ANNIVERSARY Exiting Saigon

Ian McGibbon recalls a unique event in New Zealand’s diplomatic history 50 years ago.

About midday on 30 April 50 years ago, North Vietnamese tanks crashed through the gates of the presidential palace in the South Vietnamese capital Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City).

Waiting on the steps was General Duong Van (Big) Minh, the acting president of the Republic of Vietnam, who two hours before had ordered the South Vietnamese army to end its resistance. When he declared that he was handing over power, he was contemptuously dismissed as having no power to hand over. With the demise of the South Vietnamese regime, the Vietnam War was over at last. It was the first, and so far only, time that a state in which New Zealand had an embassy ceased to exist.

New Zealand’s relationship with the Republic of Vietnam was relatively short. Twelve years after recognising it in 1950, diplomatic relations were established, with Ambassador Sir Stephen Weir cross-accredited to Saigon from Bangkok. An office was established in Saigon in 1964 largely to support the New Zealand surgical team that had been dispatched to Qui Nhon the previous year. A resident ambassador, diplomat Paul Edmonds, arrived in early 1968; he would be followed by Lieutenant-General Sir Leonard Thornton (1972–74).

Career diplomat Norman Farrell had been in place as ambassador in Saigon only nine months when the situation in South Vietnam suddenly changed dramatically for the worse in mid-March 1975. Following a reverse in the Central Highlands, panic set in among the South Vietnamese army, soon spreading to the entire north of the country. Amid chaotic scenes, North Vietnamese regular troops advanced rapidly south. On 28 March the surgical team’s long stint in Qui Nhon came to a sudden end, leaving the city aboard an Air America flight just before it fell. The six New Zealanders headed to Saigon.1

By early April it was clear that Saigon would soon also be under attack. Apart from Farrell, the embassy at this stage comprised a third secretary (Frank Wilson), a stenographer (Maree Johnston), and Warwick Howe, an administrator with the surgical team, who had been pressed into service when he arrived in Saigon from Qui Nhon. The deputy ambassador, a counsellor, absent on leave, returned on 17 April but left next day, leaving Wilson as the ranking diplomat for two days in the temporary absence of the ambassador (in Singapore). Eight locally recruited South Vietnamese made up the rest of the embassy’s complement.

In the first three weeks of April, the embassy was busy helping New Zealanders with dependents and others with New Zealand connections to evacuate. Other tasks included dealing with refugee issues, arranging a planned evacuation of orphans and dispatching the embassy’s records to Singapore. The RNZAF played a prominent part in these activities, with Bristol Freighters shuttling between Saigon and Singapore, and a Hercules making several flights with refugee supplies. From early April there was always at least one Bristol Freighter and a small command detachment at Tan Son Nhut airport.

As the South Vietnamese fell back to the south, the situation in Saigon became increasingly fraught. Personal danger mounted as the city’s civilian population grew increasingly desperate. Law and order was breaking down, with Wilson recalling ‘the risk of public disorder, robbery or violence of a criminal nature’.2 Many were frantically seeking opportunities to flee the country. The possibility of Westerners being attacked because of their impending abandonment of the republic could not be ruled out. Working in these circumstances was not easy or relaxed. Farrell was later glowing in his praise of his three available New Zealand staff, including Howe:

As to... Mr Wilson and Miss Maree Johnson, I can express nothing but the highest possible praise. Both worked long hours without complaint (and sometimes without meals) and displayed remarkable versatility and splendid devotion to duty. Both were called upon to do work that was outside their previous experience and which would not normally have been expected of them in the respective capacities in which they were assigned to Saigon. If only two members of the New Zealand-based staff were to be available to me during this trying period I could not have asked for better. They have my highest possible commendation.3

Difficult decision

As the North Vietnamese forces closed in on the capital, the Bill Rowling-led government in Wellington wrestled with the question of what to do about the embassy. Should it remain in the city as a foot in the door to the new regime? Or should it leave? Ultimately, on 20 April, Farrell was told to evacuate the embassy when he felt it appropriate.

Next day, with other embassies having already left or preparing to do so and Tan Son Nhut now within range of North Vietnamese artillery, Farrell decided it was time to go. This put in motion a frenetic few hours for his staff. Wilson and Howe made repeated trips to the airport, conveying Vietnamese who were going to be evacuated on the final flight; these included family members of Vietnamese women married to two New Zealand diplomats and several orphans. None of them held exit clearances from the South Vietnamese authorities. For Wilson and Howe, ferrying people through checkpoints to the Bristol Freighter, the windows of which had been painted over to prevent anyone looking inside, was a nerve-wracking experience.

There were 22 Vietnamese on the plane when Farrell and Johnson boarded it just before departure. With the flight crew, the RNZAF command detachment and the diplomats, 38 were aboard — though only five had been notified to the airport authorities. The ambassador’s presence reduced the possibility of any hitches; had an inspection been demanded, the air crew intended to try to buy off the inspectors, or use weapons but only if this could be done surreptitiously. Taking off after an altercation, all understood, might result in their aircraft being pursued and shot down by a South Vietnamese air force plane.

The tension was palpable, therefore, as the aircraft sought clearance to take off. When the control tower unexpectedly enquired whether all exit formalities had been completed, the pilot replied with a ‘false affirmative’. After enduring what seemed like a ‘long delay’, but was probably only about ten minutes, all on board were relieved when the go ahead came through at last. Taking off at 6.04 pm, the plane reached the relative safety of the ocean 21 minutes later and headed to Singapore.

Wilson and Howe did not leave on 21 April. The former had an important task to fulfil. Next day, he proceeded to the South Vietnamese foreign ministry to inform it that the embassy had been temporarily withdrawn. When this news was not received positively, the ‘Gallic shrug could then be used to full effect’, he later recalled.⁴ He and Howe then made their way back to the airport and left on an Australian aircraft at 4 pm.

Local staff

There remained the question of extracting the locally employed embassy staff and dependents. Only one had been taken out on the 21 April flight (without his family). There were also about 300 Vietnamese who had been in New Zealand as Colombo Plan students. Acting Prime Minister Bob Tizard eventually agreed that an attempt should be made to evacuate these people. But he made such an attempt subject to the RNZAF commander in Singapore agreeing that the operation was feasible. Wilson and Howe were actually on a Hercules waiting on the runway when the New Zealand commander, Air Commodore Mal Gunton, cancelled the flight, deciding wisely that trying to bring out such a large group amid the growing chaos in Saigon would involve unacceptable risks to both aircraft and personnel. Another attempt on 29 April was also prevented by Gunton, on the same grounds.

Despite being resigned to not being evacuated — the same fate that befell the Vietnamese working in the Australian embassy — the embassy staff continued to man the embassy until almost the end. They sent telexs to Wellington. At some stage a French con-man appeared and was spotted driving around Saigon in an embassy car displaying the ambassadorial flag.

Some New Zealanders remained in Saigon after the embassy left. The long-time leader of the surgical team, Jack Enwright, had come back after being evacuated, as did Sister Mary Lawrence, a Roman Catholic nun who tried to rescue some South Vietnamese nuns. Both would ultimately fly out on US helicopters from the US embassy compound just before the arrival of the North Vietnamese forces.

Journalist Peter Arnett, who had made his mark reporting the war, made no attempt to leave. He, too, made use of the ambassador’s car. He observed the North Vietnamese entry to the city and initial occupation but in late May was ordered to leave. As his Russian jetliner lifted off, he produced a bottle of Johnny Walker whisky he had ‘liberated’ from the ambassador’s office at the embassy, which by this time had been taken over by the North Vietnamese and stripped of its furniture, fittings and vehicles.

Dr Ian McGibbon ONZM was formerly general editor (war history) in the Ministry for Culture and Heritage, in which capacity he wrote the official history of New Zealand’s military and civil operations in South Vietnam during the Vietnam War.

Notes

1. For a more detailed account of these events see my New Zealand’s Vietnam War, A history of combat, commitment and controversy (Auckland, 2010), ch 32.

2. Frank Wilson, ‘The Fall of Saigon’, in Brian Lynch (ed), Celebrating New Zealand’s Emergence (Wellington, 2005), p.150.

3. Norman Farrell to the Prime Minister, 2 May 1975, External Affairs Records, PM58/478/1, Archives New Zealand, R22476612.

4. Wilson, p.151.