Jack M. Shuttleworth

Bound by Honor

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Stuart I. Rochester and Frederick Kiley. Honor Bound: The History of the American Prisoners of War in Southeast Asia, 1961-1973. Washington: Historical Office, Office of the Secretary of Defense, 1998. Pp. 704, including Bibliography, Notes, and Index.

Also available under the imprint Honor Bound: American Prisoners of War in Southeast Asia, 1961-1973. Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1999. Pp. 696, including photographs, drawings, maps. $36.95.

Let me be clear from the start: Read this splendid book. It reaches the highest standards of balanced scholarship and meticulous research united with clear vision and mature compassion. It undoubtedly will endure as the standard account of this part of our national history. As well as a record of some 900 American prisoners, military and civilian, most of whom returned with their honor intact, the book is a record of the authors’ being bound by honor, by their own sense of obligation extending now more than 25 years, to tell the whole story, unvarnished and as nearly complete as possible. That they succeed testifies to their own endurance and their comprehensive mastery of the many stories to emerge from this longest captivity. They do for the PW experience what Gerhard Weinberg does in his one-volume history of World War II—they clarify the threads of cause and effect, tell the stories in compelling and authentic ways, and leave us incredulous at the accomplishment of the book and the people whose stories it offers.

Whatever we think in retrospect about the war in Viet Nam—misguided national folly, a generous attempt to aid a struggling people, a painful part of the cold war, or any of the varieties of such views—one fact remains. The stories of the men and women captured by the North Vietnamese, the Viet Cong and their allies, reveal the astonishing capacity of ordinary people to do the extraordinary, to endure pointless and deliberate suffering, to survive and triumph under degrading and dehumanizing conditions, to discover unrealized inner strength and belief in the rightness of democratic values.

The story of the American (and a handful of other) prisoners in Southeast Asia, as Rochester and Kiley present it in this monumental volume, at once horrifies and inspires; it draws tears, and it angers and humbles us as citizens, as veterans, and as readers. With thoroughgoing and dispassionate scholarship, the authors make clear the disastrous results to the nation and its military members when our government commits its forces to a conflict without a clear grasp of the risks, without a clear national aim, and without understanding the political and social dynamics of the site of that risk. The implications for current policy-makers are all too evident; the risks are that all too few policy-makers will read this vital history for the lessons it provides us all. I would say to them, "Read this book."

Honor Bound provides the historical setting of the war; details the capture and treatment of prisoners in North and South Vietnam, Laos, Cambodia, and China; chronicles the prisoners’ movements and resistance—in overwhelming detail with astonishing coherence. It provides structure and focus to what often seemed random and impenetrable actions. In its twenty-six chapters, the authors clarify the differing kinds of treatment inflicted on the prisoners (or war criminals as the Viet Cong described them) from the early years (1961-4), the middle years (1965-9), the period after Ho Chi Minh’s death (1969), and during the Paris negotiations until their joyous release in 1973. From their early surprise and confusion, we learn, the captors rapidly evolved an awareness of the ways they might exploit their prisoners for propaganda, both internal and international. The power of the image of American airmen humbled by the technologically inferior but ideologically superior North Vietnamese proved irresistible; that deliberate exploitation of the PWs for political and ideological reasons clearly marked their captivity as different from that experienced in WWII or earlier wars. The American prisoners, however, well aware of their propagandistic value, resisted and circumvented their captors in imaginative and subtle ways. As the authors put it:

As isolated and disconnected as their situation was, the majority of PWs never considered themselves divorced from the war effort. For them the prison camps became just another theater, albeit a unique one, with its own peculiar logistical and tactical demands. Their mission had changed, from one of active fighting to one of resistance and survival, but they still had a soldierly function to perform—to disrupt, to stymie, to exhaust the enemy, finally to defeat him, in this case on the battle field of propaganda and psychological warfare. . . . They saw themselves at the center of the political struggle and viewed their mission as ever more crucial as they recognized the PW issue taking on increasing political significance. (p. 129)

They resisted with imagination, individual will, and surreptitious communication despite the Vietnamese ban on such actions. When the years of systematic torture began in earnest in late 1965, torture to which about 95% of prisoners were subjected, the suffering of the individual and the demands of the rudimentary camp organization led ultimately to a strengthened chain of command and a recognition that the American Code of Conduct was unrealistic in the face of such persistent, purposeful, and brutal torture.

The treatment of Lt (j.g.) Rodney Knutson, USN, will suffice to illustrate the brutality: After refusing to give more than his name and service number, Lt Knutson’s

Guards locked him in ankle straps, bound his arms so tightly behind his back they lost circulation, denied him food and water, and, when he still refused to apologize for his behavior, punched him with clenched fists until they shattered his nose, broke several teeth, and caused his eyelids to swell shut. When after three days guards removed him from the stocks, he was unable to straighten up because his bloodied back and buttocks, beaten to a pulp with bamboo clubs, had formed a giant scab. When they released his bonds, he could not believe the intensity of the pain caused by the recirculation of blood into his blackened hands and forearms. When, semiconscious and writhing in agony, he remained silent, the Vietnamese applied a new torture that finally broke him.

In the so-called "rope torture," administered to Knutson on 25 October [1965] and soon to become a source of dread throughout the Northern camps, guards forced him face down on his bunk, set his ankles into stocks, and bound him tightly with rope at the elbows. The long end of the rope was then pulled up through a hook attached to the ceiling. As a guard hoisted the prisoner, he lifted him off the bunk enough so that he could not relieve any of his weight, producing incredible pain—with shoulders seemingly being torn from their sockets—and horribly constricting breathing. (p. 145)

This kind of treatment varying in intensity from camp to camp and from guard to guard occurred while "prominent American peace advocates" broadcast appeals extolling the heroism of the Vietnamese and "the cowardice of the American pilots" (pp. 180-1). Their treatment grew even more galling with the arrival of the "Cuban delegation," three English-speaking Caucasians, believed to be Cubans, who brought with them more subtle and brutal treatment (pp. 396ff). That large numbers of the PWs did not end their resistance in the face of the peace movement and its propagandistic excesses testifies to their ability to see through the political fog and to remain loyal to the commitment (and constitutional oath) that brought them in harm’s way.

In the face of incessant deprivation and repeated torture, many heroic figures emerge: the authors find almost daily heroism among most prisoners, but clearly Jeremiah Denton, Robbie Risner, and James Stockdale emerge as especially admirable figures, senior officers who suffered extraordinary pain and penalties from both mental and physical maltreatment, but who nevertheless ultimately imposed their wills on their captors and led the other PWs with increasing effectiveness. To cite but one example,

Stockdale formulated a set of policies during this period early in 1967 that amplified and supplemented the previous instructions of Denton and Risner. In summary form it was conveyed in the acronym BACK US:

B—Bowing. Do not bow in public, either under camera surveillance or where nonprison observers were present.

A—Air. Stay off the air. Make no broadcasts or recordings.

C—Crimes. Admit to no "crimes," avoiding use of the word in coerced

confessions.

K—Kiss. Do not kiss the Vietnamese goodbye, meaning show no gratitude upon release.

US—Unity over Self.

Meeting the needs for both compassion and discipline and carrying the personal signature of a respected senior, Stockdale’s policy guidance lifted morale at Vegas [one of the early camps] as much as any of the improvements in the men’s physical circumstances. Of more far-reaching significance, it would become a moral-legal compass for prisoner conduct for the remainder of the war, and not just at Vegas but throughout the PW ranks. (p. 298)

Such leadership helped the weakened and debilitated prisoners survive and clearly shaped their attitude toward the few who accepted the Vietnamese offer of better conditions in return for collaboration. By late 1970, after Ho’s death, conditions changed dramatically when some "340 US prisoners of war—all those captured in the North and known to be still alive—were gathered in one location. It was the first time all the aviators had been together in a single camp. They called the place ‘Unity’ " (p. 523). Out of unity came coherence in the form of the self-proclaimed 4^th Allied POW Wing, an organization that evolved from the large cells in the camp. It was so named for the Fourth war of the century and Allied "signified the inclusion of Thai and Vietnamese allies" (p. 534fn).

The story of the organization’s success in the later years (under Air Force Colonel John Flynn), in circumventing the Vietnamese captors and in holding the group together as the war’s end approached demonstrates again the importance of imaginative and inspiring leadership and willing, loyal followership. By the spring of 1971, one of the prisoners later recalled, the tables had turned so that "prisoners now harass the guards" (p. 536), but not with impunity. The captors tried vainly to disrupt the chains of command, resorted again to beatings, and dislocated prisoners almost at random. But the communication system and the strengthened cohesion meant that the Wing, one PW reported, was functioning "almost as efficiently as the normal administration facilities available back home" (p. 539).

Anyone old enough to remember the prisoners’ return back home in that spring of 1973 knows the intense emotional response from the gathered crowds and the millions watching at home on television. When Jeremiah Denton read his brief statement, the nation breathed a sigh of relief and gratitude for such men, for their freedom. Denton’s words, "We are honored to have had the opportunity to serve our country under difficult circumstances. We are profoundly grateful to our Commander in Chief and to our nation for this day. God Bless America" (p. v) remain a ringing monument to those who endured horrific conditions and treatment, who persisted with wit and bravery, imagination and stoic determination. That such individuals served—and have long served—this country remains one of the little-sung blessings from which we all benefit.