Pass in Review
an inspection of the literature
A book may be as great a thing as a battle.
Benjamin Disraeli, Earl of Beaconsfield
Silence Was A Weapon
by Stuart A. Herrington; Presidio Press, Novato CA (©1982)
"If there are 12 clowns in a ring, you can jump in the middle and
start reciting Shakespeare, but to the audience you'll just be
the 13th clown."
|
There are thousands of books about Viet Nam, or at least
pretending to be, yet many provide the reader with little
comprehension, little of Viet Nam's unique and complex realities.
Worse, some simply echo liturgy from the voluminous compendium of
Viet Nam clichés: invisible guerrillas, hostile natives,
inept South Viet Namese, all interwoven into the implied tapestry
of an unwinnable – and perhaps immoral – war. Even
works avoiding this formulaic mush often leave the reader unclear
as to just what was going on, how, and why. Stuart Herrington's
Silence Was A Weapon, which was later republished as
Stalking the Viet Cong, is a welcome and valuable work
touching upon many of Viet Nam's truths and realities. It may not
be a Rosetta Stone deciphering all Viet Nam's mysteries,
but does serve as an index or table of contents of what can be
learned from the Stone's secrets, touching upon key
factors of the grand historical equation that many other books
ignore out of sheer ignorance. Herrington recites Shakespeare
while the twelve other clowns obscure rather than explain.
Silence is unique in many respects. The author arrived in
Viet Nam late in the game, 1971, convinced that the war was an
exercise in futility. He spoke Viet Namese, and was assigned to
Hau Nghia province, the tenth highest producer of allied combat
fatalities in the entire war. This latter fact is not spelled out
in the book, nor is Hau Nghia's critical strategic significance
explained, deriving from its location on the Cambodia border
adjacent to VC/NVA sanctuaries, as well as its twenty-five mile
distance from Saigon, capital of the late Republic of Viet Nam.
Located contiguous with the famed Parrot's Beak, Hau
Nghia was the proverbial dagger pointed at the heart of Saigon.
Herrington did not serve with an American combat unit but rather
with Hau Nghia's American advisory team. Of most importance is
his intellect and character, enabling him to see matters
conceptually, to fathom history's – and war's –
intangible yet very real forces, unlike far too many Americans
blinded by their own mental or moral shortcomings. Also, and
apart from educational and war story aspects,
Silence is coherently written, enabling the reader to
easily understand how Herrington went from a reluctant warrior
hoping for an early drop to one who extended again, and
again, eventually spending forty months in Viet Nam, driven by
personal, intellectual and moral imperatives, for which he makes
no express or implied apologies.
On the surface, Silence is merely the narrative account of
a tour in Viet Nam, and while it does not delve deeply into such
themes as communist doctrine on protracted warfare, a sine
qua non for comprehending what was going on, it does point
out the tip of this iceberg, and many others barely breaking the
surface, and typically undiscerned by many observers. The
conflict, of which war was a part, is revealed as multi-dimensional, with forces of stupidity, be they impetuous
Americans or corrupt Viet Namese, effectively aiding their
ostensible communist adversaries. While Silence is not,
and does not claim to be, an encyclopaedic dissection of the war,
the events it describes and the commentary offered do illustrate
many salient aspects, and its reading will provide astute
historians with ample footnote material, bridging the gap between
theory and practice, whether in the form of a knife in the chest,
courtesy of VC assassins, or the looming threat of NVA regulars
bent on decisive and strategic victory. Along the way,
Herrington's account thoroughly demolishes common erroneous
stereotypes of cowardly South Viet Namese, of indefatigable VC,
of widespread rural support for the VC, and of clueless
Americans.
Layers of accumulated mythology, derived from stateside
impressions and news media, begin to dissolve when Herrington is
assigned to debrief a communist defector, Hai Chua, who reveals
his sense of despair and hopelessness for the communist cause, a
pessimism whose seeds were planted when the U.S. 25th
Division arrived and began making life very difficult for the VC
in 1966. Then came the failed Tet '68 offensive and decimation of
VC troops. Then came the Cambodia incursion of 1970, wiping out
VC/NVA rest and recuperation areas, training facilities and
weapons/munitions depots. As Hai Chua came to sadly discover, no
place was safe for a VC cadre such as he. Also of interest is Hai
Chua's motivation for volunteering to serve as a political
officer: he wanted to avoid combat. A string of additional
defectors educate Herrington, explaining not only how and why
they'd joined the VC, but why they saw themselves as exploited
and betrayed by the very forces they'd so ardently supported.
Along the way Herrington comes to see how Hau Nghia's rural
people thought, to understand the forces they were subjected to,
and how communist propaganda brilliantly exploited local
grievances while concealing the eventual objective of a
collectivist one-party state as a matter of cosmetic political
marketing. As layers of misperceptions dissolve in Herrington's
mind, so does his hope for an early drop, and when one
of his ex-VC intelligence sources – and friend – is
brutally assassinated, it becomes a very personal war. He
requests an extension. The phenomenon of an American's
identifying and respecting Viet Nam and Southeast Asian
counterparts is not unique, nor is it unwarranted. As Herrington
illustrates, these people earned respect the hard and honest way.
Concurrent with this educational journey, Silence profiles
the honorable and brave Province Chief, Colonel Thanh, intolerant
of corruption or anything less than excellent small-unit
leadership and combat aggressiveness from Hau Nghia's provincial
Regional Force (RF) units. Unschooled readers may fail to make
the distinction between province RF and regular Army divisions,
yet Herrington does indicate the RF had neither the tactical air
support nor artillery available to divisional elements. They
fought a war of hardball light infantry tactics, and
under Colonel Thanh's inspirational leadership, did it quite
well.
Colonel Thanh is also insistent upon rooting out the lower level
VC operatives and networks in his province, exploiting
intelligence from defectors and unleashing province forces,
including an Armed Propaganda Team comprised in good part of ex-VC, to drive the VC out. For good. In this instance Hau Nghia was
unique in that phase II, or mobile light-infantry combat was a
thing of the past. VC main force battalions no longer existed in
Hau Nghia, and local VC small units and networks were all the
more vulnerable to attack and destruction. Nothing succeeds like
success, and under Thanh's leadership, the residual VC presence,
shrinking but still lethal, comes under increasing pressure. The
VC strike back with a vengeance, killing Colonel Thanh in an
ambush intended specifically for him, signaling to Hau Nghia's
people and province RF/PF that no matter how honest or how
capable a province chief may be, neither he nor they are safe
from revolutionary justice.
The plot thickens with the onset of Hanoi's 1972 offensive and a
VC defector's report that Hau Nghia is to be hit, and hit hard,
by NVA regulars, an opponent that provincial forces have never
had to deal with. And so they do. Inexplicably, and perhaps
constrained by logistic limitations, Hanoi's bo doi are
committed piecemeal, and just as handily defeated by Hau Nghia's
RF who dispense with the 101st, the 24th,
and then the 271st NVA Regiments, leaving scores of
NVA corpses in the wake of a series of battles. Herrington's
narration is straightforward and devoid of battlefield heroics,
simply summarizing the achievements of Hau Nghia's RF, and
including his dismay over the mindless sacrifice of so many
naïve and indoctrinated young soldiers by Hanoi's
ideologues. Amidst this carnage, Herrington takes on another
project: the psychological disarming of a defiant NVA POW who had
truly believed in the cause, yet within two weeks time realizes
his patriotism was exploited for a lie. Herrington sits the
wounded POW down and simply starts talking, showing the POW
examples of Hanoi's lies, examples the former NVA bo doi
could readily see for himself. No, rural the people did not
welcome the invaders from the north, and no, he was not tortured
or mistreated in any way. No, they did not fight American
imperialists but rather their kindred southern brothers
who, with some exceptions, did not run in terror, but stood and
fought, defeating NVA legions. Using imaginative and deft
psychology, Herrington gets permission to drive the young NVA
soldier to Saigon, a mere two hours away, letting him see for
himself. The markets are full, the people are friendly, and there
are no U.S. troops guarding Thieu's palace, leaving one tragic
NVA POW internally shattered in disillusionment, and eventually
angry at having been deceived and manipulated.
Silence ends with Herrington's request for another
extension being denied, leaving him angry at not being permitted
to finish the job. It concludes with a summary retrospective
chapter containing more insight, more honesty, than was, or is
now, found in newspaper commentary. A brief epilogue tells of
Herrington's return to Viet Nam, from 1973 to 1975, with the
Four-Party Military Commission, which is fully explored in his
second book Peace With Honor?, with expected frustrations
as the Republic of Viet Nam, starved by U.S. aid cutbacks, died a
thousand-cut death.
Silence is, or should be, a must-read for
anyone seeking understanding of Viet Nam, or who is about to
deploy to Iraq or Afghanistan. That it may not be read only
proves the accusation that the American public is not only
ignorant of its past, with ramifications for our future, but
prefers this state of mental limitation. Silence is not
War and Peace. It is not a full and comprehensive view of
all that occurred in Viet Nam, Laos and Cambodia, which were all
part of a theater war of which Viet Nam was the major element. It
was not intended to be these things, yet remains an invaluable
contribution, and one deserving a much broader readership than
has been attained to date, it's insight being smothered by the
antics and decibels of the twelve clowns prancing in the arena of
sophomoric public debate. Get it. Read it. Tell others to do the
same.
contributed by William S. Laurie
|