Hundreds of thousands of former South Vietnamese military officers were sent to Reeducation Camps. The war-weary United States had turned its attention away from the region, and the Communist leadership closed Vietnam to Western journalists.įor more than a decade, little was heard, but retribution against the South Vietnamese was swift and unending. What happened to the people who remained in the former South Vietnam after the war ended in April 1975? Few of us know. The Communists had arrived at their doorstep. She had an idyllic smile on her lips, and her hair streamed behind her as the jeep flew down the street. She was standing on a seat, holding an AK-47 in her arms, aiming it at the sky and firing in every direction. Only this jeep was not occupied by soldiers, just a driver and a young woman in the black pajama-like uniform of the Viet Cong. It was an American M151A1 jeep, the mainstay of the U.S. Late that afternoon they heard a lone jeep driving down the street. They occasionally peeked through the blinds and observed the frenetic activity in their own neighborhood, imagining similar chaos in the rest of the city. Quoc’s family remained in the home, behind the locked door. Some celebrated, others were just curious. People flooded the streets and became engulfed in crowds, engaging in mayhem that ranged from firing the abandoned weapons to looting unoccupied houses or businesses. ![]() Throughout the area, Quoc and his family heard endless pistol and rifle shots, aimed into the air by people who clearly did not understand or care that gravity would bring the bullets back down. Paradoxically, many were just giddy with victory. Some individuals in the street had criminal intent. There was now no government and no power, she said, only people bent on looting, revenge, or both. She recognized that Communist sympathizers would be out for revenge. Quoc’s mother intuitively knew that in the period between the South’s defeat and the arrival of Communist forces, there would be no rule-of-law. Piles of clothing were ablaze and weapons of all sorts – perhaps a hundred or more – were scattered in the street. Quoc, now wearing civilian clothes, watched as his mother’s sensible act was replicated up and down the street. A funeral pyre of military identity rose into the sky, with the acrid smell of burning cotton and thick black smoke filling the air, their nostrils, and their hearts. They soaked the uniforms and set them ablaze. Vo and Xuong were soon in the street, with a can of gasoline. We’re burning them.” Quoc and Loc dutifully complied. She commanded them, “Both of you, take your uniforms off. She walked up to Quoc and Loc, puzzled looks on their faces. ![]() She ran to where Quoc stored his uniforms and collected them all in her arms. They sat immobile, unable to speak.Īfter some moments, Vo was the first to move. Lay down your arms.” Quoc looked at his brother and said just two words, “We’re dead.” Sobs filled the air, sucking the air out of the home, and the hope out of their hearts. On the radio, General Minh’s voice was saying, “I hereby order all military forces of the Republic of Vietnam to surrender. Inside, the family was huddled around the radio all holding each other, with forlorn looks in their eyes. The crash hit just 100 yards from Quoc.Ībandoning the motorbike, Quoc and Loc ran for their lives back to their parents’ home. ![]() Bodies, aircraft parts, and still-spinning rotors flung around and beyond the site. Quoc and Loc watched the helicopter slowly swing first to one side, then the other, in an ever-increasing pendulum motion.
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