jazzeum
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How about the South Vietnamese? Our Allies, remember? :wink2:
Vietnam 67 (1 Viewer)
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How about the South Vietnamese? Our Allies, remember? :wink2:
bromhead
Sergeant Major
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Besides what they got from the heroic peoples army??? Ah yes our allies,,I suppose I remember,,,58 thousand lives,,of us who were there,,hundreds of thousands of us disabled for them,,untold cost in treatment ,aid,,a good many brought here,,this time ill leave you your thread,,I see my banishment on the way for my views,,
jazzeum
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You’re entitled to your views, just because we may not be in agreement. Why would I banish you, even if I had that power (which I don’t). This is a free country after all.
As a matter of fact, this thread will probably be ending soon because the Times has announced that the last article will be this Friday.
As a matter of fact, this thread will probably be ending soon because the Times has announced that the last article will be this Friday.
jazzeum
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"Edwin O. Reischauer: The Man Who Knew too Much (About Vietnam)," by Paul M. Bourke, who was a Japan specialist with the Australian Department of Foreign Affairs and Trade. The article is based on a paper he wrote while studying for a master in international affairs at Columbia University.
Edwin O. Reischauer testifying about the Vietnam War at a Senate hearing in 1967
Few Americans viewed the Vietnam War in hindsight at the time, even after several years of fighting. People worried about where it was headed and whether it could be won. Few people were asking, yet, how it happened. Except Edwin O. Reischauer.
Throughout 1967, Reischauer, a professor of East Asian studies at Harvard and a former American ambassador to Japan, offered a rare and alternative analysis of Vietnam, the United States and Asia that has stood the test of time. Reischauer’s congressional testimony in 1967 and subsequent book, “Beyond Vietnam: The United States and Asia,” were all the more remarkable for being able to point to warnings he had made himself in the 1950s, about American involvement in Indochina, which had become a reality by 1967.
Born in Japan to Presbyterian missionary parents in 1910, Reischauer lived there until he was 16, and spoke Japanese fluently. He earned a doctorate in Asian studies from Harvard, where he subsequently taught Far East history and languages. From 1942 to 1945, he served in military intelligence at the War Department, and after the war with the Office of Far Eastern Affairs at the State Department.
He eventually went back to teaching at Harvard, but President John Kennedy pulled him back into government service as his ambassador to Japan, a job he held from 1961 to 1966 — a rare instance of placing an expert, rather than a political appointee, in a high-profile embassy.
While still at Harvard, Reischauer was openly critical of the Manichean dualism of communism versus the free world promoted fervently by Eisenhower’s Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles. In 1955, he published “Wanted: An Asian Policy,” in which he argued that the American stand against Communism in Korea could not be replicated across the rest of Asia. In fact, he wrote, the United States was already making the mistake of exporting that model to Southeast Asia, where it was supporting the French effort to reimpose colonial rule. “Indochina shows how absurdly wrong we are to battle Asian nationalism instead of aiding it,” he wrote. “The French failure to relinquish Indochina has put a heavy burden on the United States financially and could end by costing us dearly in lives.”
As ambassador, he also saw how America’s ill-conceived war in Vietnam was poisoning relations elsewhere in Asia, especially Japan. The Japanese public identified with the North Vietnamese as the subjects of American bombing and were concerned about Japan being drawn into a widening conflict between the United States and China.
Due in part to his increasing unwillingness to argue the case for America’s involvement in Vietnam to the Japanese, Reischauer resigned his post as ambassador in August 1966 and returned to Harvard, where he was free to express his misgivings about the Vietnam War in speeches and papers.
Reischauer was called to testify before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee in January 1967, just as its members were starting to voice their skepticism about the optimistic reports they received on Vietnam from the State Department and from the ambassador to South Vietnam, Ellsworth Bunker. Chaired by Senator J. William Fulbright, the committee was increasingly of the view that a negotiated settlement between North and South Vietnam, not an American military victory over North Vietnam, would be the most likely way for the country to end its military involvement.
As he was in “Wanted: An Asian Policy,” in his opening statement to the committee, the scholar and diplomat was unequivocal that the United States could and should have avoided getting bogged down in Vietnam. It should never have backed French attempts to reimpose colonial rule in Vietnam. It should never have assumed the French mantle in Vietnam after France was defeated by the Viet Minh in 1954. It should never have assumed that the political strategies used against Communism in Europe would work in developing countries in Asia.
“We have failed sometimes to understand the deeply rooted historic forces at work in Asia — anticolonialism, nationalism, the eagerness to wipe out past humiliations and the determination to advance rapidly without losing national identity,” Reischauer said, reading from his statement. This was a theme he developed more fully in his book “Beyond Vietnam,” restating his view that the United States had failed to harness Asian nationalism as the means of countering the Communists, who did harness nationalism to their ends in Vietnam and elsewhere in Asia.
Reischauer was not the only person in the political establishment making this point in 1967, but he was the only one who had been making it consistently for over a decade. It was a conclusion he had made in 1955, in “Wanted: An Asian Policy”: “Indochina is the classic case in which the Communists have utilized nationalism effectively against us.” It should have been the other way around. Looking back on the lessons of the Korean War and the danger signs he pointed to in 1955, Reischauer wrote in 1967: “Storm warnings might be up in Vietnam, but we were not prepared to recognize them. We continued to drift toward new catastrophes.”
Reischauer maintained that the United States should not be the agent of political, social or economic change in Asia but should provide economic support to those countries seeking self-determination and to develop themselves. As for the imposition of Communism across Asia by China or the Soviet Union, Reischauer did not see the project succeeding. He pointed to the Vietnamese as the people least likely to yield to the control of Communist China, with Vietnam’s long history of resisting Chinese domination likely to reassert itself if the Vietnamese nationalists won the war.
Surprisingly, Reischauer did not advocate a negotiated settlement or rapid withdrawal, at least not yet. The former was unrealistic; the latter would cause immense damage to American credibility. Having entered the fight and shaped it in its interest, America now had no choice but to see it through. In “Beyond Vietnam,” he argued that a negotiated settlement would be possible only if the Communists came to understand that the United States would stay the course in Vietnam. At the same time, the South Vietnamese government had to become better at serving the interests of its people. “It should be made clear that Saigon is in the process of achieving the very things for which some Viet Cong supporters feel they are fighting,” he suggested.
By early 1968, Reischauer had abandoned his belief that the United States should continue in Vietnam. Just before the Tet offensive, he joined with 10 other Harvard scholars in a telegram to President Lyndon Johnson urging that he enter into negotiations toward a settlement including the Vietcong. He also appeared again in front of Congress, before the House Asia and Pacific Affairs Subcommittee, in February 1968. In keeping with the views he expressed in 1955 and 1967, he told the subcommittee: “We have imagined ourselves as building a military dike against an on-rushing Communist wave. But there has been no wave. The real problem has proved to be the swampy economic and political terrain behind the dike we were attempting to raise. It was the local ground water that was undermining political structures. When this threatened to happen in Vietnam, the heavy machines we brought in to heighten the military dikes proved unmaneuverable in the swampy land and, by breaking through the thin crust of the bog, made it even less capable of maintaining the sagging political structure."
Reischauer was about as far from the culture of the antiwar movement as one could get, and yet his scholarly and professional insights did much to complement the multitudes filling the streets. Senator Fulbright, among others, listened to him closely; in March 1968, he read a statement from Reischauer and other Harvard scholars arguing against escalation during the televised testimony of Secretary of State Dean Rusk.
Reischauer was the rare breed of academic, one who, when the moment called, brought his estimable intellect to bear on the most important issue of the day. It says much about the state of American politics at the time that, until it was too late, too few people listened.
Throughout 1967, Reischauer, a professor of East Asian studies at Harvard and a former American ambassador to Japan, offered a rare and alternative analysis of Vietnam, the United States and Asia that has stood the test of time. Reischauer’s congressional testimony in 1967 and subsequent book, “Beyond Vietnam: The United States and Asia,” were all the more remarkable for being able to point to warnings he had made himself in the 1950s, about American involvement in Indochina, which had become a reality by 1967.
Born in Japan to Presbyterian missionary parents in 1910, Reischauer lived there until he was 16, and spoke Japanese fluently. He earned a doctorate in Asian studies from Harvard, where he subsequently taught Far East history and languages. From 1942 to 1945, he served in military intelligence at the War Department, and after the war with the Office of Far Eastern Affairs at the State Department.
He eventually went back to teaching at Harvard, but President John Kennedy pulled him back into government service as his ambassador to Japan, a job he held from 1961 to 1966 — a rare instance of placing an expert, rather than a political appointee, in a high-profile embassy.
While still at Harvard, Reischauer was openly critical of the Manichean dualism of communism versus the free world promoted fervently by Eisenhower’s Secretary of State, John Foster Dulles. In 1955, he published “Wanted: An Asian Policy,” in which he argued that the American stand against Communism in Korea could not be replicated across the rest of Asia. In fact, he wrote, the United States was already making the mistake of exporting that model to Southeast Asia, where it was supporting the French effort to reimpose colonial rule. “Indochina shows how absurdly wrong we are to battle Asian nationalism instead of aiding it,” he wrote. “The French failure to relinquish Indochina has put a heavy burden on the United States financially and could end by costing us dearly in lives.”
As ambassador, he also saw how America’s ill-conceived war in Vietnam was poisoning relations elsewhere in Asia, especially Japan. The Japanese public identified with the North Vietnamese as the subjects of American bombing and were concerned about Japan being drawn into a widening conflict between the United States and China.
Due in part to his increasing unwillingness to argue the case for America’s involvement in Vietnam to the Japanese, Reischauer resigned his post as ambassador in August 1966 and returned to Harvard, where he was free to express his misgivings about the Vietnam War in speeches and papers.
Reischauer was called to testify before the Senate Foreign Relations Committee in January 1967, just as its members were starting to voice their skepticism about the optimistic reports they received on Vietnam from the State Department and from the ambassador to South Vietnam, Ellsworth Bunker. Chaired by Senator J. William Fulbright, the committee was increasingly of the view that a negotiated settlement between North and South Vietnam, not an American military victory over North Vietnam, would be the most likely way for the country to end its military involvement.
As he was in “Wanted: An Asian Policy,” in his opening statement to the committee, the scholar and diplomat was unequivocal that the United States could and should have avoided getting bogged down in Vietnam. It should never have backed French attempts to reimpose colonial rule in Vietnam. It should never have assumed the French mantle in Vietnam after France was defeated by the Viet Minh in 1954. It should never have assumed that the political strategies used against Communism in Europe would work in developing countries in Asia.
“We have failed sometimes to understand the deeply rooted historic forces at work in Asia — anticolonialism, nationalism, the eagerness to wipe out past humiliations and the determination to advance rapidly without losing national identity,” Reischauer said, reading from his statement. This was a theme he developed more fully in his book “Beyond Vietnam,” restating his view that the United States had failed to harness Asian nationalism as the means of countering the Communists, who did harness nationalism to their ends in Vietnam and elsewhere in Asia.
Reischauer was not the only person in the political establishment making this point in 1967, but he was the only one who had been making it consistently for over a decade. It was a conclusion he had made in 1955, in “Wanted: An Asian Policy”: “Indochina is the classic case in which the Communists have utilized nationalism effectively against us.” It should have been the other way around. Looking back on the lessons of the Korean War and the danger signs he pointed to in 1955, Reischauer wrote in 1967: “Storm warnings might be up in Vietnam, but we were not prepared to recognize them. We continued to drift toward new catastrophes.”
Reischauer maintained that the United States should not be the agent of political, social or economic change in Asia but should provide economic support to those countries seeking self-determination and to develop themselves. As for the imposition of Communism across Asia by China or the Soviet Union, Reischauer did not see the project succeeding. He pointed to the Vietnamese as the people least likely to yield to the control of Communist China, with Vietnam’s long history of resisting Chinese domination likely to reassert itself if the Vietnamese nationalists won the war.
Surprisingly, Reischauer did not advocate a negotiated settlement or rapid withdrawal, at least not yet. The former was unrealistic; the latter would cause immense damage to American credibility. Having entered the fight and shaped it in its interest, America now had no choice but to see it through. In “Beyond Vietnam,” he argued that a negotiated settlement would be possible only if the Communists came to understand that the United States would stay the course in Vietnam. At the same time, the South Vietnamese government had to become better at serving the interests of its people. “It should be made clear that Saigon is in the process of achieving the very things for which some Viet Cong supporters feel they are fighting,” he suggested.
By early 1968, Reischauer had abandoned his belief that the United States should continue in Vietnam. Just before the Tet offensive, he joined with 10 other Harvard scholars in a telegram to President Lyndon Johnson urging that he enter into negotiations toward a settlement including the Vietcong. He also appeared again in front of Congress, before the House Asia and Pacific Affairs Subcommittee, in February 1968. In keeping with the views he expressed in 1955 and 1967, he told the subcommittee: “We have imagined ourselves as building a military dike against an on-rushing Communist wave. But there has been no wave. The real problem has proved to be the swampy economic and political terrain behind the dike we were attempting to raise. It was the local ground water that was undermining political structures. When this threatened to happen in Vietnam, the heavy machines we brought in to heighten the military dikes proved unmaneuverable in the swampy land and, by breaking through the thin crust of the bog, made it even less capable of maintaining the sagging political structure."
Reischauer was about as far from the culture of the antiwar movement as one could get, and yet his scholarly and professional insights did much to complement the multitudes filling the streets. Senator Fulbright, among others, listened to him closely; in March 1968, he read a statement from Reischauer and other Harvard scholars arguing against escalation during the televised testimony of Secretary of State Dean Rusk.
Reischauer was the rare breed of academic, one who, when the moment called, brought his estimable intellect to bear on the most important issue of the day. It says much about the state of American politics at the time that, until it was too late, too few people listened.
Edwin O. Reischauer testifying about the Vietnam War at a Senate hearing in 1967
jazzeum
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"Playing Spy in Vietnam,”by Mike Bloebaum, a documentary film producer and educator.
Mike Bloebaum in Vietnam, 1967
In 1967, rather than be drafted, I enlisted in the Army Intelligence Service. For six months we learned spycraft: cool things like dead drops, secret writing, cut-outs, bona fides, blending into the population. They were largely tactics intended for European operations, but we were supposed to apply them in Vietnam. Our job would be to recruit and train spies.
We went to Vietnam as civilians, for cover. But we were issued Army jeeps – baby-blue Army jeeps. And on the bumper were the letters FSSA, for Forward Station Service Agency, which meant nothing.
Civilians in blue Army jeeps. This was pretty bad cover, and most Vietnamese assumed we were C.I.A. God help us if the real C.I.A. was that bad at disguising itself.
I was stationed in Danang, where I found my first prospect. Tu was a nice guy who taught English to Vietnamese. He had escaped from the North, he said, because he hated the Communists. Tu had extended family that lived in the hamlets in and around Danang, and could travel freely as a teacher. A potential spy for sure.
The best thing was, he wanted to be a spy. He told me so — even though I protested that I was not C.I.A. but F.S.S.A. — we, uh, helped private contractors get, uh, supplies. He seemed to buy it, and we became “friends.” I would go to his class, help him teach English and afterward buy him a beer. After many beers and many reports to Saigon, he was “cleared” to recruit.
Finally, I got the O.K. to write my recruitment plan.
In spydom it’s critical that you be in control at all times and always have an exit. My plan had those bases covered. I would arrange to meet Tu on an easily covered corner, suggest we walk to a restaurant with lots of avenues of escape, and on the way ask him to spy for us. If he said yes, I would give a safe signal, turn him over to his handler and never see him again. The cover guys would follow, waiting for a yes, no or “let’s get out of here” signal. Simple.
But not so fast. Tu showed up on a motor scooter. I didn’t know he had one. First mistake — know everything about your target. He suggested I hop on and go to his place, where his wife had prepared dinner. I said sure. Second mistake — always be in control of the situation. On the back of Tu’s scooter my mind raced through all the possible avenues out of the situation and quickly concluded, as we scootered into a nether land of shanties, narrow alleys and darkened pathways, that there were none.
As it turned out, Tu did have a wife, and she really had made dinner for us, and there were no Vietcong hiding in his house, ready to force me to tell them everything I knew and then kill me, since I knew nothing. No. It was quite pleasant sitting on the floor, eating and drinking. I tried my best to ignore the neighbors crowded at the windows watching the white guy with red hair trying to pick up rice with chopsticks. And then there was Tu’s little boy, curiously picking at the hair on my arm. My sudden shout “Jesus!” scared the kid and amused the audience. I thought, I guess I’ve lost control.
After dinner and a lot of conversation about the war, Tu brought out something that looked like a one-armed octopus, rolled some dark stuff in a ball, lit it, put the end of the octopus tentacle in his mouth, took a deep breath, held it, then blew the residue of a pretty nice stash of hashish toward me. “You try,” he said.
I had led a very protected, all-American boyhood. Never tried the stuff and, actually, wasn’t too sure of what I had been invited to try. But I did, and ****! My I.Q. shot up at least 50 points. My insights into Vietnamese culture, probably tied into a little Kantian ethics and the Chino-Soviet split, were like, ‘WOWWWW.” It must have made for an entertaining night for the neighbors. Frankly, I don’t remember much else.
I do remember holding on tight to this little man’s waist as we wound our way back into familiar territory. I have a hazy memory of asking Tu from the back of the scooter if he wanted to spy for us and him asking why it took so long.
As it turned out, Tu became a valuable “asset” and my commanding officer put my name up for a Bronze Star, which I did not deserve.
But we lost that war and terrible retribution followed. I had long ago lost track of Tu. Did he survive or was he one of thousands who were eliminated by the victors? What about his wife and son? And what about our guards and maids and translators and the prostitutes who “befriended” us, who were all part of our spy game? They were all just trying to survive. Did they?
We went to Vietnam as civilians, for cover. But we were issued Army jeeps – baby-blue Army jeeps. And on the bumper were the letters FSSA, for Forward Station Service Agency, which meant nothing.
Civilians in blue Army jeeps. This was pretty bad cover, and most Vietnamese assumed we were C.I.A. God help us if the real C.I.A. was that bad at disguising itself.
I was stationed in Danang, where I found my first prospect. Tu was a nice guy who taught English to Vietnamese. He had escaped from the North, he said, because he hated the Communists. Tu had extended family that lived in the hamlets in and around Danang, and could travel freely as a teacher. A potential spy for sure.
The best thing was, he wanted to be a spy. He told me so — even though I protested that I was not C.I.A. but F.S.S.A. — we, uh, helped private contractors get, uh, supplies. He seemed to buy it, and we became “friends.” I would go to his class, help him teach English and afterward buy him a beer. After many beers and many reports to Saigon, he was “cleared” to recruit.
Finally, I got the O.K. to write my recruitment plan.
In spydom it’s critical that you be in control at all times and always have an exit. My plan had those bases covered. I would arrange to meet Tu on an easily covered corner, suggest we walk to a restaurant with lots of avenues of escape, and on the way ask him to spy for us. If he said yes, I would give a safe signal, turn him over to his handler and never see him again. The cover guys would follow, waiting for a yes, no or “let’s get out of here” signal. Simple.
But not so fast. Tu showed up on a motor scooter. I didn’t know he had one. First mistake — know everything about your target. He suggested I hop on and go to his place, where his wife had prepared dinner. I said sure. Second mistake — always be in control of the situation. On the back of Tu’s scooter my mind raced through all the possible avenues out of the situation and quickly concluded, as we scootered into a nether land of shanties, narrow alleys and darkened pathways, that there were none.
As it turned out, Tu did have a wife, and she really had made dinner for us, and there were no Vietcong hiding in his house, ready to force me to tell them everything I knew and then kill me, since I knew nothing. No. It was quite pleasant sitting on the floor, eating and drinking. I tried my best to ignore the neighbors crowded at the windows watching the white guy with red hair trying to pick up rice with chopsticks. And then there was Tu’s little boy, curiously picking at the hair on my arm. My sudden shout “Jesus!” scared the kid and amused the audience. I thought, I guess I’ve lost control.
After dinner and a lot of conversation about the war, Tu brought out something that looked like a one-armed octopus, rolled some dark stuff in a ball, lit it, put the end of the octopus tentacle in his mouth, took a deep breath, held it, then blew the residue of a pretty nice stash of hashish toward me. “You try,” he said.
I had led a very protected, all-American boyhood. Never tried the stuff and, actually, wasn’t too sure of what I had been invited to try. But I did, and ****! My I.Q. shot up at least 50 points. My insights into Vietnamese culture, probably tied into a little Kantian ethics and the Chino-Soviet split, were like, ‘WOWWWW.” It must have made for an entertaining night for the neighbors. Frankly, I don’t remember much else.
I do remember holding on tight to this little man’s waist as we wound our way back into familiar territory. I have a hazy memory of asking Tu from the back of the scooter if he wanted to spy for us and him asking why it took so long.
As it turned out, Tu became a valuable “asset” and my commanding officer put my name up for a Bronze Star, which I did not deserve.
But we lost that war and terrible retribution followed. I had long ago lost track of Tu. Did he survive or was he one of thousands who were eliminated by the victors? What about his wife and son? And what about our guards and maids and translators and the prostitutes who “befriended” us, who were all part of our spy game? They were all just trying to survive. Did they?
Mike Bloebaum in Vietnam, 1967
jazzeum
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The Chopper Pilots -- The author made over 50 helicopter assaults and each had a story.
Go for Broke
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My combat friend, 50-years after the war, went to China town and became increasing agitated upon seeing Vietnamese people and had to leave the area. The war affected him that much. On a side note, he served with the Big Red One, like Bromhead.
gk5717
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I have been watching on You Tube interviews on Vietnam vets done by the New York Military History Museum. If you are interested in that war these are a must see. Tells what is was like for the average service member who served in Vietnam.
Gary
Gary
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jazzeum
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Vietnam Wasn’t just an American War — The author contends that in films and novels, Vietnamese remain just minor characters.
jazzeum
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Why Lyndon Johnson Dropped Out — For years President Johnson knew that the Vietnam War would destroy his presidency. In March 1968 it finally did.
jazzeum
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My Vietnam War — As a young woman the author wasn’t sent into combat but she fought the war at home.
jazzeum
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How Vietnam Broke the Democratic Party — The War split the left, exposing divisions that lasted for decades.
jazzeum
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The Tragedy of Hubert Humphrey -- If he had won in 1968, the Vietnam War would have ended sooner and America would be a different place today.
jazzeum
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The End of South Vietnam -- The author, a mechanic with the South Vietnamese Air Force, barely made it out of Saigon alive. It was 20 years before he returned.
jazzeum
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How Vietnam Changed Journalism -- The author, who was a journalist in Vietnam for five years, writes that today there are a new generation of reporters who take nothing for granted because of what they learned about the Vietnam War.
semperrandyfi
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I do believe had he won,the South would have fallen 6 years earlier.What's in a number? Less deaths in the long run.As it was, the Democrat controlled Congress in the early '70s stabbed RVN in the back and stomach by cutting off funds,weapons,parts and left them out to dry for the Commie buzzards.How would we be different? More open spaces in Arlington for a start. Another weakened military as is the left's want.America would still be divided via cutting our losses and running.A conundrum at best,eh?
jazzeum
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The following is an interesting article about Daniel Ellsberg that was first published in 2002 and is a book review of Ellsberg's book Secrets: A Memoir of Vietnam and the Pentagon Papers, which was published around that time.
Paper Tiger?
Paper Tiger?
jazzeum
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Larry Heinemann, author of the acclaimed Paco’s Story, has passed away.
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/17/books/larry-heinemann-dead.html
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/17/books/larry-heinemann-dead.html