why is there so much meat in my phở?

Before I go any further, I should point out that the comments that follow apply only to real Hà Nội phở, not Sài Gòn phở, and especially not that strange hybrid stuff they sell at Phở 24. Anyway, given that I've been eating phở in Hà Nội now for almost ten years now, I think we can assume I know what I'm doing. I know where to get good phở bò, phở gà, the gristliest sốt vang, the softest quẩy (and we all know that's not easy in Hà Nội).

One of the things I learned early on was the precise ratio of meat to noodle necessary so that there was enough meat for each mouthful, but never too much left over at the end. But for the last few months, no matter which of my favorite local shops I go to, there's always meat left in the bottom of the bowl. There it sits, bereft of noodles, only a few slivers of spring onion to keep it company.

This intrigues me. We all know that inflation has been hitting Vietnam hard over the last two years, and the rising price of phở has been one of the clearest indicators. But at the same time, it would seem that consumer expectations are rising too, and that phở shops are competing on perceived value. Particularly given that I've been noticing increased amounts of meat in my phở over the last six months while the price has remained constant, I'm wondering if this isn't in some sense the local equivalent of the McDonald's Super Value Menu: increased "value" to keep customers coming back despite the economic downturn. If I were an economist, I'm guessing I could find something extremely profound in all of this. But as it is, I guess I'll just keep ending up with leftover meat in the bottom of my bowl of phở every morning.

encapsulation

For me one of the most insidious aspects of "Development" is what I'll call encapsulation, or the creation of barriers to human contact. Of course, this process is most advanced in that most advanced of all nations, the US. Gated "communities" of people who spend their days "telecommuting" to work, leaving their home briefly to drive their SUV to get money at a drive-through bank, then food at a drive-through restaurant, before finally returning to their cosy cocoon to watch the latest film to arrive from Netflix. I exaggerate, of course, but not by much.

One of the things I've always loved about Vietnam is the way my day is filled with human contact. Granted, it's not always a positive experience, but it is real and it is human, and that for me far outweighs the occasional frustration at the market or an overpriced xe ôm ride. But I can feel it changing. And perhaps one of the reasons I dislike cars so much is the way they promote this process of encapsulation. Motorbikes (and even more, cycling or walking) have always struck me as a particularly human form of transportation. You make eye contact with the people around you, and a left turn involves a complex but almost instantaneous process of negotiation with the oncoming riders. Above all, though, you're a part of your environment, open to the possibilities inherent in the crowd of people eating tiết canh on Hai Bà Trưng street, the smell of nước phở simmering on Lò Đúc, or of the hoa sữa trees on Nguyễn Du.

A car is different. It is a capsule, inhabited by isolated individuals with no connection to the world around them and even less responsibility. You see this very clearly in the love of blacked-out windows, or conversely in the sense of shock we experience when we encounter a convertible sports car with the top down, and realize that cars in fact contain real humans who occasionally make eye contact or even smile at the people around them.

But convertibles are the exception that proves the blacked-out rule. The other evening as I walked out for a plate of cơm rang, I watched a new BMW 5-series creep along Nguyễn Bình Khiêm street, both driver and passenger (presumably husband and wife) engrossed in separate conversations on their iPhones, oblivious not just to the minor traffic jam they were creating, but also to each other. Call me lạc hậu (it's okay, everyone does), but I still prefer the motorbike to the car, the real to the virtual, talking to the person next to me rather than someone on the other side of town. But then again, maybe it's just that BMW 5-series owners are particularly boring. Here's to enjoying real life and real people wherever and whenever we can.

Quan điểm thứ ba của một người Canada về cải cách giáo dục ở bậc đại học tại Việt Nam

Vấn đề giáo dục ở bậc đại học là một vấn đề đang rất bức xúc ở Việt Nam. Ai cũng cho rằng hệ thống giáo dục đại học ở VN đang có những khủng hoảng rất trầm trọng. Tháng 9 vừa rồi có một báo cáo của một nhóm liên kết các học giả VN và Hoa Kỳ (trên trang web: http://vietnam.usembassy.gov/uploads/images/COz3gq9l6NejWPOswskCFg/EduTaskForceReport-Sep09.pdf), và một giảng viên người Mỹ đã có một bài phản hổi rất hay (trên trang web: http://www.math.washington.edu/~koblitz/vnhigheredE.pdf). Rất có thể các bạn đọc đã cảm thấy nhàm chán về vấn đề này. Nhưng nếu các bạn vẫn còn một chút quan tâm và nhiệt huyết về vấn đề này thì xin hãy đọc tiếp bài viết này của tôi.

Trước hết tôi xin tự giới thiệu với các bạn, tôi là một học giả sử học người Canada, đã có bằng cử nhân của ĐH Victoria tại Canada, bằng thạc sĩ của ĐH Cambridge tại Vương Quốc Anh, và bằng tiến sĩ của ĐH California, Berkeley, tại Hoa Kỳ. Tôi đã là giảng viên tại ĐH Ohio (Mỹ), và đã và đang phụ trách một chương trình của ĐH California tại VN được bảy năm.

Trong công việc của mình, tôi đã có cơ hội hợp tác và làm việc với nhiều trường ĐH, học viện, và giảng viên tại VN. Và đặc biệt hơn, tôi đã giảng dạy nhiều SV người Việt trong một lớp học đặc biệt cho SV VN và SV Mỹ. Qua đó, tôi nhận thấy rằng các SV VN không hề thua kém các SV quốc tế. Hàng năm, trong lớp học của tôi, các SV VN hoàn toàn có thể cạnh tranh được với những SV Mỹ đến từ các trường ĐH nổi tiếng như ĐH California tại Berkeley, tại Los Angeles, v.v. Vậy nếu hệ thống giáo dục ĐH ở VN có thể đào tạo ra những SV thông minh, năng động, và có khả năng tư duy phản biện(critical thinking) như vậy, thì khủng hoảng ở đây thực sự là gì, và giải pháp cho nó có thể là gì?

Theo quan điểm của Đại sứ quán Hoa Kỳ, toàn bộ hệ thống giáo dục VN tại tất cả các bậc học đều rất kém, không có cách nào để cải thiện được từ bên trong. Chỉ có một cách duy nhất để giải quyết vấn đề này là thành lập một “American-Style University” (trường ĐH theo chuẩn Hoa Kỳ). Cái được gọi là “American-Style University” sẽ là “một kim chỉ nam cho những thay đổi tốt đẹp hơn, và là một hình mẫu để các trường ĐH VN học tập và noi theo.” (trang 13 của báo cáo của nhóm liên kết).

Nhưng liệu có phải như vậy không? Và những người viết nên báo cáo đó có dẫn chứng nào cho thấy rằng một “American-Style University” sẽ là một hình mẫu để cải cách hệ thống giáo dục ĐH tại VN hay không? Để chứng minh cho quan điểm của mình, họ đã dùng những trường ĐH: Middle East Technology Institute (Thổ Nhĩ Kỳ) và Indian Institute of Technology (Ấn Độ) làm ví dụ. Bây giờ tôi mới hiểu phải chăng vì vậy mà khi nghĩ đến những nền giáo dục tiến bộ trên thế giới, người ta nghĩ ngay đến Thổ Nhĩ Kỳ và Ấn Độ? Phải nói thẳng rằng một trường ĐH cao cấp nhỏ sẽ chỉ có một ảnh hưởng rất hạn chế lên toàn bộ nền giáo dục VN.

Thứ hai, có phải đất nước ta thật sự cần một trường ĐH nghiên cứu đạt chất lượng quốc tế (“world-class research university”)? Để thành lập và duy trì một trường ĐH nghiên cứu sẽ rất tốn kém. Một bằng chứng rất thuyết phục là trường ĐH nổi tiếng Harvard. Harvard chỉ là ĐH Harvard vì nó có rất nhiều tiền, không chỉ từ nguồn học phí cao mà quan trọng hơn là có lợi nhuận từ một quỹ đầu tư lớn nhất trên thế giới mà trường đó sở hữu (xem trên trang web: http://www.thebigmoney.com/articles/diploma-mill/2009/01/27/losing-harvards-billions). Thử hỏi rằng, trường ĐH nghiên cứu này có thể có được một quỹ đầu tư có giá trị hơn 30 tỷ đôla không? Nếu không thì hàng năm chính phủ VN sẽ phải đầu tư một số lượng lớn tiền vào đó.

Thứ ba, đến khi tốt nghiệp, những nghiên cứu sinh của American-style university này sẽ làm gì và làm ở đâu? Lấy ví dụ của tập đoàn Intel (vì ai cũng lấy ví dụ này nhưng rất ít người sử dụng nó cho mục đích khách quan): tại VN, tập đoàn Intel chỉ có hai hoạt động chính là sản xuất và bán hàng, không có hoạt động nghiên cứu và phát triển. Và để làm việc tại Intel hay những tập đoàn đa quốc gia khác, trong thực tế thì bạn chỉ cần một chứng chỉ từ một trường cao đẳng hoặc một trong những cơ sở đào tạo nghề đang mọc ra như nấm. Thế thì việc thành lập một “world-class” “American-style” “research university” là một cách vô cùng tốn kém để đáp ứng một nhu cầu mà nền kinh tế VN trên thực tế không có. Và trong trường hợp nếu VN cần một số lượng nhỏ nghiên cứu sinh bậc cao thì cách đỡ tốn kém và hiệu quả hơn sẽ là cử họ đi đào tạo tại nước ngoài.

Thế phải hỏi American-style university này sẽ đáp ứng nhu cầu của những ai? Một là Mỹ. Hai “chuyên gia” Mỹ (không rõ hai ông ấy là chuyên gia về lĩnh vực gì) đã tư vấn nhóm liên kết các học giả VN và Hoa Kỳ, viết một cách rất “thẳng thắn,” “Việt Nam phải sẵn sàng trả”.” (trang 6 của báo cáo, trên trang web: http://www.hks.harvard.edu/innovations/asia/Documents/HigherEducationOverview112008.pdf ) Để thành lập ĐH này, Việt Nam phải vay tiền từ Ngân hàng thế giới (mà cũng chính là từ Mỹ) để trả lương cho các “chuyên gia” và giảng viên người Mỹ. Ý hay đấy! Và ngoài ví dụ này của “phép thuật tài chính kiểu Mỹ”, ĐH này sẽ là một cách rất hiệu quả để Mỹ có thể tăng tầm ảnh hưởng đối với giới lãnh đạo và chính trị Việt Nam. Mục đích này được biểu hiện rất rõ trong một báo cáo nội bộ của Đại sứ quán Hoa Kỳ tại Việt Nam viết năm 2008 (trên trang web: http://www.viet-studies.info/us_vn_education_memo.htm).

Nhưng một American-style university cũng đáp ứng được một phần nhu cầu chính trị của Việt Nam. Có một trường đại học đẳng cấp quốc tế sẽ là bằng chứng rất hùng hồn rằng Việt nam là một đất nước đang “phát triển.” Như vậy ngài chủ tịch nước ta sẽ không ngại gì khi ngồi ngang hàng với ngài chủ tịch quốc đảo Singapore. Nhưng theo tôi nghĩ, cách tốt nhất để phát triển một đất nước là bằng cách sử dụng các “công nghệ phù hợp” (appropriate technologies). Ví dụ, tôi có đủ điều kiện, có bằng lái xe ô tô nhưng tôi vẫn đi xe Honda Wave và cảm thấy rất thương những người đi các loại xe đắt tiền mà rất khó đỗ, rất dễ bị tắc đường và rất tốn xăng. Một chiếc xe Bentley hay 500 chiếc xe Wave? Thành lập một American-style university hay cải cách cả hệ thống đại học, cao đẳng? Đôi khi giá phải trả cho “đẳng cấp” là quá đắt, đặc biệt nếu công dân Việt Nam phải thanh toán.Và cũng có một lý do cụ thể hơn để thành lập ĐH này: VN đang bị nghiện các loại “project” (dự án). Không chỉ là người Mỹ sẽ có ích lợi từ dự án này mà cả mỗi một người Việt từ trên trở xuống, những người sẽ chịu trách nhiệm cho các mặt của dự án. Và mặt hay nhất của các “project” kiểu này là chúng sẽ không bao giờ đáp ứng mục tiêu. Chính vì vậy VN sẽ mãi có những đường cao tốc phải làm lại sau vài năm, những dự án giúp người thoát nghèo mà không cho thoát, và những dự án mới để giáo dục VN được thật sự là “world class”. Thế mà hãy cho thêm một project nữa đi!

Không. Ngoài những chuyên gia người Mỹ, không ai tin vào phép thuật cả. Ai cũng biết rằng để giải quyết các vấn đề giáo dục tại VN, phải cần nhiều thời gian và nỗ lực, và phải cần cải cách cả hệ thống giáo dục từ cấp một đến bậc ĐH. Từ ngày đầu một HS bước vào trường, HS này sẽ đối mặt với ba vấn đề rất lớn: một là vấn đề về nội dung không có tính thực tế của các môn học; hai là phương pháp dạy và học tập trung vào học gạo và mục đích chỉ là chuẩn bị cho các kỳ thi; ba là tệ tham nhũng trong giáo dục. Để giải quyết những vấn đề này, Bộ Giáo dục và Đào tạo phải cho phép các trường được tự do hơn về nội dung và phương pháp dạy và học, đồng thời phải kiểm soát chặt chẽ hơn tình trạng tham nhũng ở các trường. Và trên tất cả, để có kết quả giáo dục tốt, chúng ta cần những giáo viên giỏi và thực sự tâm huyết, đào tạo họ thực tốt, và có một chế độ đãi ngộ thích đáng. Nếu lương của giáo viên chưa đủ để đảm bảo cuộc sống của họ, thì làm sao nghề giáo có thể thu hút những người giỏi, năng động có khả năng đào tạo những tương lai của đất nước ta? Thầy nào trò đấy.

Để có một tương lai tốt đẹp hơn, Việt Nam cần có một cải cách từng bước và cẩn trọng đối với toàn bộ hệ thống giáo dục. Bộ Giáo dục và Đào tạo phải cho các trường tự do xây dựng nội dung và phương pháp, và chỉ nên tập trung vào việc đặt ra các tiêu chuẩn và kiểm soát cho các trường đạt được các tiểu chuẩn chung đó. Và thay vì đổ hàng trăm triệu đôla vào việc xây dựng một “American style university”, hãy dùng số tiền đó để phát triển một đội ngũ giáo viên VN tốt và giỏi. Đó là cách tốt nhất để mang lại một nền giáo dục chất lượng cho các thế hệ trẻ VN, và hướng tới một tương lai công bằng, phát triển, văn minh, dân chủ hơn.

Tôi xin chân thành cảm ơn bạn Phạm Thị Phương Liên vì sự giúp đỡ và những đóng góp xác đáng cho bài viết này.

a day without horns

I don't know about you, but I never use my horn. In the course of an average year, driving most days, I use my horn two or three times. Actually, that's not absolutely true. Sometimes, when someone behind me in traffic is using their horn in a particularly egregious manner, I let them pass me and then follow them, matching them honk for honk until one of us has to turn off (have you ever wondered who the asshole behind you was, honking exactly in time with you? Well, now you know). But aside from this particular circumstance, I really don't see the need for honking. It doesn't get me there any faster, or safer. And when I see people honking at pedestrians or nguoi ban hang rong, the gesture seems less futile than downright disrespectful. About the only explanation I have for it is that it's a uniquely Vietnamese form of self-expression. But are these really the kinds of expressions we want to make?

Hence, my proposal that the Hanoi People's Committee declare one day a month a "day without horns." It's not without precedent. In the runup to the Beijing Olympics, the Chinese government had a variety of initiatives aimed at modifying everyday behavior. The eleventh of every month, for example, was "queuing day" (get it? the two "1"s look like two people standing in a line). So why not a "day without horns?" People might start to realize that honking or no honking, it really makes no difference in terms of speed or safety. But it does make a difference in terms of noise pollution and stress levels. And maybe we could find other ways to express ourselves. Like smiling and waving. Singing songs. Blowing kisses to fellow drivers. The possibilities are endless.

neoliberalism is alive and well... in Vietam

Okay, I've got to say it. With the possible exception of some policy wonks kept in the basement of the Project for the New American Century, Vietnamese students may well be some of the most unreconstructedly neo-liberal folks in the world.

In class last month during our discussion of urban development projects like "The Manor," I tried to point out the rather specious nature of the claim that they "solve" the problems of rapid urban change. If the problem of urbanization is that the rapidly increasing population of urban poor in places like Hanoi and Saigon does not have access to affordable housing and services, I argued, then it seems questionable whether expensive luxury high-rises can solve anything except the problem of where international capital can make rapid returns.

Happily, though, the Vietnamese students were not taken in by my argument. For them, the problem was less the lack of housing or services for the poor, and more the effect that the increasing population of poor people was having on the quality of life for the rich. Thus luxury developments like the Manor, by providing a spacious, clean, and safe (if sterile) living environment for those who could afford it, really were a solution. Moreover, one student continued, the urban poor really deserved their fate. They had, after all, moved to the city "by choice," and neither government nor society had a responsibility to ensure their access to anything at all. If they didn't like what they got, she added, they could move back to the countryside. Presuming, that is, that their land hadn't been "developed" into a golf course.

Not sure that she really meant what she seemed to be saying, I replied that various societies in history, and even some in the present day, felt that it was important to ensure that all their citizens enjoyed a certain minimum standard of life, often defined to include such things as decent housing, clean water and environment, education, public transportation, and health care. She was unmoved. That might be fine for the wacky Swedes, or even those bland Canadians, but not for Vietnamese. In this nation, people deserved what they got and got what they deserved.

I find this interesting. Is it just a temporary reaction to the perceived failure of socialist policies before đổi mới? Is it that the imported curricula that they study in HANU's Faculties of Management and International Studies carry with them a heavy dose of American-style individualism? Or is it coming from somewhere deeper, from indigenous notions of the individual and their fate? I really don't know. All I know is that the Vietnamese students in our joint class make their American peers look, well, almost communist by comparison. Go figure.

development's not all bad (maybe)

I was drinking beer via Skype with thầy Thư a few weeks ago, and he commented that my blog posts are painting a resolutely bleak picture of the course of development in Hanoi. This gave me pause. I like to consider myself a relatively optimistic person, not just able to see the glass of bia hơi as half full, but also able to rest contentedly in the knowledge that a full glass is but a shout of "bia em ơi!" away. So I set myself the challenge of finding an example of positive change in Hanoi in the last year.

This will probably come as a shock to no one, but my example revolves around bia hơi. Over the last four years or so, bia hơi's have been closing at an alarming rate. This sort of change is driven by the same skyrocketing land prices that are closing places like Cafe Lâm, combined with the aggressive enforcement of policies intended to eradicate street commerce. My sentimental favorite, the Việt Hà on Lý Thường Kiệt opposite the Melia closed long ago, followed by the Việt Hà on Tông Đản (moved to Hàng Bài and since closed at that location, too), and recently by the great old bia hơi Hà Nội Vân Hồ. For a while, it seemed all we were left with were the cavernous beer gardens along the lines of Hải Xồm. Perfectly fine, of course, but not exactly what I think of when I think of "real" bia hơi.

For "real" places like the bia tươi Heninger place at 60 Lý Thường Kiệt, which depend entirely on sidewalk seating, policies against street commerce were a virtual death sentence. For a few years there, I assumed it had closed entirely. But last summer, I happened to meet an old friend (Ricky, I wish you well wherever you are) who suggested that we celebrate our reacquaintance at the same location where we'd shared far too many beers back in the early 2000s. My first few sessions there last summer were still punctuated by impromptu street comedy. The informer would call, the servers would rush out, chairs, tables, and half-eaten plates of chả nhái would be whisked away, and bemused customers would be left standing on the sidewalk as the police arrived, grumbled, and eventually left empty-handed. But now, even this perfunctory attempt at enforcement has ended, and on any night of the week the tables and little plastic stools (we're talking old school here, no chairs allowed; and let's not even mention the toilet) flow out to occupy a good third of the block west of Quán Sứ. And this is not the only example: the Việt Hà on Hàm Long has retaken control of the street opposite the lovely Catholic church, there's a nice cluster of small sidewalk bia hơis down at the end of Hoa Mã... I could continue this list of revitalized bia hơis far longer than I should.

So while we've lost many of the real bia hơis forever, those that managed to survive the lean years of 2004-2007 now seem to have been able to renegotiate their right to carry on that great Hanoi tradition: selling beer on the sidewalk. The question remains, though: why this positive development? I tended to chalk it up to the inevitable waxing and waning that characterizes Vietnamese law enforcement: laws are made, for a time enforced, and then relaxed as ordinary people reassert their own notions of justice and equity. For my friend Thư, though, the answer was to be found in the current financial crisis, and a conscious government decision to relax the enforcement of laws that might restrict even further the ability of ordinary people to make a living in hard economic times. In the end, we differ primarily in our idea of where the impulse is coming from, I'm a little more bottom-up, he's a little more top-down. But the way I figure it, my analysis holds out a more hope that an improving economy won't necessarily bring the end of sidewalk bia hơi as we know it. Maybe I'm an optimist after all.

leading by example

There's an NGO based in an office on Tô Hiến Thành street (if you must know, it's next to the cafe where I usually have my morning coffee). The NGO is called "Vietnam: Promoting Energy Conservation in Small- and Medium-Scale Enterprises (PECSME for short). They provide training and financial support to businesses to promote energy efficiency, and are currently funding projects in ten provinces throughout the country. I happened to notice their project car the other day: a huge V-8 Land Cruiser. Yet another example of the peculiar way that repeated exhortations to "nói và làm" get translated into reality.

Signs of the times: RIP, Cafe Lâm

Okay, now I'm really sad. Ask a longtime Hà Nội resident, and they'll be able to tell you about Cafe Lâm at 74 Tô Hiến Thành (and not to be confused with the even more famous Cafe Lâm on Nguyễn Hữu Huân) . It is an institution on the order of Cafe Nhân, Cafe Quỳnh, Cafe Thọ, Cafe Giảng, and all the other lovely one-name cafes with original art on the often-mouldy walls, watermelon seed shells on the worn tile floors, and that uniquely Hanoian mix of old-school intelligentsia, new-school businessmen, students, taxi drivers and policemen, drinking their morning coffees and reading their morning papers. These places are part of Hà Nội's history, and as you get to know the owners, you'll learn which famous authors once got into a fight there, or which painting was a gift of a struggling artist long since made good. My own connection to Cafe Lâm is a little more recent: it is the cafe where my Ph.D. supervisor, Peter, and his wife, Cầm, courted each other back in the early days of Vietnam's re-engagement with the West (the owner still asks after you, Peter and Cầm). Add to that the fact that it was one of the few cafes I knew where sidewalk seating was still on the back-breaking tiny plastic stools, and it was pretty much guaranteed that I would stop by for a coffee every few weeks.

That's not an option any more. Cafe Lâm is gone, the space at 74 Tô Hiến Thành sold to investors who plan to build a mini-hotel. Whether Hà Nội really needs another mini-hotel is questionable, and it seems pretty clear that Tô Hiến Thành street, its spatial and infrastructural resources already stretched to their limits, cannot support the increased demands that even a "mini" hotel will make. Even more important, though, the end of Cafe Lâm also marks the destruction of another part of Hà Nội's built heritage.

Cafe Lâm is one part of a larger row house built during the early twentieth century. While it may not feature the unique design of the modernist-inspired villas and houses that were to follow, it is most definitely a genuine example of early French colonial architecture. After 1954, the use-rights (and now effective ownership) of larger properties was divided, and the building that stretched along half the block of Tô Hiến Thành was no exception. As today's investors in the hotel project have only been able to acquire the property at number 74, then that's what they'll "develop." So this concrete part of Hanoi's history will die a strange and slow death, cut in thirds by a six-story slice of architectural disaster. Is there not just a little irony in the that fact that while developers are creating ersatz "French-style" "new cities" in Hanoi's urban fringes, they're destroying real French architecture in its historic core?

Rest in Peace, Cafe Lâm.

Signs of the times: 96 Tuệ Tĩnh

I should preface this post with the observation that I've just consumed way too much rươu cao ngựa bạch (and that I've finally loaded a recent version of Vietnamese Unikey to my computer). But now we've got that out there, I want to relate what is for me the greatest and most preventablest tragedies of Hanoi today, besides the honking issue: the loss of central Hanoi's built heritage.

However problematic their colonial origins might be, few would argue that the houses, offices, and villas that were built during the French administration of Vietnam are a big part of what makes Hanoi special. Others might point to its lakes (mostly filled in now), the various varieties of bún, or that special "screw you and your mother too" attitude that can characterize interactions in this city. But for all but the most hardended advocate of "Development," the lovely old buildings sprinkled throughout Hổ Hoàn Kiếm and Hai Bà

Trưng districts are almost certainly a huge part of this city's charm. But not for long.

I live on Tuệ Tĩnh street, not far from Reunification park. Back in the (colonial) day, this area was populated by wealthy and/or influential Vietnamese, those who collaborated with the French regime or at least did an acceptable impression. And as powerful people are wont to do, they built nice houses to symbolize their power and their connection to the dominant architectural and political discourse of the time. More than fifty y

ears later, the area is still filled with the physical remains of this impulse. One of my favorite streets in the city is Triều Việt Vương, where a particular convergence of the local and the global has left us with fascinating vestiges of a hybrid Franco-Vietnamese modernism. In this context, perhaps the house at 96 Tuệ Tĩnh isn't particularly special. Yet its curves and its graceful detailing will always make it infinitely more pleasing than the six-storey glass and steel office building that will soon take its place. For that is what will happen. 98 Tuệ Tĩnh has already been sold, and as soon as the property rights of the owners of 98 Tuệ Tĩnh can be "acquired," then this building will disappear in a matter of weeks, if not days, and Hanoi will have lost another part of its built heritage. I can't help comparing this process to the sort of "development" that gutted Singapore's historical core. Yet where modern and utterly characterless Singapore was the result of conscious choices by a ruling elite committed to a certain vision of modernity, in Hanoi the same outcome will occur building by building as a thousand lovely old villas are replaced by a thousand identical and ultimately unsustainable office buildings. In some ways I prefer the Singapore version: at least there was a larger, if utterly wrongheaded vision at work. By contrast, Hanoi's lovely old buildings will be the victim a thousand cases of shortsighted greed and brided local officials. Yet whatever the vision (or lack thereof) at play, the end result will be the same: in another five years, Hanoi will have little to recommend it aside from its bún. And the honking, of course.

Food and Joy

There's not too much that I can say about The Manor that hasn't already been said. But that won't stop me from throwing out a few random observations. First, the rather surreal sign that announces your arrival at the fifth-floor food court of "The Manor's" shopping center, "The Garden." Yes, that's right, "Food &Joy."

The first thing I thought of when I saw the sign was "Arbeit macht Frei," the sign that hung above the Nazi concentration camps. Because just as work did not bring freedom to the camps' inmates, I don't get the feeling The Food at The Garden is going to be brining a lot of joy to anyone except perhaps the development's investors.

Doublespeak was the word George Orwell coined in the novel 1984 to describe the surreal language a future totalitarian state used in an attempt to turn reality on its head. And I'm certainly not the first to notice that a similar kind of doublespeak characterizes the modern art of marketing. But what fascinates me about Vietnam today is that the marketers of our ideal future are so blatant about it. Is it that the legacy of the command economy allows them to give up all pretense of subtlety, or that they're just bad at their jobs? I'm not sure. "Manors" that are essentially low-cost housing projects with a heavy (and ineffective) dose of security. "Gardens" that have no green space or places to sit and relax (and where the background music, I kid you not, is an endlessly looped muzak version of "I've got you under my skin."). Generic, deep-fried, ethnically essentialized "Food" that is "Joy." It's 1984, but with a soothing dose of consumerism and fatty food.

At the same time, though, what struck me about the Manor was how real life kept sneaking back in. At the first hint of uncontrolled space, you'd find tea stalls, where the real people who actually do all the work in The Manor, The Garden, and all its associated developments can get an inexpensive drink, a cigarette or a hit of thuoc lao, and some time to interact with other humans (not to mention a place to sit; in all the "parks" and green spaces of The Manor and The Garden, there is not a single chair or bench. Don't linger, and for god's sake don't chat: you've got consuming to do!).

Once you cross the demarcation zone that separates the two modes of existence, of course, the real Vietnamese world comes back with a vengeance: stalls selling pho, bun, mien, and all the other foods you need in a normal day; motorbike washers; haircutters; cafes; and thank god, a bia hoi. My question is whether the inmates of The Manor (are those guards keeping people out or keeping people in?) are so thoroughly indoctrinated that they don't realize how artificial and empty their little bubble is? Can they really exist on a continual diet of processed, pre-packaged food, supplemented with a daily dose of KFC to keep things balanced? Or do they sometimes sneak out when the guards aren't looking, and escape at least temporarily to the real world? Do they actually, dare I say it, resist this totalizing vision of an ideal existence?

Or was ol' Blue Eyes, and the managers of The Garden, right all along?

I've got you under my skin. I've got you deep in the heart of me.
So deep in my heart that you're really a part of me.
I've got you under my skin.
I'd tried so not to give in.
I said to myself: this affair never will go so well.
But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well...
I've got you under my skin.

Yup, we're screwed.

so what do you want to do with your life?

I actually had my undergraduate supervisor ask me something to that effect when I was in my first year of college. We never did really come up with an answer, beyond drinking a lot of Alexander Keith's and seeing which of my circle of friends could make out with the most girls by the end of the semester (I won, but 1. my circle of friends was pretty small, and 2. looking back it doesn't seem like quite the object of pride it once did). History, as we all know, tends to repeat itself, and so it's probably not surprising that I now find myself posing the same question to my own students. Except that unlike the Reverend Doctor Hankey (yes, that's really his name and those were really his titles), I'll limit the scope to the next four months, and endeavor to keep it on a somewhat less philosophical plane. So what am I going to do?

Stop smoking. It's done. See that, everybody?

Start studying Vietnamese again, and push my limits the same way I keep exhorting my students to do.

Meditate. I gotta do it.

Be more present for my students than I was last year. And I don't just mean at Dragonfly on Friday night.

Laugh. A lot.

And this last one might not happen, but I'll put it out there just in case: work one night per week in a bar. So if bar owner wants to hire a bartender with limited skills beyond opening a bottle of beer, but capable of being charming in English, French, and Vietnamese, just let me know. I'll work for peanuts. Literally.

Signs of the times: poof!

For most of the nine years or so that I've been in Vietnam, I've lived in the same district of Hanoi in Quan Hai Ba Trung on the edge of Thong Nhat Park. I've always loved this neighborhood, I suppose precisely because it is such a neighborhood. In fact, perhaps village is a better way to describe it: there's the chua, the den and the dinh, there's the informal market that takes over Tue Tinh in the morning, there's pretty much any kind of street food that I could possibly want within a three block radius, and there's any number of miniscule cafes where I can sit under a cay da, have my morning coffee, and read the paper. And as I make my little circuits during the day, there are all my neighbors to nod to, ask after their health, complain about the heat or the rain or both.

One of the things that has characterized my experience of this little village has a sense of stability. The same little shops, the same xe om drivers on their respective corners, the bicycle repair men and the fruit sellers, the pho ga on Tue Tinh, and the pho bo on Trieu Viet Vuong. Granted, there were changes from time to time: shop fronts have been spiffed up, there was the fleeting appearance of an upscale pho shop, and an entire block of Nguyen Binh Khiem has been appropriated so the Interior Ministry cadres can park their new cars (which given their official salaries I can only assume they must be paying off over the course of several hundred years). But for the most part, things hadn't changed much since I first came to my little village in 2001. That is, until the "poofs" started happening last year .

Poof! chi Thu and her little convenience store disappeared, the shop front taken over by a store selling overpriced Buddhist paraphenalia, and chi Thu and her family supposedly relocated to a Khu do thi moi. Poof! anh Cuong, my barber for years, gone, apparently to begin a new career as a taxi driver. Poof! chi Hang, my pharmacist, disappeared, and her neighbors don't know where she went. I could go on, but you get the idea.

I know it's anecdotal, but it seems pretty clear the rate of change in the fabric of Hanoi's urban core is increasing. Inflation, skyrocketing land prices, and changing expectations are all conspiring to turn my village into something different. Into something that's less of a village. I don't ask after the health of the employees in the shop that sells the Buddhist paraphenalia, and they don't ask after mine. And when the space that used to be chi Hang's little pharmacy finally becomes a multistory office building, I'm willing to bet the security guards won't even let me inside to ask after the health of anyone. And that makes me a little sad. My village isn't gone yet, but I can feel it going.

thank you, Christelle, for making exploitation and inequality seem so damn sexy

"So, is there any luxury left that Vietnam can't afford?

The answer is, thank God, yes; luxury, by its very nature, is largely out of reach for many, and there will always be a higher ground in this busy and growing country. Meanwhile, members-only services for entertainment, dining, travel, and retail are flourishing. "You can now ask your personal shopper to choose you a selection from Cavalli and Omega's collections in HCMC," reveals Ms. Huynh Hong Hai, an elegant and and dynamic young lady who is one of the initiators of the "CEO Club" in Hanoi. "People who have a lot of money want to have exclusive treatments, clothing, parties, and networks." The nature of the relationship with luxury goods is evolving. Rather than staying undercover, the "new wealthy" are now at ease with their wealth: buying and wearing Gucci, Prada, Louis Vuitton from top to toe, driving around in a new Series 8 Mercedes, and opening 12 bottles of Dom Perignon in public. The wealthy want to enjoy what they have and live life to the full. "I want to spend my money now and buy what I feel like buying. I want to feel good and I am happy that I can enjoy this luxury in Vietnam," declares a sexy woman who works in Vietnamese television as she pays for three pairs of Sergio Rossi pumps."

from "Vietnam: Luxury Fever" by Christelle Thomas, East & West, Volume 5 (2008)

on writing my own obituary, oops, autobiography

Damn. This is a hard one. But I told folks I wouldn't ask them to do anything I wouldn't do myself, so I guess I've got to write something. But it's going to be hard to write something that doesn't sound like a c.v. I guess that's the "objective" version of myself. How to get at something more subjective, that captures something truer about myself? And do I really want to share that with everyone? Hell, even with a lover, we only reveal facets of ourselves (if we're lucky), and that only gradually. So I guess I'll just give you some facets. You can fill in the rest as we go through the next four months.

I was born in Vernon, British Columbia, Canada.

I'm the last of eleven children.

I was raised Catholic, and meant (by my father, at least) to go into the priesthood.

My years in high school were without a doubt the most miserable of my life.

My mother was diagnosed with a brain tumor when I was sixteen, and died the summer I graduated from high school.

It is one of the greatest regrets in my life that I was not more present for her in the last months of her illness.

I left my home town as soon as I could, and go back as infrequently as I can.

I've attended six universities and gotten degrees from three.

I've travelled to forty-odd countries, lived in seven.

My dad died when I was thirty-three, and I'm deeply grateful that I could get to know him better in the last years of his life.

I've been married, and divorced.

No kids.

I've been living in Hanoi now for most of the last nine years.

I've tried to escape, but the place keeps drawing me back, and I'm okay with that now.

I miss my wife.

I love my job.

I smoke a few cigarettes a day, but know I shouldn't.

I'm Buddhist, whatever that means.

I'm human, and very much a work in progress.

And I'm okay with that now.

on reading the obituary of John Hope Franklin

I will admit to being an occasional reader of The Economist Magazine. Granted, it's one of neo-liberalism's most devoted cheerleaders, but their writers are neoliberals with brains, often with a sense of humor, and sometimes even with a heart. I see these qualities most clearly in the magazine's Obituaries section. So as a means of jump-starting a little reflection on who and where we are, I've asked each of us to choose an obituary from The Economist, and reflect a little on what it means to us.

I suppose my choice of John Hope Franklin probably wasn't too hard to predict. Quite aside from our shared profession - historian - his life to me seems in many ways exemplary. As a black man growing up in the American South in the early part of the century, Franklin would have overcome challenges that I can only vaguely imagine, and which underline the easy time I've had of my own life. Which is, I suppose, a polite way of saying the obituary makes me feel like a lazy, dissipated dilletante, standing with a glass of bia hoi in my hand as I stare into the abyss of my own irrelevance.

Or maybe I'm not completely irrelevant. I was gratified to read that Franklin never taught a course in "Black History," but rather showed how the history of America necessarily included the history of its black citizens, and vice versa. My own project as an historian does something similar, chipping away at a historiography still largely dominated by issues of politics and nation that fail to capture the lived experiences of the vast majority of Vietnam's citizens. At the same time, my project with this class is to integrate stories of inequality, exploitation, and environmental degredation within the conventional narrative of GDP growth and export targets, and indeed explore how these problems are not unfortunate byproducts, but rather necessary complements of this thing we call "Development."

Nevertheless, it was the obituary's final line that touched me most deeply. Perhaps it was Franklin's character from the start, or perhaps it was the process of historical exploration itself, but that last line makes it clear that Franklin was a man who combined a commitment to justice and equality, with empathy, patience, and compassion. Exemplary indeed.

getting inside the river

If you know anything about my adopted home, Hanoi, you'll understand that the title is a reference to the city's name: Ha, which means river, and Noi, which means in or inner. You might also hear echoes of a Buddhist koan that attempts to capture the simultaneous continuity and mutability of existence by asking whether, if you put your hand in a river twice, it's still the same river. Maybe it will make you think of the Tao Te Chinh, and its repeated use of the metaphor of water to evoke some of the silent power and pervasiveness of the Dao. Or maybe you'll have flashbacks to walking across a busy street in Hanoi and feeling the motorbikes and bicycles flow around you like water. Or maybe you won't think of anything, and just wish I'd stop being so damn pretentious and get on with my story.

If you managed to make it through the first paragraph and are still curious about what I might be on about, this blog is part of a class I'm leading that brings students from America and from Vietnam together not just to learn more about the process of change that Vietnam is undergoing, but also to nudge that process in more equitable, sustainable, and more humane directions. Every week, all of us in the class will be reflecting on what we're experiencing as part of the class, and in our lives more generally. Hanoi can be a difficult place to live, and despite being a supposed poster child for Washington Consensus-style "Development" (or perhaps because of it), the rapid economic growth that Vietnam is undergoing is far from a uniformly happy story. This blog, then, is part of a simultaneously individual and cooperative exploration of the good, the bad, and the indifferent that is Vietnam today.