Ten years in a Lao forced labor camp.
Vientiane - Lao Peoples Democratic Republic
In recent years, while passing through Vientiane, I’ve worn a comfortable rut; Vientiane has become a retreat, a place for me to rest up and recover from weeks in the field. I usually arrive with firmly set notions of what I want from the city. I anticipate a favorite guesthouse where the staff knows my favorite room. I not only look forward to particular restaurants; days in advance I mentally peruse their menus and select my meals. In Vientiane, unlike other places I visit in Laos, the familiar has greater allure than the exotic.
Last week an odd set of circumstances forced me to reside on an unfamiliar side of town and required a search for new restaurants and watering holes. On my first morning in new territory, a desperate quest for caffeine carried me into an unfamiliar noodle shop. Call me lucky. If I hadn’t been forced out of my usual routine I might never have met Somsith and his wife: new friendships that have given me fresh insights into the lives of Laotians who were caught on the loosing side of the Indochina War.
I had no sooner stepped into the shop and ordered a “Coffee Lao” than a fellow about my age greeted me in excellent English; he was wearing a bold Hawaiian shirt and dark sunglasses. In addition to functioning as the official greeter, the guy was also guardian of the cash box, so it was no surprise when he informed me that he and his wife owned the “restaurant” (a forgivable exaggeration).
As we made small talk, I slowly became aware that, very likely, my host was blind. A more astute observer would probably have sensed the man’s disability immediately, but I hadn’t had my morning coffee yet and was not quite up to speed. (No white cane; no seeing-eye dog. Even before coffee I would have picked up an obvious clue. Admittedly, he was wearing Stevie Wonder-Ray Charles sunglasses, but it was a bright day, okay?)
Over several steaming cups of coffee (from freshly roasted beans harvested on Lao’s Bolaven Plateau) I enjoyed an hour of conversation and learned the facts of Somsith’s life. (Somsith is not his real name but for the purpose of this story it will do; it’s probably best that I slightly blur his true identity).
Throughout the Indochina War Somsith worked at the American embassy teaching Laotian to the embassy staff. While doing so, he strengthened his own language skills and became fluent in English. While Somsith wasn’t connected in any way to the military, his association with the embassy stigmatized him as a “puppet” of the Americans.
In the spring of 1975, anticipating that the Pha That Lao would soon grasp power, the American ambassador drew up plans to evacuate and shutter the embassy. Most American citizens were relatively certain of safe passage out of the country. For Lao employees however, the future looked bleak. Reprisal for association with the embassy was a foregone conclusion. As the end neared, the ambassador spoke privately with Somsith and encouraged him to make his way out of Laos and to seek sanctuary in neighboring Thailand.
Somsith was willing to accept the uncertainty of exile; his instincts told him that the ambassador’s dire warnings were justified. However, one difficulty stood in the way of immediate departure. Somsith’s wife was expecting a baby and he feared for the welfare of both wife and child. He knew that living conditions in a Thai refugee camp would be harsh, even for strong adults who arrived in good health. Somsith and his wife decided to forestall their departure until the new baby had safely arrived. It proved to be a bad bet.
Somsith’s wife delivered a healthy baby, but before the family could depart for Thailand he was caught in a round up and detained. Ultimately, without trial, Somsith was classified a threat to the new regime; he was told that he required re-education in the values of the new political and economic system that the victors intended to install. Officials informed him that, to that end, he must attend an educational “seminar” in a distant province. Somsith’s captors allayed his wife’s fears by telling her that he would return soon, no doubt within a few months.
Somsith spent the next ten years doing forced labor in a camp in Hua Phan Province. Although just a humble teacher of English, he served his time among distinguished company. The last members of the Lao royal family were incarcerated at a site near his camp, as were senior officers of the Lao Royal Army, and high-ranking officials of the deposed civilian government.
After several years, Somsith’s wife had to come to grips with the reality that his incarceration had no end in sight and that harsh conditions might well claim his life. With his survival in doubt and his release date unknown, she took steps to secure her own future. First, she obtained a divorce. Then, ironically, she departed Laos for Thailand and, ultimately, to America.
Rarely during the years of his incarceration did Somsith have sufficient food and never adequate medical care. One day, while cutting timber in the forest he stumbled and fell down a steep ravine. He survived the fall but lost an eye in the accident. Years later, long after his release from reeducation, he began to loose his vision in his remaining eye. Today, he estimates that he can see “about 10 per cent.” Although he has lost the ability to read or to recognize faces, he can he can still distinguish large objects and takes pride in being able to walk around his home without assistance.
After ten years of imprisonment, and long after his captors made any pretense of reeducation, Somsith was allowed to return to Vientiane. He collected the children that his ex-wife had left in the care of his parents and started life anew as a manual laborer doing odd construction jobs.
In the twenty years since his release Somsith has worked hard to make up for lost time and opportunity. He remarried; his extended family now includes children from both his former and current spouses. After working for many years at meager wages he eventually saved enough money to start his own construction company. In spite of encroaching blindness he made a success of that venture and now lives modestly in a bustling industrial sector of Vientiane. The noodle shop, a new endeavor, is intended to earn extra income that he hopes will enable him to travel abroad and seek treatment for his failing vision.
Somsith has never forsaken contact with his first wife or several of their children who eventually followed her to the United States. Throughout the early years of their separation they exchanged letters; now that overseas calls have fallen greatly in price they speak occasionally via cell phone. She has never returned to Laos; he has never been to America.
When Somsith and I realized that one of his children now lives just two hours from my home in Wisconsin, he was insistent that we arrange a visit. In anticipation, I took photos of Somsith with his current wife and children proudly standing in front of their shop. Sometime soon I’ll connect with his daughter in America and fulfill the promise I made to my new friend.