Vietnam

 12 January 2020

Dear Phyllis,

Last month the parents of a close friend were here for a visit. I was surprised to learn that they had been reading copies of my letter to you. Sister Noble remarked that she particularly enjoyed my letters sharing testimonies. Encouraged by her comment I have decided to devote my next few letters to sharing some of my experiences working in neighboring countries. In Southeast Asia.

It was 20 years ago this week that George and I went on an unusual mission to share Christ with a hill tribe village in what is arguably one of the most remote areas in SEA. For an interpreter, we took with us a fine young Thai brother, who was half Lisu and half Lahu. Serge was fluent in four languages.

We flew from Chiang Mai to Bangkok and took a flight to Hanoi, Vietnam. The Lord helped us clear customs successfully with our contraband Christian material and evangelism equipment. After getting settled in a guest house, we secured a jeep driver to take us on a one week trip the the extreme north west corner of Vietnam. The first leg was to go from Hanoi to Sapa on the boarder crossing to China. The next day we went over the mountain pass there on our way to Lao Cai. As we traveled over this road, we past a place that brought back nostalgic memories where, a year previously, I had witnessed an underground pastor lying on the ground uncontrollably weeping because the Lord has sent to him a large shipment of Bibles. That had been our Japan team.

George had shared with me how he had once talked to a highly educated Vietnamese man, whom described as the saddest man he had ever met. While we were on our second leg we stopped at a small hill tribe village and got out to look at it. All the houses were built on post about five feet above ground level. George surprised me by by climbing up a ladder and walked straight into one house, unannounced. I joined him along with about 30 village children who were clustered around these two foreigners - probably the first Americans they had ever seen. There was a woman sitting on a balcony at the far end who seemed to ignore us. George turned to me and said, “Get these children out of here.” Now, how are you supposed to do that? Then I thought of playing the boggy man. I turned to the children and acted like I was going to eat one. They screamed and fled from the house, I jumped down and ran after them. The mothers came out and were greatly amused to see this crazy foreigner chasing the laughing, screaming children all over the village. That undoubted was the event of the year for those children who could tell their friends about the odd man who played with them. When we got back in the jeep, George said to me, “Do you remember that sad man I told you about? That was his house. I put a Bible under his pillow.” Pretty good act.

The third afternoon we finally reached our destination, that was literally the end of the road. We got out of the jeep and walked across a rope suspension bridge over a river to a village on the other side. We stopped there to hire two guides to take us another two day hike back into the mountain. In Nepal, when I man goes on a trip with his wife, he will have her go first, as the stronger hiker can keep up with weaker, but the reverse is impossible. I was sure I was the weakest and requested that I lead. Because we were several hours late getting started I launched out at a very brisk pace. I hadn't gone 400 yards before I collapsed exhausted on the ground. George was stunned thinking that I had had a heart attack. I replied, “No. I'm fine, but I just can't go that fast. It is vital that you get there, so please take Serge and go on. I will come behind and stay in the jungle if necessary tonight”. They took one guide and left the other one to stay with me. Amazingly, the Lord gave me a strong second wind, and an hour later we came to a cool stream where the other three had stopped for a brief break. I felt so strong I didn't stop, and when we arrived at a small village shortly before dusk I was the first one to walk in that village.

We spent the night with those people who killed a chicken to feed us. They told us it was illegal to go any further and warned us not to go to the village up the hill. We were determined not to let anything stop us and proceed on the next morning. Six hours later we finally crested the hill and walked in the target village. We hadn't gone 50 feet when we met a friendly man in a green uniform. He was so hospitable that he invited us to stay with him. He was a soldier and we were immediately arrested. The Vietnamese government had a military outpost situated on the very top of that mountain that was slam on the Chinese boarder. From there, as far as you could see, there was nothing but endless jungle mountains, with no sign of any civilization in any direction, except for the village probably 800 feet below us.

This was the first time anything like this had ever happened. The post was manned by about 20 soldiers and two wives who did the laundry and cooking for the men. There was absolutely no provision for prisoners, and they had no idea what to do with us. We were thoroughly searched and everything on us was confiscated. It was as impossible to escape as it would be to escape from the moon, so we had totally freedom and were accepted as part of the residence.

That night was amazing. One of the soldiers had a guitar, and Serge was a first class guitarist. School was out. There was nothing to hide. We were perfectly frank, and told them we had come to tell them about Jesus. Five or six soldiers were greatly intrigued by us and joined us like a fellowship meeting. We taught them English gospel songs and they loved to sing with us. What a night! Here we were arrested on a mountain top slam on the remote China boarder having a great time with North Vietnamese soldiers. That gave me a unique view of war. These were the men we were trying to kill 30 years previously, and, now, being with them, was just like being with any group of young men in the US mid-west, Korea, Japan, Thailand, or any other country. Our bond was unreal. Two or three said when they got out of service they wanted to come to Chiang Mai to visit us. We talked about our homes, families, future, and, of course, Jesus. What a night. I would walk across Vietnam for another night like that.

The next day they took us by “armed guards” down the hill to the nearest town of Montei. That was when I had that momentous experience of hugging the stern communist army commander .and he lit up like a strobe light. In Montei we were placed in proper jail cells. We hadn't bathed in several days and were terribly ripe. They gave us access to bath by a well in the prison court yard. It was freezing cold. We weren't tortured but if they had beat us or pulled out our finger nails, nothing could have cracked me sooner than that cold bath. I had had POW training in the Air Force before I went over seas and was familiar with interrogation techniques. I knew the best time for torture and interrogation is from midnight to 4:00 AM, when the body is the weakest and the most sensitive to pain. I told George, “If they give us a hard time it will be tonight”. Yappari (just as I thought), at midnight I heard someone clanging opening our jail cell. I told George, “Okay, this is where it starts”. It was one of the guards who was concerned that we might be cold and brought us more blankets.

The next day we were taken another 100 km further south to the provincial capital of Dien Bien Phu. There, we were in the hands of professionals. It was a grueling ten ours of nonstop interrogation. I don't remember much of what happened other than George recalled one time he was asked if he had ever illegally smuggled Bibles into Vietnam. He didn't know how to respond. As he was thinking of an answer, suddenly the interpreter stood up and excused himself to go to the bathroom. When he came back, I immediately engaged him in a different subject, and the original question never came up again.

Around 10:30 the interrogation was finally over. The police read the Vietnam law to us and said we were charged with violating three laws of illegally bringing contraband into Vietnam, evangelism, and entering into a forbidden zone too close to China. The fine would be $1,800 a piece or three months in Jail, I didn't have that kind of money and held out my arms to be handcuffed, and said I would accept the three months visa and bed and breakfast in the Hanoi Hilton – the famous POW prison. George whispered, “Shut up”. He asked, “Could you consider a missionary discount?” (That wasn't exactly what he said), but he did say we didn't have that kind of money. Then they replied “American Express is accepted here”. (That is not a direct quote either), but they did say, “You do have credit cards don't you.” Again I can't recall what happened for the next hour and a half other than it was incomprehensible haggling over the fine. Finally they said, “Tonight is Chinese New Years Eve. (It was) We have a custom in Vietnam that everyone is supposed to have a happy new years. Will you settle for $100 fine apiece?” (They were tired and wanted to go home for new years.) We joyously reached in our pockets and forked over $300, and, at midnight, walked out of jail free men.

For anyone familiar with the history of French Indochina, Dien Bien Phu is the most famous location in SEA. It was here that Ho Chi Ming's army defeated the French army in 1954, and ended 150 years of French colonization of Vietnam. I vividly recall that grueling battled and the subsequent surrender. I always thought it would be interesting to visit this historic sight but never thought I would have the chance. The next morning, before we left to head back to Hanoi, we did take the time to tour this historic sight. I was utterly stunned. There was nothing there. There was an abandon air strip that the French used for resupply until the perimeter became so small that was impossible. The French fortress was nothing but a series of six foot trenches where the French soldiers suffered and died.

On the way back to Hanoi we were two days drive by jeep away from Montei. When we pulled into a hotel for the night, the people at the hotel said, “Oh, the men who were arrest in Montei are here”. We had been on national TV.

When we finally got back to the guest house where all this first started, we were told that the police had been there checking on us, and told the staff that we were terrorists who had come to Vietnam to overthrow the government by stirring up unrest among the hill tribe people. The officials assured us that we were not black listed and could return to Vietnam anytime, but his proved to be untrue. Five years later, after I was off black list, I was on my way back to Vietnam, by bus, traveling through Cambodia. While I was standing in line to get my passport stamped I was called out of line and taken into a special interrogation room. The officer there gave me a pretty hard time for 15 minutes and then suddenly warmed up remarking, “You seem like a very nice guy.” I replied, I am a nice guy. What you have there on your computer is not true”. We shook hands and I went on into Vietnam.

Montei, that was the epic vent that happened 20 years ago today.

See you next week. May God give you a good one,

                                                            bill