The Shaken City

At first glance, Saigon seemed hardly disturbed by the violent events taking place in the Gulf of Tonkin last week (see THE NATION). Secure in the knowledge that thousands of troops were deployed in the outskirts to protect the city from the Viet Cong, students and politicians lounged idly at sidewalk cafes, carping endlessly about the government's handling of the war. Shops bustled with busy shoppers: thousands of insect-like Renault taxis still clogged the streets. And as always, at midday practically everyone went home for the traditional siesta.

"Bad Times." But beneath the surface there was. for the first time, an undercurrent of real fear from the realization that the city could be a target of any Communist retaliation. Housewives began buying extra supplies of rice, charcoal, dried fish and canned goods. Among the 9,500-odd Americans in the capital, including nearly 1,900 women and children, mild security precautions were quietly taken. U.S. citizens were advised to alter their "normal patterns of movement," avoid public places of amusement, and make "frequent inspections of vehicles for bombs."

Lacking the normal supply of G.I.s. Saigon's garish night life virtually flickered out. At one B-girl boite, a lone visitor nursed his beer while a Vietnamese mademoiselle opened his pack ol cigarettes, another refilled his glass, and a third sighed, "These are bad times."

Though it introduced new concern into the unreality of Saigon, the U.S. action was generally applauded by the South Vietnamese. If they had any complaint, it was that Washington did not go far enough. Most pleased of all was Premier General Nguyen Khanh, who has in recent weeks called for tougher moves against Red North Viet Nam. Khanh had another reason to be happy: the crisis was also a political godsend for him.

"State of Urgency." Ever since Khanh himself seized power in a coup last January, rumors of another coup have swirled about him. He has tried in vain to get the country's minuscule, myriad "political parties" (more than 60 at last count) to come up with a program, and to pacify discontented generals and colonels. His nominal chief of state. General Duong Van ("Big") Minh, has been unhappy and uncooperative. Latest dissident is one of Khanh's three Vice Premiers, Nguyen Ton Hoan. leader of the nationalist Dai Viet party, who recently complained of "too much interference from Khanh and those around him." As last week began, the coup rumors grew to a new crescendo. But with the U.S. blow at North Viet Nam the reports faded, and Khanh appeared at least momentarily bolstered.

Mindful of his critics and fearful of a Communist attack, Khanh seized the opportunity to consolidate his power by decreeing a "state of urgency" empowering the government to ban strikes and demonstrations, impose censorship and travel curbs, search private homes at will, and jail "elements considered dangerous to national security." Violators of public order were to be handed over to military courts; terrorists, saboteurs and "speculators harmful to the national economy" who were caught redhanded were to be sentenced to death. That night, an 11 o'clock curfew was clamped on Saigon, and censors moved in on the capital's 40-odd newspapers and political scandal sheets.

In a proclamation, Khanh once again called for liberation of the North Vietnamese from Communism, declaring: "We are ready to extend our assistance." With that, he was off on an inspection tour of the northern front, where from a border observation post he gazed across the Ben Hai River at North Vietnamese installations.

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