At Hoa Lo Prison Museum I spent a lot of time looking into the smiling faces of captured US pilots. They were photographed as they prepared for their release and return home in 1973 and I searched these photographs for evidence of truth or lies. The spaces dedicated to the treatment of captured B52 pilots seem incongruous with my western perspective of POW camps and my understanding of North Vietnam during the American-Vietnam war.
Where in the tidy regulation jackets, pressed shirts, shined shoes and leather satchels filled with souvenirs could I find evidence of POW mistreatment? Did they look too thin or unhealthy? Did their smiles look forced? Was their someone standing just outside of the range of the lens who was forcing the illusion of friendship and compassion? John Berger said that ‘a photograph, whilst recording what has been seen, always and by its nature refers to what is not seen. It isolates, preserves and presents a moment taken from a continuum' (1980, p.293).
The narrative presented in the rooms about the American war were not what I was expecting, so much so, that before we got to these spaces, I had already asked the tour guide how the prison was used when it was controlled by the Vietnamese. I expected a continuation of the prison cells and yards. “Not at all,” was his response, “the american prisoners were treated very well.”
After representations of persecution and extremely harsh conditions that Vietnamese political prisoners endured, was it possible that the Vietnamese military were not driven to retaliation? It made sense to me, that on gaining power and control of the north, the Vietnamese captors would inflict the same treatment on their prisoners, after all, the prison was constructed to house an enemy.
Within the prison museum, I was moved by life-size, three-dimensional portrayals of shackled prisoners in dark, over-crowded cells. In the face of great adversity, the individualised figures depict shared experiences of compassion and love – they embrace, support, laugh and play games, never broken by the horror of the prison. The over-bearing stench and extreme temperatures are gone but were described in detail by the museum narrative, evidenced in the tour guide’s descriptions, text panels and photographs. The carefully lit, sophisticated exhibits and haunting audio add impact to the memory-work capturing the ‘crimes of the French colonialist committed on revolutionary patriotic soldiers.’
This is a carefully controlled representation for the museum visitor. The path through Hoa Lo museum is a chronological narrative. How many visitors ask their guides about the treatment of US POW’s while standing in the reflective memorial space that commemorates thousands of lost Vietnamese lives under French occupation? This memorial space also marks a separation in the narrative.
The contrast between the prison cells and the spaces representing the American war is stark. Across two exhibition halls, the first depicts the ‘sabotage warfare’ carried out by the US government through photographs and film of destructive air strikes. The second hall, where I found myself searching the faces of the same US pilots who had caused this destruction, is a space of triumphant Vietnamese achievement. The haunting audio of the prison, is replaced with a tune of celebration, the rooms are brightly and evenly lit, and the photographs and film are joyful. The captive US pilots are shown celebrating Christmas with church outings, meals of chicken, trees and Santa Claus decorations; they played basketball and received letters from home. Apparently, they had a very comfortable stay.
I’m left questioning my own motivations. Why was I searching the photographs for what is not seen? Perhaps it is because of what is also not heard. The only voice in this space is the authoritarian voice of the museum. These are official photographs of carefully chosen moments. Where are the testimonies, the personal stories and the depictions of the everyday lives of the prisoners like those in the narrative of Hoa Lo Prison under French rule? Despite the smiling faces, the US pilot’s memories of their time at the Hanoi Hilton are noticeably absent.
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