The Reunification Palace was a 95-room museum, formerly headquarters for the President of South Vietnam as he conducted his business. It is where the French built the original palace, which was fire-bombed and reopened in 1962 as a Vietnamese architect-designed reimagining. It is also the site of the famous photograph of a Buddhist monk self-immolating inside its gates in protest of the War. There remains some mystery around that monk and that action, for a few reasons. First, Buddhists consider suicide to be wrong. Second, the monk arrived from central Vietnam in a luxury car, which only belonged to Communist party members at the time. There are monuments to Thich Quang Durc all around the city, though, and he is remembered as a hero.
The building is similar to its original iteration, with key differences that make it a weird combination of fancy and institutional. Where the French employed ornate, classical design elements, the new building is stark. The windows have hourglass-ish bars in front of them, which we learned were intended to represent bamboo as a symbol of the people: strong, resilient, able to thrive in rock and dirt. Every room in the front of the building has a view of the fountain in the front of the grounds, and there is a tall wrought iron fence surrounding the property. At 10:00 a.m. on April 30, 1975, a tank rolled through the gates with a flag for the top of the palace. The flag was blue at the bottom, representing hope, red on top to be consistent with the original one and in reference to the North, and still holding the single star in the center. Until that day, North Vietnam and South had held two different flags.
The people had had plenty of warning, with President Ky being on the radio to advise people of what was coming to Saigon. Many had fled, many of the elders to the United States, and Ky hopped a copter and tried to scoot, too. Unfortunately for him, he attempted to bring too much of his booty with him. The helicopter was too heavy and the CIA started dumping his belongings on the roof of its own building, within sight of the palace, so they could leave. He evidently had a fit, losing all that gold.
Inside, we saw the grand public rooms, the grand private rooms, the bunker, the helipad. The style was a weird mix of opulent and Soviet-esque—there might be a hideous, flat metal door that was surrounded by elaborately carved wood molding, for example. We also saw some young soldiers, so young that they made my heart ache, all dressed up and proud of their uniforms as people asked them to pose for pictures; apparently, Tik Tok is flooded with such pictures. Military service is optional here after the age of 18, for two years. At the end of two years, they have to take a test in order to stay for a career or officer track. People who leave school must serve.
We have mentioned that Hiu, our guide, is professional and discreet. When he is asked about why there is no resentment in any of the materials flanking the walls throughout the palace, he shrugs. He said, ‘I have to be happy that we are one country.’ All around Saigon are political posters and billboards with the same stylized artwork, featuring Vietnamese people looking upward in ascending lines, one holding an AK47, one a book, one a farm tool, one with a hand across his heart. The slogans are things like ‘One people, one country, one army, one future.’ Also, across the street from the Sheraton hotel where we stayed, a park was outfitted for a huge concert, with giant screens, a stage flanked by a perpetually flashing light show, and a very limited number of white chairs draped in red arranged on the lawn. We were told it would be a concert of the country’s best singers, for Party members. When we walked past on the street, we encountered several armed Army officers around the perimeter, and lots of obstructions that sent us into the street. The noise as they rehearsed was significant, but nothing compared to the actual concert that night and the fireworks display that followed.
It’s a mind-bender, to consider how all of this must feel to people who served in the war or lost their children to the US’s involvement. Here they are, 60 years later, run by Communists and limited in what they can safely say—and able to engage in a free market and practice their religion. The Party will not accept anyone within three generations of rejecting the North, so Hiu, for example, cannot be a member. Only 5M of the 100M citizens are actually members, but they are the only party and they are as corrupt as ever. Catholics make up something like 7% of the country, though we did not see many churches at all and the one near our hotel has been ‘under renovation’ for seven years, locked up tight. The people are in peacetime, they can run their businesses, we hear there isn’t much desire to speak against the government, it is a very young country, especially in the cities—what a waste.
Alongthemekong 