Got development?

There probably aren’t many people who would disagree with the notion that I come from a “developed” country (Canada) and that I live in a “developing” country (Vietnam). That’s certainly the consensus from the Vietnamese I meet in an ordinary day: when they find out where I’m from, they inevitably nod sagely and say “Yes, Canada. It’s a developed country.” I should note my underlying suspicion that their response would be the same even if I answered “East Belugastan,” but that’s neither here nor there. The underlying assumption is that the two nations (Canada - or even East Belugastan - and Vietnam) are fundamentally different, that one has somehow reached the end point of “development” (if not “history”) while the other one has a long way to go. But I’m not so sure, and my doubt stems from an epiphany I had while vacationing on an island in the gulf of Thailand.

I’ve been going to the same beach on Koh Phangan for almost ten years now. It’s a pretty idyllic place, really: a lovely little cove inside a National Park, difficult to access except by the daily water taxi, electricity for only a few hours in the evening when the bungalow operators turn on their generators so guests don’t have to eat their dinner in the dark. So there I was one morning, looking out over the Gulf of Thailand, sipping my cup of instant coffee. My eyes wandered over the Tetrapack of UHT milk provided for those of us who aren’t fond of undiluted instant coffee, and I noticed with a start that it was another quality product from the Foremost Friesland corporation. The same corporation that eventually purchased and then shut down the dairy cooperative that used to be one of the central features of the economy of my home town of Vernon, BC, Canada.

Vernon was a pretty idyllic place to grow up, really. It’s in the middle of British Columbia, at the center of three lakes (Kalamalka, Okanagan, and Swan), and ringed by mountains that include the 3000-meter Silver Star, where the Canadian National Cross Country Ski Team often trains. The region is blessed with a mild climate and ideally suited to agriculture such a fruit growing, apiaries, and dairies. When I was growing up, the local economy was still dominated by three cooperative institutions: the North Okanagan Creamery Association for the dairies, the Vernon Fruit Union for the fruit growers like my dad (we had an apple orchard), and the Vernon and District Credit Union founded by folks like my dad who refused to deal with the corporate banks from “back East.” These cooperative institutions functioned to ensure that credit, inputs, and expertise were available to all their members, and to make sure that farmers got a fair price for their produce. The Fruit Union even had the best and the cheapest grocery store in town, where my mom would go every Saturday morning to stock up on food for the week. I know I’m idealizing it a little, but all in all, it seemed to function pretty well.

But the neo-liberal revolution would take care of that. The wave of “structural reforms” that began in the 1970s did away with many of the laws that had made the cooperatives possible. At the same time, barriers that had limited international currency flows were eased, then erased, subjecting the local economy to unprecedented levels of direct foreign investment by both corporations and individuals. By the early 1980s the Fruit Union had closed its doors, too, a victim of a combination of international competition and lack of access to the radically altered systems of food distribution that had come to dominate the market. As for the Creamery Association, it was dismantled and its assets eventually purchased and stripped by the Foremost-Friesland Corporation.

Of course, there were gains as well as losses. We got our first shopping mall in the early 1980s, followed quickly by McDonalds, Burger King, and all the usual American chains and franchises. Strip malls spread along all the major arteries. With farming now unprofitable, orchards were transformed into luxury housing developments for an influx of foreigners (Germans, mainly) keen to retire or purchase second homes in what was, it had to be said, an area of spectacular natural beauty. Land prices skyrocketed, impoverishing those with lower incomes. Those areas that weren’t “developed” as housing were “developed” as golf courses. Both were environmental disasters in a semi-arid climate with limited water resources. Nor did anyone notice that the increased pollution from all the new developments was turning the shining emerald and sapphire hues of Kalamalka Lake – the name means “lake of many colors” – a sadly pedestrian blue. Today, the place where I spent the first 18 years of my life is only vaguely recognizable to me.

Let’s summarize the elements here: agricultural economy with collective institutions; collective institutions are dismantled, their assets privatized, and eventually sold to multinational corporations; increased foreign direct investment flows bring McDonalds, KFC, Pizza Hut, property developments, and golf courses; the poor get poorer, and the environment is degraded. Sound familiar? True, Vernon has yet to get its 77-storey skyscraper, and Hanoi has yet to get its ski resort. Nor has the Canadian Communist Party ever played a leading role in much of anything. But if we put aside these divergences, and a roughly ten-year head-start, it sure looks to me like these stories of development were written by the same author. Especially when you remember that in Vietnam, Foremost Friesland brands itself as Dutch Lady. Whether I’m in Canada, Vietnam, or even Koh Phangan Thailand, I just can’t help noticing that the development in my morning cup of coffee tastes exactly the same.

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.