Nguyen Van Tho

“My eight-year old son and I were accepted into the Vietnamese Refugee Camp in Pulau Galang, Indonesia 1989. We left the camp in 1993. Life in the camp was quite challenging, due to the fact that there were so many of us but the supply for the necessities of life was really limited. Each week each of us was provided a few kilograms of rice, 9 small herring cans, some cooking oil, Maggie seasoning, soybean sauce, soybean and mung bean; those were all. Anticipating that my son and I would have to stay in this temporary “home” for a while, I purchased a camera, with the money sent to me from my brother in Vietnam, and made my living as a photographer. Every day I took photos from an identification card to different activities that the clients asked me to. These clients wanted to send some pictures to their relatives in America, in Canada, in Australia… or in Vietnam to ensure their loved ones that they were doing well in the Camp. Being a photographer, not only did I want to earn a living, but also desire to record the scenery of the Camp and the memorable activities in this temporary “home”, which would be later preserved as part of the history of the Vietnamese “boat-people”.  As such, after hours of taking photos for clients, I climbed up the hills, spending a lot of time searching for areas where I could take photos of the landscapes of the whole Vietnamese Refugee Camp, from Galang 1, to Galang 2 and Galang 3. In addition, with determination, I was lucky enough to snap photos of certain tragic events taken place within the Camp.

During the years 1991 and 1992 the population in the Camp increased up to more than twenty thousand people. The United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR) wanted to prevent more refugees’ arrival. Therefore, they encouraged us to return home. Some people, who could not endure the stressful life in the camp, did go back. Others, who embraced the challenges and determined to follow their dreams, tried to explain their situations to the UNHCR. However, some of them did not pass the test to get a new citizenship and tragic events occurred within the camp.

The first tragic event took place to Ms. Huong in 1991. After being refused the second time the resettlement in another country (although she kept explaining to the UNHCR that she could not return home because she was a daughter of a major in the Armed Forces of the Republic of Vietnam), she burned herself in her locked room. When the barrack mates were able to break the door of her room to rescue her, her whole body had been burned. She was taken to the hospital for treatment. When I knew her situation, the policemen had already guarded the hospital. It was not easy to get inside to take her photo. I then prepared the camera, placed it in a lunchbox and headed toward the hospital. When asked by the police, I answered that I visited my relative. Inside the hospital it took me an hour or so to ask different people for Ms. Huong’s room. In her room, I quickly took her photo. I had just finished the first one when she said: “Hot! Too hot! I cannot stand it, please don’t take picture.” I ran out of the room. I did not want to be caught by police. An hour later she was taken to Tanung Pinang city by canoe. However, she died before reaching the destination. Therefore, they brought her back to Galang for her funeral. After the funeral there was a big demonstration within the camp. People requested the UNHCR to review what happened to Ms. Huong, to change their mind and allow us to be resettled in a third country.

In spite of that, the UNHCR continued screening the refugees with their repatriating process.  As such, the second tragic event occurred! Two days before the event I had already agreed to take photos for a one-month-old child. Getting the camera ready I went toward the barrack of the child. When passing Kim Quang temple, I heard somebody’s voice: “Someone just hanged himself”. Therefore, instead of going to take the child’s photos, I ran toward the wood where they said a person had just hanged himself. When I reached the site, seven people had stood there. They told me not to take photo because the police were coming and they might beat me dead. However, I wanted to take some photos; but I did not see the hanged person. So I asked them and they said: “In the wood.” I went in and looked, but could not find him. Finally, I uncovered a man’s body dangling along a tree after trampling a thicket. I held his body stable and took two photos. As soon as I had left the place, the police arrived. I hid the camera on my back. The policemen asked me: “Where? Where?” I said: “Over there.” Then I ran away. My heart beat quicker. After a while I saw an Indonesian priest. He asked me: “Where did you go?” I answered: “I went to see the dead.” I then continued my way. When the people saw me, they said: “Mr. Tho, you’d better run away as soon as possible. If they caught you, they would beat you dead. They will not allow such pictures to be exposed.”  On the way out I met two more policemen who stopped me. My heart raced as if it would burst out of my chest. They asked me: “Where did you go?” “To see the dead” I answered. When they proceeded into the wood, I ran away. I was so afraid that I hid myself and did not go on with the photo taking for the one-month-old child as I had promised. Later on, I was told that the person who hanged himself was a former paratrooper of the Armed Forces of the Republic of Vietnam.  His name is Quang Van Nguyen. He had explained his situation to the UNHCR twice; but his fate was still cast to be: “Return home”; the same as that of Ms. Huong!

The third event happened in September 1992 when a delegation (mission) from Jakarta visited the camp. One member of the delegation was a priest whose name was Trung Minh Cao. He escorted an apostolic nuncio from the Nunciature to Indonesia. Father Cao knew us. I don’t remember exactly the date. It might be the 14^th or 15^th of September, 1992 he came to see us and talked about the UNHCR’s suggestion to him. The UNHCR wanted him to encourage us to return to Vietnam. He refused, saying that he was a Vietnamese, too and that he just wanted to know the situation of the refugees and support them spiritually. He would face resentment if he advised them to return home. The following day, after the mass, I was talking with father Cao when overhearing: “Suicide!” I stopped talking with father Cao and ran quickly down the hill. I thought maybe somebody was committing suicide by burning himself. Oh, no! In front of my eyes was a man pushing one knife into his belly with one hand and the other hand raising a letter. Not far from him was an unconscious person laying on the ground due to the loss of too much blood. A third person is holding a blooded letter with various blood stains on his shirt. Ah, they wrote letters and requested the bishop’s and the priest’s assistance by submitting the letters to the Pope, who might feel bound to intervene with the UNHCR on behalf of the Vietnamese refugees. I told myself that I should take advantage of this opportunity to record this pitiful event. I could not lose it. But the deputy representative of the island, who stood by the person who was pushing the knife into his belly, already saw me. He said: “No picture! No picture!” In spite of that, the camera was quickly zoomed and two photos were snapped. A nun behind me cried out: “Photographer, no picture, no picture.” The local residents loved the refugees, but they did not want the records of such event as this to be exposed; which might smear the reputation of Indonesia. Nevertheless, I already took the photos. I ran away. The deputy representative could not run after me because he had to save the person who was pushing the knife into his belly. If he didn’t, that person might fall and the knife would get deeper into his body. As such, I rushed into the church safely; rewound the roll of film, gave it to my friend, Dung Huu Nguyen, asking him to hide the film for me. He placed it under the statue of Mary; then told me to get out of the church. I inserted a new roll of film into the camera and randomly took photos at different places of the church. Approximately ten minutes later, I got out of the church and wanted to talk with father Cao, but the deputy representative of the island arrived just in time to stop the conversation. He looked really upset. The Indonesian priest talked with him, using local language so I did not understand what they said. I guessed the priest asked him to calm down; not to make a big deal out of this. The priest asked the interpreter: “Did you take any pictures?”  “No, I didn’t”, the interpreter answered. The deputy said: “I saw you clicking twice, why do you now say you didn’t take any pictures?” I said: “I didn’t take any photos.” The priest asked: “Tell me the truth, did you take any pictures?” “No, I didn’t, father” I answered. The deputy snatched my handbag, opened it, took out five rolls of film and told me: “Hand me your camera.” He thought I lost all the film; but in fact he had been deceived (misled)! He felt safe after taking the film and allowed me to leave. I hid myself from the community. I was told later that approximately an hour after the happening the three suicidal men were taken to the hospital in a bigger island for treatment.  At the same time the deputy representative of the island had all of my film printed. However, he did not find the photos which he was looking for. So he ransacked all photographers in the camp. They were upset and cursed at me: “It was Tho who caused all this mess!”

Later, my friend brought back the roll of film under the statue of Mary. I asked him not to print it. We would decide what to do in the future.

Approximately a month later, a priest in the church, then a man who was responsible for the Vietnamese culture in the camp continued asking me the existence of the photos regarding those three suicidal men. I denied having them.

The story gradually faded a few months later. Father Trung Minh Cao entrusted me to the Indonesian priest so the policemen stopped bothering me.

Reviewing the above-mentioned tragic events we might think the UNHCR was not so kind to the Vietnamese refugees. In fact, we, Vietnamese, sometimes misunderstood the UNHCR’s policy. As the refugees kept arriving and the camp became overcrowded, friendly relations faded as resentments grew. Therefore, the UNHCR wanted to stop Vietnamese from leaving their country. In the other hand, we, Vietnamese, thought our families had members who belonged to the Armed Forces of the Republic of Vietnam or to the previous regime…, we would be automatically accepted for resettlement. The fact was all boat-people or internees were treated the same by the UNHCR no matter if you had been a communist or an officer in the Armed Forces of the Republic of Vietnam. The important thing was that you had to prove to the UNHCR that if you returned to Vietnam, you would be persecuted, put in prison or killed by the communist government. You would then be accepted by the UNHCR as having real claim to refugee status and assigned locations for resettlement. However, if you faced no persecution in Vietnam, you’d better return home. As the results, quite a few solders, even officers of the Armed Forces of the Republic of Vietnam were repatriated, unwillingly. In the meantime, some persons who had been a communist cadre or first lieutenant were opened the window of opportunity for resettlement!”