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Relocation: Recollections from Vietnam

By VVAW

Plodding down the landing strip of an abandoned American base came a strange assortment of ox-carts piled high with household belongings, chicken cages, children; between the carts were dusty 2 and 1/2 ton U.S. Army trucks. It was moving day.

The people of the small Montanyard village had ancestral roots stretching back at least 900 years in the same place near the Cambodia border of South Vietnam. That was until the U.S. Army, in its wisdom, decided that the village must be "relocated." The new location was along side L.Z. Joe, once a U.S. landing zone but now mostly abandoned except for a Special Forces "A" camp nearby. The jungle growth in between the rows of rubber trees had already begun to reclaim the area.

As brigade information officer I had the job of telling the press how this relocations of the Montanyards would provide them with medical care ( in fact no Vietnamese hospital would ever treat a Montanyard in that area) how they would be protected with the Special Forces camp nearby, and how the U.S. Army would provide them with all the help they needed to settle into their new "home." There was no mention of how they were supposed to survive since they certainly would not be permitted to cut down rubber trees (the U.S. military paid $600 for every hurt tree) in order to have room to grow food.

Privately, the S-2 (intelligence officer) of the 1st Air Cavalry Division's 2nd Brigade told me that "We're moving the gooks because they're 90% VC or VC symps, and now we can keep an eye on them."

With all the decisions made, on a steamy morning in July, 1969, Engineers from the 1st Cav arrived by helicopter and began setting up surplus Army tents. Meanwhile, the trucks and ox carts snaked out of the jungle, across the deserted strip, and the villagers began to unload. Not knowing what their new life would be, they wisely brought along everything they had including old boards to make pens next to the tents for the family pig. Around the area, 1st Cav Security forces napped in the jungle, not realizing how nervous were some of the American troops who were not used to being quite so close to the war.

By noon most of the villagers were moved in--it didn't take long to unload and arrange their few belongings. Cooking fires sprung up in front of the tents--as I walked by one tent I saw a brown snake, held on forked sticks, cooking in front of a fire.

Less than an hour later, an old man, mostly toothless and gesturing excitedly, came up to me to invite me to participate in their special meal--broiled snake, rice wine, and a plant--like watercress--they had picked in the area. As an honored guest, I was urged, with many smiles, to eat well.

But that was only the first invitation to eat. Presiding over the relocation was the district chief, elegantly dressed in immaculate, starched fatigues, sun glasses, and carrying a Polaroid camera at some PX; while American soldiers helped the villagers as best they could, the chief and his bevy of aides looked on, smoked cigarettes, and took pictures. In between, he retired to his tent (the first one put up) though he had no intention of staying around. In his tent the menu was somewhat different--smoked salmon, French chartreuse liquor, dainty crackers. He talked, through an interpreter, of his great concern for "his" people.

The big event of the day, however, took place in mid-afternoon; it was planned to demonstrate how the U.S. army would in fact do all it could to help in relocation a village. A Chinook landed next to the new villages brining the 1st Air Cav division band! In a small clearing between tents they put on a concert for the villagers--a somewhat nervous concert since members of the band usually played in more secure areas. Wide-eyed Montanyards watched the shiny instruments, listening to what they could hardly know was a medley of tunes from "My Fair Lady."

Well before dark, the band left; so did the district chief, driving off in his well-kept U.S. jeep with driver. And so, finally, did the rest of us, leaving behind the small village in U.S. Army tents beside the empty landing strip.