Free Phoenix Program by Douglas Valentine

But there were areas that were so tough and so inaccessible that there was just no intelligence coming out. Some of the Chieu Hois would bring it in, but we never really had what we thought was a good enough handle on continuing intelligence, which is a terrible blind spot if you’re trying to win a war that’s got all the built in problems that Vietnam had.”
    The next problem Donohue faced was “how to imprint a political system on a foreign country.” That was no easy task, even for an irrepressible huckster like Tom Donohue. Donohue described the typical province chief as “a military officer who was a product of a mandarin system,” a person with total discretion over how to spend funds, who “couldn’t care less about what some grubby little old peasant lady in black pajamas had to say. He didn’t have a political bone in his body.” By way of comparison he added, “They’re as bad as our military. They never understood either what we were doing.” All that led Donohue to say, “We were running a coaching school for army officers.”
    Further complicating things was the fact that corruption in the provinces was a way of life. So Donohue spent a good deal of time “trying to keep the local parties from using it to their own advantage. The VNQDD element had to be goddamned careful that they weren’t pushing the long-range interests of the party,” he said, referring to Mai’s habit of inserting four VNQDD cadres into every PAT team. “The same is true when you get into Hoa Hao country. If you had a province chief who looked upon it as a source of revenue or if a guy wanted to use it as a private army, then you had real trouble.”
    Donohue told each province chief, “If you use these people in the way they’ve been trained, we’ll feed them, pay them, and equip them. If you decide at any time they’re a hindrance rather than a help, you give me a call, and within thirty days we’ll get them out of here. If I decide that you’re not using them properly—that you’re using them as a palace guard here in the province—I’ll give you thirty days’ notice and pull them out.” And that was the agreement. It was that simple. Nothing in writing. Nothing went through the central government.
    â€œNext, I’d take an agency officer—or officers in a big province—and stick him in the province and tell him, ‘Find a place to live. Get some sandbags. We’ll try to get you some Nung guards. Stay alive and do as you see fit.’ And then he was responsible for the direction of the teams—payroll, logistics, the whole smear.” The CIA officer then selected “a vigorous younglieutenant” whom the province security officer would appoint to his staff as the Rural Construction cadre liaison, “so we would have a guy we could work with day in and day out. Then we would work down to the district level, where we had a similar arrangement, and then into a village.”
    As soon as the district chief had vouched for his recruits, “We’d put them on an airplane and send them down to Vung Tau,” Donohue said. “This is pretty heady stuff. These guys had never been out of the village before. The food was spectacular. Suddenly they had more protein in their systems than they’ve ever had before, and they’re able to stay awake in class. Our training program was vigorous as hell, but they all put on weight. We treated them for worms as soon as they came in the door. Then Mai began telling them stories about the fairies and the dragons and the great cultural heritage of the Vietnamese people. He had all sorts of myths which were at least apparent to many of these people. Then he would work in the political applicability of today.”
    According to Donohue, this is “precisely” what political warfare is all about: Having been selected into a