), although an adept bargainer might well walk away with one for less than $US1.
Despite the war and a 30-year trade embargo which the US lifted only in February this year, US dollars are not only common, but the currency of preference.
American war medals are less common but not enough to command serious premiums. A battered Vietnam service medal and ribbon, given to each of the 1.3 million Americans who served in Vietnam, carries an optimistic starting price of $US10, but is mixed together in the market’s jumble-sale stye with another award, which on closer inspection turns out to be a medallion from Narcotics Anonymous.
When the salesman is advised, “This isn’t from the war,” he nods, knowing full well the next tourist’s English might not give away the game.
There is still the odd Purple Heart available, which must be disconcerting for the increasing number of American veterans who are drawn to Vietnam. The $US2 price for one being hawked by a street vendor in Ho Chi Minh City seems a paltry sum for a medal given to all those wounded in action, especially as more than 50,000 were awarded posthumously.
If the Vietnamese find it odd to be selling these items to the capitalist enemies of the past, their sense of irony is invisible to the visitor.
In Hanoi, a store in the heart of the tourist district features American ID tags dangling from a display case. Each $US1 tag lists unique details of name, serial number, religion and blood type – so it seems unlikely they are fakes, despite the huge numbers available across the country. “Where did they come from?”
“Prison,” says the shopkeeper, with an attitude as helpful and matter-of-fact as you might expect from someone selling vacuum cleaners at a chain store.
Of course, it’s not just memorabilia that’s on offer. The typical traveller’s route is teeming with tourist spots relevant to the war, from the sombre site of the 1968 My Lai massacre to the commercialised Cu Chi tunnels west of Ho Chi Minh City.
The ingenious 200km network of tunnels – complete with kitchens, sleeping quarters, hidden entrances and booby-traps – were used as a base by the Viet Cong to fight the French and later the Americans and Australians. Now visitors pay $US4 each to tour the tunnels – conveniently enlarged for Westerners weaned on McDonald’s and Dunkin’ Donuts – and learn how the Viet Cong thwarted efforts to detect their hide-outs.
After the tour, visitors are invited to fire their choice of US, Chinese or Russian rifles for $US1 a bullet, and there are plenty of takers.
A British woman, eager to fire a full clip of M16 bullets on automatic, tried to explain her wish by miming the action and shouting a staccato “br-r-r-r-r-r”, but she relented when her demonstration met with confused stares. It was a rare disappointment in a country where money speak with such authority.
Tourists also flock to visit the most confrontational of the sites on offer: the War Crimes Exhibition in Ho Chi Minh City. There, they queue to learn about torture methods or see examples of the aftermath of the war, such as a pair of specimen jars containing babies deformed by Agent Orange.
Originally the site was named the Museum of American War Crimes, but, presumably in deference to tourist sensibilities, that has changed Even so, while many of the exhibits depict acts by the foreigners who fought in Vietnam, there is less a sense of blame directed at colonialists so much as condemnation of what war necessarily produces.
But even at the conscience-challenging War Crimes Exhibition, commercialism reigns. Outside the museum, there’s a raucous puppet show on offer, and smiling women in traditional white silk dresses sell everything from pens made of bullet shells to toy fighter jets made from Heineken beer cans.
The unavoidable impression is of a nation eager to nurture the golden egg of tourism. Last year Vietnam drew a record 485,000 visitors; this year the figure is expected to reach 700,000.
Given the rush for the imperialist dollars of tourists – predicted to total $US1.2 billion in 1995 – the question of who won the war begins to blur.
Perhaps it is more than tropical heat which is making the red flags of Vietnam fade.
Published in The Australian, December 5, 1994.