Lessons from The Vietnamese Narrative
By Nhan Phan ‘24
Disclaimer: Learning at an international school for most of my life, I never really had a strong understanding of how Vietnamese people perceived the Vietnamese story. Perhaps the version of that story that’s being taught in Vietnamese schools differs from the perspectives taught internationally, but nonetheless, I wanted to explore more.
This summer, I embarked on a Vietnamese nationwide summer excursion that spanned seven cities, over several hundred kilometers, and one and a half months. This trip was part of a bigger project that was two years in the making: a podcast that explored the evolution of Vietnamese heritage culture from the viewpoint of historical relics scattered throughout the country. Whether it was a tour through the famous Buôn Mê Thuột Exile House, a three-day moped excursion in Lào Cai to the top of Fansipan mountain, a teaching experience at a highland center in Sapa, or an overnight train ride to Quy Nhơn, the stories I unearthed from these experiences provided me with several important takeaways about my home country and how it is changing on an everyday basis.
1: The role that wartime conditions had on the formation of Vietnamese ideology
I had the chance to interview Mr. Phan Biền, who went through 39 years of war with the French, Americans, and smaller auxiliary forces after 1975. He said, “In order to really fully appreciate the conditions you are born into today, you have to spend a day in the war and witness the sacrifice of hundreds of people who came before you.” The following section is an abbreviated account of a soldier’s experience that resonates with the Vietnamese people today.
Mr. Biền, as mentioned earlier, was among some of the most influential people within the Vietnamese army; he rose through the ranks throughout his time in the military. During the war, he described his experience on the battleground: “On my foot is a long scar that’s still healing. It is commemorative of when I was in the Trường Sơn battleground. The enemy directly stabbed my leg using their field weaponry. This was during French rule. I evaded the enemy forces while injured, hiding in a nearby trench… On my head, I have a scar from the American war. It was from a B52, a destructive weapon used by the Americans, that just missed my head. When I was sleeping, the enemy forces dropped a B52 bomb and the shards grazed my head… At Trường Sơn, I used to joke with my regiment: ‘If we don’t die from bombs or bullets from the enemy, we will die from everything else.’ Everything else consisted of natural disasters, disease, and hunger. You must be able to truly understand hardship in order to appreciate how valuable today’s life really is.”
Biền then talked about the Liberation of Saigon and described it as something that is one-of-a-kind. According to him, the event was something that did not happen often— that a country and its people came together. He gave several other examples that illustrated his point. In the past, three major countries were divided into two separate regions: Germany was divided into East and West Germany, Korea was divided into North and South Korea, and Vietnam was divided into North and South Vietnam. In 1975, after the liberation of the South from the American forces, Vietnam was reunified into one country. Germany was reunified only as a result of the Unification Treaty and the two halves of Korea are still separated today. Vietnam, perhaps, reunited on its own.
As decades passed after the Liberation of Saigon, the country entered a new era called the “Đổi Mới” movement, which shifted the country’s approach to structuring its economy. Before the movement, Vietnam was embroiled in American economic sanctions which plunged the country into an age of poverty and misery. The poor were poorer and, thus, increased their gap with the rich. Rural populations, mainly dependent on the export of farmed goods, could not sell their produce. Many people living in urban cities were devoid of jobs. The State, seeing rising inequality between rural and urban populations and areas and economic deterioration, decided to shift from a centrally planned economy to a market-oriented one; this was the core of the Đổi Mới movement. With this movement came a sharp rise in private ownership of businesses, gross domestic product per capita, as well as rapid transformation and modernization of Vietnamese tourism and culture. It was also the catalyst for the formation of today’s Vietnamese economy and society.
The sacrifices of the men and women on the battlefield and the hardships that the Vietnamese people of previous generations experienced formed the foundation of Vietnamese values. With independence, economic reforms, and guidance from the State, Vietnamese society was vastly transformed. This is the Vietnamese Narrative that senior generations of Vietnamese people remember. This is the narrative that they understand well. This is the narrative that is ingrained in their minds in the decades after the war. This is the version of Vietnamese history that I discovered as I traveled along the country— that Vietnam rose up from its hardships and emerged stronger and better than ever. Understanding the progression of Vietnamese history from the eyes of the Vietnamese people can reveal a picture of how the ideology of the Vietnamese narrative came to be.
2: The fluidity of change, intersectionality between “old” versus “new”
After 1975’s Liberation of the South, Vietnam evolved from a poor, war-ridden country in Southeast Asia into a modern, independent developing nation. The change he witnessed after the liberation of the South is astounding— Vietnam, according to him, transformed into an economic powerhouse in Southeast Asia as well as a source of global cultural influence. However, that narrative of change is nothing new. What I was interested to investigate was the intersection between the intergenerational perceptions of Vietnamese society. Where do the “old ways” and the “new ways” intersect? What do everyday people think about this change? Was this change inevitable?
I wanted to bring up a specific example that I investigated while on my trip to Buôn Mê Thuột, a city in the Central Vietnamese province of Đắk Lắk. I was investigating the effects of urbanization on the traditional stilt house culture of the Ê Đê people living in the area. Stilt houses, structures elevated above the ground, have been used by the traditional Ê Đê people for centuries. I went to three villages, or Buôn, as they are called in Vietnamese: Buôn Buôr, Buôn Kuốp, and Buôn Akô Đhông. Three of these villages are all within the same central Vietnamese area and are all in Dak Lak province; however, they are all very different. Geographically, Kuốp village is the furthest from the central city and is the most remote of the three, Buôr village is near a major highway that links it to the Buôn Mê Thuột, whereas Akô Đhông village is within the heart of Buôn Mê Thuột. These three villages also have several other fundamental differences: Kuốp village is relatively small— the majority of it is farmland— with a couple of hundred residents mostly living in traditional stilt houses. Buôr village, rumored to be where the stilt house concentration was once the densest, is the biggest of the three villages with the majority of its residents now living in modern brick houses. Akô Đhông village, occupying only a small area of land in the center of Buôn Mê Thuột City, is perhaps best known for tourism.
Here are some of the observations I made from visiting the three villages:
Geographically,a trend can be noticed based on the location of the villages in Buôn Mê Thuột. The further away a village is from the city or a major highway/transportation route, the less likely that they will have access to quality services and education as well as higher-paying job opportunities. This correlates with the concentration of stilt houses and farmland distribution: Kuốp village, the most remote, is most reliant on agriculture. The further away a village is from the major city, the more concentrated the stilt houses will be because the households have less income available to switch to more modern houses. In more remote villages, because of a lack of access to higher paying jobs, more households depend on farming for income as well as sustenance; this explains the larger designation of land for farming in Kuốp village compared to the other two villages.
When talking to a family who lived in a stilt house in Kuốp village, a particular quote from one of the family members gave rise to another trend that I deduced in this investigation: “Bây giờ người dân mình có tiền thì mới xây nhà mà có tiền đâu mà xây nhà (I wish if only our people have money, we can build proper houses, but we don’t have that kind of money anyways).” As more traditional households have more income, they are actively choosing to move into modern houses. They make this choice because modern society apparently is telling them that their way of life is inherently outdated. This viewpoint reflects the effect of urbanization; as conditions improve, it renders traditional ways of living inadequate as it shows that there are better, more comfortable ways to live. However, it is worth noting that some households insist on living in stilt houses because they feel like it is imperative to maintain the traditional way of living. A particular quote from a resident in Buor village states, “Cô vẫn sống trong nhà sàn vì đó là truyền thống, không thể nào mà cứ thể mà bỏ đi được. Hàng trăm thế hệ trước sống như thế này, mình phải tiếp tục truyền thống của họ. (I still live in a stilt house because I simply have to, I can’t just leave. Hundreds of past generations lived like this, and I have to continue their tradition).”
Another, more emotional, example of the cultural change that local Vietnamese people experienced is the Saigon Post Office: one of the most famous building works in Saigon, carrying significant historical meaning and evidence of the development of Saigon urban society into Western models of urbanity (more specifically French), Though its original post office function remains the same, to Saigon locals, it has been transformed into something that is not previously known: a commercial, tourist destination. But to me, what is interesting about this case study is whether or not Saigoneers embrace “the new ways.” From the conversations I had with locals, it seems as if they notice this change as something that is inevitable as Vietnamese society progresses. But part of them longs for the return of the “old ways.”
One example of the locals’ longingness for the “old ways” can be found in the perspective of food vendors near the post office. Several decades ago, according to many vendors, food carts filled the square in between the post office and the Saigon Notre Dame cathedral; it was a popular destination for locals to hang out. There were carts, tables and chairs, and mini kitchen trolleys set up along the pavement outside the post office and the square. The vendors, Saigon natives, reminisced about seeing the post office when they were younger and when many people would come in and out of the building with packages, letters, newspapers, and other goods. They remembered this square as a busy marketplace of books, letters, and works of literature, as well as snacks, drinks, and local favorites. The post office is an integral part of the soul of Saigon. Perhaps, the post office was so special to the people because it once truly belonged to them. With the widespread development in Saigon after the millennium came a facade that prevented the city from being its true self: the construction of a more polished everyday reality that didn’t feel like it was something that spoke to the soul of Saigon. It was, more well put, a second identity. Renovated, reconstructed historical sites, modernized roads, tourist attractions, is it really the Saigon they knew before?
Locals who had lived here their entire life speak to this change with a mix of disappointment and optimism. There will always be intersections between perceptions of locals: some favor the modernization of the city yet some yearn for the return to traditions and the “ways before.” It is this longingness for the return of something that felt personal—a longingness for nostalgia, for the “old ways” to be the “new ways.” Saigon is a fascinating case study because to the locals who live here, the city is more than just a city: it’s a living entity. A living part within the soul of every Saigoneers. Though everyone knows change is inevitable, is it too much to ask for the post office to belong to Saigon once again?
These two examples, along with many others, showcase the spectrum in which the “old ways” and “new ways” intersect in Vietnamese society. The example of the diminishing stilt house concentration in Buôn Mê Thuột is showing the gradual replacement as the traditional Ê Đê people grapple with their traditional way of living versus the temptation of transitioning to more modern ways of living. The example of the Saigon Post Office shows how Saigon locals have a longingness for the return of tradition, for the “old ways” to become the “new ways.” These examples reflect how many different Vietnamese people regard the transformation that is taking place both on a local and national scale, they show how fluid change really is.
3: Empathy
Sometimes, I do feel like a stranger in my own home in the sense that I am seemingly so unaware of what’s going on in my country, unaware of the progression in its cultural development, and unaware of Vietnamese storytelling. Perhaps, before I continue with this section, I would like to acknowledge that I come from a very privileged background that has provided me with the chance to travel, write, record, and produce this summer-long project. In fact, it is because I am privileged that I get the chance to learn, play, and spend time with you today in Exeter. Not many Vietnamese families can afford to send their children halfway around the world to learn at such a high-quality institution as Exeter; for that, I am ever so grateful. The purpose of my project was never to regard the communities around me in a way that reflects a power dynamic that is frankly toxic and dehumanizing, or to “stoop down to their level,” but instead a genuine effort to understand the feelings, emotions, and circumstances of communities I have not necessarily paid much attention to before. I placed a heavy emphasis on storytelling from a place of empathy and not pity. Empathy.
Empathy is such an important word in a world that doesn’t necessarily appreciate it enough. Empathy, according to the Oxford Dictionary, means “the ability to understand and share the feelings of another.” It is not sympathy, which means feelings of pity and sorrow for someone else’s misfortune. What was important for me during this project is to ensure that I am following the former and never the latter. By practicing sympathy, I am intentionally, negatively enforcing a judgment on the people whom I have met and the stories I have heard; it would mean using my personal position to form a negative (or inferior) impression of their stories.
I met a family near the Ham Ninh fishing village in Phu Quoc while walking on the wreckage of the pier bridge in the area. The household consisted of a husband and wife and their three children. The husband is a fisherman in the area and the wife is a vendor at the local market. I met them as the husband was unloading the fishing net from his boat early in the morning; the family gathered together for an early morning meal and invited me to join them. Their small house at the edge of the island overlooked the Ham Ninh coast, which is more desolate now than it was a decade ago. The sun was just rising from the horizon as they sat together around a metal circular tray and ate. I was privileged enough to be able to hear and share their story: “nhà cô thì nghèo. Ổng thì đi đánh cá mà có bán được bao nhiêu đâu, mà nhà thì cũng không có gì. Ba đứa con của cô thì cô cho đi học ngay gần đây, được giảm giá vì là hộ nghèo ấy. Sáng sớm thì ổng về ăn rồi chở mấy đứa đi học rồi ổng sáng sớm hôm sau mới đánh cá xong rồi về. Có một hôm tàu của ổng suýt nữa thì chìm; nếu mà chìm thì nhà cũng không biết phải làm gì nữa. Nhưng mà thôi, cả nhà bây giờ vẫn an toàn, vui vẻ. Mỗi người sẽ cố gắng học giỏi, kiếm tiền, vượt qua tất cả mọi chướng ngoại vật nhé! (Our family is poor. My husband catches fish but they don’t sell for much and our household barely has anything. Our three children go to a nearby school; we get a discount because we are a poor household. Early in the morning, my husband drops the kids off at school and goes fishing until early the next morning. Once, his boat almost sank and if it did, we wouldn’t know what to do. But nonetheless, our family is safe and happy. Everyone will try to study well, make money, and overcome every hardship!)” she exclaimed while looking at her children.
The last sentence resonated with me as well as the families I met after my stop in Phu Quoc. It showed me the optimism, the high-spiritedness, and the mental strength that rules over the Vietnamese people. What touched me was how they managed to turn any situation into a positive one and how they were content with their circumstances and proceeded with daily life with energy, zeal, and happiness. I appreciated that they invited me into their household to listen to their story and talk about my experiences too. By listening to their stories, their emotions, and their approach to life, I have been able to empathize with them not as a journalist interviewing a subject but as one Vietnamese citizen to another. We have developed a common bond, a common understanding of the Vietnamese spirit; that is something that I will treasure for the rest of my life. That common bond is the reason why I set out to investigate the Vietnamese Narrative in the first place.
In summary, this summer of travel helped me form another perspective of Vietnamese society that is grounded in understanding the different experiences of people with different backgrounds. I managed to gain an insight into the nature of change within the Vietnamese story, understand the Vietnamese perspective on the country’s historical development, and appreciate the strong will and spirit of the Vietnamese people. As a Vietnamese native, I took an active step in understanding the intricacies of the communities around me; I would encourage you to explore the narrative upon which your identity is based. Whether it be a journey through your family’s history or a trip down memory lane to revisit your childhood, it can be a fulfilling process that will allow you to re-discover yourself. By embarking on my own personal journey to understand the country I grew up in through experiential travel, I developed a newfound passion to explore this aspect of my identity. The Vietnamese Narrative is a story of the values and heritage of the Vietnamese people. It is a story of cultural transformation fueled by modernization and lessons learned from history. It is a story of the Vietnamese image on the world stage. It is a case study of change, and of the balance between modernity and tradition. There is still so much left to see, and I’m only getting started.
