The news from Afghanistan, which fell to the Taliban Islamist insurgents 10 days ago, continues to be grim.
Chaotic televised scenes of Afghans attempting to flee to the West via the U.S. military-controlled Kabul airport persist. Images of families fighting to gain airport access will remain with us forever. One bizarre spectacle I caught on television was semi-comedic. It showed bearded Taliban fighters, clutching weapons and clad in the national “shalwar hameez” garb of long, flowing shirts and pajama-like trousers wide at the top and narrow at the bottom, speeding through central Kabul in Jaguars, Mercedes-Benzes, BMWs and other luxury cars that had been abandoned by fleeing diplomats and wealthy Afghans. It could have been a scene from a modern era Arabian Nights, with the Afghan fighters taking the place of Ali Baba and his Forty Thieves.
The debacle in Afghanistan is rightly being compared by some historians and newspaper columnists (such as this one) with revolutions or coups in two other countries that also were “lost” by the U.S. and the West. They are the nightmares of Vietnam and Iran. Despite some differences, there is a commonality that links Afghanistan, Vietnam and Iran: All three nations, before they were overthrown, were led by a relatively small, Western-oriented elite that was thoroughly corrupt. U.S. military forces, modern weapons and financial aid flowed to the South Vietnamese, but to no avail. In the case of Iran, the pro-Western Shah and his corrupt family and aides were no match for the Ayatollah Khomeini and his clerics.
I cannot forget that day, April 30, 1975, when Ludie, our three children aged 10, 8, 6 and I clustered around the television set to watch the fall of South Vietnam to the communist north.
We were living in Laramie, Wyoming, at the time, where I was serving as chairman of the Journalism Department at the University of Wyoming. Next to the TV in our living room was a large picture window, from which we could view a herd of buffalo grazing on a grassy knoll. As the drama unfolded on TV, we watched U.S. Marine helicopters carrying Graham Martin, the U.S. ambassador to South Vietnam and the last remaining Marines at the embassy, fly from the embassy roof to safety aboard U.S. Navy warships stationed offshore in the South China Sea.
It was a rescue operation named “Frequent Wind,” and it proved to be frightening and heartbreaking. Marines guarding the helicopter takeoff and landing site on the embassy roof were forced to use their rifle and pistol butts to fight off frenzied South Vietnamese not authorized to make the helo flights try to claw their way up high walls to reach the helicopters. Some of the Vietnamese managed to reach the roof and fly off in the helicopters. But most others were unsuccessful.
Later that day, when the final U.S. helicopter had taken off, tank 843 of the North Vietnam forces rammed the gates of Saigon’s Presidential Palace, sped through its lush grounds and came to a stop in front of the palace door. One of the tank’s five crewmen ran into the building and up to a fourth floor balcony where he hung the flag of North Vietnam. President Minh of South Vietnam came out of his office in the palace and surrendered to the tank crew. The war was over. Saigon was soon renamed Ho Chi Minh City, North and South Vietnam were merged into one nation and Hanoi became its capital.
The war had cost the lives of more than 58,000 Americans and nearly 1 million Vietnamese. North Vietnam’s 30-foot, 40-ton Soviet-made tank 843, still bearing its original dark brown colors, sits upon a massive concrete base in the palace grounds. Ambassador Martin’s CH-46 escape helicopter named “Lady Ace 09” is on permanent display in the Flying Leatherneck Air Museum at Marine Corps Air Station Miramar east of San Diego.
In a subsequent week, I will continue this column.
David C. Henley is publisher emeritus of the Lahontan Valley News and Fallon Eagle-Standard.
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