BATTLE FOR A TEMPLE

A Cambodian soldier looks for Thai soldiers in front of a bunker at Preah Vihear

I'm about to head into the disputed territory of Preah Vihear temple, in remote northern Cambodia. This is no longer a visit to an old war zone, there has been fighting here only days ago between the Cambodian Army and encroaching Thai soldiers. This historic place was named a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 2008, and both countries claim this centuries old temple.

There hasn't been any shooting yet today, so I'm about to head up. As I prepare to leave nearby Kor Muy village, I am quickly mobbed by desperate motorbike drivers offering to drive me to the top. There are few visitors with the recent fighting, and they are all anxious for my business. After negotiating a price, I’m on my way up.

We start motoring up the mountain, and I’m surprised to see we’re climbing a new, well made road, a rarity in this remote region. It’s not even blacktop, it’s concrete. I bet it was paid for with UNESCO money, though at some points it looks so steep, that I wonder if any vehicles have flipped over backwards on the way up. Now I know why there are no taxis here, only motorbikes.

As we curve around a switchback, I spot sandbag bunkers, manned by Khmer soldiers armed with Kalashnikovs and light machine guns. They look tense; all of them are peering into the jungle, and the mountain directly across from us. They are looking for Thai troops; perhaps some of them have infiltrated the Cambodian side of the border again. The jungle in front of us is so thick, it would be easy for them to stay out of view.

After the fighting, the market was rebuilt by temple stairs

My driver slows, and as we are out in the open on the road, I realize we're dangerously exposed. The soldiers in front of us are in bunkers, so if shooting starts we would be a sniper’s easiest target.

Fortunately, with their eyes searching for infiltrating Thai troops, the Cambodian soldiers don’t bother with us, and we continue on up the disputed hill. I'm glad; I don't want to be here if another firefight breaks out.

We finish our climb without incident, and soon I find myself at the bottom of an ancient temple stairway, with remnants of destruction nearby. There used to be a small guest house only steps away. It did not survive the recent attack by the Thai military; most of it burned down. Conflict is nothing new to Preah Vihear; this old temple has been occupied by several different armies over the centuries. 

The first temple was built here over 1000 years ago in the 9th century by the Khmer Kingdom. Over the next two centuries, larger temples were built by succeeding kings. It was originally a Hindu temple, and much like Angkor Wat, it is now used mainly for Buddhist worship.

Thousands of Khmers died from landmines when they were forced across the border by Thai army

Later the French took over Indochina, and with Cambodia as a colony, the French gave Preah Vihear to Thailand, which took over the temple in 1958. An outraged King Sihanouk protested to the World Court, who awarded it back to Cambodia in 1962. But the worst period of conflict here was just beginning. 

When the Khmer Rouge took overran Cambodia, some of that war's last shots were fired here. Government troops held out in the temple longer than anywhere else against the communists. While the capital of Phnom Penh fell to the Khmer Rouge on April 17, 1975, the Cambodian Army Lieutenant in charge of Preah Vihear continued to defended for days after, including an attack on April 21. They held it another 2 days, until this ancient hill also fell to the communists.

Surrounding me at the base of the long temple steps, is a small rebuilt market. I walk past one table selling meat, it has pigs feet, and a pigs head for sale. A group of ducks are on adjacent grass, preening themselves. Most of the shops here were destroyed by the fighting with the Thais. The rebuilt stalls are now tables under umbrellas and temporary shelters. The Thais still claim that this market land where I’m standing is actually Thai territory. Never mind that the temple steps are only a few steps away, or that the current unused border post is even farther away towards Thailand. A blue sign in the temple reaffirms Cambodia’s claim. “Preah Vihear is Our Temple”. Another says, “Determination to protect Preah Vihear forever”. Even more serious, are the many signs all around the area, warning of landmines.

The front line: rolls of razor wire cover the border crossing stairway to Thailand

Here back in 1979, there were even more landmines here, and they were killing civilians, not soldiers. Back then masses of Cambodian refugees were fleeing across the border, and the Thai dictator Kriangsak Chomanan decided that Thailand had enough refugees, and he ordered the forced return of 42,000 refugees back at the border here. Thai soldiers shot some refugees during their return, and pushed some refugees over nearby cliffs. Thousands more died as they were forced to cross the deadly minefields surrounding the temple. Between 3,000 – 10,000 refugees died. 

Thailand was never held to account for this crime against humanity, and there is no historical marker to remember the dead. It remains one of the most horrific cases of forced repatriation in world history.

I shuffle around the market, getting curious looks, as I’m the only foreign visitor here today. Three lady vendors are seated chatting, with one of their sons wandering nearby. A few Cambodian soldiers walk about the stalls, but they don’t earn enough money to buy anything. The marketplace gets few customers now. With no Thai tourists, the vendors are struggling to get by.

I buy some crackers at a stall, my weak attempt to support the local economy. I ask how much, and the Khmer vendor answers, “20 Baht.”

She wants Thai Baht? The border with Thailand has been closed since the fighting here, and she thinks that I have Thai money. Strange.

Stepping away from the market, I walk right into the conflict zone.

Here there are many trenches, fox holes and military bunkers dug into the earth. Rolls of razor wire are laid in front of them. A Cambodian flag flies from a small flagpole, sitting almost at the line of control. A lone soldier stands atop a bunker, looking for any encroaching Thai soldiers. Beyond the razor wire is thick brush; somewhere beyond is the Thai Army, staring back at us. All the land surrounding me is in dispute. There are sandbags everywhere, with the trenches stretched both directions. It looks as though the Cambodians are getting ready to fight World War I.

A Khmer soldier and local boy in the market

“Hallo! Hallo!” I hear, and I spot a soldier waving me towards him. I’m invited into a primitive shelter.

I find 5 Cambodian soldiers inside; one who speaks a smattering of English seems to be a Non-Commisioned Officer. He offers me beer. This is the liveliest group of people I’ve seen up at the temple yet, they are joking and drinking. Their commander has joined them; he’s a Captain. He’s the drunkest of all, and  
it’s only 10:30 in the morning. The Cambodian Army is not known for its discipline.

He offers me what looks like homemade wine in a clear bottle with no label. I decline the offer. I don’t want to offend their hospitality, but I consider it an extremely bad idea to drink with drunk soldiers, that have loaded guns.

I leave the shelter, and walk back along the trench towards the temple. It’s a relaxed mood here, as opposed to the bunkers and machine gun nests I saw on the road coming up. Most soldiers here are not carrying their weapons. Some in the bunkers are lounging in hammocks, right next to their loaded machine guns.

Nearing the temple, I go to what used to be the border crossing. Before the shooting started, Thai Buddhists were allowed to cross the border to visit the temple, without a passport or visa. But that’s over; now rolls and rolls of razor wire are rolled all the way up the border crossing steps. A young Khmer in a straw hat shuffles around in front of me, staring at the barbed wire. Perhaps he works in the market. The razor wire ends at the now closed gates, marked simply “IN” and “OUT”. There will be no Thai tourists crossing this border today, or for a long time into the foreseeable future.

Up the hill, not 150 yards away, is a shelter that is now an armed Thai bunker. Long dark sandbags line the front. The interior is dark, so I don’t see any Thai soldiers. That doesn’t mean they aren’t there though, they are probably watching me right now.

As I turn to walk back, I pass one of the frontline Khmer bunkers. Leaning against the wall is a handheld rocket propelled grenade launcher, and five rockets, all ready for trouble.

I sincerely hope that those rockets will never be fired. There have been too many senseless deaths at this temple already.

I head for the temple. At least there are no weapons in there.

*NOTE* There has been fighting at Preah Vihear several times over the years since this visit to the temple. Sadly, the conflict continues. 

SHOOTINGS AT THE BRIDGE

View through window of the tragic bridge shooting site

I’ve departed Vang Vieng in northern Laos, and Route 13 is taking me due south, into the town of Hinh Heup. Slowing down, we approach another of the roads many river crossings. Unlike others this is no small creek; the Nam Lik River is hundreds of feet wide. 

As we cross the old bridge I hear an unexpectedly loud racket beneath our vehicle. It’s the rude sound of clanking metal. The weight of the bus is coming down on each of the crossing’s heavy modular panels, sided with creaking criss-crossed rails. Rather than the huge modern 'Friendship Bridge' that crosses the Mekong River, this structure is built more from an old military style. 

The way across is only a single lane bridge. This may pass for a highway crossing in Laos, but with only one lane this bridge is prone to congestion, which backs up traffic as vehicles wait their turn to cross. 

In 1975 this bridge was the scene of congestion of a different kind: fleeing refugees! As they descended from the mountains, this narrow bridge became the scene of an atrocity wrought on the minority Hmong people. 

Hmong in traditional dress (Source: Wikipedia)

That year, the Pathet Lao communists and their North Vietnamese allies unleashed a major campaign of violent retribution against the Hmong, as punishment for their siding with the Americans and the Royal Laotian Government during the war. Hungry and fearing for their lives, the survivors were fleeing the fighting to the north. An exodus of more than 20,000 Hmong civilians flooded this road south towards Vientiane. 

As they reached this bridge in Hinh Heup, Pathet Lao soldiers blocked their way. Despite their desperate situation, they would not allow the refugee families to cross the bridge to flee to safer regions! 

The Hmong were ordered to return to their homes in the north. With many of their houses already destroyed, the Hmong didn’t have homes left to return to. Desperate with nowhere to go, and with nothing left to lose, the refugees rushed the bridge on May 29th.

The soldiers opened fire. At least five Hmong civilians were shot dead, and dozens were wounded. Rather than returning north, the survivors scattered. Many fled to Thailand by other routes.

As I listen to the banging of the loose steel panels while we drive across the bridge, I look out across the water. Just a couple hundred yards upriver, I can see work underway on a modern two lane bridge, built by a Japanese construction company. 

We reach the far side of the river, and as we drive on I look back to where we have just passed. There is no memorial here at the old bridge, to mark where the massacre happened. Since a new bridge is being built, this old bridge where this atrocity took place may soon be gone as well. 

The rutted highway through Hinh Heup

There may not be a memorial here, marking the site where the civilians were killed that sad day. 

There may always be official denials by the government of Laos, saying that the shootings here on this bridge never happened. 

But the Hmong will always remember. 

HMONG: OUR FORGOTTEN WARTIME ALLY

Beautiful scenery outside the Hmong village of Phantao

With a new day, I’m on my way outside town. I’m looking to explore the province away from the Vang Vieng tourist trap, and I’m glad that I did. The landscape before me is the most picturesque scenery I’ve seen yet in Laos. The path I’m hiking on is sandwiched between lush green rice paddies, terraced one after the other. Steep karst mountains rise beyond, until their peaks are covered with fluffy clouds. High on the steep green hills, patches of bare rock peek out through blankets of tree cover. 

I’m on my way to a village called Phanthao, home to one of the country’s many minority ethnic groups. This particular village is inhabited by a hill tribe group that suffered greatly in Laos over the past 50 years. They call themselves, 'Hmong'. 

Back in 1961 when the war in Laos was heating up, the Pathet Lao and their North Vietnamese allies were growing in strength. To counter this threat, the Royal Laotian Government and their US supporters needed more soldiers in the north. The Laotian Army wasn’t a dependable fighting force, and bringing in American GI’s wasn’t an option. So the CIA found an excellent ally in the highland Hmong. Sometimes referred to as 'Meo', the Hmong were originally from China. Fleeing conflict there, they migrated to the highlands of Southeast Asia in the 19th century. Traditionally animists, there are Hmong minority communities in Laos, Thailand, Myanmar and Northern Vietnam. 

Bomb craters in the north of Laos (Museum photo)

Known as brave fighters, the Hmong fought French colonials for a few years in the early 20th century. Some later joined the French to take on the Viet Minh. After the French departed and the communists continued encroaching on their land, they were willingly recruited by the CIA. In what became known as the ‘Secret War’, the Hmong became America’s best fighting force during the long war in Laos. Usually fighting against the heavily armed North Vietnamese Army, the Hmong’s tactics were familiar. They used the same guerrilla warfare tactics against the Vietnamese, that the Vietnamese used against the US in Vietnam. Suffering heavy losses, the Hmong were gradually forced out of their homelands. In the decade from 1960 – 1970, an estimated 20% of all Hmong in Laos died due to the war and its effects.

The 1973 Paris peace accords to end the Vietnam War, were supposed to include Laos but it wasn’t to be. The NVA were supposed to withdraw from Laos, but they never left, so the war went on. When the CIA left, the Hmong lost their main supporters, and the communists set out to destroy the Hmong resistance. Fighting escalated in 1975 as Hmong villages were attacked, and thousands of civilians were killed. Homes, crops and livestock were destroyed. Thousands of survivors fled to Thailand. Those that remained hid in remote jungle highlands, where fighting continued. America’s war in Southeast Asia was over, but it was only worsening for the Hmong. 

Hiding in the mountains, the Hmong resistance fought Pathet Lao and Vietnamese troops off and on for years. Tactics were often brutal. Hmong refugees arriving in Thailand somberly told of massacres, including attacks on unarmed women and children. Hmong villages were being hit not only with artillery, but also napalm. Some witnesses even reported that the communists were using chemical weapons, known as ‘Yellow Rain’. Reports of atrocities were difficult to verify, since all the fighting took place behind the bamboo curtain in remote mountains. Some Hmong advocates called it genocide. 

Approaching village of Phantao

Even without hard evidence of these atrocities, nobody doubted the Hmong were paying a heavy price for their past alliance with the US. Their fight for survival continued outside the world’s spotlight, as journalists weren’t allowed anywhere near the conflict in Laos. By 1978 major fighting was over, but sporadic attacks against remote Hmong hideouts continued for decades. 

As I head for the Hmong village along narrow dirt paths between flooded rice paddies, I follow my guide, an ethnic Lao. I would have preferred a Hmong guide, but couldn’t find one in Vang Vieng. That may be by design. The Laotian government would rather have me visit a Hmong village with a government approved guide, so they can keep away foreign human rights activists. This also means that the Hmong I meet won’t trust my Lao guide; their conversation will be guarded. 

Entering Phanthao, I find Hmong children playing on the dirt road. I gets curious looks, since few Americans come here. The village is made of single story homes, but most are just shacks. Before moving here, these families were refugees in Nong Khai, Thailand, near where the 'Friendship Bridge' is now. Phanthao has only existed since 1995, when it was built from scratch.

“Government give (them) land for free”, my guide says. The creation of this new Hmong village was partly due to improved relations between Laos and Thailand in the 1990’s. Burdened with so many refugees, Thailand wanted the Laotian government to take them back. In the first wave, 150 Hmong families relocated here to Phanthao; more came in later repatriations. Now the village has about 500 families total. 

Hmong woman doing traditional embroidery

As I walk through the village, I encounter a group of Hmong women, stitching embroidery in the shade of trees. I’m disappointed that they’re not wearing their traditional dark costumes and head dresses. Most wear western clothing. The colorful embroidery they’re creating is traditional; made for belts and sashes worn on special occasions. Approaching, I marvel at their handiwork. The bright colored threads they weave form fantastic diamond-like shapes. There are various sub-groups among the Hmong, each with their own distinct weaving patterns. 

I start chatting with the weaving women. One says that before the war, her family lived in Xieng Khuang Province in the north, the region also known as the Plain of Jars. I ask why she didn’t remain living there. 

“If we stay there, somebody will kill us,” she said, “so we move away.” Like most of the Hmong in the north, her family fled fighting and escaped to Thailand. Later, her family was repatriated to Phanthao, while other relatives gained asylum overseas. I ask where. 

“In Minnesota, and Texas,” she says. I’m not surprised, since the largest diaspora of Hmong are in America. Taking in Hmong refugees was the least that the US could do, since they had abandoned the Hmong to the communists. More than 150,000 resettled in America.

Turning to the woman’s friend, I learn she is also from Xieng Khuang. But she gives a different reason for moving here. She says her family came here for the better farmland. “There they have some bombs (in the farmland)” she says. “It’s easy to make rice fields here.”

Walking through the village I see Hmong going about their daily tasks, but I notice that one age group is missing. There are very few senior citizens. With so many years of war, and with poor living conditions that continue today, the life expectancy of the Hmong is much lower than that of ethnic Lao. I wasn’t seeing many senior citizens, because most rural Hmong never reached old age. 

Hmong children in Phantao

Although large scale fighting ended decades ago, there were still Hmong fighters resisting in remote areas of the mountains, even in recent years. Scattered attacks and clashes between government troops and hold outs continued. Living in primitive hide-outs, and chronically malnourished, it’s amazing that these hardy groups of Hmong were able to survive at all. Some Hmong had lived their entire lives on the run. 

Finally, a recent government amnesty program brought many of them out of the hills. In 2004 more than 700 Hmong, including fighters and their families, surrendered in four different provinces. In 2005 another 170 women, children and old men turned themselves in. After surrendering their old weapons, they were resettled in more populated areas. In 2006 another 400 surrendered, but the fighting still hadn’t ended. In that same year 26 Hmong were reportedly killed in a single attack; most were women and children. I was beginning to wonder, if Hmong resistance had continued for so long, is it possible that there are some Hmong fighting in the mountains yet today?

Continuing my village stroll I come to an irrigation canal, where a group of Hmong children are splashing and swimming. Their differences in clothing are a total contrast. Some of the youngest boys swim naked, while older boys wear only underwear. On the other hand the swimming teenage girls are fully dressed in street clothes, wearing trousers, and long sleeved shirts. Hmong women are very conservative. 

Yes, this is actually a 'restaurant' in Phantao!

Taking a break from our long walk, I grab a seat at a small restaurant by the canal. Calling it a restaurant is a bit of a stretch though. There's no floor, and the ground partly muddy. A stray dog lies under a table, too lazy to chase a chicken strutting past. A large pot of unknown stew bubbles over an open fire. Despite the Spartan conditions, there are still customers. I start chatting with the owner of this humble establishment, who is also from the northern mountains. He left to escape the conflict and the poverty. 

“(My) family sell (our) land, sell everything,” he said. “We have $6,000. Give to man, he say (he would) take us to Europe, or America.” But the human trafficker only took them as far as Thailand, where he disappeared with all their money. With nowhere to go, they spent years in refugee camps, before they were allowed to come back to this resettlement village. 

Despite their past tragedies, the restaurateur and his family are among the lucky ones, since they received land for a home in Phantao when they were repatriated. Life in this rural community is relatively good for the Hmong families here. They own their land, they have electricity, a school, and access to the nearby highway. Phantao is an exception though, since most other Hmong who return to Laos these days don’t want to come back. Sadly, they are being forced. 

Hmong children swim in an irrigation canal

There are still thousands of Hmong refugees in Thailand, and although human rights groups have been objecting, the Thai government has been deporting many of them. The Thais have been claiming that rather than fleeing fighting, they all fled for financial reasons. Human rights advocates say that these refugees are at risk of persecution when they return to Laos. 

“Some Lao people hate Hmong people,” a young Hmong told me later. Suffering from discrimination, the Hmong remain the most persecuted minority in Laos. 

Although most Hmong communities live peacefully today, on both sides there is still a great deal of resentment that remains just below the surface. 

'FRIENDSHIP BRIDGE' CONNECTS OLD ENEMIES

'Friendship Bridge' crossing the Mekong River, from Laos to Thailand

“You! You –You –You !”

I hear this sharp and repetitious voice calling out to me from behind. Wondering what all the fuss is about, I turn to see a uniformed soldier quickly approaching. 

Uh – oh. 

Fortunately, he’s unarmed, but the look on his youthful face tells me that he means business. I realize now that I’ve somehow wandered into a restricted area. Oops.

I’m in the village of Tha Na Leng, a half hour from Vientiane. I hadn’t walked into a secret military base, or a government compound. The restricted area that I had walked into, was simply beneath a bridge. But this is not your average bridge. 

It’s not my fault really; there was no sign posted warning me not to enter this grassy area by the Mekong River. Well, I didn't see any ‘No Trespassing’ signs in English anyway. There was a hand written Laotian sign back at the gate where I entered, but that could have said ‘Joe’s Restaurant’ for all I knew. The gate was wide open, with no guards in sight.

Since this young soldier’s English is limited, he merely points back towards the gate. I get his meaning, and he escorts me back out to the road.  Having been turned away from my original vantage point, I walk go looking for another bridge view. I find a path through an overgrown lot, and soon I’m back at the Mekong's edge. Further upriver, my view of the bridge here is even better. 

Flapping in the wind above the bridge, is the flag of Laos. Flying above on the far side, is the flag of Thailand. This is the ‘Friendship Bridge’. Stretching far across the Mekong, this is the busiest and most important border crossing that connects these two Asian countries. 

Oops, sorry soldier, I didn't know I'm not supposed to be down here... 

The relationship that Laos has had with Thailand is a complicated one. On the one hand, Laotians remember that Thailand destroyed Vientiane in the 19th century, and dominated Laos for years afterwards. Laotians still distrust the Thais to this day. On the other hand, Thailand is the largest foreign investor in Laos, and one of its biggest trading partners. That’s easy to see here, simply by watching the freight trucks that drive back and forth across this bridge. 

As far as bridges go, the Friendship Bridge is impressive in both length and height. It’s not just that the Mekong is a half a mile wide here; beyond that the bridge stretches even further. Beginning over in Thailand, the bridge slopes upwards, enabling it to reach high over the mighty river. Though this is the rainy season and the river is high, the gap still leaves plenty of room beneath for large riverboats, though I don’t see any. When the bridge reaches the Laos side, it descends gradually onto a ramp leading to customs and immigration.

Built with the help of foreign donors, the Friendship Bridge opened in 1994, and it’s symbolic of the improving relations, and increasing trade between Laos and Thailand. Good relations increased further, and Laos entered ASEAN in 1997, bringing it into a more open relationship with it’s regional neighbors. 

As I look at the steel structure, I can make out four people high above crossing the bridge on foot from Nong Kai, the city on the Thai side. That’s a very long walk for a border crossing. From one immigration point to the other, the whole crossing is close to two miles. Crossing the Mekong here nowadays is a safe affair, but for Laotians it was not always so easy. Back in the days after the communist takeover in the 1970’s, crossing the Mekong from Laos to Thailand was very dangerous indeed. 

When Laos turned communist in 1975, this border with Thailand became a new cold war dividing line. On the Laotian side, the communists could not afford to build their own Berlin Wall like the East Germans did, so they relied on the natural border of the Mekong. This became part of what was called, 'The Bamboo Wall’. 

After the communist takeover, private businesses were closed, property was confiscated, and freedoms declined. Most Laotians with money or education fled the country. This included thousands of businessmen, landowners, teachers, and government workers. The iron fisted policies of the communism created a brain drain. A great deal of wealth left with these migrants, and the economy collapsed. In those years, 10% of all Laotians fled as refugees. With so many departing Laos, numerous refugee camps sprang up across the river in Thailand. Back in the late 70’s and 80’s, the refugee camp across from here in Nong Kai was one of the largest. Pathet Lao patrol boats cruised the Mekong, searching for refugees attempting to escape. Many made it safely across to Nong Kai, while others weren’t so lucky. 

Immigration arrivals and departures are processed here on the Laotian side. Shopping anyone??

I recall the words that a refugee named Truong said to me in America back in the 1980’s. “If you go to Laos,” he said bluntly, “they shoot you.” Truong was a Hmong refugee, resettled in America. He’d spent years in Nong Kai, after escaping across the Mekong. More than a few refugees had been shot, and died on the river as they attempted to escape the communists back in those difficult years.

Most Laotian refugees in Thailand have since found asylum in third countries. While most conflict ended, some refugee problems continue. In recent years small groups of Hmong have been forcibly returned to Laos against their will. There are still an undetermined number of refugees in Thailand today. Since Thailand already had its own Hmong minority before the war, exact numbers are difficult to tabulate. More than 100 Hmong are being held in a Nong Kai detention center, while a few thousand more still live in refugee camps. Other undocumented refugees are still in hiding in Thailand, living under the radar. 

Here at Friendship Bridge, Laotians heading over to live in Thailand these days are mainly economic migrants. With more prosperity in Thailand, plenty of poor Laotians move there to work, both legally and illegally. Crossing for these migrants is now peaceful and orderly, and the military and police presence is greatly reduced. Looking around, I don’t see any patrols, armed police are few, and even the soldier I encountered earlier was armed only with a radio. Most conflict today, is over smuggling. Some contraband is hidden in cargo crossing the Friendship Bridge. With such a long unguarded riverbank, other goods are brought across by boat. But this is not without hazards. There are still reports of Laotian militia firing at boats on the Mekong after dark. 

Across on the Thai side, I see an old abandoned riverboat beached on the riverbank. Except for that old boat, everything else on the Thai side looks newer, and far more prosperous than in Laos. Thai houses are larger, more modern, and more numerous. The difference in numbers isn’t surprising, since the population of Thailand is nearly 10 times that of Laos. 

Here on the Laotian side, is another imposing feature. Just upriver from me, enormous red and white power transmission towers rise high into the sky. You wouldn’t expect these in a country where many villages still don’t have electricity. These must be the tallest electrical towers in all of Laos. They reach from one side of the Mekong all the way across to the other. These lines provide one of the country’s top exports: hydroelectric power. Sent through these lines to power hungry Thailand, Laotian hydropower is fueling factories in the Thai northeast. These days, Laos is sending electric power to Nong Kai, rather than refugees. 

I’ll see more of the country’s controversial hydroelectric dams, and more on the plight of Hmong refugees, as I continue my journey north. 

THE VIETNAM - CHINA BORDER

Rugged mountains line the border of Vietnam and China

I’m where few tourists venture: in the far north of Vietnam, way beyond Hanoi. Trudging up a hill I pass a line of trucks, idle as they await loads of commercial cargo. Hammocks hang from the undercarriage beneath a parked truck. With hours to kill, two drivers are sleeping in the shade, their sandals on the curb beside them. Continuing, I walk towards the pass ahead. The air is thin up here; this region is full of rugged mountains. On both sides of this roadway, green mountain ridges reach for the skies.

Walking past a guard post I reach a roadside building, where a stray dog shuffles around meekly. Just ahead, a red and white gate post has been lowered down across the road, blocking passage from both directions. A sign next to me says, “Passport Control Exit”. 

I can go no farther. Beyond that barrier, is the People’s Republic of China. 

2 drivers sleep in hammocks beneath their truck at border

This quiet crossing is ‘Friendship Pass’, near Dong Dang, a border town in the extreme north of Vietnam. Back in 1979 this pass was anything but friendly, when the Red Army of China poured south across this border crossing, in a punitive invasion of their former communist ally. Vietnam and their mammoth northern neighbor had renewed their centuries old rivalry. Unknown to the western public, firefights along this mountainous border had already begun to erupt as early as 1974, before Vietnam’s war in the south had even ended. From then on, confrontations across this border increased.

Tensions also grew between the two over Vietnam’s opression of their ethnic Chinese minority. Hundreds of thousands of ethnic Chinese fled Vietnam as refugees. Many that had been forced from their villages in the north, passed through this border as they fled to China. 


The final act that infuriated the Chinese government, was Vietnam’s invasion of Cambodia, caused by the Khmer Rouge’s massacre of Vietnamese civilians in the south. As murderous as the Khmer Rouge were, they were still China's allies. As Deng Xiaoping himself said, China wouldn't allow Vietnam, “to go swashbuckling in Laos, Cambodia, or even in the Chinese border areas.” Deng warned that

Vietnamese soldier in Lang Son '79 (Photo:Vtn archive)

China was going, “to teach Vietnam a lesson.”

That lesson was to be taught by the Chinese Army, which sent 200,000 troops into Vietnam. They pushed southward all across the rugged border. This pass was the most strategic invasion point, since Hanoi is less than 100 miles away down the highway.

When this border war began, some westerners could hardly contain their glee. Two major communist armies were at war, and they weren’t fighting the west, they were fighting each other! The Vietnamese Army had taken weapons given to them by China, and turned them back on the Chinese. Although both countries were communist, the rocky relationship between China and Vietnam has its roots from back before communism existed. In centuries past, China occupied and dominated Vietnam for nearly 1,000 years, until the Vietnamese finally forced them out to regain their independence in the 10th century. The two countries have never liked each other since. 

While Mao Tse Tung was alive, China was glad to supply Vietnam with weapons and aid during the war years, in order to take on the Americans. But it was

Chinese POW's captured in Vietnam '79 (Photo:Vtn archive)

really a relationship of convenience. After the US withdrew and Vietnam became friendly with the USSR, Sino-Viet relations quickly soured. Before long the old adversaries were fighting again. Initially having the edge in their invasion, the Chinese advanced south and laid siege to Lang Son, the provincial capital I passed through on my way here. After taking that city on the 17th day of the campaign, the Chinese surprisingly announced their mission 'completed', and that they were returning to China. As they retreated, they destroyed almost everything of use on Vietnamese territory. All bridges were blown, and village after village went up in flames. In nearby Dong Dang, just about every building in town was destroyed. 

Although material losses in Vietnam were high, the Chinese Army still got the worst of the fighting. China had underestimated the Vietnamese military; already experienced and battle hardened from fighting the US for years. The invading Chinese soldiers on the other hand, had little combat experience. Their last major invasion had been in 1950's Korea.

When the last Chinese tank retreated north across the border, the month long war was over. Both sides claimed victory. As both countries guarded their casualty numbers, a reliable count of those killed was never made public. Estimates ranged from 30,000 dead, to as high as 90,000. Most analysts believe that the casualties of the Chinese Army were far higher than the Vietnamese.

Whatever ‘lesson’ the Chinese wanted to teach the Vietnamese, it remained unlearned. Vietnam didn’t withdraw from Cambodia, and remained there for another decade. Vietnam’s oppression of their ethnic Chinese minority also continued, and 300,000 of them still live as refugees in China today. They are unlikely to return.

Lang Son 1979, destroyed in Chinese invasion(Photo:Vtn archive)

Lang Son today

As for this contested border, the fighting didn’t stop after Red Army troops crossed into China. Occasional firefights and artillery duels between the two angry neighbors continued across this border well into the 1980’s. Finally, as Vietnam withdrew its troops from Cambodia in the waning days of the cold war, the frontier finally quieted. 

Dong Dang border crossing; past red & white gate is China

Peace has been good to both countries, but China continues to be Vietnam's greatest fear. On my way here from Hanoi, our bus passed a couple Vietnamese army bases. I spotted two sets of anti-aircraft guns visible, and both were pointed north, towards China.

The simmering antagonism towards the Chinese continues. I once had a taxi driver in Hanoi, who told me that he liked Americans, but hated the Chinese. He said it would be good for the Vietnamese and the US to join up, and together win a war against China. Now there’s a scary thought.

Fortunately, these two old communist countries found capitalism more profitable than conflict, and relations are far improved. Friendship Pass is now the busiest border crossing between the two former foes, and trade between the two is booming, increasing year after year. There are even trains crossing Friendship Pass. Twice a week, a train boards in Hanoi and after clearing customs at this border, it continues all the way to Beijing. 

Trucks line up at border; Vietnam - China trade is booming

A major thorn in their bilateral relations has also been removed; defining where the border actually is. After 10 years of work, and with help from the Global Positioning System, demarcation of the border was finally completed in 2009.  The Sino -Viet border is finally defined and accepted by both sides.

This border has long been quiet, but Beijing and Hanoi still find land to argue over. Political rhetoric continues over possession of the Spratly and Paracel Islands, where Vietnam and China last fought each other out at sea in 1988. If there is ever another war in Vietnam, it will probably be with their powerful northern neighbor in a fight over undersea resources. 

Today relations continue on a positive trend, and business ties between Vietnam and China have never been stronger. Perhaps the profits of peace will keep this border from ever heating up again. The Vietnamese have endured so many wars, over so many years. Hopefully they have embarked on something that they haven’t had in centuries: a long era of peace.