Those Who Were Left Behind

For every Vietnamese who fled from the South last week there were hundreds who were just as fearful of being killed but could find no way to get out. According to one U.S. intelligence report, the odds against a Vietnamese escaping were 50 to 1 unless he had an "American connection "--a relative who was a U.S. citizen or an American friend who was willing to guarantee a job in the U.S. or financial support. Rather than fight those odds, many Vietnamese were resigned to staying. Some were looking for a safe place for their families in case Saigon was shelled. Others were preparing to raise white flags when the Communists came. Still others, however, were desperately trying to beat the odds and find a way out--even some with no apparent reason for being panicky. Some glimpses of the people who were being left behind:

In an elegant house in Saigon, workmen filled wooden crates with the wealthy businessman's handsome collection of ancient stone carvings, antique porcelain and paintings. The art treasures were going to Singapore, but the owner and his wife, unlike many of their moneyed peers, had not found a way to follow them. Neither his government nor his American friends nor his contacts in the Cholon underworld had been able to help.

The wife hid her red, swollen eyes behind large dark glasses; her expressive hands trembled. Normally an impeccable hostess, she was so rattled that she neglected to offer a drink to her visitor, TIME Correspondent William McWhirter. With a rueful laugh, she said: "The ridiculous thing is that people keep telephoning me, asking if I can help them. People on the street are so worried. I don't know why. I don't know why the poor people so fear Communism. Why didn't they go to the other side? Naturally, all the upper class would like to get away. The rich and those with connections with the government are the ones in danger. The Communists want to destroy a class."

Every morning the teacher made breakfast for her family in their small apartment in a crowded section of the capital, then set off on her urgent rounds. She called on friends, colleagues, former students, relatives. She made contact with hundreds of people, asking each to suggest a way that she might escape from the country.

Her main hope, however, was that the U.S. would finally come to her rescue. Said her brother: "Every day she becomes more and more desperate. She no longer comes home at noon. She no longer eats. Yesterday she waited at the river until after dark because someone she met told her that the U.S. Seventh Fleet was coming in."

The classified advertisement in the Saigon Post read: "Fairly pretty high school girl, 18, of well-to-do family, seeks adoption by or marriage with foreigner of American, French, British, German or other nationality who would take her abroad legally to enable her to continue her college studies outside Viet Nam at her own expense. Please telephone 45470."

Reached by a curious U.S. reporter, the girl said that she had turned down half a dozen men because they could not meet an unadvertised condition: the prospective bridegroom had to find a way out for her parents and two brothers. Asked why the family wanted to flee, she replied: "We are very afraid of the Viet Cong. They will kill our family." Was she seeking a permanent marriage? "If he likes me, I will marry him. And if he don't like me, we will divorce." What if she disliked him? "I know I will like him. I will like anybody."

Since fleeing to Saigon, the police agent had been living with his sister, sleeping fitfully at night on a couch. He claimed that for five years he had worked for the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency's Phoenix Program, which sought to infiltrate the Viet Cong and wiped out thousands of Communist agents. In September his wife and children went to France, where she has been studying. But he was trapped in Saigon and was certain that the Communists would execute him.

He said that he waited five days in line at the U.S. consulate, only to be told that he fit no category of Vietnamese who could be evacuated. Said he: "My American advisers went home, so now I have no contacts. From Danang to Saigon was easy. But how do I cross an ocean?" Gradually the suspicion has grown that he was not left behind by mistake. With a smile intended to mask his feelings, he explained: "It's very possible that I was abandoned." -

The architect was convinced that his family was in no danger from the Communists. Like many of Saigon's intellectuals and professionals, he had long and still-existing ties to leaders of the National Liberation Front. Yet his wife and five children were uneasy. They traveled with relatives 40 miles to the seaport of Vung Tau but were unable to find a boat to carry them to safety. Then they returned home.

"I love Viet Nam," said the architect. "I love the Vietnamese. The V.C. are our friends, not our enemies. I tried to tell my wife that she had to listen to me or I would disown them all forever. I am not afraid. We are innocent people. We are not corrupt. We have not cooperated with this government. If we die, we die."

At Tan Son Nhut airbase, the South Vietnamese pilot studied maps of Southeast Asia, looking for an airbase in a friendly or neutral country to which he could fly his family. His airplane was an L19 light observation plane, a two-seater; with a range of about 300 miles, it could not reach Hong Kong, Bangkok, one of the U.S. bases in Thailand or any other haven. But still the pilot pored over the maps. His friends were convinced that he had gone crazy.

In Phu Lam, west of Saigon, three Communist rockets struck a cluster of stucco villas and dirt paths. After that, the 72-year-old hatmaker began building a steel bunker, as did others on his street; at night, he worked on his personal stock of beer and Suntory whisky. Said he: "We are staying. Where else is there to go? Now there's nothing to do. They are stronger. You must obey. If you resist, they cut off your head."

The Saigon lawyer and politician resisted all pleas from family members and friends to flee. He was sure that he and others like him would survive. He explained: "I have been vanquished and will no doubt be subjected to the victor. I have no illusions. But I frankly believe that any Communist rule will be a different one if many of us stay. They will have to consider our case or kill us all, which would produce a different reaction among the people than they might like."

The second-year student at Saigon University's medical school speaks impeccable English, which she learned while studying for a year in the U.S. Her married sister, who has just become an American citizen, could legally bring her to the U.S.--if the papers are processed in time. An alternative is a marriage of convenience to an American. If neither way works, she says calmly, she will kill herself with an injection.

She was not the only frightened South Vietnamese who was contemplating suicide. Some of her classmates said that their parents had asked them to bring home large quantities of sleeping pills. Others considered poison or an overdose of tranquilizers. Even many Catholics spoke of suicide. One, the wife of a civil servant and mother of nine children, fled Hanoi when the Communists took control of the North in 1954. She explained: "We cannot live with them. Since there is no longer any place left to run, the only option is death." Otherwise, she believed, the Communists would execute the children before her eyes.

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