While Americans' attention has quite understandably been focused on the release of the 576 U.S. prisoners of war, a much larger, more complicated and more rancorous exchange of captives has been taking place among the Vietnamese themselves. From both sides, prisoners are emerging with tales of torture and suffering that go beyond any told by returning Americans, but that seem nonetheless to be accepted as almost commonplace in this cruel war.
The first stage went smoothly enough, with the North releasing 1,032 captives in return for some 7,000 Communists held in the South. The second swap was delayed for more than a week as the two sides quarreled over the accuracy of each other's lists. Saigon says it holds 27,000 Communists, but the Viet Cong says the true number is many times larger. Similarly, the Communists say they hold 4,785 Saigon troops, but Saigon says the real total is 36,603. By week's end some 1,500 more Communists had been released as part of the belated second stage, with Saigon pledging to free an additional 4,800, and the Viet Cong a total of 1,200, in coming days.
In all the squabbling, the sorest point of all is the status of "political prisoners." Despite the Paris settlement calling for the release of all "civilian internees," both sides are using their own vague definitions of when a nonmilitary enemy sympathizer becomes a political prisoner. Saigon says Hanoi holds 59,118 of them, while Hanoi says Saigon has more than 200,000. Whatever the true totals, neither side is ready to release political prisoners on the same schedule as the official P.O.W.s. Victims of torture on both sides, they languish in a legal never-never land, protected by neither the Paris Accords nor even the status of common criminals. Late last month, amid rumors that peace-keeping teams would inspect the notorious "tiger cages" on the South Vietnamese prison island of Con Son, Saigon set free 124 victims of "political re-education." TIME Correspondent David DeVoss interviewed several of them at a Cholon hospital and cabled this report:
It is not really proper to call them men any more. "Shapes" is a better word—grotesque sculptures of scarred flesh and gnarled limbs. At lunch at the hospital, they eat rice, fried pork and bananas, and as their chopsticks dart from bowl to mouth, they seem almost normal—but they are not. When lunch is over, they do not stand up. Years of being shackled in the tiger cages have forced them into a permanent pretzel-like crouch. They move like crabs, skittering across the floor on buttocks and palms.
They are of all ages and backgrounds. One was arrested in 1966 during Buddhist riots. Another was caught in the 1968 Tet offensive. Now all are united by deformity. "I was arrested one day in the park with my wife and children," one man says as he rubs the shackle sores on his legs. "The police attached electrodes to my genitals, broke my fingers, and hung me from the ceiling by my feet. They did these things to my wife, too, and forced my children to watch. But I never gave in."