Peace, Love and Tunnel Rats

The Cu Chi tunnels are a maze of amazingly intricate and ingenious tunnels under the ground which the Viet Cong used to fight the Americans in the 17 year war. Mr Binh, our guide, is a Vietnamese veteran who fought with the Americans. War, he tells us, is something you should remember, but also something you should forget. He wishes fervently that none of us will see war in our lifetimes. He tells us that he survived, but also that he lost his life in the war. Contrary to the way this sounds he is a cheerful man, eccentric and endearing. He was, by the sounds of things, a very clever commander in the war. As he enthusiastically shows us the traps which the Viet Cong used against the Americans, he manages to convey a sense of enormous respect for the Viet Cong. He puts his hands together in a prayer like attitude and bows his head to the tunnels. 'I fought against them,' he explains, 'but I have much respect for them because they were so clever. Also they were fighting for their country. I was fighting for American dollars. I am the bad guy.'

In these two days in which we have spent so much time considering the war, I have not been at all surprised by either my own lack of education or my general revulsion towards warfare. What I was surprised to find is that actually I do really want there to be bad guys. I want there to be good guys and bad guys and a clear distinction between the two. I want to feel that however much I find war is pointless, the intention behind it was well thought through. There were some obvious evils and some obvious good. You don't need to tell me that this is never the case. Neither in war nor in general life. And yet.

I marvel at the clever ways the Viet Cong designed the tunnels so that smoke from underground fires would not escape to reveal their whereabouts, at the resourcefulness with which they undertook their battle ('we sent dogs to sniff them out,' says Mr Binh, 'they ate the dogs'.), and finally, when I get the opportunity to squeeze myself through a tiny, dark tunnel for all of ten minutes, I respect their stoicism for living in these conditions for years. Many of them lost their sight as a result or became paralysed. Mr Binh marvels too. And he was fighting them. 

He refers to the war museum we had been to the day before. 'They exaggerate', he says (actually he says 'they lie'), and he goes on to tell us that the soldiers were seventeen or eighteen. They were children. They weren't the enemy. The enemies were the warring governments. 

It's just all too complicated. Everyone in war has done some wrong. Everyone has done some right. But if you are going to blow each up, impale each other on stakes and poison each other's children for it, shouldn't there at least be someone, somewhere with a red tail and a pitchfork? Shouldn't the enemy be a little bit more evil, and the good guys just a little bit more good?

'You couldn't tell who was the enemy', Mr Binh says, time and time again. 'You weren't allowed to fire on normal people, but the enemy looked like normal people. The Americans had uniforms. It was obvious who they were.' Obvious that they were Americans, maybe. But how obvious is it ever that something is the enemy?

We have laughed, given the context of the trip, quite a lot throughout the day. Mr Binh has taught us that when you are sad you should sing, and that it is better than getting drunk. I have intrepidly squeezed myself though some distance of dark tunnel and quite enjoyed it (it would have been better of course if someone else on the tour had wimped out so I could have felt especially brave). As we file off the coach Mr Binh says 'I love you. I love all of you. I love all peoples. No one should war.' His retreating back wears a t shirt on which is emblazoned the tour company logo. 'Peace'. it says 'and happiness'.