Chapter 15
Pham Xuan Ân: America’s False Friend
Pham Xuan Ân has never denied being a spy, but he is coquettish about it and does not like being labelled as one. Rather, he prefers to be called a ‘strategic intelligence agent’. Whatever the nuance used, this courteous, discreet and modest old man was nevertheless one of the most important spies of the last century. He was a Vietnamese patriot who, more than any other, played a key role in his country’s destiny.
Pham Xuan Ân had for a long time worked as a journalist and correspondent for the western press. However, no one could have guessed that he was also the best agent in Hanoi and had transmitted information to North Vietnam that was so important that the fate of the Vietnam War was changed. In his twilight years, the former journalist jokingly acknowledges that he led a very compartmentalised existence. He told Jean-Claude Pomonti, the long-standing special envoy of the Monde newspaper and who also wrote a book about him, this summary of himself: ‘A journalist is always looking for news to publish, while a spy is looking for the same thing but to keep it secret.’ It is rather amusing that his first name, Ân, actually means ‘hidden’. Perhaps this was a curious premonition by his parents when they were naming him...
Pham Xuan Ân was a key figure in Saigon during the 1960s and 1970s. He always maintained a good reputation as one of the most knowledgeable journalists of the war. Whenever his colleagues wanted to verify information or needed some tips, he was the one they called. In general, he was willing to share his knowledge and as he was always extremely courteous, he was always highly regarded. Even though he was a knowledgeable journalist, he was not there to influence others: his articles were always rigorously researched and impartial. Although the truth about his espionage activities is now out in the open, his former employers at the western newspapers have no regrets about publishing his work, and he has remained friends with many western journalists.
A patriot rather than a traitor, Pham Xuan Ân has always been a clear-headed man. Honoured in his own country, he received numerous medals and was even appointed as a general, although he made sure to distance himself from the communist authorities when necessary. After the war, he guarded this critical spirit, which should always act as a guide to any real journalist.
Ân came from a small, middle-class Vietnamese family. His father worked for the colonial administration as a surveyor; a privileged position for a ‘native’. However, the young boy quickly became a disappointment to his father: he did not show the deep filial respect that was customary in Vietnam, but instead was a poor student who did not apply himself. His father had great ambitions for his eldest son and so to try and bring him to reason, he sent him to live with one of his uncles in the country as a form of punishment. It was here that the boy saw for the first time the reality of life for most Vietnamese, and he became aware of the hardships faced by his compatriots: the exploitation, social injustice, the racism from the colonials, everything that would contribute to his future political beliefs.
He attended school in Saigon but just as he was about to take his final exams, he dropped everything to join the Viet Minh. It was 1945 and the Japanese were hunting down the French officials that had been appointed by the Vichy government. The Viet Minh was not yet the communist organisation that it would later become and was still primarily a resistance movement that had begun by fighting the occupying Japanese. It was also determined to wrest Vietnam’s independence after the war, under the leadership of Ho Chi Minh. At the time, nationalism and anti-colonialism were the prevailing emotions and they were about to seduce our young man.
Ân was only 18-years old when he signed up and started as a messenger after undergoing brief military training. Two years later, he had to leave temporarily for family reasons; his father had become ill and Ân now had to support his family. He started working three jobs at once; in the morning he worked as an accountant, in the afternoon he gave French lessons (a language he spoke and wrote fluently), and finally in the evening, he drove a rickshaw.
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There is one incident that shows the complexity of a society in which everyone must know his place. One day Ân remarked that the owner of the rickshaw addressed him in a far more polite way than would normally be the case for an employer to address his employee. He finally stated that he no longer wanted him to drive his rickshaw and although Ân tried to explain why he was having to drive it at night, the owner did not want to listen. Apparently, a few days earlier Ân had picked up the son of a family friend, who had then told his own father what had happened. This man quickly informed Ân’s father, who was still very ill. He was appalled at what his son had been doing and believed that he had debased himself, not realising that Ân was actually sacrificing himself in order to help his family.
All this work did not stop Ân from organising student protests against the French. He had never fully left the Viet Minh but in the early 1950s, he passed his exams to qualify as a customs inspector and became a civil servant in the colonial administration.
It was not long before his life changed. Ân was spotted by an important figure in the Viet Minh, who also happened to be the personal physician to Ho Chi Minh. He suggested that Ân became an intelligence officer in the Saigon area, where he would be responsible for setting up an information network for the Viet Minh. Ân was not particularly enthusiastic and was instinctively wary of any kind of suspicious activity. However, the doctor said he had no choice: if he wanted to continue to be in the Viet Minh, then he had to accept.
It was a difficult decision. If he entered into this clandestine world then he would be seen to be breaking his political beliefs. He would have to portray opposing views and work with his enemies: the colonialists and the French military. Soon after, the young man was solemnly admitted as a member of the Vietnamese Communist Party, during a secret ceremony in the jungle. The ceremony itself was presided over by a very important person, Le Duc Tho, who would later be a negotiator during the peace talks in Paris and would eventually, together with Henry Kissinger, be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize.
Despite his initial reluctance, Pham Xuan Ân very quickly became a model recruit for the Viet Minh. Shortly after the battle of Dien Bien Phu and with the help of family connections, he managed to join TRIM (Training Relations and Instruction Mission), a liaison body between the new South Vietnamese Army, the French soldiers who had remained behind and the Americans who were eager to take their place. This allowed him to avoid having to join a regular regiment and even as a modest NCO, by being at TRIM it meant that he had access to information first-hand.
His role allowed him to keep an excellent address book. For example, he was acquainted with the future head of state, General Van Thieu, as well as a future prime minister, General Nguyen Cao Ky. He was required to meet CIA agents, but also established contacts with other intelligence agencies, starting with the South Vietnamese, whose leader, Dr Tuyen, became one of his close friends.
At the same time, he discreetly met with SDECE agents. Whenever the French had to retreat from the battlefield, some officers did not like the fact that the CIA were doing everything they could to throw them out of Vietnam. This rivalry even went so far that some of these soldiers, with the support of the secret services in Paris, even carried out anti-American attacks in Saigon.
Ân might well have been an occasional agent for the SDECE as he was in a good position to send information from the best sources to the Viet Minh. He gathered very valuable information for Hanoi, such as specific details on the movement of the last French forces, on US military aid, or the location of gasoline stocks. However, following the signing of the Geneva Accords in 1954 and the announced withdrawal of the French Army, his position in TRIM lost its importance. He was consequently assigned to the department of psychological warfare, still within the South Vietnamese Army.
In Hanoi, his bosses were seriously questioning his future. Ân had already given clear evidence of his skills as a spy, so where would he be the most effective? The issue was discussed during a secret rendezvous with his immediate superior. The young activist certainly had the qualities needed to engage in a political career, but because of the clan battles in South Vietnam, his destiny could well be unstable, if not downright dangerous. If he remained in the army, Ân could hope to achieve the rank of colonel. Out of the blue, his superior then suggested to Ân that he become a journalist., as it would provide an excellent cover for his role as a spy. Provided that he could become a leading professional, with entry into the top circles, he could even be considered an equal by his American colleagues.
However, he must first learn his new trade and was told that he had to study journalism in the USA. This meant that he would be among the ‘enemy’, as it was at this time that the Americans were becoming increasingly involved in the fight against communism in Vietnam. The young man agreed. Only his father’s health would have kept him in the country, but the old man had died before it was time to leave.
Ân only spent two years in America and had soon spent all of his savings as his bosses had not provided him with enough money. The main reason he decided to return was the receipt of a coded message from his brother telling him about the creation of the National Liberation Front (Viet Cong) in South Vietnam. The insurrection could not wait, and neither could Ân, who wanted to return as quickly as possible to help the cause. However, his hurried return violated the orders of his superiors, and he was apprehensive about coming back.
Curiously, upon his return home his first visit was to the head of intelligence in Saigon, Dr Tuyen. or ‘the Little Doctor’, as he was known. He and Ân had known each other well before the latter’s departure for the USA, and he now offered him a job as one of his agents. As the young man had just completed his journalist studies, the ‘Little Doctor’ set him up in the official news agency: Vietnam Press. Basically, without knowing it, Ân would be resuming the same intelligence role he provided for the Viet Minh.
Ân also renewed his links to the communist parties, but this was difficult as the repression was efficient and ruthless. Ân’s immediate boss had been denounced, but had refused to give up the name of his agent.
As his journalistic work was becoming more and more admired, Ân was forced to be less diligent towards Dr Tuyen. The British news agency, Reuters, had asked him to become their correspondent and at this time - the beginning of the 1960s - as the US military presence was getting stronger, this new role would take up most of his time.
1965 would see the climax of his journalistic career: he was poached by the prestigious Time magazine and was the only Vietnamese journalist to work for this great publication, even receiving an American salary paid in dollars. He was even allowed to work freelance for other US publications.
Pham Xuan Ân was now part of the cream of the Saigon press. Comfortably installed in a room at the famous Intercontinental Hotel, he also had a table reserved at the equally famous Givral patisserie, on rue Catinat. Among his western and particularly Anglo-Saxon colleagues, Ân gradually became a kind of legend. In the small world of foreign correspondents, people would talk about ‘Radio Catinat’ when they were referring to information provided by Ân and his two Vietnamese journalist friends, with whom he would sit every day and enjoy a coffee or an aperitif. In Saigon they were therefore known as the ‘Three Musketeers’.
With his position and his contacts it would have been very easy for Ân to influence people by spreading false information. Although he refused to do this, he very cleverly never formally denied the rumour that suggested he was a CIA agent, when in fact, he was actually working for the opposite camp. This duality required demanding and exhausting intellectual discipline and it almost a miracle that he was never unmasked. Throughout his spying career, Ân was extremely cautious: he avoided too many physical meetings with his superiors and worked mostly alone. Only his wife and a fellow collaborator knew his secret. In Hanoi or at the headquarters of the National Liberation Front, there were only ever a handful of men who knew his true identity. Even General Giap, to whom he sent valuable information, never knew who his informant was, and it was not until many years later that the two men finally met.
However, despite all of his precautions, Ân was always at risk of blunder or betrayal and there were many times when he feared for his life. Through his contacts, he once ‘borrowed’ confidential documents with the aim of photographing them in the secrecy of his bathroom. Even though he had stationed his two German Shepherds outside to alert him to the slightest suspicious noise, he was still putting himself at risk. Transmitting the information he obtained was an additional risk, as the system of using dead letterboxes was not infallible.
Yet despite the dangers, the information he gathered was so important that General Giap, who only knew him by his codename, would one day say that ‘thanks to him, I had the impression that I was actually in the US operations room!’.
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With large, regular features and wielding impeccable English and excellent French, the courteous Ân never failed to impress. Always well-informed and a full-time member of the Time office in Saigon, he had entry in to the major military and political circles. He worked with the Christian Science Monitor and at Reuters. He lived and worked in the United States on a scholarship from the Asia Foundation who, rightly or wrongly, was considered a nursery for potential CIA agents. Ân loved dogs and birds and provided at least 80 per cent of the copy for Time from Vietnam.
Based on the information he obtained, Pham Xuan Ân was able to really analyse the enemy’s strategy and therefore work out a response. He sent his interpretation to his bosses in Hanoi and his suggestions were often used. Since 1961, when the recently elected US President John F. Kennedy had decided to come to the rescue of his South Vietnamese counterpart, Diem, Ân was in a position to gather all the plans of this ‘Special War’, as the Pentagon called it. This meant that the communist generals knew what to expect.
A year and a half later, the South Vietnamese Army, flanked by the US, launched a major offensive in the Plain of Reeds, a dozen or so kilometres from Saigon. Helicopters were used for the first time, but despite the obvious inferiority in both size and equipment, the Viet Cong inflicted heavy losses on the South Vietnamese troops: Ân had clearly communicated the enemy’s plans in advance. This success led to him receiving his first military decoration and the journalist spy would tell his fellow correspondents that this lost battle would be a mortal blow to the ‘Special War’ dreamed up in Washington.
Indeed, the Pentagon strategists decided to engage further in Vietnam. Rid of President Diem, who was assassinated on White House orders, the US generals would now lead the war themselves. Again, thanks to Ân, Hanoi knew everything. His information became increasingly important and was always taken seriously. Another example was the famous communist Tet Offensive in 1968, at a time when the US had already lost half a million men.
Pham Xuan Ân had known about it several months in advance. For the first time, he left his role as a spy when his superiors asked him to specify a certain number of targets, especially in Saigon. On this occasion, the journalist took an incredible risk by bringing a Viet Cong leader into the capital from the surrounding countryside. This impudence was out of character, but Ân was never deemed suspicious, so no one was surprised to see him around town in the company of an unknown friend.
Even if the Tet Offensive did not lead to success for North Vietnam, it strongly undermined the US war machine. It was a warning shot that decided the fate of the war and led to the negotiations in Paris between Washington and Hanoi, which began in May 1968. Meanwhile, the communists launched a new offensive, but Ân intervened. He believed that the bombings, which were hurting civilians more than the military objectives, were useless. After informing Hanoi, the offensive was ended. Ân’s influence was clearly decisive and it would be seen again a few years later.
1975 saw the fall of Saigon and the end of the war. At the time, after the signing of the Paris Accords in 1973, the US was no longer directly involved in the fighting, although they were still present, albeit in fewer numbers, ready to fight if necessary. They also continued to provide significant material and military aid to the South Vietnamese Army.
A crucial question now faced the communist leaders. Their victory seemed at hand, especially as the weakened South Vietnamese government could break up at any time. But how would the Americans react if Hanoi gave the signal for one final offensive? Would they come to the aid of their South Vietnamese allies? Once again, Ân had the answer to this important question; an answer upon which would depend whether or not the war would continue if the communists managed to win.
It was a heavy responsibility for the journalist, who would once more prove to be extraordinarily daring. Through is high-level contacts in the South Vietnamese government, he managed to get his hands on a top-secret report. This document, written for the attention of President Thieu by a committee for strategic studies, accurately described the state of decay of the army. On paper at least, the army was superior in equipment and numbers to the troops that Giap could commit to the south, but it was extremely unmotivated.
Yet there was something even more important. According to this top-secret document, which had been signed by a South Vietnamese general, it was there in black and white that the Americans, who day by day were reducing the numbers of US soldiers in Vietnam, would not intervene in any communist offensive. The general also pointed out another vital piece of information regarding the general weakness of the south’s defensive system, a region of high mountains. If the enemy managed to cross them, then everything else would fall...
Pham Xuan Ân quickly photographed the document and sent a copy to his bosses. This allowed not only Giap and the North Vietnamese generals to launch their offensive, but also to drive a wedge in the mountainous area depicted by the South Vietnamese general. The big cities could then be taken and Saigon would fall in April 1975.
Ân’s actions were considerable and it can be reasonably argued that the journalist probably shortened the war by allowing the communists to triumph faster. Without the information he provided, the southern army, which had more than a million men and the same number of armed militia, would have been able to resist for longer and more efficiently.
After the fall of Saigon, now known as Ho Chi Minh City, reunification took place. However, before the arrival of the communist soldiers in Saigon, Pham Xuan Ân was not out of danger. The journalist was only known to a handful of leaders in Hanoi. In Saigon, everyone he met and worked with considered him to be a friend of America and one of its South Vietnamese ‘puppets’. He was at risk of being denounced and arrested, or even shot, without further objection.
Without quite going into hiding himself, the journalist still took the precaution of sending his family to the United States. In the mean time, he would pull off two incredible gestures: first, at the risk of his own life, he rescued one of his American colleagues at Time by dragging him from the hands of a North Vietnamese soldier. His next move was even more spectacular. Although his star had faded, as head of South Vietnam’s intelligence, the ‘Little Doctor’ was still a natural target for the victors. Against all the odds, Ân did everything he could to organise his escape, managing to find him a place on board one of the last US helicopters to leave Saigon.
The strange thing is that Tuyen was technically an enemy to Ân, and if Hanoi had known of this rescue, the journalist could have paid dearly. Yet he took the risk, firstly because he was grateful for Tuyen’s help after he returned from the USA. Even though Ân was a convinced and courageous patriot who rendered great service to his country, he had only ever been a lukewarm communist. He never approved of the Stalinist methods deployed in Vietnam after the war, such as the camps, the hasty liquidations and the removal of basic freedoms.
Nevertheless, it is true that he had been instrumental in the installation of this dictatorial regime, since his main aim had always been for his country to gain independence. He had never missed an opportunity to show his revolutionary feelings. In spite of his military decorations and even his rise within the military hierarchy, he was forced to live in a rehabilitation institute. The authorities believed that he had had too much contact with the capitalist world, and may even have been contaminated by it. Yet Ân’s amateurishness and his incessant joking tried the patience of his instructors and after a few months, this independent spirit was sent home!
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He was a confidant of Tran Van Don, the South Vietnamese Defence Minister, and Tran Kim Tuyen, the intelligence chief, two men who worked hand in hand with the CIA. He was also a close friend of American, British, French and Japanese journalists based in Saigon. He accompanied them on American helicopters and on his return, would tell all kinds of stories on Radio Catinat, which is to say all the bars and cafes on the main avenue in Saigon. At the same time, he submitted photographs and numerous documents to Cu Chi (his case officer), for him to send to Hanoi. This intelligence network only had two members: Pham Xuan Ân and a woman called Ba Chi (Sister No. 3)m who acted as his courier. It is incredible that they could carry out their mission for twenty years without being discovered! Both were honoured with the title of Hero of the People’s Army, in 1976.