THE IDYLLIC LABOUR CAMP
Richard West finds that those
who praise communist Vietnam hate prosperous Thailand
Bangkok A FEW weeks ago, in northern Thailand, gunmen opened fire on some tourists making a river journey. An Englishwoman was killed and another wounded in one of those outbursts of violence that mar this seemingly tranquil country. But at least the killers were old-fashioned bandits, not political partisans.
Thailand is almost the only country in South-East Asia where there is not now a war going on. In Burma to the west and in Indo-China to the east there have been wars for the last 40 years. In Burma these `Then I had a spell as a theatre critic.' are affrays and skirmishes between the government in Rangoon and various tribespeople up in the hills. In Indo- China, the communist Vietnamese have been fighting a full-scale war against the French, the anti-communists in the south, the Americans, the Chinese and the Cambodians.
In Malaysia, to the south, there are still a few of the rebels left from the second world war and the so-called emergency, still led by the same man, Chih Peng, the Rip Van Winkle of communism. In the Philippines, president Cory Aquino faces at least 20,000 communist rebels, constituting a serious threat on certain islands. Only in Thailand has communist insurrection been defeated. All but a handful have turned themselves in, or drifted back into normal life. Although there have been some recent skirmishes with the Laos army, over a patch of disputed land, Thailand is now secure. The Vietnamese are much too busy fighting their own insurgency in Cambodia to spare even a thought for attack on Thailand.
Yet Thailand was once considered the country most at risk under the domino theory, the justification for intervention in Vietnam. The metaphor of the Asian countries falling one after another to the communists, was first expounded by Presi- dent Eisenhower after the French defeat in Vietnam. It was taken up by the young senator John F. Kennedy, who cham- pioned the cause of Vietnamese Catholics. When Kennedy rose to be President, he launched a crusade to build up democracy in what was already the 'Third World'. He sent out the Peace Corps, vowed to pover- ty in remote, sweltering villages. In Latin America there was 'alliance for progress'. He worked hardest of all to save the `domino' countries around Vietnam.
A novel appeared called The Ugly Amer- ican attacking those diplomats, business and military men whose conduct offended the sensitive South-East Asians. A film of the book was made in Thailand, with Kukrit Pramoj, a talented politician, play- ing the role of the local Prime Minister. The former Vice-President, Richard Nix- on, also took up the cause of Thailand, where he was legal advisor for Pepsi-Cola. But in spite of the efforts of Presidents Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon and Ford, most of the countries of South-East Asia still had unpopular military governments. One of the few civilians, Ferdinand Marcos, proved to be more corrupt and tyrannical than the generals. As long as the Vietnam war continued, the Left in the 'domino' countries played on fear and suspicion of the United States.
However the Thais seem to have known of the enmity between Red China and Vietnam, as well as the Soviet Union. The new Prime Minister, Kukrit Pramoj, was proving smarter than he had been in the film of The Ugly American. He opened diplomatic relations with China, and told the United States to withdraw its troops and bases. Soon it became clear that the communist seizure of Indo-China would not lead to a domino effect. On the contrary, it produced a revulsion against the communists. Hundreds of thousands of refugees started to leave Indo-China, tell- ing of poverty and oppression in Laos and Vietnam, and of hell on earth in Cambo- dia. Most of the refugees came first to Thailand, whose people now have a good idea of what communism means in prac- tice. Even the middle-class intellectuals now reject their former Marxist ideas.
Their counterparts in Europe and the United States cling to the ancient stereotypes of Vietnam as a gallant peo- ple's republic and Thailand as a puppet state of Yankee imperialism. British televi- sion shows us heartrending documentary films on exploitation and poverty in Bang- kok. The prostitution shocks Western feminists much more than it shocks anyone here. We read of millions of Thais who live `below the poverty line', though even they are affluent by the standards of most of Asia. Veteran Spectator readers may recall a clash between Auberon Waugh and John Pilger over the latter's claim to have purchased a little girl slave in Thailand. Another friend of Vietnam and enemy of Thailand is Chris Mullin MP, who recently published a book attempting to prove the innocence of the 'Birmingham six' for the pub bombings 12 years ago.
About 18 months ago, Mr Mullin pub- lished a thriller, The Last Man out of Saigon (Gollancz, £9.95), in which the communists are the goodies and the Amer- `1 like it here. I used to live in the inner city.' icans the baddies. Although Mr Pilger wrote that 'Chris Mullin, a distinguished journalist proves himself in this book to be a fine storyteller', others regarded it as a snide attack on certain reporters here in Bangkok who do not share the Mullin/ Pilger approach to South-East Asia. The villain, who latter becomes the hero of the story, is called simply MacShane and works for the CIA while pretending to be a journalist. He is sent from Bangkok to Saigon a few days before the fall of that city, to stay on and re-establish a network of spies. He makes contact with some of the former CIA agents, including a rich Chinese and a Catholic priest, whom he tries to blackmail.
Then MacShane is arrested: the Amer- icans had omitted to shred a message naming him as a agent. On learning this, MacShane tells everything that he knows of the CIA: 'The interrogation lasted six days. And when it was over MacShane had betrayed everyone with whom he had ever worked.' His captors, not surprisingly, treat him well and even allow him to keep the copy of Noam Chomsky's At War With Asia, which had been given him by a liberal girlfriend. A kindly professor gives Mac- Shane re-education, and he is then dis- patched to work at a communal farm near Haiphong. The description of a communist labour camp differs in many respects from those of Solzhenitsyn and others. Digging ditches is 'not as demanding as it first appeared'.
The young women and children greet MacShane and share with him their rice and vegetables. 'Lunch was followed by a dip in the fishpond and a snooze in the shade. Sometimes he would chase one of the girls along the dyke, scooping up water with his hands and splashing her to cheers from the others. They were smashing kids without an ounce of guile.' At this idyllic labour camp, MacShane falls in love with the local teacher, Miss Ha, and consum- mates the relationship on the floor of the disused Roman Catholic church. Small wonder he feels so sad to leave communist Vietnam, clutching his copy of Chomsky in which Miss Ha has inscribed: The human being is evergreen.'
He flies back to Bangkok, which seems to consist in Mr MacShane's view of little but brothels and bars: 'There were the Thai men too. Some were pimps, some were the sons of generals. They all ex- pected to marry virgins, and they hated all foreigners who fucked their women.' Hatred of Thailand is part and parcel of love for Vietnam. People like Mr Mullin hate the Thais just because they are smiling and prosperous and they have not gone communist. They have disproved the domino theory. The 40 years of sacrifice by the Vietnamese communists did not bring revolution to South-East Asia. All it achieved was death, despotism and poverty in Laos, Cambodia and Vietnam itself. The dog it was that died.
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