economics

June 10, 2010

Vietnam Now JUNE 24, 2010 by Jonathan Mirsky Vietnam: Rising Dragon by Bill Hayton

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Yale University Press, 254 pp., $30.00
Reading Bill Hayton’s enlightening and persuasive narrative about
postwar Vietnam I wondered, as I have before in these pages, how the
Vietnamese won their long wars against the French and the United
States. After Dean Rusk retired as secretary of state during much of the
war, his son, Richard, asked him, “Short of blowing them off the face of
the earth how could we have defeated such a people? Why did they keep
coming? Who were these people? Why did they try so hard?” Rusk
replied, “I really don’t have much to answer on that, Rich.” 1
Or take Bao Ninh, one of North Vietnam’s brilliant novelists about the
war, and a veteran, who in his The Sorrow of War writes:
Victory after victory, withdrawal after withdrawal. The path of war
seemed endless, desperate and leading nowhere. The soldiers
waited in fear, hoping they would not be ordered in as support
forces, to hurl themselves into the arena to almost certain death. 2
But they did, again and again.
According to Bill Hayton, who in 2006 and 2007 reported for the BBC
from Vietnam until his visa was withdrawn for reporting on dissidents,
nowadays in Hanoi
many Vietnamese who fought the war find themselves trapped in
voiceless rage. They know why they fought, they know what they
and their fellows suffered, they know how unjust it felt—but
they’re banned from expressing any of it in public because the
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Party has decided that the country needs the support and resources
of the United States.
Mai Elliott, the author of RAND in Southwest Asia: A History of the
Vietnam War Era, has written to me that “the war veterans feel that they
have made horrendous sacrifices only to see themselves marginalized
and to see the Party and military elite enrich themselves.”
Here is one of Hayton’s most telling points. The Vietnamese are
forbidden to mention the “sheer monstrosity of the war: the industrialscale
killing….” But it remains alive for Americans. “No other country
name has the same resonance: ‘the lesson of Vietnam,’ ‘the ghost of
Vietnam,’ ‘another Vietnam’—we know instantly all that these phrases
imply.” The “lessons of Vietnam” in Iraq or Afghanistan are regularly
argued. Hayton emphasizes that things are different in Vietnam itself,
where the war is a taboo subject, although, as he recalls near the end of
his book, the Americans did vast and brutal damage to the country and
its people.
Living in Vietnam, he claims (puzzlingly as one reads his book), “moved
and inspired me…until I was told to leave.” He observes that foreigners
find there is something secretive about Vietnam “until Vietnamese
friends patiently explain what, to them, is blindingly obvious—and
things slowly fall into place.” Notwithstanding the regime’s supression
of free inquiry, it doesn’t seem very secretive to the reader because
Hayton describes the key issues and problems with considerable clarity.
At the core, he makes plain, is the Communist Party’s conviction that
come what may it must stay in sole power. In his penetrating new book,
The Party: The Secret World of China’s Communist Rulers, 3 Richard
McGregor writes, “For all the reforms of the past three decades, the
Party has made sure it keeps a lock-hold on the state.” And this is exactly
the situation in Vietnam.
Vietnam experienced a cruel awakening after the war, discovering that
defeating the American capitalists and their war machine did not mean
that state socialism could then build a peacetime economy. By 1979,
Hayton explains, it was apparent that heavy industry was eating up state
funds, and light industry was failing; as southern peasants resisted
collectivization, agriculture stagnated. But the regime was adaptable. “In
1979, before China and the Soviet Union opened the door to industrial
capitalism, Vietnam’s communists had already started experimenting
with it.” Reformers inside the Party demanded an end to central planning
and an opening to the market, “and a vast land reform programme gave
farmers control over their fields.”
After succinctly tracing Hanoi’s political history after 1979, Hayton
settles down to a revealing description of Vietnam today. This includes
“rocketing economic growth” that distorts the economy toward “the
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wants of the few rather than the needs of the many”; the need to create
one million jobs every year; the emergence of a well-off urban class; the
erosion of traditional rural values; the disdain for minority peoples; vast
official corruption; an overwhelming security system; and above all the
Party’s determination to stay in power by any means, including the
carefully supervised revival of religion and folk beliefs. Much of this
could be said of China, but it would be a mistake to describe Vietnam as
merely post-Mao China writ small. Despite some political and economic
echoes of China in its smaller neighbor, the two countries are
fundamentally different, as the Chinese found out in 1979 when they
unsuccessfully fought the Vietnamese.
One similarity with China is that many foreigners either believe or want
to believe that economic reform will lead to more liberal, even
democratic, reforms. The World Bank, Hayton notes, has hailed Vietnam
as a “poster boy” for “economic liberalisation.” There is something in
this claim for the advantages of the market, Hayton writes. But he adds
that “Vietnam’s transition was marked by rising state involvement in the
economy…. The state remained in control, and foreign investment was
directed into joint ventures with state firms.” Hayton—forgetting
China—claims that this coordination has produced “economic growth,
poverty reduction and political stability unmatched by any other
developing country.” And, he adds, an avalanche of endemic corruption
and wildly erratic lending by state banks, with some firms becoming
“mini-empires.” Some of these state-controlled cor-porations “became
outright criminals.”
Hayton tells us how it works at the very top, the fifteen-member
Politburo. No one ascends to that height, he writes, “without building up
a network of supporters”—in China this web of relationships is called
guanxi—”and delivering them benefits in return.” He shows how
President Nguyen Minh Triet built his fiefdom in Binh Duong province,
near Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City), by securing foreign money that
helped create hundreds of thousands of jobs. This involved pharao,
fence bending, “to get things done.” Now his nephew runs Binh Duong,
and under what Vietnamese call his “umbrella” his family and retainers
are “protected” from the law. Such arrangements, the norm with national
leaders, extend down through provincial and yet-lower-tier officials who
have turned capitalism into family businesses, what the Vietnamese call
“son of father, grandson of grandfather,” meaning “the young offer
loyalty, the old offer protection.”
These relationships are financially valuable, and investors—this, too, is
true in China—will pay handsomely for introductions into such families.
On a day-to-day basis every official transaction is likely to require some
form of hidden payment. Corruption is built into every public activity:
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Kindergarten teachers will have to bribe the boss to get hired, the
children’s parents will have to bribe the teacher to ensure their
children get well-treated, high school pupils will bribe their
teachers to get good marks in exams, and Ph.D. students pay to get
their theses written for them by their examiners’ colleagues….
Extra payments are required to get good treatment in hospitals, to
get electricity connections fixed and to get business.
The environment is a deepening disaster. The rivers surrounding Ho Chi
Minh City are “biologically dead,” and the air in Hanoi is poisonous, two
more parallels with the waterways and cities of China. Sewage and other
waste in both cities are dumped raw into the rivers and landfills and
eventually poison the local water supplies. As in China local people
unsuccessfully complained about such pollution for years, but now that
the urban middle classes are up in arms about smells and tastes, action is
slowly beginning to be taken. Hayton says that a World Bank report has
warned that pollution will frighten away tourists and harm economic
growth. In the north of the country, Ha Long Bay, Vietnam’s premier
tourist attraction with its low mountains rising straight from the water, is
now a biological disaster zone, its waters polluted by the effluent from
northern Vietnam’s coal industry, its fish killed by coal dust that turns
the sea black or “by explosives, electric shocks and poison.”
Environmental laws are flouted in favor of big business. “Ha Long Bay
survives, but as a natural environment, it is dying.” The press and
television have been warned not to discuss this tourist-alarming subject.
Forests are suffering, too; Hayton notes that between 1976 and 1990
loggers “destroyed nearly as much of the country’s forest cover as the
United States did with Agent Orange in the 1960s…. The combination of
war and logging has left a quarter of the country classified as ‘bare’ or
‘denuded.’” But the major operators continue to log illegally, either in
Vietnam or over the border in Laos and Cambodia—military areas where
the army may be involved, Hayton alleges, in this ecological crime. He
describes the slaughter of Vietnam’s rich animal life, which includes
some of our rarest creatures such as elephants, rhinos, tigers, and many
plants. As in China, restaurants cater to the rich public’s taste for
endangered animals like pangolins, porcupines, and civet cats, with the
“greatest kudos” going “to those who can buy the most expensive, most
endangered, most sought-after meat available. The trade is vast.”
Hayton briefly mentions the use of Agent Orange in defoliating
Vietnam’s forests and other vegetation. It was a tactic borrowed from the
British in Malaya, to deny natural cover to enemy forces. The US
estimated that it sprayed 2.6 million hectares, sometimes repeatedly, and
that “between two and five million people were sprayed directly.” Agent
Orange and some of the other American defoliants contain dioxin, “one
of the most toxic chemicals ever made,” although I recall being assured
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by US officials in Vietnam that it was not used deliberately on human
beings and in any event was not that dangerous.
As Hayton observes, the dangers of dioxin were well known in the West,
where they were frequently mentioned during antiwar protests. Hayton
reports that tens of thousands of children, the offspring of parents who
had been sprayed, were born blind, limbless, with huge heads, extra arms
and legs, and mental handicaps. Such children are often hidden from
sight—and medical help—because their parents are ashamed. Dow and
other chemical companies deny responsibility for these horrible results,
but, as Hayton writes, they have also paid millions of dollars in
compensation to American veterans injured by Agent Orange:
While assistance with finding US soldiers Missing In Action was a
priority for Washington, Hanoi wasn’t allowed to discuss the mass
poisoning of civilians. The contrast was obscene but Vietnam had
little choice. The leadership wanted to end the country’s diplomatic
isolation so the whole dioxin issue was dropped.
Eventually Agent Orange again became a subject during Vietnam’s
negotiations with the Americans on economic and security questions.
The presidents of both countries discussed Agent Orange in 2006, and in
2007 the Americans agreed to help clean up the traces of dioxin at
Danang: “Once again, difficult memories have been suppressed in the
interests of a strategic rapprochement with the US.”
As is true in some other Communist or ex-Communist countries,
Vietnam’s fifty-three minorities, which make up 15 percent of the
national population, are described in terms with which any Chinese
would be familiar and most would approve: “backward,” “uncivilized,”
and “aboriginal.” And as in China, minorities have been mobilized into
theme park entertainment, dressing up in their traditional costumes and
performing “tribal dances.” They have become, as Hayton puts it, “a
backdrop onto which the Kinh [the ethnic name for the Vietnamese
majority] can project their own imaginings.” In 2004 the World Bank
estimated that 15 percent of the Kinh lived in poverty, while the rate for
minorities was 75 percent. Hayton recalls how the French and Americans
mobilized some of the ethnic minorities in the south to fight against the
Communists by exploiting their sense of grievance against the
Vietnamese majority.
For me, the most startling statistic in Hayton’s book comes in his
passages on prostitution, “now so integral to male life in Vietnamese
cities that it seems ridiculous even to try to eradicate it.” In 2001, an
official report estimated that there were at least half a million prostitutes,
more than 1 percent of the female population—a number that, Hayton
supposes, is larger today. “Deals will often be lubricated and celebrated
with the assistance of a cohort of sex workers.”
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Hanoi commands a huge security apparatus, 6.7 million members in a
working population of 43 million, meaning that one person in six has a
security job. Hayton points out that at least one reason to be grateful for
this was the power of the Vietnamese state when it stopped a possible
global epidemic of SARS in 2003. Security officers surrounded the
homes of all infected people, and hospital wards were closed off. “It
worked…. The WHO declared the disease ‘contained’ in Vietnam.”
The Vietnamese Internet is closed to discussion of political and religious
matters from any source, especially overseas Vietnamese. The regime
claims that it blocks “unhealthy sites.” This does not include
pornography, so “the Vietnamese firewall allows youngsters to consume
plenty of porn but not Amnesty International reports.” Hayton describes
a “pervasive sense of fear that has been instilled into most Vietnamese
having contact with anything which might seem subversive.” Even
international NGOs fear to speak publicly on sensitive issues without
first making inquiries in official circles:
As a result there is no public criticism of governmental policies or
priorities from those who know most about it. All comment has to
be channelled through Party-controlled structures.
As one would expect, therefore, outspoken dissidents can expect to be
repressed. In January 2006, four Catholic priests issued a plea for
freedom of speech: “We Are Not Afraid. We Ought to Know the Truth.”
With remarkable boldness for any Communist country, they called for an
end to the Party’s monopoly rule, for Party members and soldiers to
desert, and for non-Communist parties to speak out. In April 2006, the
principal mover, a heroic priest called Father Nguyen Van Ly, who had
already spent three terms in jail totaling sixteen years for anti-
Communist agitation, issued a “Manifesto for Freedom and Democracy”;
one of his codrafters was a retired army colonel. The document was
signed by 118 people. Some were well known, such as the ex-dean of the
Marx-Leninist Institute of Philosophy. The regime delayed its reaction; it
was then involved in negotiations to enter the World Trade Organization
and President Bush was heading for Hanoi to discuss MIAs and other
sensitive issues.
The diplomatic community, as craven as usual in Communist countries,
hedged its remarks, fearful that the dissidents could be harming
“Vietnam’s gradual path towards stable democracy.” What these
diplomats wanted was exactly what Hanoi wanted: “stability.” As soon
as the WTO issue was settled and Bush had gone home, there occurred
what Human Rights Watch termed “one of the worst crackdowns on
peaceful dissidents in 20 years.” Students taking part in a meeting on
human rights “were persuaded to denounce their teachers as traitors.” At
his trial Father Ly shouted that the process was “a lewd comedy for
years, Jurors a bunch of baboons….” A security officer clapped his hand
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over the priest’s mouth. “The colloquial Vietnamese word for censorship
is bit mieng—literally, to cover the mouth.” Hayton doesn’t tell us that in
2007 Father Ly was sentenced to eight years in prison and released
earlier this year after suffering two strokes. The movement he led has
been crushed.
Hayton points out that while Burma, which is also brutally hard on
dissidents, is subjected to great international pressure, Vietnam receives
billions of dollars’ worth of foreign aid and investment. The country “is
being wooed by a succession of American admirals in their best whites,”
and no American administration
is likely to jeopardise the multimillion-dollar interests of Intel,
Nike, Ford, GE and all the other US corporations who’ve invested
in Vietnam, by pushing for change and instability. International
capitalism is doing very nicely out of Communist Party rule in
Vietnam and stability is a lot more important than the release of a
very few troublesome dissidents.
Hayton has written a very good book about a country about which we
know little. He pulls no punches on matters that arouse his justifiable
concern. He may sound vague when he concludes that “Vietnam still has
the capacity to surprise.” But he is right. He describes the twists and
turns of an authoritarian regime always struggling to keep control and—
like China—always ready to abandon what seemed like ideals to
maintain itself.
In 1968, during Tet, the New Year celebrations, Hanoi suffered an
unexpected setback after 70,000 of its best troops, North Vietnamese and
Vietcong, launched attacks on American installations throughout South
Vietnam, hoping to ignite a general uprising against the Americans and
their South Vietnamese clients. These attacks culminated in an attack on
the American embassy in the heart of Saigon. Some of the soldiers
blasted through the building’s protective wall and Americans heard
Saigon correspondents reporting that Vietcong were inside the embassy.
Two thousand American soldiers died during Tet and so did four
thousand South Vietnamese.
Before long the American command stated that 50,000 Communist
soldiers had been killed and General William Westmoreland declared
that Tet had been an American victory. After a detailed postmortem, the
Communist side conceded that it had been a disaster for them. But
American journalists had seen the dead bodies in the embassy. Walter
Cronkite, the country’s most trusted television anchor, who until then
had supported the war, now broadcast that it “was more certain than ever
that the bloody experience of Vietnam is to end in a stalemate.” This
broadcast famously shocked President Johnson and after some of his
closest advisers changed their minds about the value of further struggle
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in Vietnam, on March 31, 1968, he announced that he would not seek a
second term. By then the North Vietnamese had invited Cronkite to
Hanoi—he declined—and in April they announced that they were ready
for talks with the Americans. These crept on for five years while many
more Americans and Vietnamese died in battle.
After the war, one of Hanoi’s most celebrated generals, Tran Do,
admitted to Stanley Karnow:
In all honesty, we didn’t achieve our main objective, which was to
spur uprisings throughout the south…. As for making an impact in
the United States, it had not been our intention—but it turned out to
be a fortunate result. 4
Although Bao Ninh and other novelists showed that North Vietnam’s
soldiers were terrified as they fought, in the end Hanoi was more stoical
or bloodthirsty or willing to sacrifice lives than the Americans were. It
was one of those Vietnamese surprises. For Americans Vietnam still
lurks in national memory. In Vietnam itself the war cannot be
mentioned. Another surprise.
See my article “The War That Will Not End,” The New York Review,
August 16, 1990. ↩
1.
See my article “No Trumpets, No Drums,” The New York Review,
September 21, 1995. ↩
2.
3. Harper, 2010. ↩
Stanley Karnow, Vietnam: A History (Viking, 1983; revised edition,
Penguin, 1997), p. 558. ↩
4.
Copyright © 1963-2010 NYREV, Inc. All rights reserved.
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