A Vietnam diary

PHILIP GOODHART, MP

Saigon—There has never been a conflict more dominated by statistics than Vietnam. This is perhaps inevitable when a great power with immense bureaucratic resources is engaged in a conflict where progress cannot easily be judged in terms of territory gained or lost.

Every observer is entitled to say that his own favourite statistic is the most important one. I believe that the key figure is the assassination of government and local government officials. There is no point in having a magnificent paci- fication programme if the men engaged in carry- ing it out are constantly butchered. In the first eight months of 1965 some 800 South Viet- namese officials were murdered by the Viet- cong. During the first eight months of 1967 the assassination total has dropped to 160.

I believe that this transformation is a measure of the course of the whole campaign in the past two years. There has been a tremendous im- provement in the position, but it is still not good enough.

There are not many towns in Central Vietnam that can boast of having a drainage system. Bong San has one. Unfortunately it doesn't work. An American district adviser decided that the time had come for a bit of local drain- age reform, and so on his next trip to the pro- vincial capital at Qui Nhon he visited the local public works department to ask whether he could take two engineers back in an attempt to unblock the system.

'That should be all right,' the young Ameri- can was told. 'We already have 'two people working in your district checking on the bridges.' How many days have they been up there?' he asked. 'Four years,' came the reply. 'What have they been doing for four years?' asked the American incredulously. 'Well, you see,' he was told, 'soon after they went up there the road between Bong San and Qui Nhon be- came insecure. They couldn't get back.'

'But are you in touch with them?' the Ameri- can demanded. 'Do you even know whether they're alive?'

'Oh, they seem to be alive all right,' came the reply. 'We send up their pay cheques each month and they're always cashed promptly.'

Opposite the British embassy in Saigon work is about to start on an ambitious new building called the World Vision Christian Embassy. The area has been zoned for embassies, but the rule about what constitutes an 'embassy can be interpreted fairly flexibly in Saigon today.

There are some, Saigon being what it is, who go so far as to suggest that the World Vision Christian Embassy is being used as a front for property speculation. Anyhow, the building will be a large one, but not quite as large as the new American embassy next door, which has a large helipad on its roof, so that the senior Americans can be flown directly in and out thus avoiding the terror of Saigon's traffic. 'At least they won't need a heliport,' remarked one resident, suffering from the amiable cynicism that grips many who stay for long in Vietnam's capital. 'They'll be able to use their wings to take off and land.'

Commander Richard B. Phillips, USN, talks like a friendly travel agent anxious to see the whole family has an enjoyable holiday, but his job as chief of the Special Projects Division of the

American Office of Information in Saigon is to sell battlefield tours to visiting journalists.

'We can get you out to the carriers bombing North Vietnam, but you would have to spend the night, of course'—with a bit of ingenuity a journalist can even fly over North Vietnam it- self —'Then there's a thing that we call the Riverine force operating down in the delta— that's sailors and soldiers and marines operating from small boats. You get covered in mud up to your neck, but we clean you off.'

After figuratively fingering the folders I chose a Forward Air Control flight. Within a couple of hours Commander Phillips was offer- ing alternative bookings. I could have a straight reconnaissance flight on Saturday afternoon or a strike flight—which meant marking a target with smoke rockets for a bombing raid—on Sunday. If I took the strike flight, which they recommended as being much more interesting, would my host and hostess care to have lunch at the air base while I was in the air? Thomas Cook in his heyday could never have excelled this service.

In fact, foreign journalists in South Vietnam are offered astoundingly lavish facilities by the Americans. There are press camps and press officers in all the major towns. Military trans- port is plentiful and free. The wish to coopera- ate with the press has probably never been equalled in any war in history.

Like almost everything else in this Vietnamese conflict, the privileged position of the press evolved accidentally. In the early 1960s the American press corps in Saigon played a powerful role in President Diem's overthrow, and to this day the resident correspondents exert an influence which has never been equalled in any military campaign. As one of the more astute observers of the Vietnamese scene has said: The Vietcong can't beat us, but the New York Times and the cas Tele- vision can.'

A friend from the British embassy came to meet me at the American Military Terminal at Saigon Airport. The plane was late because of 'If we're not careful we'll get posted to Washington.' the monsoon, and eventually he managed to push his way through the crowd to a desk where a pretty Vietnamese girl was standing.

'Can you tell me when flight 851 from Qui Nhon will arrive?' he asked her.

'Wait a moment and 1 will find out.' she re- plied, and walked through a door marked 'No admittance.'

Nothing happened for ten minutes, so my friend walked round the desk and went through the 'No admittance' door. There was the Viet- namese girl sitting on the knee of an American master sergeant.

`Excuse me,' said my friend. 'but bow can I find out when flight 851 will arrive from Qui Nhon?'

The American nodded his head—'You ask one of the girls behind the desk,' he said. 'But I did,' protested my friend.

'Was it this one?' asked the American ser- geant, pointing to the girl on his knee.

'Yes,' said my friend.

'Well,' said the American, 'I guess that's life for you.'