Vietnamese seal their peace with the French masters they kicked out

IN A picturesque field where farmers grow maize and set buffalos out to pasture, the rusting shells of burnt-out tanks litter the landscape. A field gun, its twisted barrel contorted with age, points to the mountains from where shells once rained down. Sharp reminders of war punctuate Vietnam, a country which has in half a century routed three permanent members of the United Nations Security Council.

The Americans, as a result, have their Saigon; the Chinese their Cao Bang. For France, Vietnam's colonial ruler for a century, there is Dien Bien Phu. In this valley in 1954, the French "Indochine" empire in South- east Asia ended in bloodshed. The crumpled wreckage of their tanks and aircraft remain scattered across the area which for the Vietnamese has become a shrine to their independence. Steeped in revolutionary Communism, the Viet Minh, or "People's Army" pounded this remotest colonial outpost for 56 days. The French, outnumbered and outgunned, lost 3,000 men in a battle which for many in their country has become a symbol of nemesis.

"This is where it all came to an end for us," recalls Pasqual Martin, a veteran of France's rule in Indo-China. "We fought and fought, but kept on losing. Every Frenchman will remember this war." Asked later why he had flouted military convention by positioning his forces in a vulnerable field surrounded by hills, General de Castries, the French commander at Dien Bien Phu, said simply: "I was wrong."

The words carry bitter irony for the many French who today visit the town's war memorials, then pick through the buttons and badges torn off the uniforms of those who died for sale in the market. Some veterans have never forgiven their country for "abandoning" those who fought in what had become an unpopular war. To France's eternal shame, many of its commandos who had led native tribesmen in a lonely and bloody guerrilla war against the communists were left in the jungle to be hunted down, mercilessly, by the Viet Minh.

Nearly two years after the war ended, a final radio message was received from one French-led unit. As machine-gun fire crackled in the background, a desperate voice pleaded: "At least parachute us some ammunition so that we can die like soldiers instead of being slaughtered like animals."

There are many battlefields that provoke strong emotion: Flanders fields, Normandy beaches. But few are as laden with the burden of history and consequence as here. The defeat of the French inspired revolutionary movements across the world, from rebel armies in Africa to insurgents in South America, showing them that Western powers could be beaten on their own terms. And in Vietnam, although the battle ended one war, it was the start of a tragic slide into another. For anyone who has grown up with an image of Vietnam derived largely from Hollywood, as a country at war with the US, it is easy to forget that Washington did not have a monopoly on conflict here. Before came the Japanese and the French; afterwards, the Chinese. All were ultimately kicked out.

The wounds of defeat remain open, and none more so than those of the US. Despite re-establishing diplomatic relations two years ago, the Americans - obsessed with finding the bone fragments of their missing servicemen - will still not let US companies do business in a Vietnam stumbling towards development within the constraints of its one-party state.

An unhappy relationship with China also remains strained: it is, perhaps, only France that has succeeded in reconciling its bitter past experience with Vietnam's present. Strolling along the wide boulevards or around the peaceful lakes of Hanoi, you see more than just a glimmer of the city's Gallic heritage. Red flags and the ubiquitous portraits of Ho Chi Minh are never far from view, but neither is the smell of fresh croissants and coffee on every street corner. And the most imposing building in the capital is a French-built replica of the Paris opera house constructed by homesick colonialists.

More than 40 years after turfing them out, the Vietnamese have reached a detente with their former colonial ruler. French, not English - "the language of Americans" - is still spoken as a second language for many in the country. This weekend, communist Vietnam is hosting an extravagant summit bringing together heads of state from all French-speaking nations. "Perhaps it is that our war here ended 43 years ago, while the Americans were here until 1975," says Serge Degallaix, the French Ambassador in Hanoi. "But there has always been a mutual respect between our two countries for one very good reason. We fought each other, but it was a man-to-man war, not like the Americans with their long-range bombing. The Vietnamese could never respect that."