We'll Miss Saigon (3/11/2009)

Come to Vietnam. As part of an American generation born in the decade after the helicopter took off from the U.S. Embassy in Saigon, the specter of Vietnam has always hung, an immobile overhead specter waiting to rear its head. No other country's name evokes, at best, an inescapable quagmire, and at worst, abject failure. Our pop culture teems with references: "Apocalypse Now." John Lennon. Muhammad Ali. The Dixie Chicks. "Forrest Gump." CCR. Even "Tropic Thunder." Our parents lived through it - made it, some of them. Reignited by another war launched on questionable intelligence, the shadow of Vietnam has emerged anew.

For a Gen Y traveler, Vietnam is one of the world’s most wondrous and fascinating places. Twenty-three years after Uncle Ho’s descendants opened the borders to capitalism and fourteen after Bill Clinton buried the diplomatic hatchet, Vietnam is a bustling economy, a vibrant atmosphere, and an even more outgoing people. The new dragon is taking the manufacturing jobs from China and shipping more and more goods to the U.S. and beyond. Thanks, Karl, but to – and from – each according to his productivity is much better. Nike alone employs 200,000 Vietnamese: we who grew up considering Vietnam evil will inevitably come to see the country as a partner, even a competitor.

Saigon – technically Ho Chi Minh City – is a bustling metropolis that is not only distinctly Vietnamese but also one of the most Westernized emerging cities I’ve visited. Three million motorbikes scuttle Saigonites (Saigoners?) to and from work, home, bars, clubs. Uncle Ho – liberator, patriot – is present but not gaudy (King Abdullah in quasi-democratic Jordan is far more dominant; yes, Your Majesty, you look great over that convenience store.) And even so, the lights of Gucci, Versace, Louis Vuitton, Tag Heuer and others far outshine the party propaganda. Domino effect, meet Domino’s Pizza.

As a young American, Vietnam brings a new dimension that is an inescapable, vital — and, much untold — part of our own history. On Monday, we made our way to the Cu Chi Tunnels, a 250-some-kilometer-long labyrinth that the Viet Cong guerillas – some teenagers, mind you – used to launch surprise attacks on the French and later, the Americans. Deep under a jungle, the tunnels are wrought with maniacal traps, landmines, and remnants of the hell of ground, aerial, and even subterranean combat. The VC used traps that impaled our countrymen’s legs, faces, or genitals; maimed them with basketball-sized maces which swung out of trees; threw metal fishooks through their skulls. We, in turn, made it the most bombed patch in the history of warfare. Smoke 'em out.

Even more moving, though, was Saigon’s War Remnants Museum, a collection of spoils and photographs showcasing the stories we don’t hear. The women and children disfigured by 44 million tons of Agent Orange. The innocent villages the Americans torched. GIs pushing Vietnamese civilians on forced marches. Beheadings. Suspects dropped headfirst out of helicopters -- photos that, I’m serious, made the leaked shots from Abu Gharaib and Guantanamo seem tame.

In the United States, we are forced into two corners, everything in black and white. Republican or Democrat. Liberal or conservative. Pro-life or pro-choice. Good or evil. With us or with the terrorists. Four decades on, our window on Vietnam is no different; we prevented communism from overrunning Southeast Asia. It wouldn’t have spread anyway. You’re an M16-toting warmonger. You’re a useless, pacifist hippie.

Come to Vietnam, and experience a dish as deliciously decadent as the Pho on Saigon street corners, as inescapable a part of your history as Yorktown or Pearl Harbor. Witness how brutal conflict begat (eventually) a simmering future, see how countries can bury diplomatic grudges and stop behaving like fifteen-year-olds. Most importantly, use the country as a mirror to understand that no decision, however black and white, arrives without consequences.

In Vietnam, the only shade you'll see is Dorian Gray.

Matt