Sunday, April 29, 2001
By Mike Blackwell
Special to the Star-Bulletin
BOATS AND I have a long history on the inland waters of Vietnam, especially at night. Canals and rivers crisscross the Mekong Delta like a fine web.Long ago, as an adviser to South Vietnamese forces, I went, often silently in the night in sampans and river craft, on their missions. Canal and river banks then were ominous and silent, and one fervently hoped, would remain that way and that the only sounds would be the lapping of water against your boat and the thunderous beating of your heart.
Three decades later, this night is different. I have returned to Saigon on business, but for this night's business of being a tourist, I am comfortable in my Aloha shirt. There is light, music and a festive air on this boat. Waiters in white jackets carry trays of food to tables on the covered deck as an orchestra plays western music. A pretty Vietnamese girl in red sequined dress sings enthusiastically, over the hum of dinner conversation, for an international audience.
The boat itself, wide-bodied and double-decked with seating for a couple hundred people on each deck, is soundless as it parades in a majestic line of similar craft, their superstructures bedecked in Christmas lights, away from the city and down the Saigon River.
In the distance, from the rail, I can still see the lights of the city. High-rise buildings frame the sky and along the quay, neons; Sanyo, Kodak, and numerous Khach Sans (hotels); in English, Vietnamese and Japanese, ripple their messages across the darkening river.
At that quay we have left, and beyond the river park along Duc Thang, the boulevard that fronts the river, is a beehive of movement and commerce. Saigon, still called that by most of it's inhabitants though it has long been, officially, Ho Chi Minh City, throbs with a vibrant energy day and night. It appears to have a single-minded politic: business.
From the river it is only a short walk downtown along Hai Ba Trung. Shops, offices, restaurants and coffee shops interspersed with bars like The Lone Star Grill, and French boutiques showing the latest Paris fashions, line the busy thoroughfare named for the ancient and heroic sisters Trung. A left on Le Loi brings into view the famous Hotel Catinat, a vestige of the long gone days of French colonialism, and the one-time unofficial gathering place for Western correspondents covering the war.
Kiosks, some modest, some modern and elaborate, crowd the sidewalks near Dong Khoi, a street given over to art and gift shops. Westerners often outnumber Vietnamese on the sidewalks and the business of buying and selling, with spirited bargaining, goes late into the evening. Below the venerable Rex Hotel, at the great circle where Hguyen Hue (once Tu Do, known to Americans as the Street of Flowers) intersects, there is a cacophony of sound and light.
Hundreds, sometimes thousands, of Honda motorbikes circle endlessly. Young couples, even families, out for the evening on their bikes mix with street hawkers, kiosks, and wandering foreigners. Sellers of balloons anchor the street corners; there are few uniforms of any kind, including police. It is festive.
Twenty-six years ago tomorrow, as American helicopters were evacuating the last sad Vietnamese and Americans from the roof of the U.S. embassy, it was a far different city and there have been many, fearful and confusing years since then. Vietnam went dark for a decade after the war. The drive for ideological purity and compliance outweighed the staggering need for rebuilding. Recriminations, economic dysfunction and isolation resulted in widespread hunger, dismay and a continued exodus by all who could flee. The long hot war was over but a new cold, internal disharmony continued.
NOW SAIGON has changed again. It is growing young, and bursting with energy and light. The promise of the city, and indeed all of Vietnam, is in its youth. Almost two-thirds of the population (now 80 million) were born since those helicopters flew away toward the South China Sea. These young people know only from the history books and stories of their elders of those days of war; they have personally known only peace. A very hard peace, indeed.
That too is changing. This generation of Saigonese carry cell phones; frequent Internet cafes; watch CNN on television, study and speak English with passion, and thirst for education and advancement. They drive Honda motor bikes and increasingly, automobiles, and they look to America as a place to further their education. Hundreds, soon to be thousands, are here already in universities around the nation.
These Vietnamese are nationalistic, like their fathers, and respect their culture, but they question the way of things, and, because of a freer press and more opportunity they are vocal. Ideology is less of a concern, but economic progress is a priority. Civil rights, corruption in government, poverty, especially in the rural areas, are the subjects of public discussion. The West, especially America, is not the enemy; the West is opportunity. Young Vietnam wants to join the Internet generation, travel to learn, and bring the learning home. They want to be in business, to live long and prosper.
The government in Hanoi hears these voices and knows they will not be denied. It is changing too, slowly but inexorably. Less than two weeks ago came a change in top leadership. The National Congress, held only at five year intervals, approved the selection of a moderate, Nong Duc Manh, as the new party general secretary, the country's top post.
The delegates, dissatisfied with the pace of economic reform, voted to oust leader Le Kha Phieu, who admitted to having "made mistakes."
Manh, who heads the lawmaking National Assembly, has a reputation as a non-corrupt, progressive, consensus-seeker. Sunshine is breaking through the clouds; this is the new generation, a generation of optimism.
A couple of hours have passed since we left the quay; the boats have made the long slow turn downriver and are humming quietly as they beat back up river to home. Dinner is over and the tables cleared; the orchestra is playing a gentle medley and a young Vietnamese couple is dancing. The boat rocks gently to the music. I turn back to the rail and off the port bow, in the distance, I see the lights of Saigon rising, once again.
Mike Blackwell is communications director for
the Vietnamese-American Chamber of Commerce-Hawaii.
He served two tours in Vietnam during the war.