The War Remnants Museum – February 27th
Over 8 billion people eat, speak, laugh, cry, and hold conflicting ideas about what matters. At any moment, a baby is being born, a grandmother is passing away. Someone is feeling lonely, lost, or fleeing for their life in a war zone. In the midst of it all, most of us must decide what to do with our hands—hands that feed us, comfort the sick, swat away mosquitoes. Tools of kindness or violence. In the midst of the Vietnam War, a tall blond American soldier stood on the battlefield, expressionless. With his left hand, he’d held up the bloodied remnants of a Vietnamese man—his body blasted apart, leaving only a head, an arm, and loose skin barely holding together. The soldier gripped him by his chest skin, his head lolling back, his arm dangling. He held him up as if it was an everyday thing to do, seemingly indifferent that it used to be a person. I guess that’s why people say, “They’ve got blood on their hands.” The photographer who used his hands to capture this moment probably had no idea it would end up in a museum years later. Among the 125 images displayed in the War Crimes exhibit in War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, I couldn’t look away from this one. It captured the sheer horror of war, and the capacity for human cruelty. A man from my own country holding up the mangled remains of another human wasn’t on my bingo card for 2025. It is still burned into my brain. I came to this museum because I believe in trying to see the full picture of historical events, not just what one government wants its citizens know. With nine permanent exhibits, and various special collections, this museum spanned three floors. Previous iterations of this museum were called the Exhibition House for U.S. and Puppet Crimes and the Exhibition House for Crimes of War and Aggression. Outside the entrance, visitors are encouraged to walk amongst military aircraft, vehicles, weapons, and bombs reclaimed from the war. The Northrop F-5A Jet Fighter and the A-37 Fighter-Bomber, originally operated by the South Vietnamese Air Force (VNAF), were now displayed with U.S. Air Force markings. Interesting. In a separate corner, bombs were laid out in piles and visitors could learn more about each type by pressing buttons on a panel. It included the biggest bomb I’ve ever seen, a 15,000 lb BLU-82, used to clear landing zones (among other things). Inside the museum, the first exhibit I visited was Stories of Anti-War Badges. Buttons, newspaper clippings, and protest memorabilia from the U.S. documented American opposition to the war, from students killed by police during the Kent State and Jackson State protests, to Ivy League professors petitioning the government to end the violence. It also delved into global anti-war protests, including those in Cuba. Yet, I noticed there was no mention of anti-war sentiment in Vietnam itself at the time. This was expected, given how both Ho Chi Minh’s government in the North and Ngo Dinh Diem’s in the South kept tight control over internal political expression. The pervasive nature of the war and nationalistic attitudes meant that even if there was interest, organizing large-scale protests in Vietnam would have been nearly impossible. After wandering around the room for a while, I went upstairs to the next exhibit: War Crimes. There was a somber hush amongst the visitors as they looked at pictures and video footage portraying crimes in the Vietnam War. Information plaques told the stories of notable events, like U.S. Senator Bob Kerrey’s involvement in the Thanh Phong massacre in 1969. In the dead of night, he and his Navy SEAL unit mutilated and killed Vietnamese civilians, including children. A cement vat, about the size of a refrigerator, stood beside a photo showing two of the children who had hidden in it during the attack. 30 years later, Kerrey admitted that civilians were killed but denied personally executing anyone. In his words, “We fired, and we continued to fire. It is not something I’m proud of.” There are conflicting eye-witness accounts of what happened that night. But regardless, the photo of the two girls inside the tank exists there upon the wall, as well as photos of dead Vietnamese citizens from the morning after. Other images showed similarly brutal moments: U.S. soldiers dragging suspected Viet Cong fighters behind a tank, piles of bodies along empty roads, soldiers posing with severed heads – bodies lying just feet away. There was no censorship, just a room full of graphic pictures depicting inhuman acts by other humans. The exhibit focused almost entirely on American war crimes. There were no photographs of the Hue Massacre, where the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) and Viet Cong executed between 2,800 and 6,000 South Vietnamese civilians suspected of being loyal to the Saigon government. No mention of the mistreatment of South Vietnamese and American POWs, including brutal beatings, starvation, forced labor, and psychological torture. No coverage of the Viet Cong’s terror tactics, like bombings of civilian areas in Saigon and other cities. But there was plenty of footage of American soldiers either carrying out orders or disobeying orders to commit war crimes. Nearby there was the Requiem Exhibition, dedicated to remembering Vietnam war photographers, some of whom were killed or went missing. The bravery of these war photographers (and war photographers in general) cannot be overstated. It was a testament to the courage of photographers, coming from all over the world to document important moments during the war. Clippings from US newspapers decorated the walls, as well as stand-alone copies of Vietnam war photographs. This was the first war that people could follow along with at home, and some of the American news footage was shown next to photographs of the same event. Next, the Historical Truths collection provided context to the war. Newspaper clippings, images, and U.S. soldiers’ testimonies covered the walls, providing a broader (but not complete) picture
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