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Ho's legacy, however impressive in many respects, plainly has its shortcomings. North Viet Nam is a much more egalitarian society today than it was when the "republic" was proclaimed 24 years ago, but politically as well as economically, progress has been scant. Writers and artists are limited by political requirements; a brief attempt at liberalization in the late '50s, patterned after Mao's short-lived campaign to "let 100 flowers bloom," uncovered so much resentment that repression was reinstituted almost immediately. Ho, however, was never blamed for repression: skillfully, he divorced himself in the public mind from that harsh entity known as government. As British Journalist James Cameron put it, the people seemed to say: "This or that is a damn nuisance, the government is pushing us around again. But Uncle Ho says it is all right, so we suppose it must be."
That time is now past, and there is no doubt that its passing will adversely affect Communist morale. Ho was an impressive figure—the only truly national leader that Viet Nam has produced in modern times—and he will be missed.' In Hanoi, faces were somber and black bands of mourning appeared on thousands of sleeves. A crowd formed before Ba Dinh Congress Hall, where his body lies in state. The clandestine Viet Cong Radio, echoing Hanoi broadcasts, reported that the new wave of attacks in the South last week had been launched "to change sorrow into a revolutionary act after receiving the news of Chairman Ho's death."
In Saigon, the reaction was ambivalent. There was "nothing important" in Ho's death, said President Nguyen Van Thieu. "What is important is whether the North Vietnamese will end their aggressive policies or will end the war." Communist defectors felt that Ho's death would cause deep morale problems among the Viet Cong, who admired Ho hugely. One defector noted that the guerrillas have long dreamed of seeing Ho riding triumphantly into Saigon, which then would be renamed Ho Chi Minh City. Nobody expects the V.C. to lay down their weapons because that dream has dissolved, but their righting spirit could be affected.
That would be a significant development indeed, for one of the remarkable things about the Communsi forces in Viet Nam—whether guerrillas or regulars from the North—has been their spirit. The young men sent to the South, as U.S. fighting men have painfully discovered, made excellent soldiers. Tough and well-disciplined, they stood their ground under massive American firepower, then rose to charge. And the battlefield was only one test: the struggle southward along the tangle of jungle paths called the Ho Chi Minh Trail often lasted four to six months, during which many perished of disease, malnutrition and exhaustion. If a trooper survived that trek, he had proved himself strong indeed—and there seems little question that the spirit imparted by Uncle Ho deserved a share of the credit. Ho's successors may be able to keep that spirit alive for a time, but not forever. It remains to be seen whether, once the memory of Ho fades, the soldier from the North will prove as inadequately motivated as the one from the South. Certainly, the possibility is of concern to Uncle's heirs.