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May 2015 back issue
by Catherine Karnow
My friendship with General Giap and his family began in July of 1990. The French called him the "snow-
covered volcano" for his icy exterior and volatile temperament.
In 1994 I was invited by General Giap to be the only western journalist to accompany him privately to Dien
Bien Phu. I had been at his house a few days before, photographing him and having dinner with the family,
when he leaned over and whispered the invitation in my ear, telling me not to tell anyone. Journalists and
photographers had been gathering for days in Hanoi, wondering if the General would be visiting Dien Bien Phu
for the 40th anniversary of the battle. Now here he was inviting me to go with him privately, a couple weeks
before the actual anniversary date of May 7th.
I first met General Giap in July of 1990. He and his wife invited me to their house. As we sipped tea in the
living room, I was nervously trying to figure out where I could do a photo that would depict him as the “snow-
covered volcano.” I needed good natural light, but the house was dark and austere. I asked if I could look
around and the General waved me permission to do as I wished. His handlers grew agitated and followed
me apprehensively as I walked into the dining room, and then the kitchen. Then I saw it. There was a ray of
light coming down onto the back stairs.
I asked the General to come back to the stairwell. This man, famous for his will of steel, followed me amiably
to the spot where the ray of sun came in. He agreed to sit on a lower stair and look up at me. The light shone
down in his eyes and illuminated his snow-white hair. It was a very unorthodox way to photograph such a
powerful man. But clearly he admired my tenacity and perseverance. He liked the photograph as well, and so
our friendship began on that day. Years later I noticed that the portrait clearly showed the two sides of this
man: the right shows him as the family man, and the man who felt compassion, especially for his women
soldiers whose needs he paid special attention to; while the left side of his face shows the military general
who repeated that he would fight the French “at all costs.”
Fast forward to late April, 1994. I was nervous as we flew from Hanoi towards Dien Bien Phu. I knew that for
me to get the best photos, I needed to be with him at all times. General Giap would be visiting not just the
battle ground and a war cemetery, he would be returning for the first time in 40 years to Mung Phang, the
secret encampment in the forest where he had hidden during the months that led up to the battle, and from
where he plotted the now-famous strategy of Dien Bien Phu.
What was Giap's brilliant strategy? His method was basically to overwhelm the French soldiers by using sheer
human force to push extremely heavy Howitzer cannons up the steep mountainside and shell the French
garrisons below. The shelling was relentless. The French were so overwhelmed that the artillery officer
committed suicide in the trenches.
Our big commercial jet landed and I found myself whisked away by government minders who didn't
understand my special status. In a minute I was separated from the General with no plan to meet. I also had
no idea where he was staying. We dropped off my bag at my mini-hotel and I asked to be taken to the General.
Despite their objections, we nevertheless set off in the jeep. The minders were confused, and weren't sure
where to take me. Suddenly I saw a large guesthouse on top of a hill. My intuition told me that this is where
the General was, so I repeatedly asked the driver to stop. When he didn't, I had no choice but to jump out of
the moving jeep. Thankfully we weren't going very fast. I ran up the hill and found the General's aide resting
on the veranda. We knew each other and he wasn't surprised to see me. I learned that we would visit the
forest hide-away the next day.
General Giap would be going to Mung Phang by helicopter, but I would go by jeep -- a rough, six hour trek
over rocky terrain and pot-holed roads. I was told we would be there in the early afternoon and the General
would arrive at about the same time.
There were hundreds of people gathered to await the arrival of the General by helicopter. Expecting he
would land at any moment, I made sure my cameras were loaded with film and I was in a good shooting
position. The minutes passed. Then an hour and another hour. I had nothing to eat. There was only warm,
flat orange soda to drink. It was impossibly hot. If I went into the woods to take shelter from the sun, I risked
missing the General's arrival. Stupidly, I hadn't brought enough film. It was too bad, as the people wore
lovely woven cloths and were friendly. Many were Black Thai, the ethnic tribal people of the highlands. I was
beginning to feel faint with hunger and exhaustion.
Finally, there was a buzz in the sky and we saw the great bird coming towards us. The people ran towards the
helicopter as it landed and the General emerged waving to the crowd. We began the long trek up the mountain
to visit the secret hideaway in the forest. We walked on narrow wood planks over streams and climbed over
fallen logs. For a man of 83, the General was in excellent shape.
As we approached the spot where he had lived for the many months leading up to the final battle, villagers
greeted him with great reverence and joy. He hadn't seen some in 40 years.
In moments we were in the tiny hut, the exact same hut where he had plotted the strategy of the battle. On the
wall was a replica of the map he and his lieutenants had used forty years ago. Giap recounted his memories
of those days spent in the hut. He said, "my only regret is that the same commanders who were with me that
day are no longer with us and cannot be here today."
For me, it was momentous to be in that hut in the middle of the jungle of Northern Vietnam, hundreds of miles
from anywhere, witnessing a living legend recall his personal moment in history.
Veterans of Dien Bien Phu listen rapt to the General who was known for his powerful rhetoric and inspiring
speeches.
In October of 2013, when I learned that the General had passed away, I flew straight to Vietnam, and upon
arriving went to the house on Hoang Dieu. It was early evening and there were lines of people slowly making
their way towards the home altar to pay their respects. The mood was very quiet, very reverential. All night
long people came to pay homage.
Inside was the huge portrait of the General made up of 8800 tiny photos, and based on a photograph I had
taken of him in 1994. The family took turns to stand next to the clock which was set to the exact to the General
had died.
People made their way in to the altar; some emerged solemn while others were overcome with grief.
The following day was the official funeral in the National Funeral Hall. The coffin stayed on the stage all day
and all night.
The next day it was put on a gun carriage and a glass canopy lifted on top of it.
The streets of Hanoi were thronged with mourners. Later I would learn that more people had come from all
over Vietnam than had ever come out for any event in Vietnam’s history.
May 7, 2015 marks the 61st anniversary of Dien Bien Phu, the decisive battle master-minded by General Vo
Nguyen Giap, which won the Vietnamese their independence from the French, who had ruled Vietnam for
over 100 years.