HITCH-HIKING IN LAOS (5)

 

                                HITCH-HIKING IN LAOS (5) 

     The eldest son of the family came up and said in English that he had a motorcycle, which was allowed past the barricades, and he would be glad to take Manyon and me, one at a time, into town. He said it was 4 or 5 kilometers, and he knew where the hotel was. We thanked him and decided Manyon should go first. As they started off I walked over to one of the little metal-topped tables and sat down. The mother and her teenage daughter and younger son all sat around me, and were very friendly.

     At first I was suspicious; I had been conditioned to be that way in Vietnam, where Americans got used to overtures being made with monetary return, or something more sinister, in mind.

    

     But these Laotians were genuinely warm people, and soon began to disarm me. The boy, who was about ten years old, had had some English in school, and we tried for a while to carry on a conversation. I asked him how many Americans there were in the area, and he said that there were quite a few, more than at Pakse. After a while he asked if I would like anything to drink, and I said no. The mother spoke to her daughter, who got up and brought me a glass of tea anyway. I reached for some money, but they wouldn't accept it, even though the place was a restaurant. Then the mother motioned for the girl to come and sit closer to me. I finally forced myself to relax and admit that they didn't want anything. It was one of the most subtly painful experiences I was to have all summer, for it became a tactic of survival for an American in Southeast Asia to distrust, as a potential enemy or opportunist, anyone he didn't know. The strength of the habit became cruelly apparent when I found myself acting coldly towards people who truly wanted to befriend me.      

    

     The older son returned, and I thanked his family and got on the motorcycle behind him. He took me to the hotel in town where Manyon was waiting. There was a strong odor of marijuana smoke as I entered the lobby; the stuff was legal in Laos.

     We were up early and caught the bus to Thakkek, where we arrived at about noon, changed buses, and continued on. A few miles northwest of town there was a large steel bridge on which the Pathet Lao [Laotian equivalent of Viet Cong] had done a beautiful job, dropping a full span of it into the river. The river was too deep to ford, so a ferry had been set up to carry vehicular traffic, including our bus, across. It was midafternoon when we got to Paksane, where we looked up and saw a giant silver Boeing 707 tanker refueling one of a flight of four sleek fighters. I remember them because they looked so out of place over that town, a lovely little hick place that reminded me of Powell Butte, Oregon.

    

     We had some bad luck at Paksane. The driver knew people there, and he sat in one of the cafes drinking lemonade and talking so long that he was conveniently able to decide that we'd never make Vientiane before the curfew, and would have to spend the night where we were. He drove the bus to a hotel where people who could afford it took rooms; Manyon and I slept in the bus with the other peasants.

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     The next day we were in Vientiane by noon. We went to the American Embassy and looked up the press officer, whose name was Phil Wilcox . The first thing he said was "Oh, yes, I've been expecting you two."

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(2014 NOTES, STARTING BELOW:)

     “Oh, yes, I’ve been expecting you two.”

     The speaker was PHIL WILCOX, who at the time of the conversation reported here held the job of Press Officer for the United States Embassy in Vientiane, capital of Laos. I WAS SOON TO LEARN THAT HE WAS A SENIOR OFFICER IN CIA IN LAOS. WE'D MEET AGAIN, AFTER LAOS, 23 YEARS LATER, WHEN HE WAS US CONSUL IN EAST JERUSALEM, AND I WAS (AGAIN) A FREE-LANCE JOURNALIST.

     FOR THIS SECOND MEETING, I WAS THE ONLY JOURNALIST TRAVELING IN ISRAEL, GAZA, AND THE WEST BANK WITH A GROUP OF PEACE ACTIVISTS. IT WAS 1991, A FEW DAYS AFTER THE END OF THE FIRST GULF WAR, THE ONE THAT REMOVED SADDAM HUSSEIN FROM POWER IN IRAQ.

NOTE THE EASY SIDE-SLIP BETWEEN WILCOX'S POSITION OF "PRESS OFFICER" (I.E. CIA OFFICIAL) IN THE US EMBASSY IN VIENTIANE IN 1968, TO THE TROPICAL-SUIT-AND-TIE "US CONSUL" 23 YEARS LATER WHEN THE MEMBERS OF THE PEACE GROUP I WAS ACCOMPANYING WERE INSTRUCTED TO CALL WILCOX "MISTER AMBASSADOR."

THAT "SIDE-SLIP" WASN'T UNUSUAL. IT WAS TYPICAL FOR UP-AND-COMING US DIPLOMATS. IF A CIA OPERATOR WAS NEEDED, HE WAS IT. IF A US CONSUL OF AMBASSADORIAL RANK WAS CALLED FOR, HE WAS IT. GET USED TO IT. IF YOU DO, YOU'LL KNOW MORE ABOUT HOW TO READ NEWSPAPERS... ESPECIALLY "BETWEEN THE LINES."
     
     BACK TO 1968, AND MY FIRST MEETING WITH PHIL WILCOX:

     WILCOX had been “expecting you two” - meaning my traveling partner, Julian Manyon, and me – for the several days we’d been hitch-hiking the length of the highway that followed the Mekong river north from PAKSE, in southern Laos, all the way to Vientiane, the country’s capital.

WILCOX WAS FROM A COLORADO FAMILY. PURE SERENDIPITY THAT IN 1962 AS I RODE MY RALEIGH 10 SPEED BIKE ACROSS OREGON, HIT THE RAILROAD TRACKS SOUTH OF LAPINE AT THE WRONG ANGLE AND HAD TO HITCH-HIKE INTO BEND OREG. TO GET IT FIXED, I SPENT THE WAITING TIME IN THE LIBRARY. PULLED OUT THE BLUE BOOK OF COLLEGES, LOOKED AT PLACES WITH VIGOROUS LIBERAL ARTS (PHILOSOPHY, LITERATURE, LANGUAGES...) BECAUSE I WANTED TO SWITCH FROM ENGINEERING, WHICH I'D STUDIED MY WHOLE FRESHMAN YEAR AT OREG. STATE, TO THE HUMANITIES. ALSO WANTED TO LIVE IN MOUNTAINS, AND ESCAPE THE RAIN, RAIN, RAIN OF CORVALLIS, OREGON. IN MY CASE THAT MEANT PHILOSOPHY AND POLITICAL SCIENCE, WITH HEAVY INTEREST IN FOREIGN LANGUAGES. I WANTED TO BE ABLE TO TALK WITH THE PEOPLE I NEEDED TO UNDERSTAND. THAT INCLUDED COURSES IN SPANISH, RUSSIAN, (IT WAS AT THE HEIGHT OF NOT ONLY THE VIETNAM WAR, BUT ALSO THE COLD WAR.) AND FRENCH.

I CHOSE COLORADO COLLEGE. AFTER 4 YEARS IN THE MARINE CORPS (SEE SEVERAL CHAPTERS OF RATTLESNAKE DREAMS), I ENROLLED THERE. GO FIGURE!

I KNEW NONE OF THAT WHEN WILCOX AND I MET IN 1968. HE WAS PRESS OFFICER AT US EMBASSY IN VIENTIANE. (THAT WAS A CIA BILLET, WHICH MY NEW EX-CIA FRIEND JOHN STOCKWELL WOULD MAKE EMPHATICALLY CLEAR TO ME A FEW YEARS LATER.) STOCKWELL, AFTER LEAVING THE CIA, WROTE AN EXCELLENT BOOK ABOUT HIS TIME AT CIA: "IN SEARCH OF ENEMIES."

( BACK TO 1968:)

I HAD JUST HITCH-HIKED SEVERAL DAYS NORTHWARD ALONG THE MEKONG FROM PHNOM PENH. WHEN OUR CONVERSATION GOT AROUND TO THOSE CONNECTIONS, WILCOX APPARENTLY DECIDED TO DO HIS JOB BY BEING COURTEOUS TO US, INSTEAD OF OTHER OPTIONS THAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN AVAILABLE TO HIM.

WHAT'S IMPORTANT HERE, IN TERMS OF OUR STORY, IS THAT WHEN ALL IS SAID AND DONE, ALL THE PLAYERS ARE STILL HUMAN BEINGS (EVEN IF THEY'RE CIA OFFICERS MOVING RAPIDLY UP THE CAREER LADDER): WE ALL CAME FROM SOMEWHERE, WE ALL HAD MOMMIES AND DADDIES, WE ALL WERE POLITICALLY CONNECTED IN SOME WAY, WE ALL HAD OPINIONS, HOWEVER WELL- OR ILL-FORMED. AND ALL THOSE THREADS OF CONNECTIVE TISSUE CAUSED, IN EACH PERSON'S CASE, SMALL AND LARGE DEBTS THAT BECAME PAYABLE, EVEN AS WE TRAVELED ALONG THE MEKONG.

MANYON, MY RECENTLY-MET TRAVELING PARTNER, WAS A WELL EDUCATED 16-YEAR-OLD BRITISH KID GETTING AN EARLY START IN JOURNALISM. I WAS AN AMERICAN EX MARINE 25 YEARS OLD WITH A BIG CHIP ON MY SHOULDER ABOUT THE VIETNAM WAR, CONVINCED THAT THERE WAS SOMETHING DREADFULLY WRONG IN THE WAY MY COUNTRY WAS DOING THINGS IN THE WORLD, AND SINCE ALMOST NO ONE WAS PAYING ATTENTION TO THAT GREAT WRONG, IT WAS MY JOB TO FIX IT.
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 (2014 NOTES:)    

     We had stumbled into disparate groups of American pilots, USAID workers and the odd expatriate along our way in Laos. (But none that I remember, earlier aboard the riverboat along the Mekong and Tonle Sap rivers in Cambodia.) I was accosted once by a Cambodian Army officer who asked what I was doing in his country, to which I replied with a shrug, “Just  traveling… just seeing Cambodia.” He spoke almost no English, and I had very few phrases of French. He gave me a stern look that said he didn’t believe me, but let me go. We were approaching the border with Laos; once we crossed that, I would no longer be his problem. I got off lucky, I guess: the only official document I had was my American passport. It might have helped that I was traveling with a young British citizen.

     Once along the way in Laos, we saw what looked like an aircraft hangar. Manyon needed to use a bathroom. He tried the door; it was locked. We asked the young crew-cut man who was doing something outside the structure, if there was a bathroom inside, and if so, could Julian use it. We had to hassle him repeatedly, then finally he unlimbered a keychain from his belt and unlocked the door he had used to let Manyon into the building, closing the door behind him.

     I waited for what seemed like too long a time, then approached the “doorman” and asked, “Say, did you see a tall skinny British kid around here?”

     “I don’t know, but if he’s in there… ”(nodding toward the building) “…he’s locked in, ‘cause I locked it when I came out.”  He unlocked the door. Julian was waiting somewhat impatiently just on the other side. He came out and we went on our way.

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     We were both lucky and unlucky, meeting PHIL WILCOX in Vientiane. (Readers who have followed this story so far will recall our being detained along the airstrip in PAKSE by a jeep carrying a US Army Lieutenant Colonel and a Royal Lao Army Brigadier General. It was that LtCol who said, “This is highly irregular. You’d better go see the head of USAID.”)
 

(2014 NOTE: TOMORROW, I WILL DO A SHORT DIGRESSION TO MENTION SOME ENCOUNTERS OVER THE YEARS WITH USAID, AND HOW IT'S INTERTWINED WITH OTHER AGENCIES, INCLUDING INTELLIGENCE AGENCIES.)

(USAID):

Acronym FOR UNITED STATES AGENCY FOR INTERNATIONAL DEVELOPMENT:
The ubiquitous US Govt agency which supervises and pays for US Govt. "assistance" projects around the world. I've seen projects for water purification and plumbing projects in Nicaragua (before the Sandinistas took over from Somoza), military bases in Latin America, airstrips and hangars and bridges, highways... anything, anywhere the USG decided its "interests" might be enhanced by such projects. USAID is huge. Its higher-ups wield a lot of clout, because they do discretionary spending at, sometimes, a very high level.

I refer the reader to my passage just above, where the US ARMY LIEUTENANT COLONEL,  who had just collared Manyon and me while we were taking photos on the airstrip at PAKSE, LAOS. The other passenger in his Jeep was a Laotian BRIGADIER GENERAL. That General may or may not have been the same one I met a and interviewed a short time later in Vientiane, in his office. His name was OUDONE SANANIKONE

    OK, this may be confusing to some. (Imagine being me, in 1968...!)

     Let’s take this apart:

A few days earlier, Manyon and I were walking the length of the airstrip at PAKSE, LAOS, unescorted, taking pictures of unmarked military aircraft, both Lao and American. A jeep screeches to a halt beside us. A US Army Lieutenant Colonel in full dress green uniform yells at us from the back seat: “HEY! Who the hell are you?” (This is 1968, at the height of the war, just 3 or 4 months after the Tet Offensive, which changed US public opinion about the war, convincing many that we were losing.)

     The USAID man had called WILCOX from Pakse, and he already had the story about our photography excursion along the airstrip there. And by the time we got to Vientiane, we had been hitchhiking for several days while living out of our rucksacks, and looked it. Wilcox's quizzical expression as he looked us over seemed to ask the same two questions which by now we were used to: were we for real, and if so, were we a threat to his enterprise?

    

     WILCOX began questioning us, and when he asked what publications we were writing for, I pulled out the article I'd had published in the Denver Post About political attitudes of Vietnamese students at the University of Dalat in Viet Nam. That broke the ice; it turned out that his father-in-law was one of the editors of the Post. In fact, his brother-in-law, Chuck Buxton, was editor of the Colorado College Tiger, and I also had a credential from him.  We talked about Colorado, and then, as he had decided to help us, about the vast differences in journalistic activity between Vietnam and Laos. Manyon and I complained about how difficult it was even to talk to Americans in Laos, much less to get transportation assistance or information concerning the policies and projects of the American mission in Laos.

     In spite of his offer of help, Wilcox again became defensive. He explained that since there was a full-fledged war going on in Vietnam, the American military establishment there had huge appropriations for such things as accommodating reporters, but there weren't any of our military personnel in Laos at all, and the civilian budget, he said, was pitiful. (It was another stanza of the same song we were to hear from American and Laotian functionaries alike: nobody cares what happens in Laos, the same people who are contributing so much to the war effort in Vietnam don't even care that there are 40,000 regular North Vietnamese troops right there in Laos, Congress wouldn't give them weapons or airplanes or money...) It was la guerre oubliée": the forgotten war."

ANOTHER 2014 NOTE:

USAID projects, in Laos and otherwise, were often (not always) interwoven with doings by other US agencies, including CIA. My impression from watching a number of these projects, and from listening to overheard remarks by US officials involved, is that the US Ambassador to any country where the US is involved (which includes, I would say, every country in the world, except the very few where we've been kicked out.)

I will later post, here or elsewhere, observations about USAID presence in Costa Rica, in the 1960s.

Please ask me any questions you like, either about content or clarity, of anything I've written.
     (OOPS! I HAD JUST LATELY MET WILCOX AFTER BEING SENT TO MEET HIM, UNDER DURESS, BY "THE HEAD OF USAID" IN PAKSE. THAT WAS WHEN MANYON AND I WERE APPREHENDED TAKING PICTURES OF UNMARKED AND MARKED AIRCRAFT ALONG THE AIRSTRIP THERE BY THE US ARMY LIEUTENANT COLONEL.)

So: please note that a US Army Lieutenant Colonel (2 ranks below General), had just passed Manyon and me UP THE CHAIN OF COMMAND from himself to "the head of USAID."

A few years later, in a conversation in my kitchen, ex-CIA officer JOHN STOCKWELL, in a conversation about CIA in Laos (where he himself had served during the war), had this to say about CIA presence in Laos in 1968: "At that time during the war in Laos, ALL American civilians in Laos were CIA." He then made an emphatic horizontal cutting movement of his hand in the space above the table, left to right: "ALL OF THEM."

     Wilcox was careful to ascribe the limited nature of his offer of help (he would give us names of people to see, and try to get us aboard an Air America plane to Savannakhet if there were any extra seats) to limited resources. He skilfully parried our questions intimating that the reason journalists weren't welcome aboard Air America planes, or even, it seemed, in front areas in general, might be because something was going on there which the public wasn't supposed to hear about. He would shrug off such queries, saying that we already knew that there was no American military effort in Laos - after all, that was strictly forbidden by the 1962 Geneva Accords - and we should know how much it hurt when the Americans had to stand by helplessly and see their Laotian friends get overrun by superior numbers.