War Trash

by Ha Jin

  “Hello, this is Matt,” Bell said into the mouthpiece.

  “How are you, Matt?” asked the other end. I craned my neck so that I could overhear the whole conversation.

  “I’m okay, Charlie.”

  “Listen, Nancy has arrived from Tokyo. I went to see her just now. She was crying, this is hard for her. She’s so emotional that I haven’t told her yet that we have phone contact with you. But she may call you soon.”

  Bell furrowed his brow. “Please tell her I’m fine, no need to worry.”

  “Matt, tell me, have they insulted or tortured you? We’re very concerned.”

  “Believe me, I’m okay.” Bell glanced at Colonel Choi and went on, “In fact they’ve been respectful.”

  “Thank God! Do you know how long they’ll keep you? Tell me what I can do to help.”

  “I’ve no idea, maybe when their conference is over. Don’t press them. Just let them go on with their conference.”

  “All right, I’ll stay around here. Call anytime you need me.”

  “Thank you, Charlie. This means a lot. Let’s hope we’ll meet soon.”

  “Yes, I’ll keep my fingers crossed, Matt. Good-bye.”

  “Good-bye.”

  I was amazed by the phone call, not having expected that the American generals would talk in a casual, personal manner in the midst of such a crisis. They had treated each other as friends, not as comrades who shared the same ideal and fought for the same cause. They hadn’t mentioned any ideological stuff. What a contrast this was to Chinese officers, who, in a situation like this, would undoubtedly speak in the voice of revolutionaries, and one side would surely represent the Party.

  After dinner Chaolin and I went to see General Bell. The previous evening Commissar Pei had instructed Chaolin to mediate between the Koreans and the Americans and make sure that Bell signed the agreement. The commissar also said that he would organize demonstrations in Compound 602 to support our struggle, and that we must remain composed and reasonable, because a victory could be earned only through careful planning and patient negotiation. Our Korean comrades tended to be too hot-blooded and would even refer to themselves as Great Stalin’s soldiers who wouldn’t share the same earth and sky with the American imperialists. Many of them lost their temper easily.

  General Bell looked exhausted, but he seemed pleased to see us. After we sat down, Chaolin told him through my translation, “General, we do want you to return to your family safely. That’s why we came to talk with you.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate your good intentions,” Bell said.

  “We understand that your wife is here, and your children must be worried about you too. So please sign the agreement tomorrow. If you don’t, we’re afraid our Korean comrades may lose their patience. To tell the truth, we’ve been trying to keep them from running berserk.”

  “Well, I’ll have to see what’s on that paper before I sign it.”

  “We understand that. If you can’t accept some parts of the agreement, talk with them. Don’t just turn it down categorically. I’ll try to persuade them to revise it. In short, don’t lose this opportunity for peace.”

  “I shall keep that in mind.”

  “Good. Have a restful night.”

  “The same to you.”

  We went out and felt relieved. It was overcast, and soundless lightning slashed the northern sky and silhouetted the ridges of the distant hills. We parted company because I had to join Ming in preparing the documents for the following day.

  Early the next morning, a copy of our preconditions was delivered to General Smart. While waiting for his reply, we held the ceremony of signing the agreement. On the ground outside the tent sat over seven thousand men in neat lines, though some of them were carrying self-made weapons, whose wide variety precluded the uniformity of the formation. They were waiting to hear the final outcome of our three days’ struggle. Meanwhile, inside the tent the atmosphere was solemn and tense. Colonel Choi announced that this was the last part of our conference and that now we were going to test the sincerity of General Bell’s attitude toward his crimes. With a wave of his hand he summoned an interpreter to read this agreement to our captive:

  I promise to immediately stop our barbarous behavior, our insult and torture of Korean and Chinese prisoners, such as forcing them to write reactionary letters in blood, threats of solitary confinement, mass murdering, rifle and machine-gun shooting, using poison gas, germ weapons, experiments with the prisoners for the A-bomb.

  I also promise to observe the Geneva Convention, humanely treat my prisoners, the Brave Soldiers of Great Stalin, give good medical service, human food, new clothing, and stationery. I shall follow international law and let all POWs go back to their home country safely.

  I also promise to stop “Voluntary Repatriation” and screening prisoners, and to punish my soldiers who beat and curse prisoners.

  Brigadier General Matthew Bell

  While listening I felt the hair on the nape of my neck bristle. My head was reeling. The previous afternoon we had discussed what this document should include, and nobody had mentioned stationery, new clothing, or the A-bomb. How could our Korean comrades have produced such a wild piece of writing?

  The interpreter went up to Bell and with both hands presented the sheet of paper to him. Bell put on his reading glasses and looked through it. He said calmly, “There’s no way I can sign this.”

  “Why?” asked Colonel Choi, whose small eyes turned triangular.

  “The language is inappropriate, and I’m not authorized to respond to some of these demands.”

  Chaolin stepped in, “Do you wish to revise it?”

  Bell thought for a moment, then shook his head. “This is impossible to revise. It has to be rewritten.”

  When the Korean interpreter had translated his words, all eyes glowered at the general. Bell flinched but added, “If I signed this, it would constitute treason. I’m an honorable man and won’t commit such a crime against my country.”

  A Korean officer slapped the table and yelled at him. Shunji, the woman who knew English, interpreted his words to Bell: “No signature, no go back!”

  Quick-witted, Chaolin said to the general, “How about this—you write something that covers the essence of our demands and is also acceptable to yourself?”

  “Well . . .” Bell fingered his mustache and seemed reluctant. Then he said, “All right, let me try.”

  He picked up a ballpoint and wrote on a pad of yellow paper:

  With regard to your demands, I admit that there were instances of abuse and bloodshed in the prison compounds on Koje Island, and that some POWs were killed by other inmates and injured by the U.N. guards. As the commanding officer I am partially responsible for the loss of lives. I can assure you that in the future the POWs here will receive humane treatment in accordance with international law. I will do everything in my capacity to prevent violence, bloodshed, and corporal punishment. If such incidents occur again, I should be called to account.

  He looked through the statement carefully and stopped at a spot for a long time. He picked up the pen, then put it down. He handed the pad to us.

  I roughly translated the contents to Chaolin. He lowered his head and mulled them over for a few seconds, then asked, “This is acceptable to us, don’t you think?”

  “Yes, it’s pretty good,” I said.

  We passed the statement on to the Korean interpreter. He began translating it to their officers and representatives, some of whom got angry, shaking their heads and shouting. Chaolin went over to Choi and talked with him. He insisted that despite the absence of most of the details they had put in, the statement in principle conveyed the spirit of our original demands, especially where Bell mentioned he was partially responsible for the crimes. As for the issue of screening the prisoners, Bell indeed might not be in a position to respond to it. Both Choi and Lee nodded in agreement; probably they realized there was no other way to break this deadlock.

  So we to
ld Bell that we would go along with his version. He signed it willingly, then took off his glasses and rested his arm on the back of the chair, gazing at us almost emotionlessly. He closed his eyes, perspiration gathering on his forehead.

  All the people in the tent stood up and applauded. Bell got to his feet, clapping lightly too. Chaolin and I went up to him. We shook hands with him for the first time. His grip was heavy and damp.

  Then came a storm of hurrahs from outside. From Compound 76 the news of our victory spread through shouts to other compounds, which began celebrating it as well. Meanwhile, a group of prisoners painted two sentences, as though directly quoted from General Bell’s promise, on white sheets and hung them on the front fence for the Americans to see: “WE WILL NOT KILL AGAIN!” and “WE WILL TREAT POWS HUMANELY!”

  After lunch the new American commandant, General Smart, showed up at the front gate to receive Bell. He had been sent over to cope with the crisis, because the commander of U.N. forces, General Ridgway, was unhappy about the way General Fulton had handled this incident, especially about his allowing us to hold the conference. We took Bell to the gate and handed General Smart a receipt to sign. Smart was a stocky man with a firm paunch, a muscular face, and rheumy eyes. We could tell he loathed us and was disgusted with the piece of paper, which read:

  Today I received an American brigadier general Matthew Bell from the fearless Korean soldiers in Prison Compound 76. After careful examination, Bell is good in every respect, no trace of insult and physical damage. I prove this statement!

  The Highest American Commander on Koje Island

  Signature______________

  May 11, 1952

  With a grunt General Smart signed his name. Then we shook hands with Bell again. He got into a blue sedan, and many of us waved good-bye to him. In spite of General Smart’s glum face, Bell doffed his cap a bit as the car drew away.

  At 2:00 p.m. a celebration started in Compound 76. After Colonel Choi summarized this episode and its importance to the seven thousand men, Chaolin delivered a speech too. He thanked the Korean comrades-in-arms for this great victory and said we Chinese would learn from their heroic spirit and bravery. He concluded by declaring forcefully, “The Chinese people will remember this great historical deed forever!”

  I was moved, intoxicated by the euphoria over the victory, to which I had also contributed my little share. In joining the great struggle, I felt as though my life had finally gained a purpose.

  In the midst of loud applause, Ming went to the front and belted out “Song of the Guerrillas on Mount Halla” in Korean. He had just learned this song from one of the three women. He was such a splendid singer that the audience encored him, so he sang a snatch from the Chinese opera The White-Haired Girl. After that, the three women performed a short dance and then chanted “The Spring Song.” And finally, a group of prisoners acted out a skit, “Capturing General Bell Alive.”

  Besides the men of Compound 76, the POWs in a nearby compound also watched the performances from across a narrow road. Altogether there were more than thirteen thousand spectators. Even the American military police and the South Korean guards couldn’t help but keep their eyes in our direction.

  18. AFTER THE VICTORY

  As we were celebrating our victory, hundreds of GIs sealed Compound 76, and no representatives, except for the three women, were allowed to return to their compounds. So the four of us Chinese got stuck there. On the same day General Smart revoked the agreement Bell had signed, declaring it illegal, made under duress. He announced that he would take all necessary measures to restore order in the camp, including the use of force. Soon we got word that Bell and Fulton had both been demoted and had left Koje Island. From the radio we heard that Pyongyang and Beijing had widely publicized our victory, which had provided ammunition for propaganda and some leverage for our negotiators at Panmunjom. Yet I began to feel uneasy about this victory, which had caused us to be trapped here and might bring more trouble to the Korean prisoners.

  From mid-May on, the American troops harassed the POWs. They fired rifles, pitched tear-gas bombs into different compounds, and drove tanks up to some fences to spew fire from flamethrowers onto the slogans and the portraits of Stalin, Mao, and Kim Il Sung erected by the prisoners. Every day the guards would fire at the inmates in Compound 76. Within three weeks about two dozen men had been wounded. Obviously the enemy intended to provoke the inmates so that they would have a pretext for punishing us.

  After a few meetings among the leaders of Compound 76, to which Chaolin and Ming were both invited, a conclusion was reached: the enemy must be planning to take revenge, so we must prepare for it. In addition, General Smart might have another object in mind—six compounds controlled by the Korean Communists had repeatedly refused to be screened by U.N. personnel, so he might be intending to solve this problem as well. Very likely the enemy would attack Compound 76 to set an example for the other bellicose compounds and intimidate them into obedience. Therefore the leaders decided to organize for self-defense, preparing for the impending violence; at the same time, we must not give the enemy a handle for any large-scale attack, so we should avoid acting rashly and know where to stop. The Korean prisoners responded to the leaders’ call enthusiastically and organized themselves into different task groups. An assault brigade was formed: its members were armed with self-made weapons—cudgels, gasoline bombs, and long spears made of pieces of steel ripped from oil drums, sharpened, and tied to the tips of bamboo poles with iron wire. They also began digging trenches within the tents to protect themselves from gunfire. We, the four Chinese, all joined them in building defenses.

  On the early morning of June 12, about forty tanks and armored personnel carriers and twelve hundred GIs surrounded Compound 76. The snarling of the vehicles woke us up, and we watched them from within our tent. General Smart supervised the operation on the spot, wearing a steel helmet, a pistol, and binoculars on his broad belt. We saw all the gun barrels pointing at the barracks inside the compound. A battalion of GIs, looking ghostly in their gas masks, all raised their bayonets, ready to charge.

  Inside the compound the prisoners got into the trenches to defend our position.

  At eight sharp a gunshot shattered the silence. At once two columns of personnel carriers and tanks plunged forward, knocked down the front gate, and rolled into the compound. Following them, all masked, the foot soldiers ran in, seven or eight as a group. Without delay flamethrowers started launching torrents of fire at the tents; rifles and machine guns burst out crackling; grenades and gas bombs went off here and there. The explosions thundered while greenish gas was billowing all over the place.

  As Chinese, the four of us were not allowed to take part in the combat; ten men had been assigned to protect us. While I was wondering how the Koreans could possibly fight such an unequal battle, the members of the assault brigade sprang out of their trenches, wielding their spears and cudgels, and charged the enemy. They shouted “Mansai! Mansai!,” which means “long live” in Korean, an exclamation somewhat like “hurray.” As they were attacking, machine guns began raking them. A few men got close enough to stab at the GIs, but most were shot down before they could reach them. Several of their gasoline bombs hit the personnel carriers and tanks, which started burning, though the brief fires could hardly have done much damage. Meanwhile, all the other prisoners were chanting the “Internationale”—“Rise up! slaves of hunger and cold. Rise up! you who won’t suffer anymore . . .” We joined them in bellowing the song. Strange to say, this felt more like a demonstration than a battle.

  Some Koreans sang their army’s fighting song while confronting the GIs, who charged at them with bayonets and even fired at them point-blank. Many of the prisoners shouted in English, “Death to GIs!” and “Down with Truman!” Within five minutes all the men of the assault brigade had fallen, lost in the dark smoke and the greenish gas. Crazed by the sight, Wu Gaochen was about to leap out to join the battle, but two Koreans pulled him down, saying if
he got killed they would be punished.

  About twenty minutes later the gunfire subsided. The GIs began rounding us up. They came into our tent, pulled us out of the trench by the collars, and forced us to go to the front yard. When we got there, I saw that most of the tents had burned down; two were still standing but in flames. There were numerous scorched spots on the ground, and everywhere were cartridge cases, shrapnel, bamboo poles, shards of glass, and dead and wounded bodies, from which blood was still flowing. The air was so heavy with nauseous gas, smoke, and diesel fuel that we couldn’t breathe without coughing. A few of us stepped aside to help our wounded comrades, but the GIs stopped us. The assault brigade had consisted of about four hundred men, the best among the Koreans; they were all lying on the ground, scattered like bales of rags, some still smoldering. At least half of them had been killed. A few were screaming for help like small boys crying for mama. One of them managed to sit up; he seemed to have suffered a concussion—his eyes, ears, and nose were bleeding. Wordlessly he was flailing his arms in every direction as though blind.

  Meantime, a group of medics wearing Red Cross armbands were busy treating the wounded GIs, carrying them away on stretchers or bandaging them on the spot. None of the medical personnel bothered about the wounded Koreans until every GI had been helped.

  With the aid of a Korean prisoner, the Americans singled out us Chinese and took us to a corner where about thirty Korean representatives and officers were sitting on their haunches. They made us squat down in the same manner. Toward noon they ordered us to line up, all with our hands clasped behind our heads. Then they put us on a truck, which shipped us to “the top jail” on Koje Island. They told us that we had become “war criminals.” On the way I saw smoke and fire rising from the hamlet on a hillside in the north. The enemy had found out that some of the villagers had collaborated with the POWs, so a unit of South Korean troops had been sent there to plunder the village. A breeze wafted over the cries of women and children, which sounded shrill, like the long chirps of insects. Gunshots broke out from there now and again. Soldiers were taking away buffaloes and sheep while dogs barked explosively. Later I heard that most of the civilians had been removed to Pusan.