Bernard M. Jaffe, MD Professor of Surgery Department of Surgery Tulane University School of Medicine New Orleans, LA

I couldn’t believe it—the man was looking at exactly the same photographs we had taken in Hanoi!

Recently, my wife Marlene and I took a 32-day trip to southeast Asia, partly as tourists and for 10 of those days as members of a People to People/American College of Surgeons delegation (the subject of a future editorial). While waiting to access the internet at La Residence Phou Vao in Luang Prabang, Laos, we inadvertently glimpsed the computer screen over the shoulder of the man on line. We were stunned to see images of the Hoa Lo prison, better known as the Hanoi Hilton, identical to the ones we had taken. The computer operator was Conway Jones, Jr., a retired military officer who, as it turned out, was staying at the same beautiful hotel. Coincidentally, we had visited Hoa Lo on the same day, 10 days earlier, and photographed the same sites. Mr. Jones is a personal friend of Senator John McCain and knows several repatriated prisoners of war (POWs) from the Vietnam conflict. We exchanged greetings, business cards, and, mostly, war stories.

One of the most interesting periods of my professional life was in early 1973 while I was a surgeon on active duty stationed at Travis Air Force Base in California. Travis was the United States re-entry point for released POWs, and I was privileged to meet many of them and care for several with surgical needs. I had not thought of this period in a very long time, but visiting the Hanoi Hilton snapped it back into my mind. I was amazed at how emotional the visit to Hoa Lo was, even more than 30 years later.

As part of their intelligence debriefings, the repatriated POWs—many of them B-52 pilots—relayed in detail information about their cells at Hoa Lo, the types of shackles used, and the prison routine. Being at the famous prison brought back these descriptions rather vividly, and I felt as if I was reliving that period in my life and theirs.

During March 1973, I operated on one repatriated POW several times for a deep muscle infection initiated by an iatrogenic open femur fracture. Roy Madden, a gunner, was captured when his B-52 was shot down. After his release, he described his brutal treatment and the location of a specific tree in a courtyard within the prison walls. During our visit, it was agonizing to turn the corner and be shown that tree by our guide, exactly as it had been described to me 30 years earlier.

The most painful sight was a room full of photographs of the prisoners who were housed at Hoa Lo. I recognized several of them and could even name a few. Some pictures showed them with their hands behind their backs, presumably bound. One photograph featured six of the best known POWs, including Eddie Alvarez, who had been incarcerated the longest; Senator McCain; and Pete Peterson. Our guide actually apologized for the displays.

To make the Hanoi visit complete, Marlene and I were guided to a tiny urban pond in a bustling neighborhood. A large portion of a B-52 was clearly visible, partially submerged beneath the water where the plane fell. This was but one of many B-52s shot down toward the end of the war, during a brief period when a particular bombing route over Hanoi was used repeatedly. The local populace moved about the area without paying the huge steel remnant even the slightest bit of attention. Amazingly, the nearest building—which stands within 30 yards of the debris—is an elementary school.

I thought (and hoped) that I was finished seeing images of American prisoners from the Vietnam conflict, but I was wrong. On the first day of the People to People visit, all 75 of us were taken to the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City (formerly Saigon). On the way to the museum, the guide apologized for the one-sidedness of the displays we were about to see. Boy, was he right! In the entry, we saw a picture of the same POWs leaving Hoa Lo and being prepared for repatriation. I again felt very emotional, on a personal level.

Interestingly, the Vietnamese have moved past the war; they speak of that period in their country’s history casually and often unemotionally. That is easy to understand, because their lives became far more unpleasant after the Paris agreement, which ended the war for the United States,  and after the conclusion of the Cambodian campaign (ie, from 1975 to 1980). Once Saigon was captured by the North Vietnamese and the country was unified, the North Vietnamese government purged the south of those participants from the losing side of the conflict. As you may know, many emigrated to our country. Many who stayed in Vietnam were sent to re-education camps for 2 to 4 years. Once they were allowed to return to their families, they could not find work since the government controlled all the jobs. Two of our guides in Ho Chi Minh City grew up fatherless for several years during this difficult period and were openly bitter.

In the United States, memories of the Vietnam war largely have faded. My own recollections were regenerated during the visits to Hoa Lo in Hanoi and the War Remnants Museum in Ho Chi Minh City, as well as my dialogue with Conway Jones in Laos. Several members of the People to People delegation had served as surgeons during the war “in country,” ie, in Vietnam. For them, the reminiscences were firsthand and more direct, and I assure you that the Vietnam war was a hot conversation topic during our visit.

Like the current conflicts in Iraq and Afghanistan, the US incursion into Vietnam became unpopular in our country. As physicians, we cannot allow politics or our personal opinions to influence our classical mission: to provide the very best care to civilian and military casualties of any conflagration. And, as citizens, we must always remember those who suffered and sacrificed on our behalf.