Quang Tri, a land of convergence.

This is the title of a book that may soon be published. Initially, I didn't intend to publish a book "to commemorate an anniversary," but since the reunification of the country, and the "Binh Tri Thien in the midst of war" coming together, due to my work at the Binh Tri Thien Literary Association and the Song Huong Magazine, the Quang Tri region has become increasingly close and dear to me. Over the past few decades, many of my articles about Quang Tri have been published in newspapers and magazines in Binh Tri Thien and at the national level. This historical land has been depicted in numerous books and newspapers; however, the rich reality of Quang Tri is like a treasure trove that can never be fully exploited. Not to mention the different perspectives and the varying portrayals of life in books. Therefore, I hope that my writings, if compiled into a book, will help people understand more clearly and deeply the people and land of Quang Tri, even if only from the humble perspective of someone who hasn't had the opportunity to live there for a long time. And so the manuscript "Quang Tri, a land of convergence" was formed.

The special national historical site of Hien Luong - Ben Hai - Photo: TRAN TUYEN

For the past seven decades (since July 20, 1954), in the minds of millions of Vietnamese people as well as friends around the world, whenever Quang Tri is mentioned, it is thought of a land chosen as the dividing line that split Vietnam in two. I chose the title of this anthology, "Quang Tri - A Land of Convergence," because I want to convey a different perspective, and at the same time, it is a "call" for everyone to return to Quang Tri...

The manuscript was finished, and a publisher promised to print it, but the book couldn't be released before July 20th. I would like to quote the introductory essay from the book, sent to readers during these days when the whole country is probably focusing on Quang Tri. The essay was written 42 years ago, with the title "The Call of a Land." I invite you to return with me to this special land of our country...

***

From the top of Dốc Miếu hill, the car sped down the straight road running between the rice fields of Trung Hải and Trung Sơn communes on the southern bank of the Bến Hải River, which were in full harvest season. The two embankments along the newly opened road, replacing the winding slopes of the past, looked like two giant knives cutting through the old McNamara electronic fence. Near the Hiền Lương bridge, the road suddenly curved slightly towards the east before turning back north. Poet Xuân Hoàng, with his dreamy glasses, who had undoubtedly crossed the Bến Hải River many times over the years, only now noticed the unusual bend before the Hiền Lương bridge. He quickly asked me:

Why are you taking such a roundabout route?

- This way, the new bridge will be at a right angle to the river.

I replied, without much thought. The workers who reconnected the four spans of the bridge over the Ben Hai River were my former comrades from the battle to defend the Truong Son supply route across the Mu Da Pass more than ten years ago.

The car swerved and veered into the curve. A student from Hue University, who was dozing off next to me, was suddenly woken up by a friend who shook him awake:

- Ha! We've arrived at Hien Luong!

- Where? Where is Hien Luong Bridge? Why didn't you call me?

The girl woke up with a start, seemingly startled, blinking her eyes and looking around. She was from Nghia Binh. For so many years, every time she encountered Hien Luong in the pages of books, she had longed for the day she could visit the Ben Hai River. Now, the Ben Hai River, its emerald green under the summer sun, "just one oar is enough to glide across." Come on! Hurry up, girl! Just a few more turns of the wheels and we'll be across. I glanced back at the winding asphalt road behind me, and a thought suddenly stirred in my heart. The bridge should have been perpendicular to the river, but the road and the people who built the Reunification Expressway on the Truong Son mountain range seemed to have deliberately created a gentle curve beside Hien Luong, so that future generations from all over the world, when passing through here, would slow their wheels, slow their steps, allowing their eyes to take in the image of the bridge and the river that have become part of the country's history. A curve that holds back a little time, like a reminder not to forget...

***

Few places in our country possess such unique scenery as the area around Cua Tung. A slope of red basalt soil, laden with pepper, tea, jackfruit, and pineapple... imbued with the flavor of the midland region, yet situated right next to the East Sea. Dark, rugged rocky headlands jut out into the sea, their white-crested waves crashing against a flat sandy beach where one could seemingly wade all the way to Con Co Island without the water reaching their heads. And a freshwater well is just a few steps from the salty sea... Perhaps that's why, in the past, the French colonialists and Emperor Bao Dai came to build summer houses by Cua Tung.

Nearly ten years have passed since the guns fell silent in Cua Tung. The red soil slopes, once riddled with bomb craters, are now laden with fruit, but every step taken in this once-famous resort area still burns with the memories of that turbulent, war-torn period.

From Mui Hau, we walked along the beach and gathered on a large rock near the river mouth to listen to Mr. Mai Van Tan tell stories. Readers nationwide, having heard him recount the fascinating folk tales of the Van Kieu ethnic group on the Truong Son mountain range, would surely be surprised to find that he also possesses a wealth of stories about this coastal region. He was an officer stationed at the Cua Tung "joint outpost" for nearly 10 years. And for almost 10 years he has been a writer, yet he hasn't repaid his "debt" to Cua Tung. He has considered writing several times to settle that debt, but the fierce and complex struggle in his village has drawn him into a new battle. A book by him about that vibrant struggle is about to be published.

Returning to Cua Tung today, old memories flooded back, overwhelming even his pen. Before he could write, he emotionally recounted to us the silent, persistent, yet fierce struggle on both banks of the river. These memories, which would later form the basis of his new book, he generously shared with his friends. We listened to his voice, hoarse from the strong sea breeze, and felt as if we could hear from the surrounding scenery the profound emotions he had accumulated over the years.

A sandbar on the southern bank, like a hand reaching endlessly towards the northern bank; the only remaining coconut tree on the high ground, where once a whole grove of coconut trees intertwined, shaded the entire stretch of land along the riverbank, its trunk scarred by bomb craters, its few yellowed leaves withered from the stagnant sap, seemingly unchanged, like a living monument, a witness for all eternity denouncing the destructive crimes of the American invaders. Con Co Island, the "steel island," which had been hidden on the misty sea, suddenly appeared from the flickering red incense sticks before the graves of the soldiers who died while supplying the island...

Leaving the rocky outcrop at the foot of the Cua Tung Police Station, forever exposed to the free-spirited sea breeze and the roaring waves, we walked silently together on the sloping path back up to the red earth bank. Suddenly, I felt a salty taste on my lips. Was it the taste of the sea carried by the wind, or the tears that had just flowed? Below us lay "Hill 61." On June 20th, exactly 15 years ago, 61 people from Vinh Quang commune, including soldiers and civilians from the South bank, were trapped in the tunnels along this riverbank.

Swarms of American jets dropped bombs and artillery fire from the South Bank, relentlessly burying the suicide soldiers who had come to open the tunnel entrance. Hundreds of people suffocated to death in the darkness. To this day, no light has ever reached that massive grave.

Hundreds of my compatriots! So many hopes, the cries of children, the screams, and a forest of arms driven by survival instincts clawing at the sides of the tunnels until blood was drawn, the last words passed from one to another: "If I can get out..."; "If my aunt can get out...". But all of them suffocated to death deep beneath the earth.

Fifteen years have passed! Is it possible, through its own path, that art will shed light on that deep-seated hatred, allowing all of humanity to witness firsthand the forest of desperate arms digging and clawing until exhaustion, the screams and choked last words that have been there for so many years...?

Among us were people who had only been here once, such as the painters Buu Chi, Hoang Dang Nhuan, and Tran Quoc Tien; and the poets Nguyen Khoa Diem and Vo Que..., all of whom suddenly felt indebted, feeling obligated to join forces with Mr. Mai Van Tan to repay this "debt" to this historical land.

Like an inexhaustible treasure, this land remains open, offering room for those who come after to explore and innovate. But that doesn't mean we can afford to be complacent or hesitant. History doesn't end here. We can't rush, but if we keep procrastinating, the ever-growing debts of history will only increase. No! We can't delay any longer.

Just a week after the opening of the songwriting camp, the youth of Vinh Quang were sharing a new song about the banks of the Ben Hai River by composer Hoang Song Huong, and poet Xuan Hoang sent heartfelt messages to the people of Cat Son on the southern bank: "...I return to the old wharf, my heart/Resentful of myself for arriving late in expressing our love/The ferry doesn't wait/It still crosses the river - since when did the wind rise..."

***

In Hoa Ly, hardworking hands and a spirit of progress are building new hope and a new life. One thousand jackfruit trees have been planted on the barren hills behind the village. Twenty thousand jackfruit trees will be planted in the coming years, preparing for a future pepper plantation. Models of garden-based economic activities, encompassing pepper, tea, food crops, and even medicinal plants, are gradually taking shape...

In this heroic land from the anti-American war era, new stories are unfolding daily. Immersed in this vibrant life, each of us feels a sense of excitement, a feeling we cannot afford to slow down any longer. In a small studio amidst the tranquil gardens of Vĩ Dạ, artist Bửu Chỉ has completed a painting depicting the potential of the Cửa Tùng coastal area, calling for the opening of new horizons. Artist Vũ Trung Lương, Principal of the Huế College of Fine Arts, along with several teachers, has just taken dozens of students on a field trip along the banks of the Bến Hải River.

The sketches for the monument by Hien Luong Bridge on Mieu Slope, near "Hill 61" in Vinh Quang commune, are gradually taking shape. Nguyen Khoa Diem, having just been relieved of the heavy responsibilities of his work in the community that had weighed on his poetic soul for so long, eagerly joined the fishermen, boarding boats to go fishing, and his poem "Homeland" resonates once again: "...Come on, brothers - let's stand tall/Now let's cast our nets, let's all be present/The water rushes, waves lapping against the boats/Brothers, let's unite our strength/The sea churns, exposing our chests in the vastness/The waves give birth, surging and pulsating...". The drafts of this "birthing" near Cua Tung are growing thicker before my eyes.

Before my eyes, on the land that the American invaders had bombed and destroyed, the pepper bushes intertwined inseparably, growing taller day by day alongside the jackfruit trees whose roots had taken deep hold in the rich red basalt soil, bearing clusters of fruit in the first harvest.

Unable to wait for the pepper season to ripen, I asked to pick a cluster of lush green peppers and taste a drop of their fresh, plump juice, imbued with the flavor of a land forever burning with the fire of struggle.

Cua Tung Creative Writing Camp. June 1982.

Nguyen Khac Phe

Source: https://baoquangtri.vn/quang-tri-vung-dat-hoi-tu-187515.htm