Remembering the Courage of the CIA’s Friends
Remembering the Courage of the CIA’s Friends
A new film honors a legacy that Obama overlooked during his visit to Laos last week.
By
Jack Jolis
Sept. 12, 2016 1:25 p.m. ET
2 COMMENTS
Barack Obama last week became the first sitting U.S. President to visit Laos. Promising to “continue to deal with the painful legacy of war,” he announced increased U.S. aid to help Laos clear unexploded munitions from the so-called “secret war” of 1962-75. Having served as a CIA case officer in Laos in 1970, I know something about that legacy—particularly the bits that went unmentioned by Mr. Obama.
My own thoughts are with our most loyal and dedicated allies from that era, the dwindling Hmong of northern Laos, for whom the war never ended. A small population of Hmong persist today in their ancestral mountains of Xieng Khouang, waging a desperate struggle against the Laotian government’s punitive war of extermination. Their conflict now isn’t so much “secret” as forgotten or ignored, at least by the U.S. and other outside powers.
For centuries the Hmong have been fighting off encroaching foreigners—whether Lao, Chinese or Vietnamese. They were enthusiastic partners 40 years ago for U.S. officers seeking intelligence on the 40,000 to 60,000 North Vietnamese soldiers who, at any given time, illegally used Laos as a staging area and conduit to South Vietnam. As part of what was then the Royal Lao Army, the Hmong were invaluable to U.S. efforts to interdict and harass the invading North Vietnamese.
ENLARGE
From the documentary “Clandestino: The Lost Army of the CIA.” Photo: Sergio Caro
Most of these brave Hmong were captured or killed following the U.S. withdrawal. In 1975 the Royal Kingdom of Laos became the “Lao People’s Democratic Republic,” which proceeded to rape, murder or torture more than 100,000 Hmong regardless of whether they were “guilty” of having helped the Americans. The lucky ones fled through Thailand to California, Minnesota and Wisconsin. By the 1990s, fewer than 10,000 remained in Laos and, as of 2016, perhaps 100 are still fighting.
These few maintain a threadbare guerrilla resistance against the genocidal policies of the communist government in Vientiane—the same regime that wined and dined Mr. Obama last week. Mr. Obama’s speech only mentioned the Hmong as part of “Laos’s tapestry of proud ethnic groups and indigenous peoples.” He is likely unaware of the dramatic reality in those mountains. The Laotian military restricts access to the area, often with landmines that are more reactive than unexploded U.S. ordinance.
An intrepid Spanish documentary film crew led by David Beriain recently undertook the fraught and dangerous mission of locating the doughty Hmong in northern Laos. The result is “Clandestino: The Lost Army of the CIA,” produced by 93Metros y 7yAccion in conjuction with The Discovery Channel. The film has screened in Europe and is now in negotiation for U.S. release.
The documentary traces the crew’s journey from Hmong exile groups in Minnesota, through the back alleys of Udon Thani in Thailand, and to the Laotian border, where they posed as tourists to enter the country. From there, the team trekked for two weeks to find the secret and constantly moving Hmong encampment. The regime in Vientiane calls these Hmong “insurgents,” but Mr. Beriain’s extraordinary footage shows that the handful of men, women and children are just fighting to survive.
“I was 9 years old,” an adolescent boy tells Mr. Beriain, recalling his first firefight. “They shot my grandpa, and I picked up his gun and started shooting.”
The Hmong suffer most of their casualties when venturing to find food. In one scene, a 20-year-old mother shows Mr. Beriain the scar on her arm from the day Laotian soldiers attacked while she cooked roots for her children.
The film highlights a few returned exiles among the Hmong resistance who snuck back into Laos from their refuges in America. Most of the film’s subjects are descendants of the Hmong who worked with the CIA decades ago. Combatants by birth, they have effectively been trapped and besieged their whole lives.
“Have you considered surrendering?” Mr. Beriain asks one Hmong man, who is no older than 40 and riddled with bullet wounds. “My nephew turned himself in,” replies the man. “The Lao Army killed him, so we can’t give up.”
Because I appear briefly in the film, I was invited to the opening in Madrid in May. Spanish press wanted to know what effect I hoped the documentary would have on the tragic situation in northern Laos.
No happy outcome seems possible under current conditions: The Laotian regime won’t tolerate the independent existence of a minority outside its totalitarian control, and the Hmong imperative to maintain their way of life seems inextinguishable. The Hmong have made repeated pleas to the United Nations for help, with little to show for it.
The best anyone can hope for is that enough people will see this film to bring moral pressure on Vientiane for a humane modus vivendi. The Hmong who survive in northern Laos are the living legacy of the “secret war,” and they want only to be left in peace. I salute the producers of “The Lost Army of the CIA” for making such an outcome more likely, however remote it remains.
Mr. Jolis was a U.S. Army officer in Vietnam in 1968-69 and a CIA officer with the Hmong in northern Laos in 1970.