This Saturday the group visited the mausoleum of Ho Chi Minh, which was a truly unique experience. The Vietnamese have a profound reverence for Ho. The West seems to view Ho Chi Minh only as a Communist, but to the Vietnamese he was a nationalist leader who freed the country for imperialist invaders. This dynamic is particularly important to the Vietnamese, who suffered for a thousand years under Chinese rule. Vietnamese independence is fiercely valued, and Uncle Ho is seen as having led to march to a home-ruled Vietnam.
Despite this emphasis on the nationalist side of Ho, there's no way anyone visiting his mausoleum or museum could possibly forget the leader's communist ideology. Red is splashed all over the compound (and yes, it is a compound), and hammers and sickles abound. The mausoleum itself isn't visible from the main entrance, which only adds to the mystique. The line wraps around the complex for a few hundred yards like lines for a roller coaster. Security is tight. Bags must be checked, and I had to go all the way to the beginning of the line when I foolishly forgot to leave my Swiss army knife at the door. Fortunately the line moves quickly.
Visitors to the mausoleum approach from the side. The building itself is quite formidable and is perhaps the size of the Lincoln Memorial. Military guards in crisp white uniforms patrol the ground, and stand unsmilingly. The line goes up a set of stairs and into the mausoleum itself. Visitors are asked to remove their hats, and my friend David was told to take his hand out of his pocket. Signs state that visitors must act in a solemn and respectful manner, but this doesn't seem necessary, as the Vietnamese themselves remain silent upon entering the tomb.
After going up some more stairs, we finally come to the man himself. Lying in a case in the center of a marble-walled room is the body of Ho Chi Minh. Visitors walk around case slowly. The body is displayed under a sort of eerie orange light. A red star and a gold hammer and sickle are inlaid into the marble wall behind the body. The body itself seems, well, a bit odd. To be fair, I can't claim to have much experience with people who have been dead nearly forty years, but Ho didn't seem quite right. Ho had a plastic kind of look to him. I don't want to make the accusation that the body was fake, or a wax dummy, but I must admit that such a revelation wouldn't shock me.
Perhaps more fascinating than the body itself was the Vietnamese reaction to it. Everyone was silent as we walked past; I felt like I was in a church. The reverence the Vietnamese show for Ho is incredible. This reverence translates awkwardly in the form of the Ho Chi Minh museum, but I'll write more on this next time.
Despite this emphasis on the nationalist side of Ho, there's no way anyone visiting his mausoleum or museum could possibly forget the leader's communist ideology. Red is splashed all over the compound (and yes, it is a compound), and hammers and sickles abound. The mausoleum itself isn't visible from the main entrance, which only adds to the mystique. The line wraps around the complex for a few hundred yards like lines for a roller coaster. Security is tight. Bags must be checked, and I had to go all the way to the beginning of the line when I foolishly forgot to leave my Swiss army knife at the door. Fortunately the line moves quickly.
Visitors to the mausoleum approach from the side. The building itself is quite formidable and is perhaps the size of the Lincoln Memorial. Military guards in crisp white uniforms patrol the ground, and stand unsmilingly. The line goes up a set of stairs and into the mausoleum itself. Visitors are asked to remove their hats, and my friend David was told to take his hand out of his pocket. Signs state that visitors must act in a solemn and respectful manner, but this doesn't seem necessary, as the Vietnamese themselves remain silent upon entering the tomb.
After going up some more stairs, we finally come to the man himself. Lying in a case in the center of a marble-walled room is the body of Ho Chi Minh. Visitors walk around case slowly. The body is displayed under a sort of eerie orange light. A red star and a gold hammer and sickle are inlaid into the marble wall behind the body. The body itself seems, well, a bit odd. To be fair, I can't claim to have much experience with people who have been dead nearly forty years, but Ho didn't seem quite right. Ho had a plastic kind of look to him. I don't want to make the accusation that the body was fake, or a wax dummy, but I must admit that such a revelation wouldn't shock me.
Perhaps more fascinating than the body itself was the Vietnamese reaction to it. Everyone was silent as we walked past; I felt like I was in a church. The reverence the Vietnamese show for Ho is incredible. This reverence translates awkwardly in the form of the Ho Chi Minh museum, but I'll write more on this next time.
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