The Sorrow of War

The year 2025 is a big one for Vietnam, as April 30^th marks the 50^th anniversary of the end of the Vietnam War.

Known as the American War to the Vietnamese, it was the most widely broadcast conflict of the 20^th century.

There are hundreds of reminders of the brutal conflict around the country, but I chose just six—three in Ho Chi Minh City and three in Hanoi.

I begin my tour where the war (symbolically) ended, at the Independence Palace in the heart of Ho Chi Minh City.

On entering the palace grounds, I walk past replicas of tanks 834 and 390, which crashed through the gates of what was then the Presidential Palace on 30 April 1975, signaling the fall of Saigon.

On that morning, Duong Van Minh, on only his third day as President of South Vietnam, greeted Colonel Bui Tin of the North Vietnamese army with the words, “I have been waiting since early this morning to transfer power to you.” The general replied, “Your power has crumbled. You cannot give up what you do not have.”

Though the offices and conference rooms on the first two floors are uninformative, the entertainment zone on the third floor has more character, redolent of a boy’s den with its private cinema, barrel-shaped bar and small library.

Yet the most interesting scenes are in the war command rooms in the basement, where huge maps on the wall, ancient telephones and clunky electronic devices are a throwback to a bygone era.

Ho Chi Minh City’s other big-ticket war tourism site, the War Remnants Museum, requires a strong stomach. The grounds are littered with war equipment—cannons, tanks, helicopters and bombs—that sends shivers up the spine. Yet it is the photographs, documents, artifacts and dioramas in the museum galleries that leave a lasting impression of the horrors of war.

The galleries have names like Historical Truths and Requiem, the latter being a display of images captured by correspondents from both sides. The War Crimes gallery features a collection of hand-held weaponry, including bazookas, machine guns and rifles. The last gallery covers international opposition to the war, which softens the self-congratulatory style of other galleries.

The museum also has a mock-up of the Tiger Cages from Con Dao Prison on Con Son Island, established by the French in 1861. These were cramped cells with an iron grid in place of a ceiling, through which guards tortured political prisoners by showering them with quicklime or poking them with sticks.

The Cu Chi Tunnels are perhaps Vietnam’s best-known war site.

Dug initially in the 1940s to hide weapons from the French, the tunnels were developed into an underground network on up to four levels stretching over 200 kilometers that included kitchens, hospitals and military workshops.

Repeated attempts to dislodge the Viet Cong by so-called tunnel rats were unsuccessful. As were later carpet-bombing raids. Indeed, the mere existence of the tunnels as a symbol of resistance so close to Saigon was a major blow to the South Vietnamese side.

Along with other tourists, I clamber down into a section of the tunnels enlarged to accommodate Western visitors. I instantly break into a sweat and sense that I would panic if I had to spend a long time down there. Back above ground, we view perfectly concealed tunnel entrances and fearsome booby traps designed to maim enemy combatants.

I then fly north to Hanoi to explore a few more war-related sites, beginning at the Hoa Lo Prison. Established by the French, it was used by the North Vietnamese to detain American prisoners, who ironically dubbed it the Hanoi Hilton.

The exhibits here focus mostly on the cruelty carried out by the French on Vietnamese nationalist leaders. The photographs, dioramas and basreliefs that depict such activity are horrifying, so it comes as a relief to arrive at the rooms showing how well the American captives were treated, or so the authorities would have us believe, with photographs of them smiling and playing basketball.

From the prison, I head to Ba Dinh Square, the ceremonial heart of Hanoi, where I take a stroll through the Imperial Citadel of Thang Long, which was granted UNESCO World Heritage status in 2010 to coincide with the city’s 1000^th birthday.

The site is a mishmash of architectural styles, beginning with the huge, imposing Doan Mon Gate, built during the Le dynasty of the 15^th century. The next structure, once the most important building in the Citadel, the Kinh Thien Palace, was razed by the French.

Behind that, I find the prosaically named D67 Building, which functioned as the command center for the People’s Army of Vietnam during the war against the USA.

Two aspects of this very ordinary building (so designed to not attract attention) catch my interest—the conference table where military masterminds like legendary Vietnamese general Vo Nguyen Giap planned their next moves, and the deep, reinforced bunker made to withstand a significant bombardment from above.

The last structure in the Citadel is the Bac Mon (North Gate), built in 1805, which still shows damage inflicted by French cannons.

I end my odyssey in Vietnam by visiting the man whose zeal for a unified nation was a catalyst for the struggle, so I head for the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum.

A guard in a crisp, white uniform ushers us into the mausoleum, a monolithic concrete edifice, where an utter silence prevails.

I walk past the frail figure with his wispy beard and marvel at his monumental effect on history—and his pivotal role in the shaping of modern Vietnam.