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A bruising Encounter
.
It was some weeks after the
end of the Tet-offensive, and I was touring the
country trying to visit one refugee camp after
the other. I was traveling in the north of
Vietnam, close to the demarcation line and
intended to bring one of our cars, a small
Renault 4L back to Saigon. I had some excellent
maps which the Americans had given me because
they showed the position of each of our camps.
Driving around was not without danger since my
knowledge of the country was limited. As a form
of protection and also, because I thought they
would know more about Vietnam than me, I tried to
take American soldiers along, giving them a lift
to a new assignment. Some of them needed to go to
particular places and did not find any transport.
I could not find anyone for this specific trip,
but I started to drive to Quang Tri, where we had
another large refugee camp. There had been a lot
of fighting around Quang Tri during the previous
weeks, and the number of refugees had increased
substantially, as people were leaving their
villages to get shelter and food. The camp had
about 8,000 refugees and was run by a militant
Church of God preacher. Most of its staff were
American, volunteers from his Church back home.
The Church of God are fundamentalists that have
their base in Adventists, Pentecostals or parts
of the low church Methodists.
When I arrived in the camp,
I noticed there seemed to be a lot of praying and
preaching against the scourge of communism and
other evils, obviously all in English with a
strong Southern twang. The camp manager was not
keen on the UNHCR putting their nose into his
affairs, even though, all the food he obtained
and most of the camps infrastructure materials
came from UNHCR sources. He maintained, that he
brought in stuff directly from his Church in the
USA and that he did not depend on us. I later
found out, that most of the materials he was sent
from his home church were old clothes and bible
tracts. The old clothes were not even
particularly useful, since they consisted mostly
of bales of enormous bras, that the church bought
cheaply at second-hand clothing fairs back home.
I told him, our records showed, he had received
regular supplies from our distribution center. We
had sent the equivalent of daily rations for
20,000 refugees, for which he, or one of his
staff, had signed. Where had the food gone? He
did not like the UNO, that, as he called it
"communist infiltrated organization." I
explained to him he had to keep to UNHCR rules,
and that he was not allowed, to aggressively
pursue his fundamentalist preaching and
commanding people in the camp to attend his
services. Religious services were permitted, but
their attendance was voluntary.
Furthermore, he had to
record his activities based on UNHCR rules and
run the camp along the conditions prescribed by
the UNHCR. He started to shout at me. He
maintained that some low-level bureaucrat would
not tell him how to do things. Especially not an
unchristian "Lime" ( a nasty word for
the British, the "Lime eaters"); he had
experienced their socialist hypocrisy when he was
a soldier in England. He knew what to do. He had declared
his camp American territory and had the support
of a nearby US Marine Unit and his Senator from
back home for that.
We had an aggravated and
intense discussion during early dinner with his
staff since he would not let me have a look at
the camp itself. The mans name was Dr.
Joseph Maynard Keith, from Tupelo, Mississippi,
55 years old, a former Marine and now a preacher.
He had some doctorate from a doubtful university
somewhere in the South of the USA, and he told
me, he was here in Vietnam to save the world and
fight the communists. He would not follow our
rules and that the only law he recognized were
God's and those of his Colt 45, which he
displayed on the dinner table. At the end of his
speech, after he thundered: "Praise the
Lord," his staff shouted: "Amen"
on the principle: "Like the mutton, so the
sheep!"
When I left to go to a
bedroom, I said to Dr. Keith, that if he did not
change his tune, we had to close down the camp
and stop all future supplies. He retorted:
"We will see" and then disappeared. A
girl brought me to the bedroom in a small
building within the camp since I could not leave
during the night because of the curfews. When we
were outside hearing distance of the group, she
said quietly, that Dr. Keith had a lucrative
trade going with some people in town, by selling
them the excess food from the stocks.
"But," she said, "don't tell him I
told you because he will kill me!" I asked
her why she was not doing anything to him or why
she did not report him. She said: "Back
home, I am married to his son. He is like my
husband, not a very nice man, and he would
probably do something to me if I say anything to
an outsider. Please help me!" Then she
quickly disappeared. There was not very much, I
could do, except wait for the morning and see
what options I had.
I fell pretty quickly
asleep. At three in the morning, there was some
loud banging on my door and someone shouting:
"Open up Police!" I put some clothes on
and opened the door. In came six military
policemen from the US Marines and told me, I was
arrested for being a communist spy. They put
handcuffs on me and then bundled me and my travel
bag into a small truck and drove me somewhere to
their base. Since I had been traveling alone and
had only talked to my main office in Saigon on
the radio, two days ago, no one would know about
me and what happened to me. I was a bit worried
and quite scared. The soldiers brought me to some
detention barracks, and one of them, a young
Lieutenant with a Southern drawl said:' You know
what we do with the bastard Communists? We shoot
them!" Kicked me hard and shoved me into a
small cell.
There was nothing in the
cell, except the smell of urine and excrement. I
sat in a corner and nursed my calf, that had been
kicked. The cell was open, secured with wire mesh
on the front and the back with solid walls on the
side. When it rained, you had to sit in a small
place in the middle if you did not want to get
wet. I heard someone speaking Vietnamese and
would have given a lot to understand, what they
said. But my Vietnamese was very limited. I could
not sleep, probably because I was too scared. So,
I watched giant rats coming quite close to me and
smelling my shoes. There were also lots of
sizeable cockroaches to watch. It passed the
time, till the sun came up and reflected itself
in the many water puddles the heavy nightly rain
had left.
At around seven, some
Vietnamese came with rice for the prisoners. But
they by-passed me, and when I asked, they said,
"Not You!". I asked for some water but
was ignored. Then shortly before nine, came a
single soldier and told me to come with him. I
took my travel bag with me and saw in the space
in front of the detention cells, that they had
brought my Renault 4L. I was led to a small
building and into a room which had a guard in
front of it. The soldier knocked on a door and
then said to someone: " I have brought the
communist," then he told me to enter. Behind
a desk sat a relatively large man named Col. P.T.
McAbry, as I could read the name sign on his
uniform. "So," he said with an
undefined Midwestern accent, "you are a
communist," and laughed. "Well, my
soldiers are sometimes a bit too enthusiastic! I
have your papers, and you can leave. I heard you
had a run-in with the reverend up the road. He is
a pain in the ass, but last week his Mississippi
Senator was here and turned all hell loose on me
for not supporting his valuable effort. Valuable
effort...... my ass........... I know he sells UN
food to someone in the market and I am going to
stop that. But I cannot close the camp.
Otherwise, the refugees will overwhelm me, and I
have enough to do with the "Congs." So,
I can't look after the refugees. I also have a
lot of soldiers taking "hop," and
sometimes some of them are as high as a
kite." Most of them come from the South, and
they hate the communists!" I had not heard
the expression "hop" and found out
later, that it was the slang word for opium. I
should come across that often later on. He asked
me, where I was going, and I told him, I would
drive to the four camps between Quang Tri, Hue
and Da Nang. I also told him, that I would take
hitchhiking soldiers with me from one camp to
another since my knowledge of the country was not
great. He said he would send a message to bases
along the route and then laughed: "Most of
these guys don't even know the way around their
state, let alone Nam!" Though he said, he
had a female doctor who needed to go to Da Nang
to do an operation and instruct some people and
that she would be better than any other soldier.
It did not matter if I took a week to get there.
She had worked several weeks non-stop and was not
up for a local RECE leave for Bangkok or Hongkong
for some time. He had also just received two new
surgeons, and they had to "pull the cart
during her absence" as he put it. A few days
of rest would do her good. Then he had her called
in.
She came after a short
time, fully packed. She was young, about 35,
small and very attractive. Her name was Dr. Ruth
Levine, and she was a captain. She came from
Michigan, had studied at Columbia and had worked
at the University of Wisconsin Hospital in
Madison. The Army Medical Corps had paid for her
education, and so she had joined the Army. She
was a general surgeon and had been in Vietnam for
almost a year.
We drove off from the base,
and we hit it off almost immediately. It was the
beginning of a lifelong friendship. The woman was
smart, well educated, funny and knew quite a bit
of Vietnamese. She had also worked at different
bases all over the country and therefore knew her
way around. Besides her surgical work, she was
sometimes training young civilian surgeons who
had been called up and worked in the Army Field
Hospitals to deal with the war specific injuries.
On our long drive, she told me a lot about
Vietnam. She also enlightened me about American
soldiers and, as she called it "the life of
a grunt," an ordinary infantry soldier,
which she had observed.
She explained that Quang
Tri had been almost overrun during the Tet
offensive a few weeks earlier. She, two nurses
and three orderlies had operated day and night in
an underground bunker while artillery barrages
were going on over her head.
(from Being a UNHCR
Diplomat written in 1975)
©1975 and 2018
ajs Bert Berger - 1964-2019
- 1965 words
This story, or any
part thereof, may not be reproduced
without the written permission of the
author. The scanning, uploading and
distribution of the story via the
Internet or in any other means, including
storage in any form of information or
retrieval system, without the expressed
written consent of the author is illegal
and punishable by law. The exception to
this is if newspapers, magazines or other
reviewers wish to quote brief passages in
connection with a review.
.
.If you want to contact the
author, send an email to
.
.bert45@interpublishgroup.com
.
.You
van also use the information on the
.
. contact
page
|
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