Rage of the Wounded

SOUTH VIETNAM

Seven carloads of helmeted national police last week pulled up to a clingy hantytown which sprawled beside Saigon's Phu Tho race track. Then, in a scene reminiscent of General Douglas MacArthur's dispersing the Washington Jonus Marchers in 1932, the riot police chased the residents--disabled war veterans and their families--out of their hacks. As the veterans, many missing arms and legs, scampered out, the police used crowbars to smash the flimsy shelters. While women and children prevailed, one despairing veteran slashed tis wrists. Squatters who resisted were beaten with rifle butts.

Last week's incident was part of a few government drive against the country's 54,000 disabled army veterans, home of whom have turned to crime. The veterans have become one of the nost troublesome elements in South Viet Nam's growing urban crisis (TIME, Aug. 31). In the past two weeks, Saigon police have destroyed one-quarter of the 4,000 veterans' shanties in the capital, and more raids are planned.

President Thieu decided to move against the veterans after a recent gun battle in Saigon between police and hugs belonging to one of several veterans' groups. The shootout gave Thieu he excuse he needed to launch a genial crackdown that, he hopes, will curb disturbances by veterans until long-overdue reforms defuse their discontent.

Thieu has started a $152 million rehabilitation program and a $102 million free-housing program to build 12,000 new units. In August he increased monthly benefits for each veteran by the buying-power equivalent of $7.50. Meanwhile, the disabled veterans, who still draw as little as $14 a month, continue to be restive. While the majority have contented themselves mainly with public protests in which they flaunt their hideous wounds, perhaps 500 of them practice extortion and other criminal activities.

Ambivalent Feelings. There are two main gangs of veterans in Saigon. One group, led by former Army Lieut. Truong Van Bo, is so well organized that it has issued quasi-governmental "identity cards" to its members. Bo is now a fugitive, and it was his men who shot it out with police after overpowering a cop who was trying to arrest Bo.

The other gang of 200 has extorted an estimated $50,000 during the past six months. Its leader is Nguyen Ro, 33, a one-legged former master sergeant, who earned 20 medals as a soldier. "All my life has been devoted to fighting the enemy," he says. "When I could fight, the government provided me with a house. But when I was disabled, without any way to make a living, I was chased out."

The gangs make most of their money in the protection rackets, collecting "contributions" or "taxes" from merchants and shopkeepers, and hiring themselves out as strongarm debt collectors. Last month, armed with grenades, they invaded a suburban police station and forced police to release a group of "protected" prostitutes. Other veterans are less sophisticated. Some simply go into restaurants, enjoy an expensive meal and then refuse to pay; sometimes they even ask the proprietor for a loan. Others build shacks on other people's property and demand a fee to tear them down.

The crime and troublemaking have turned public opinion sharply against the disabled veterans. Even the South Vietnamese army men have ambivalent feelings about their former comrades in arms. "Their cause is just, but their action is wrong," says one army colonel. "The image of the disabled hero has faded away and has been replaced by the picture of a pirate or robber." Still, unless Thieu can cope with the wounded veterans, their discontent will only fuel the tense climate in Saigon and the other major cities.

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