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Amerasia Journal 31:2 (2005): xiii-xxiii

Thirty Years AfterWARd:The Endings That Are Not Over

Yen Lê Espiritu1

By most accounts, Vietnam was the site of one of the most brutaland destructive wars between western imperial powers and thepeople of Asia, Africa, and Latin America. U.S. military poli-cies—search and destroy missions in the South, carpet bombingraids in the North, free-fire zones, and chemical defoliation—cost Vietnam at least three million lives, the maiming of count-less bodies, the poisoning of its water, land, and air, the razingof its countryside, and the devastation of most of its infrastruc-ture. Indeed, more explosives were dropped on Vietnam, a coun-try two-thirds the size of California, than in all of World War II.Thirty years (1945-1975) of warfare destruction, coupled withanother twenty years of post-war U.S. trade and aid economicembargo, shattered Vietnam’s economy and society, leaving thecountry among the poorest in the world and its people scatteredto different corners of the globe. Yet post-1975 public discussionsof the Vietnam War in the United States often skip over this devas-tating history. This “skipping over” of the Vietnam War consti-tutes an organized and strategic forgetting of a war that “wentwrong,” enabling “patriotic” Americans to push military interven-tion as key in America’s self-appointed role as liberators—pro-tectors of democracy, liberty and equality, both at home andabroad.

This special volume originates from our concern that thirtyyears after the “Fall of Saigon,” a “determined incomprehension”2

remains the dominant U.S. public stance on the history of theVietnam War. To be sure, the Vietnam War has not been forgot-ten. Partly due to the lack of a national resolution, the VietnamWar “is the most chronicled, documented, reported, filmed, taped,and—in all likelihood—narrated war in [U.S.] history. . .”3 But asRalph Ellison reminds us, the highly visible can actually be a type

YEN LÊ ESPIRITU is professor of ethnic studies at the University of California,San Diego.

Introduction

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of invisibility. In his 1981 introduction to Invisible Man, Ellisonlaments that the hypervisibility of the black man in fact rendershim “un-visible,” enabling most whites to feign “moral blindnesstoward his predicament”4—to see him as mere “background whitenoise.”5 In the same way, we are concerned that the profusionof text and talk on the Vietnam War actually conceals the war’scosts borne by the Vietnamese—the lifelong costs that turn the 1975“Fall of Saigon” and the exodus from Vietnam into “the endingsthat are not over.” As scholars, public historians, and the mediahave repeatedly documented, the Vietnamese bodies, both duringand after the war, have not been accorded the same humanityand dignity given to American bodies. Because warfare is ulti-mately a conflict over which warring nation’s cultural constructwill prevail, the production of postwar memories often relies onthe material reality of the soldier’s dead body to make thenation’s cultural claims “real.” As Viet Thanh Nguyen argues,“from the American perspective, the Vietnamese bodies must bedehumanized, de-realized, in order to allow for the humaniza-tion of the American soldier and the substantiation of his bodyand, through it, of American ideology and culture.”6 The highlycontroversial Vietnam War Memorial, commissioned to com-memorate and memorialize the U.S. soldiers who fought in Viet-nam, provides a pointed example of this “forgetting.” Framedwithin the nationalist context of the Washington Mall, the Me-morial must necessarily “forget” the Vietnamese and “remember”the American veterans as the primary victims of the war. Becausethe Memorial is a key site where cultural memory is producedand debated, the Vietnamese become unmentionable in this con-text: “They are conspicuously absent in their roles as collaborators,victims, enemies, or simply the people whose land and over whom(supposedly) this war was fought.”7 Without creating an openingfor a Vietnamese perspective of the war, these dramatic and pub-lic commemorations of the Vietnam War refuse to rememberVietnam as a historical site, Vietnamese people as genuine sub-jects, and the Vietnam War as having any kind of integrity of itsown.8

We are interested in and concerned about how the VietnamWar has served as a stage for the (re)production of Americanidentities and for the shoring up of American imperialist adven-tures in the last thirty years, particularly now at the moment ofreinvigorated imperialism. As a “controversial, morally question-able and unsuccessful”9 war, the Vietnam War has the potential to

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upset the well worn narrative of “rescue and liberation” and refo-cus attention on the troubling record of U.S. military aggression.Despite important antiwar efforts, the U.S. loss in Vietnam has notcurbed the U.S.’s crusade to remake the world by military force.Instead, the United States appears to have been able to fold theVietnam War into its list of “good wars”—military operationswaged against “enemies of freedom” and on behalf of all “whobelieve in progress and pluralism, tolerance and freedom.”10

We believe that the narrative of the “good refugee,” deployed bythe larger U.S. society and by Vietnamese Americans themselves,has been key in enabling the United States to turn the VietnamWar into a “good war.” Otherwise absent in U.S. public discus-sions of Vietnam, Vietnamese refugees become most visible andintelligible to Americans as successful, assimilated, and anti-com-munist newcomers to the American “melting pot.” Representedas the grateful beneficiary of U.S.-style freedom, Vietnamese inthe United States become the featured evidence of the appropri-ateness of the U.S. war in Vietnam: that the war, no matter thecost, was ultimately necessary, just, and successful. It is this seem-ing victory—the “we-win-even-when-we-lose” syndrome—thatundergirds U.S. remembrance of Vietnam’s “collateral damage”as historically “necessary” for the progress of freedom and de-mocracy.11

Most often, the narrative of the “good refugee” valorizes capi-talism, equating “freedom” with economic access and choice, up-ward social mobility, and free enterprise. As U.S. RepresentativeDana Rohrabacher (R-CA-45) opined in a press release on thetwenty-fifth anniversary of the end of the Vietnam War, “The com-pelling difference between [Vietnamese American] success andthe poverty and under-development in their homeland is democ-racy and freedom.”12 This narrative of opportunities bolstersthe myth of “private property as fundamental to human devel-opment” and promotes “freemarket/capitalist and proceduralnotions” of freedom, citizenship, and democracy, rather thancalling for more radical social transformations.13 It is this col-lapsing of capitalism into freedom and democracy that discur-sively distances “the free world” from the “enemies of freedom”;and it is this alleged distance that justifies continued U.S. mili-tary interventions in the service of defending and bestowing free-dom. The convergence of capitalist values and liberal concep-tions of democracy is evident in commentator Stanley Karnow’sglowing assessment of post-Vietnam United States: the United

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States has emerged from the war “as the world’s sole super-power, inspiring people everywhere to clamor for free enter-prise, consumer products, the unbridled flow of informationand, above all, a greater measure of democracy.”14

On the thirtieth anniversary of the “Fall of Saigon,” the UnitedStates indeed seems to have “won” the Vietnam War. Ten yearsafter normalization of relations with Vietnam, the United Stateshas emerged as Vietnam’s top trading partner, and the two coun-tries are moving to “increase security ties through military-to-military contacts and intelligence co-operation.”15 In the mean-time, the U.S. military had metamorphosed into a “global cal-vary,” threatening to launch yet more preemptive wars against“rogue states,” “bad guys,” and “evildoers” in the so-called “arc ofinstability,” which runs from the Andean region of South Americathrough North Africa, across the Middle East to the Philippinesand Indonesia.16 In recent months, the media have juxtaposeddaily reports on the “crisis” in Iraq against Washington’s pro-nouncement of deepening security and economic ties with Hanoi.During the June 2005 visit of Vietnamese Prime Minister PhanVan Khai to the United States, the two countries pledged towork together to strengthen security and anti-terror cooperationin Southeast Asia.17 As widely anticipated, Phan’s visit promptedvigorous protests by Vietnamese living in the United States, withmany carrying signs likening Phan to Saddam Hussein—theface of the current enemy—in the hope of goading Washingtoninto rejecting Hanoi’s overtures for closer U.S.-Vietnam relations.However, except for a few obligatory remarks regarding Vietnam’shuman rights record, Bush mainly ignored the protesters’ pleas.Most tellingly, Bush rejected the protesters’ effort to link Viet-nam and Iraq, and communism and terrorism, stating insteadthat the two nations would work together in the “global fight onterrorism.”18 In other words, thirty years after the war’s end,from the U.S. perspective, Vietnam appears to be well on its way tobecome yet another “satellite regime” of the ever-expandingAmerican empire.19 In this “New World Order,” Vietnamese refu-gees, and their insistent demand for “history,” are cast aside, yetagain.

History and MemoryAll of us have our own stories about the “Fall of Saigon.” This ismine. We left Saigon on April 29, in those last few hectic hours.Although we often characterize this “first wave” as part of the

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Vietnamese elites, there were also many others, like my family,who were swept into this exodus, leaving to be on the safe side,never intending this to be the “goodbye.” It wasn’t until wereached the Philippines that we heard on the radio that Saigon,our home, had “fallen.” That evening, in our makeshift tent city, Iremember the stillness of a people in disbelief, in shock, a peoplesuddenly without their “quê huong” (homeland). It is funny howafter all these years, what I remember most about that night arethe cigarette lights that dotted our tent city, and the men who satfilled with their own thoughts that evening, grieving, contemplat-ing, already missing the way things used to be and could never beagain. To this day, I am compelled by the particular masculinitythat I witnessed that evening—not triumphant and potent, but in lêthi diem thúy’s words, “sad and broken”20—an initial lesson aboutthe intersections of race, class, gender, and nation.

Over the years, I have looked for and found fragments of the“refugee story” in the lives of other working-class immigrants; it isthrough these shared stories that I came to recognize and nameanti-immigrant practices, under- and mis-education, and languageand class discrimination. But it was the U.S. war in Iraq thatbrought me directly back to Vietnam: the spectacle of violence;the “we need to destroy it in order to save it” mandate; the waysthat “peace” could only come in the form of a “war without end”;and the brutal displacement of thousands of Iraqi men, women,and children from their homes and neighborhoods.

The shock of recognition. For Vietnam War survivor Sonny Lewho came to the United States as a “boat person” in 1982, “theimage of bombs raining down on Iraq from the belly of the B-52bombers” brought back embedded childhood memories of “night-ly artillery shelling and bombing”—“a lullaby that million ofVietnamese children. . .fell asleep to.”21 The media chatters end-lessly now, as it did then, about the capabilities of the U.S. mili-tary might, especially of its “shock and awe” air power and smartbombs, but says almost nothing about the Iraqis/the Vietnameseon the ground.22 Their deeds done; never mind the after. OnNovember 7, 2004, as U.S. Marines surrounded the proud andhistoric city of Fallujah, the top enlisted Marine in Iraq called onhis troops to “kick some butt.” In a “pep talk,” he rallied thetroops by referring back to U.S. destruction of another proudand historic city of another time and place, the ancient citadelcity of Hue:

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You’re all in the process of making history. This is another Huecity in the making. I have no doubt, if we do get the word, thateach and every one of you is going to do what you have alwaysdone—kick some butt.23

These points of convergence, intersecting always with U.S.imperialist ventures, demand that we refashion the fields ofAmerican Studies and Asian American Studies, not around thenarratives of American exceptionalism, and immigration, andtransnationalism, but around the crucial issues of war, race, andviolence—and of the history and memories that are forged fromthe thereafter.

s s s

In discussing her novel The Gangster We Are All Looking For, lêthi diem thúy suggests that Vietnamese refugees live in a stateof “having departed but not yet arrived.”24 This “space be-tween”—between the old and the new, between homes, and be-tween languages—confounds and expands existing notions ofspace and time and articulates the tensions, irresolutions, and con-tradictions characteristic of Vietnamese lives. Vietnamese/Viet-namese American cultural forms, as sites “through which thepast returns and is remembered,”25 offer rich and varied de-scriptions of the conflicting, ironic, and ambiguous nature of the“space between”—of lives that could or would have been, aswell as lives that did emerge from and out of the ruins of war,and “peace.” Section I, “Producing Cultures,” features criticalreadings of Vietnamese/Vietnamese American cultural produc-tions—photography, abstract painting, experimental video, fic-tion, and film—that together explore and expose the sounds andsilences of memory, trauma, alienation, sexuality, gender, andtransnationality. Lan Duong, in an insightful essay on Tony Bui’sfeature film Three Seasons, highlights the Vietnamese diasporicsubject’s gendered desire to re-imagine and apprehend a pre-capitalist Vietnam—a desire that elides the reality of Vietnam’spresent postcolonial and “postdevelopmental” condition. Viet Leexamines three contemporary Vietnamese American visual art-ists—Dinh Q. Lê, Ann Phong, and Nguyen Tan Hoang—whosework traces and unsettles the legacies of the Vietnam War.Isabelle Pelaud, in a review of Linh Dinh’s collection of shortstories Fake House, calls attention to the “transnational debris”—the discarded, disconnected, and dysfunctional “unchosens”—that emerge from the brutal dislocations produced by war, coloni-

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zation, and globalization and that inhabit life’s social margins.Focusing on the representation of Vietnamese mixed-race children,Fiona Ngô’s critical reading of the documentary film Daughterfrom Danang likewise emphasizes the brutal cultural contact be-tween the United States and Vietnam, the aftermath of which istold through and on the children’s very bodies.

These young Vietnamese American scholars, and the artistswhom they feature, urge us to be mindful of the ghosts that in-habit the “space between”—those from whom we many have beenseparated or never met due to the many consequences of war(s),and those with whom we live but may never fully know due tothe many ghosts in their lives. How do we begin the many un-finished conversations with the ghosts of our/other lives—tomake contact with what is without doubt often unsettling, pain-ful, and difficult? To take seriously the “space between” is alsoto ask a number of theoretical and political questions about deathand the dead: When does death begin? How to count the dead?Whose death matters? Who own the dead? What about the liv-ing dead, who live as a shadow, already a ghost, never allowedto be fully present? And what about those who are kept alivebut always “in a permanent condition of ‘being in pain’”?26

To begin answering these questions, we have to be willingto become tellers of ghost stories—that is, to pay attention to whatmodern history has rendered ghostly, and to write into beingthe seething presence of the things that appear to be not there.27

Since memory activities—that is, the writing of history—are al-ways mediated by relations of power and accompanied by ele-ments of repression, it is necessary to identify “what is at stakein remembering and forgetting past events in certain ways andnot in others.”28 As we know, much of “official” U.S. history aboutVietnam is based upon “organized forgetting.” Noam Chomskywrites in 1984:

For the past twenty-two years, I have been searching to findsome reference in mainstream journalism or scholarship to anAmerican invasion of South Vietnam in 1962 (or ever), or anAmerican attack against South Vietnam, or American aggres-sion in Indochina—without success. There is no such event inhistory. Rather, there is an American defense of South Vietnamagainst terrorists supported from the outside (namely from Viet-nam).29

There is no such event in history. As a consequence of U.S.history’s erasure of Vietnamese, especially of South Vietnamese

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accounts, of the war, the most that we have are fragmented“flashes” of memory, of partial and imperfect recollections. Look-ing for and calling attention to the lost and missing subjects ofhistory is critical to any political project. Earlier, in a differentcontext, Toni Morrison instructs us to be mindful that “invisiblethings are not necessarily not-there.”30 How do we write about ab-sences? How do we compel others to look for the things that areseemingly not there? How do we imagine beyond the limits ofwhat is already stated to be understandable? To engage in warand refugee studies then to is to look for the things that are seem-ingly not there, or barely there; and to listen “to fragmentary tes-timonies, to barely distinguishable testimonies, to testimoniesthat never reach us.”31 That is, to write ghost stories.

In Section II, “Moving Communities,” Thuy Vo Dang engagesthe missing subjects of history by featuring the lives of first-gen-eration Vietnamese refugees who deploy the narrative of anti-communism in part to keep alive their history and memories ofwar, lest it be forgotten by the American public and/or the nextgeneration of Vietnamese Americans. Loan Dao spotlights com-munity protest against the misrepresentation and marginalizationof Southeast Asia and its people in the Oakland Museum’s exhibit,“What’s Going On: California and the Vietnam Era.”

In Section III, “AfterWARd—A Forum,” five scholars—JohnD. Blanco, George Dutton, Denise Ferreira da Silva, Khatharya Um,and Lisa Yoneyama—comment on the points of convergence anddivergence of U.S. wars in Vietnam, Cambodia, the Philippines,and Iraq and on the lessons glimpsed therein for our shared fu-ture.

“I have memories of a war that took place before I was born,”writes Vince Diaz of the wars in the Philippines and in Guam,told to him by his Filipino parents and by Chamorro survivorsrespectively.32 A young Vietnamese student, after learning aboutthe spraying of chemical defoliation on Vietnamese soil in myclass, dreamt that night that her young body was covered withthe toxic Agent Orange. How do young Vietnamese Americans,born and raised in the United States, create their own memoriesof a war that took place before they were born? The process ofgenerational transmission of war memory is often complex anddifficult, as the second generation struggles between honoringthe survivors’ memory and constructing their own relation tothis legacy.33 Marianne Hirsch has called the second generation’s“memory” of war “postmemory”: “the experience of being sepa-

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rated in time and space from the war being remembered, yet ofliving with the eyewitness memory.”34 Section IV, “Whose Memo-ries?”, features the writing of two second-generation VietnameseAmericans, Thu Minh Pham and Brandy Liên Worrall, whose re-flections on Vietnam are mediated by their own “postmemory,”by their parents’ direct experience with the war, and by the poli-tics of war commemoration practiced in the United States.

lê thi diem thúy writes that Vietnamese refugees are a “peoplelarger than their situation.”35 What kinds of stories do we needto tell that would capture this “complex personhood”—the “com-plex and oftentimes contradictory humanity and subjectivity” ofthe Vietnamese people, here and elsewhere?36 And how do we im-pose a critical perspective on these stories—which often remem-ber South Vietnam as only free and democratic, North Vietnamas only ruthless and Communist, and the United States as onlybenevolent and powerful—and yet still bear witness to the “othertruths” behind these retellings? On the thirtieth anniversary ofthe end of the Vietnam War, we stake our hope in the fact thatthere is no way to close off new readings of even old stories; andthat it is precisely through the retellings and re-readings of sto-ries that people negotiate, forge, and live with their version ofhistory, however fragmented and contested. On the road there,as tellers of ghost stories, it is imperative that we always look for“something more” in order to see and bring into being what isusually neglected or made invisible or thought by most to be deadand gone—that is, to always see the living effects of what seemsto be over and done with.37 We need to see, and then to dosomething with, the endings that are not over.

NotesAcknowledgements: I thank Thu-Huong Nguyen-Vo for the many con-versations on this volume and essay; ours has been a most productivepartnership. I also thank Russell Leong for his keen insights on “historyand memory” and Brandy Liên Worrall-Yu for her skills in shepherdingthe volume through production.

1. This phrase is from Avery F. Gordon, Ghostly Matters: Hauntingand the Sociological Imagination (Minneapolis: University of Min-nesota Press, 1997), 195.

2. Melani McAlister, Epic Encounters: Culture, Media, and U.S. Inter-ests in the Middle East, 1945-2000 (Berkeley: University of Califor-nia Press, 2001), 209.

3. John Carlos Rowe, “Eyewitness: Documentary Styles in the Ameri-can Representations of Vietnam,” in John Carlos Rowe and Rick

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Berg, eds., The Vietnam War and American Culture (New York:Columbia University Press, 1989), 197. Since 1990, scholars havepublished more books on Vietnam than on World War II. SeeKenneth R. Weiss, “After Such Strife, Vietnam Fades From Cam-puses,” Los Angeles Times, April 23, 2000.

4. Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man (New York: Verso [1952] 1981), xii.5. Gordon, 16.6. Viet Thanh Nguyen, Race and Resistance: Literature and Politics in

Asian America (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1997), 618.7. Marita Sturken, Tangled Memories: The Vietnam War, the AIDS

Epidemic, and the Politics of Remembering (Berkeley: University ofCalifornia Press, 1997), 62.

8. David Desser, “’Charlie Don’t Surf’: Race and Culture in the Viet-nam War Films,” in Michael Anderegg, ed., Inventing Vietnam:The War in Film and Television (Philadelphia: Temple UniversityPress, 1991).

9. Robin Wagner-Pacifici and Barry Schwartz, “The Vietnam Veter-ans Memorial: Commemorating a Difficult Past,” The AmericanJournal of Sociology 97:2 (1991), 381.

10. George W. Bush, “Address to a Joint Session of Congress and theAmerican People,” September 20, 2001.

11. I thank Jody Blanco for calling my attention to this point.12. “House Passes Resolution Remembering the Fall of Saigon,” press

release. http://www.house.gov/royce/vietnamfall.p.htm, postedJune 19, 2001.

13. M. Jacqui Alexander and Chandra Talpade Mohanty, “Introduc-tion: Genealogies, Legacies, Movements,” in M. Jacqui Alexanderand Chandra Mohanty, eds., Feminist Genealogies, Colonial Legacies,Democratic Futures (New York: Routledge, 1997), xxxiii.

14. Stanley Karnow, “Vietnam: 25 Years After the Fall,” San Jose Mer-cury News, April 23, 2000.

15. Paul Richter, “Vietnam’s Premier Gets VIP Treatment,” Los AngelesTimes, June 22, 2005.

16. Chalmers Johnson, “Baseworld: America’s Military Colonialism,”Mother Jones Magazine, January 20, 2004.

17. Richter.18. Ibid.19. Chalmers Johnson, Blowback: The Costs and Consequences of American

Empire (New York: Henry Holts, 2000), 19-23.20. lê thi diem thœy, The Gangster We Are All Looking For (New York:

Knopf, 2003), 117.21. Sonny Le, “A Vietnam War Survivor, Reflects on Iraq,” unpub-

lished personal account.

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22. Le, “A Vietnam War Survivor.”23. Associated Press, November 7, 2004.24. lê thi diem thœy, “A Reading and Conversation,” UC San Diego,

April 11, 2005.25. Lisa Lowe, Immigrant Acts: On Asian American Cultural Politics

(Durham: Duke University Press, 1996), x.26. Achille Mbembe, “Necropolitics,” Public Culture 15:1 (2003), 132.27. Gordon, 7-8.28. Lisa Yoneyama, Hiroshima Traces: Time, Space, and the Dialectics of

Memory (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999), 33, 28.29. Noam Chomsky, “Afghanistan and South Vietnam,” in James Peck,

ed., The Chomsky Reader (New York: Pantheon Books, 1987), 225.30. Toni Morrison, “Unspeakable Things Uspoken: The Afro-Ameri-

can Presence in American Literature,” Michigan Quarterly Review28:1 (1989), 1-34.

31. Gordon, 36.32. Vicente M. Diaz, “Deliberating ‘Liberation Day’: Identity, History,

Memory, and War in Guam,” in T. Fujitani, Geoffrey M. White, andLisa Yoneyama, eds., Perilous Memories: The Asia-Pacific War(s)(Durham: Duke University Press, 2001), 155.

33. Natasha Burchardt, “Transgenerational Transmission in theFamilies of Holocaust Survivors in England,” in D. Bertaux andP. Thompson, eds., Between Generations: Family Models, Myths,and Memories (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 121-139.

34. Marianne Hirsch, “Past Lives: Postmemories in Exile,” PoeticsToday 17 (1996), 664-680.

35. lê, The Gangster, 122.36. Gordon, 4-5.

37. Ibid., 17-23.

Asian Americans

On War& PeaceEdited by Russell C� Leong& Don T� Nakanishi

����� ��� pp�� �� photographs� softcover� �” x �”

Asian Americans On War and Peace isthe first book to respond to the tragic world

events of September 11, 2001 from Asian Americanperspectives, from the vantage points of those whose lives and communi-ties in America have been forged both by war and by peace. Twenty-four scholars, writers, activists, and legal scholars have written for thiscollection. Together, their voices reveal how Asians, Asian Americans,South Asians, Arabs, and others view the future of the planet in rela-tion to the events of both yesterday and today. We join others whocontinue to question both the ongoing crisis of the American presencein the Middle East, and the concurrent crisis of civil liberaties and de-mocracy in the United States.

CONTRIBUTORS: Helen Zia, Jessica Hagedorn, Roshni Rustomji-Kerns, VijayPrashad, Amitava Kumar, Russell C. Leong, Jerry Kang, Eric K. Yamamoto,Susan Kiyomi Serrano, Frank Chin, Moustafa Bayoumi, Stephen Lee, JaniceMirikitani, Ifti Nasim, Arif Dirlik, Grace Lee Boggs, Vinay Lal, David Palumbo-Liu, James N. Yamazaki, Jeff Chang, Angela E. Oh, Michael F. Yamamoto, MariJ. Matsuda.

Photographs of Asian Pacific Americans in New York City immediatelyafter 9/11 by Corky Lee; photographs of Central Asia (regions bordering Afghani-stan) taken immediately after 9/11 by Eric Chang.

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