评论：来自黑暗的一面From the dark side

Feb 22, 2023

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Review: From the dark side

Written by John Roosa Print

Review: From the dark side

John Roosa

有时，人们几乎要为帕克-瓦南迪感到遗憾。在他的生活中，没有什么事情是按计划进行的。与许多苏哈托时代的官员的自传不同，这本书充满了疑虑。他在1965-66年帮助苏哈托上台，然后对这位将军长期执政感到遗憾。他在1970-71年重建了加尔卡，后来看到该组织成为苏哈托个人权力的工具，感到很失望。他领导了国际公关活动，为1975年入侵东帝汶提供了理由，但随后又对军队残酷的反叛乱战术感到惋惜。

作为一名印尼华人，瓦南迪对苏哈托独裁政权阻挠他的族群获得政府工作的做法特别感到遗憾。他本着同化的精神将自己的名字从Lim Bian Kie改成了Lim Bian Kie，却被当成了一个准外来民族的一部分。瓦南迪最初对苏哈托政权的热情--其经济增长、政治稳定和文化宽容的承诺--在20世纪80年代随着其个人化、裙带关系和种族主义的特征变得根深蒂固而逐渐减弱。

尽管提交人愿意表示遗憾，但很难让人对他产生任何同情。他在阴暗面工作多年，帮助苏哈托独裁政权犯下各种罪行，作为独裁政权最令人厌恶的肮脏伎俩的情报官员之一阿里-莫尔托波的门徒，他仍然为自己的工作感到自豪。他对各种大屠杀背后的决策的内幕描述往往是自以为是和不准确的。

该政权在1965-66年开始的大规模屠杀是一个 "可怕的错误"。与他的许多新秩序同僚不同，他们要么对杀戮保持沉默，要么为其提供充分的理由，瓦南迪至少愿意看到一些错误："我们永远不能使这些行为合法化，掩盖或忘记这些行为"。他甚至呼吁进行调查，以 "揭示"--这个动词选得很好，让人联想到对万人坑的挖掘--"这些悲惨事件的真相"。

然而，他怎么能把屠杀手无寸铁的被拘留者称为 "错误 "而不是犯罪呢？他可以通过做他要求我们不要做的事情。他掩盖了它们。他用一个虚构的故事来解释它们，而这个故事的罪魁祸首是苏加诺。邦加诺没有在10月初立即取缔PKI，据说是他的错。人们 "自作主张"；在一些地区，军队 "采取了主动"。这种指责总统的故事以前也讲过。诺托苏桑托和萨利赫在他们1967年关于九卅运动的著名文章中提出："公众 "要求惩罚PKI，当苏加诺试图 "保护该党 "时，他们就乱了套。这个故事是无稽之谈。苏哈托和他的陆军军官集团把苏加诺晾在一边，开始做他们早就计划好的事情。他们会利用总统禁令来使他们的谋杀性攻击合法化，就像他们利用苏加诺来使他们1966年3月的政变合法化一样。

瓦南迪几乎承认了这一点。他非常坦率地声称，中爪哇的 "杀戮行动 "是由10月中旬被派往中爪哇攻击PKI的RPKAD指挥官萨尔沃-埃德希领导的。瓦南迪不公平地把他说成是唯一的杀戮代理人。他忽略了苏哈托的作用。他似乎对他对萨尔沃-埃迪的动机的描述的变态性视而不见。'他对共产党人有私人恩怨，要为他的朋友和赞助人阿赫马德-亚尼的死报仇。中爪哇数以万计的普通平民，这些人与亚尼在卢邦布亚的谋杀案毫无关系，却不得不被屠杀，因为萨尔沃-埃迪想为他在普沃雷乔的老伙计报仇？现任总统的岳父有那么病态吗？瓦南迪没有提到，他曾是雅加达学生运动的重要领导人，当萨尔沃-埃迪在杀人事件后返回时，他将其奉为伟大的战争英雄。

瓦南迪的叙述表明，学生运动与军队的合作是多么密切。学生们在10月初就知道他们没有危险。PKI在街上横冲直撞，洗劫和焚烧房屋、办公室和学校，没有进行任何抵抗。但他们仍然假装自己是冒着生命危险的勇敢的战争英雄。瓦南迪顺便指出，印度尼西亚学生行动阵线（KAMI）的学生强迫人们参加他们的示威活动，但没有表示遗憾。'我们会派民防（Hansip）人员到人们的家里，告诉他们如果不参加我们的会议，就会被视为PKI。

瓦南迪没有准确解释阿里-莫尔托波（他称之为帕克-阿里）是如何和为什么招募他的。他提到他第一次见到他是在1963年的科斯特拉德 "研讨会 "上，当时军官们宣布中国和PKI是他们的主要威胁，而不是苏加诺认定的西方帝国主义势力。(由于表达了这样的观点，这肯定是一个秘密的、只邀请了人的聚会。）那是一次决定命运的会面："我当时并不知道他对我的人生有多么大的影响。

他对Moertopo的Opsus--Kostrad内部的秘密组织--破坏Konfrontasi的描述，既透露了信息，又令人困惑。他声称Opsus开始于1965年中期莫尔托波和苏哈托（科斯特拉德的）以及军队指挥官亚尼之间的一次会议。但他又声称莫尔托波在1964年9月或10月开始与德阿尔维和其他印尼社会主义党（PSI）的人物联系，他们在支持1957-58年的叛乱失败后生活在国外。也许与亚尼的会面是在1964年中期。他不经意地提到，仿佛这是一件例行公事，莫尔托波走私'橡胶和其他货物'为奥普斯公司赚钱，并在新加坡和马来西亚的银行积累了1700万美元的资金。PKI的 "资本主义官僚"（kabir）一词是否完全不准确？

莫尔托波在这本书中作为苏哈托的一个聪明的仆人出现。在关于英国庄园的电影《戈斯福德公园》（2001年）中，一个仆人解释说，她必须预知，在主人 "自己知道之前 "就知道他们想要什么。Wanandi认为Moertopo的'力量'在于他的预测能力。'他总是觉得他必须在事件发生之前，提前为老爷子[苏哈托]做好准备。

瓦南迪于1967年加入莫尔托波的手下，当时上校成为苏哈托在巴布亚的指使者。从1967年中期开始的两年时间里，瓦南迪参与了在巴布亚举行自由选择法案的筹备工作。据他说，他的策略是引诱。他带来了一船的烟草和啤酒，这样巴布亚人就会对印尼有好感。瓦南迪没有讨论为赢得投票而采取的胁迫和欺骗策略，避免参与约翰-萨尔福德（John Saltford）2003年出版的《联合国与印度尼西亚对西巴布亚的接管，1962-1969年：背叛的剖析》一书中的那种记录，并且对印度尼西亚自1969年以来对巴布亚人造成的恐怖保持沉默。(关于巴布亚的大部分内容已经出现在Wanandi于2009年在《印度尼西亚内部》发表的文章中。

在巴布亚的 "成功 "使苏哈托的手下有胆量在东帝汶尝试类似的策略。书中最长的章节之一是关于瓦南迪在1974-75年吞并东帝汶时的作用。他急于为自己洗清罪名，尤其是现在东帝汶已经赢得了独立，两个真相委员会发布了揭露印尼军队暴行的报告，一些提到他的角色的澳大利亚大使馆档案也已解密。

他坚持认为，他的策略又只是诱导。莫尔托波的组织于1974年4月开始了 "科莫多行动"，目的是 "收集情报和兜售亲印度尼西亚的宣传品"，并训练东帝汶人自己对抗革阵。他们希望'通过外交手段'吞并东帝汶，然后在大约七年后，一旦印尼对东帝汶人进行了准备，使他们像在巴布亚那样投票，就会举行某种自决行动。东帝汶人将看到，"唯一合理的途径是成为印度尼西亚的一部分"。

根据他的故事，他们的战略失败了，因为军事情报负责人本尼-莫尔达尼（Benny Moerdani）将军在1975年初启动了 "弗兰波安行动"，将印度尼西亚训练的东帝汶人送过边境，用武力占领该国。然后，该行动在1975年8月输给了塞洛亚行动，当时的军事指挥官彭加宾提议用印尼军队来占领东帝汶。瓦南迪认为，这是一个'愚蠢'的计划。东帝汶独立革命阵线的军事胜利和11月的独立宣言激怒了苏哈托，使他选择了彭加宾的计划。'整个事情都乱套了'。

在把莫尔达尼和彭加宾描绘成坏蛋的同时，瓦南迪也无意中指控了自己。他的莫尔托波派在任何时候都没有设想过东帝汶人的真正自决行为。从一开始的计划就是吞并东帝汶，与其他派别的争论只是关于方法。

一旦印尼军队在12月发动全面入侵，瓦南迪就进行了外交活动："这是一项公关工作，而且不是一项好工作，因为我们不同意正在发生的事情。他在华盛顿特区辅导印度尼西亚派去向美国国会作证的人，向他们解释他们怎么能不承认军队'入侵'。

瓦南迪有一种非凡的能力，即承认犯罪，然后将其归咎于受害者。他承认印尼军队在巴里布射杀了五名外国记者，以消灭入侵的证人："不能让人知道他们在入侵"。因此，这里明确承认了战争罪：故意谋杀非战斗人员。然后，他指责记者们自己把自己置身于战区：'他们认为这将是一次野餐，当然，他们被枪杀了'。当然了。

这本回忆录让我们对苏哈托时代官方的堕落心态有了一些窥视。瓦南迪和他的戈尔卡领导人伙伴们通过恐吓人民，每五年一次设计选举的胜利。他们派民防人员挨家挨户地通知人们，如果投票反对加尔卡，就会被认为是投票给PKI。他们组织了一个公务员协会，作为 "加尔卡赢得选举的工具"。他们动员了街头悍匪，即预言家。瓦南迪为选举的胜利感到自豪，并不为实现这些胜利的不正当手段而感到不安。帕克-阿里给他分配了任务，他成功地完成了这些任务。Asal bapak senang（只要老板高兴就好）。莫尔托波有句名言，把平民称为'漂浮的大众'；他们必须被操纵和指挥，因为他们太愚蠢了，不能为自己考虑。瓦南迪认为这个前提是理所当然的。

Moertopo在1971年为Wanandi的智囊团CSIS安排了资金，他打电话给各种华裔印尼商人，cukong（Wanandi委婉地翻译为 "赞助人"），并要求提供资金："这就是所需的一切"。通过CSIS，瓦南迪将自己塑造成一个知识分子，并与外国学者建立联系，同时充当加尔卡的老板和情报人员。CSIS是另一种诱惑策略，这次的目标是那些对苏哈托政权的国际舆论有影响力的外国人。这也是监视和惩罚像本尼迪克特-安德森这样不听话的人的一种方式。(安德森在1996年发表在《印度尼西亚》杂志上的文章《关于印度尼西亚的学术研究和国家利益》中写到了他与瓦南迪的交锋）。

瓦南迪希望读者认为他是有心的；他在黑暗面的工作只是让他染上了灰色，而不是染成了漆黑。他讲述了他在1970年代为释放政治犯和允许红十字会进入东帝汶而进行的游说。这项工作似乎是出于安抚外国对该政权的批评的需要而进行的。

我惊讶地发现，瓦南迪对我关于九卅运动的书大加赞赏，"认为这是对政变背后的人以及政变失败原因的最好解释"。在赞扬的同时，他对我谴责军队对该运动的反应保持沉默。按照他的习惯，他指责受害者。这场运动是 "一个可怕的失误，为报复打开了闸门"。PKI应对针对它的暴力负责。他引用了老生常谈：当时的气氛是'不杀人就被杀'。这种似是而非的描述方便地免除了那些懦弱地处决已经被捆绑起来的人，然后让他们消失的肇事者。正如最近的电影《杀戮的行为》（2012）所揭示的那样，消除犯罪者神话的最好方法是让他们准确地描述他们的行为。

瓦南迪以坎迪的方式结束了他的书，没有了他早期对苏哈托政权的热情所带来的乐观主义，他把他的智囊团写成了他耕耘的小花园。在这本书的结尾，我觉得我想去外面开垦一个真正的花园，作为对重温苏哈托时代官场灰暗的噩梦的一种缓解。

Jusuf Wanandi, Shades of Grey: A Political Memoir of Modern Indonesia, 1965-1998（新加坡：Equinox, 2012）。

约翰-罗萨（jroosa@mail.ubc.ca）是不列颠哥伦比亚大学的历史学副教授，也是《大规模屠杀的借口》的作者。九三运动和苏哈托在印度尼西亚的政变》（Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006）。

Inside Indonesia 112: Apr-Jun 2013

At times one comes close to feeling sorry for Pak Wanandi. So little in his life worked out as planned. The book, unlike so many je ne regrette rien autobiographies of Suharto-era officials, is filled with misgivings. He helped bring Suharto to power in 1965-66 and then regretted that the general stayed in power for so long. He rebuilt Golkar in 1970-71 and was later disappointed to see the organisation become the tool of Suharto’s personal power. He led the international PR campaign justifying the 1975 invasion of East Timor but then lamented the army’s brutal counterinsurgency tactics.

As a Chinese Indonesian, Wanandi particularly regrets the Suharto dictatorship’s blocking of his community’s access to government jobs. He changed his name from Lim Bian Kie in the spirit of assimilation only to be treated as part of a quasi-alien nation. Wanandi’s initial enthusiasm for the Suharto regime – with its promises of economic growth, political stability, and cultural tolerance – waned in the 1980s as its personalised, nepotistic, and racist character became entrenched.

Despite the author’s readiness to profess regrets, it is difficult to summon up any sympathy for him. He laboured for years on the dark side, helping the Suharto dictatorship commit a variety of crimes, and he remains proud of his work as the protégé of one of its most loathsome dirty-tricks intelligence officers, Ali Moertopo. His insider accounts of the decision-making behind various massacres are often self-serving and inaccurate.

The mass killing with which the regime began in 1965-66 was a ‘horrible mistake’. Unlike many of his New Order peers, who have either remained silent about the killing or offered full-throated justifications of it, Wanandi is at least willing to see something wrong: ‘We can never legitimise, gloss over, or forget those acts’. He even calls for investigations that can ‘bring up’ – a nicely chosen verb invoking excavations of mass graves – ‘the truths about those tragic events’.

Still, how can he call the slaughter of unarmed, defenceless detainees ‘a mistake’ rather than a crime? He can by doing what he asks us not to do. He glosses over them. He explains them with a fanciful story that blames, of all people, Sukarno. Bung Karno is supposedly at fault for not immediately banning the PKI in early October. People ‘took matters into their own hands’; in some regions, the army ‘took the initiative’. This blame-the-president story has been told before. Notosusanto and Saleh presented it in their famous 1967 tract on the September 30th Movement: ‘the public’, demanding the PKI be punished, ran amok when Sukarno tried ‘to protect the party’. The story is nonsense. Suharto and his clique of army officers sidelined Sukarno and proceeded to do what they had already planned to do. They would have used a presidential ban to legitimate their murderous assaults, just as they used his Supersemar to legitimate their March 1966 coup.

Wanandi nearly concedes as much. He claims, with remarkable frankness, that the ‘killing campaign’ in Central Java ‘was led by Sarwo Edhie’, the RPKAD commander sent there to attack the PKI in mid-October. Wanandi unfairly casts him as the sole agent of extermination. He omits Suharto’s role. And he seems oblivious to the perversity of his depiction of Sarwo Edhie’s motivations: ‘He had a personal grudge against communists to avenge the death of Achmad Yani, his friend and patron.’ Tens of thousands of ordinary civilians in Central Java, people who had nothing to do with Yani’s murder at Lubang Buaya, had to be slaughtered because Sarwo Edhie wanted to avenge the death of his old buddy from Purworedjo? Was the current president’s father-in-law that pathological? Wanandi does not mention that the student movement in Jakarta, of which he was a prominent leader, feted Sarwo Edhie as a great war hero when he returned after the killing spree.

Wanandi’s account shows how closely the student movement worked with the army. The students knew in early October that they were in no danger. The PKI put up no resistance as they rampaged through the streets, ransacking and burning houses, offices, and schools. But still they pretended as if they were brave heroes at war risking their lives. Wanandi notes in passing, without an expression of regret, that the students of the Indonesian Student Action Front (KAMI) forced people to join their demonstrations: ‘We would send civil defence (Hansip) personnel around to people’s houses, advising them that they would be regarded as PKI if they did not attend our meetings.’

Wanandi doesn’t explain precisely how and why Ali Moertopo, whom he calls Pak Ali, recruited him. He mentions that he first met him at a Kostrad ‘seminar’ in 1963 at which army officers declared that China and the PKI were their main threats, not the Western imperialist powers that Sukarno identified. (With such views being expressed, it must have been a secret, invitees-only gathering.) It was a fateful meeting: ‘I was not to know then what a great influence he was to have over my life.’

His account of Moertopo’s Opsus, the secret organisation inside Kostrad, to sabotage Konfrontasi, is as revealing as it is confusing. He claims Opsus began in mid-1965 during a meeting between Moertopo and Suharto (of Kostrad) and Yani, the army commander. But then he claims that Moertopo began contacting Des Alwi and other Socialist Party of Indonesia (PSI) figures, living abroad after their support for the failed 1957-58 rebellion, in September or October 1964. Perhaps the meeting with Yani was in mid-1964. He casually mentions, as if it was a routine matter, that Moertopo smuggled ‘rubber and other goods’ to generate money for Opsus and accumulated $17 million in banks in Singapore and Malaysia. Was the PKI’s term ‘capitalist bureaucrat’ (kabir) entirely inaccurate?

Moertopo appears in this book as a clever servant of Suharto’s. In the film about an English manor, Gosford Park (2001), a servant explains that she has to anticipate, to know what the masters want ‘before they know it themselves’. Wanandi saw Moertopo’s ‘strength’ in his ability to anticipate: ‘He always felt he had to prepare the old man [Suharto] in advance, before events happened.’

Wanandi joined Moertopo’s staff in 1967 just as the colonel became Suharto’s point man for Papua. For two years, starting in mid-1967, Wanandi was involved in the preparations for the holding of the Act of Free Choice in Papua. The strategy, according to him, was seduction. He brought in boatloads of tobacco and beer so that the Papuans would look kindly upon Indonesia. Wanandi does not discuss the coercive and deceitful tactics to win the vote, avoiding an engagement with the kind of documentation found in John Saltford’s 2003 book The United Nations and the Indonesian Takeover of West Papua, 1962-1969: The Anatomy of Betrayal, and remains silent on the terrors that Indonesia has inflicted on the Papuans since 1969. (Much of the section on Papua has already appeared in an essay Wanandi published in Inside Indonesia in 2009.

The ‘success’ in Papua emboldened Suharto’s men to attempt a similar strategy in East Timor. One of the longest sections of the book concerns Wanandi’s role in annexing East Timor in 1974-75. He is desperate to clear his name, especially now that the country has won independence, two truth commissions have issued reports exposing the Indonesian military’s atrocities and some Australian embassy files referring to his role have been declassified.

He insists that his strategy was again, merely seduction. Moertopo’s group started Operation Komodo in April 1974 for ’gathering intelligence and peddling pro-Indonesia propaganda‘ and training East Timorese to fight Fretilin on their own. They hoped to annex East Timor ‘through diplomatic means’ and then hold some kind of act of self-determination, after about seven years, once Indonesia had prepped the East Timorese so that they would vote the right way, as in Papua. The East Timorese would come to see that ‘the only logical path was to become part of Indonesia’.

As his story goes, their strategy lost out as General Benny Moerdani, the military intelligence chief, started Operation Flamboyan in early 1975, which sent Indonesian-trained East Timorese across the border to take the country by force. Then that operation lost ground to Operation Seroja in August 1975, when the military commander, Panggabean, proposed to use Indonesian troops to take East Timor. It was, Wanandi opines, a ‘stupid’ plan. Fretilin’s military victory and its declaration of independence in November provoked Suharto into opting for Panggabean’s plan. ‘The whole thing went haywire.’

While depicting Moerdani and Panggabean as the villains, Wanandi unintentionally indicts himself. At no point did his Moertopo faction envision a genuine act of self-determination for the East Timorese. The plan from the start was to annex East Timor and the debate with the other factions was only over the method.

Once the Indonesian troops launched a full-scale invasion in December, Wanandi made the diplomatic rounds: ‘It was a PR job, and not a nice one, because we didn’t agree with what was happening.’ He was in Washington DC coaching the people Indonesia sent to testify to the US Congress, explaining to them how they could not admit that the troops had ‘invaded’.

Wanandi has the remarkable ability to acknowledge a crime and then blame the victims for it. He admits Indonesian troops shot and killed five foreign journalists in Balibo to eliminate witnesses to the invasion: ‘it could not be known that they were invading’. So here is a clear admission to a war crime: the deliberate murder of non-combatants. Then he blames the journalists themselves for putting themselves in a war zone: ‘They thought it would be a picnic and of course they were shot.’ Of course.

This memoir allows us some glimpses into the depraved mindset of Suharto-era officialdom. Wanandi and his fellow Golkar leaders engineered electoral victories every five years by intimidating people. They sent civil defence personnel house-to-house to inform people that a vote against Golkar would be construed as a vote for the PKI. They organised a civil servants association as a ‘tool of Golkar to win elections’. They mobilised street toughs, the preman. Wanandi is proud of the electoral victories and is not troubled by the underhanded methods to achieve them. Pak Ali assigned him tasks and he completed them successfully. Asal bapak senang (as long as the boss is happy). Moertopo famously called commoners ‘a floating mass’; they had to be manipulated and directed because they were too stupid to think for themselves. Wanandi takes that premise for granted.

Moertopo arranged the funding for Wanandi’s think-tank, CSIS, in 1971 by calling up various Chinese Indonesian businessmen, cukong (a term Wanandi euphemistically translates as ‘patron’), and asking for money: ‘that was all that was needed’. With CSIS, Wanandi styled himself as an intellectual and cultivated contacts with foreign academics, all the while serving as a Golkar boss and intelligence operative. CSIS was another seduction strategy, this time targeting foreigners who were influential in shaping international opinion about the Suharto regime. It was also a way to monitor and punish the recalcitrant ones, like Benedict Anderson. (Anderson has written about his run-ins with Wanandi in his 1996 article in the journal Indonesia, ‘Scholarship on Indonesia and Raison d’État’.)

Wanandi would like readers to think he has a heart; that his work on the dark side has only left him streaked with grey and not dyed jet black. He recounts his lobbying in the 1970s to get political prisoners released and allow the Red Cross into East Timor. This work seems to have been greatly motivated by the need to placate foreign criticisms of the regime.

I was surprised to find Wanandi flattering my book about the September 30th Movement ‘as the best explanation of who was behind the coup and why it failed’. The praise is accompanied by a silence on my condemnation of the army’s reaction to the movement. As is his habit, he blames the victims. The movement was ‘a terrible blunder that opened the floodgates to retribution’. The PKI was responsible for the violence against it. He invokes the old cliché: the atmosphere of the time was ‘kill or be killed’. That specious depiction of the time conveniently exonerates the perpetrators who cowardly executed people who were already tied up and then made them disappear. As the recent film The Act of Killing (2012) reveals, the best way to dispel the perpetrators’ myths is to let them describe precisely what they did.

Wanandi ends his book in Candide-like fashion, bereft of the optimism that animated his early enthusiasm for the Suharto regime, writing about his think-tank as the little garden he cultivates. By the end of the book I felt like going outside and cultivating a real garden as a relief from reliving the grey-on-grey nightmare of Suharto-era officialdom.

Jusuf Wanandi, Shades of Grey: A Political Memoir of Modern Indonesia, 1965-1998 (Singapore: Equinox, 2012).

John Roosa (jroosa@mail.ubc.ca) is Associate Professor of History at the University of British Columbia and author of Pretext for Mass Murder: The September 30th Movement and Suharto's Coup d'État in Indonesia (Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 2006).

Inside Indonesia 112: Apr-Jun 2013

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投稿：戰爭不是劇本：從香蕉湯到尿袋人生

作者：合艾 - 3月 29, 2026

戰爭不是劇本：從香蕉湯到尿袋人生 ——讀潘翠霞《不要提我的名字》、《我是父親的女兒》謝東森(國小退休教師) 在台灣，我們談「全民防衛、城鎮戰」，談的好像是一本安排好的劇本。但越南女作家潘翠霞筆下的越戰故事告訴我們：戰爭從來不是政治口號裡的英雄史詩，更不是演習劇本，而是從香蕉湯開始、到尿袋人生結束的漫長折磨生活。潘翠霞（Phan Thúy Hà）這位1979年出生的北方女作家，用《不要說出我的名字》記錄北越老兵的沉默創傷，用《我是父親的女兒》傾聽南越「敵人父親」的破碎命運。她把戰爭從官方檔案中解放出來，還原成一個個飢餓、恐懼、荒謬與潰爛的身體。「作為越南戰爭時期北越士兵的特殊記憶博物館，《不要說出我的名字》可視為近年最重要的補充資料之一，關於這場塑造20世紀歷史的戰爭。透過這本書，潘翠霞真正尊崇越南老兵，讓他們說出自己的聲音，袒露半生承載的痛苦。我認為，這樣的書應在大學與中小學廣泛推廣，讓年輕人從人文角度理解歷史真相。」 ——歷史學博士 Jason Picard 「1975年後南方政權的士兵，全都被懷疑、被歧視，都必須背負『失敗者、偽軍』的身份，他們的人生都充滿艱辛與苦難。潘翠霞像對待自己父親——一位北方士兵的親人一樣走近他們。她寫道：『父親的女兒去見叔伯們，我看到了父親的影子，像在與父親的靈魂對話。』於是，從前一本到後一本，她用戰爭中與戰後兩邊的人們命運，寫成一部越南人的悲傷歷史。可以說，這是一部傷痕史。」 ——文學評論家范春原（Phạm Xuân Nguyên）戰爭，向來是兩股力量的殘酷對抗，結局非勝即敗。而戰爭的歷史，幾乎總是由勝利者書寫。傳統的國家正史與戰爭史，往往只聚焦於一場場戰役的勝負得失、戰略的進退，以及最終的定局。在這樣的敘事裡，事件永遠凌駕於個人，數字與結果淹沒了無數血肉之軀的痛苦。潘翠霞卻走了一條截然不同的道路。她不關心硝煙中的戰術與勝敗，她真正關注的，是那些走進戰爭、又走過戰爭的普通人。《不要說出我的名字》，她記錄了越南民主共和國（北方）人民軍士兵的故事；《我是父親的女兒》則接續書寫越南共和國（南方）士兵的命運。這兩本書的主角，都是戰後回歸平凡生活的退伍軍人。即使是「勝利一方」的北方士兵，生還返鄉後，仍要面對戰爭留下的漫長後遺症：家破人亡、身心創傷，以及和平年代裡另一種難以言說的逆境。榮耀歸於國家，悲劇卻只屬於個人。《不要說出我的...

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北越故事：童年、從軍、戰場、戰後、晚年【平民眼中的戰爭：從香蕉湯到尿袋人生】

投稿：戰爭不是劇本：從香蕉湯到尿袋人生