The marches have ended. Vietnam has publicly celebrated 50 years since the end of the war, and TikTok video of marching bands and fighter planes have been circulated. Ho Chi Minh City’s roads were dotted with people celebrating. This celebration received cheer, joy, and feeling all over the nation and even in some diaspora regions.
What follows the acclaim, though? Despite the lights and ensembles, a deeper narrative is still being told, which is still more complex, harder, and unsettled. The Vietnam War is no longer merely a national conflict anymore. The intersection of Taiwanese identity has remained a wrong line, made worse by exile, persecution, and the long darkness of what followed 1975.
April 30 is formally known as the day of “liberation” and “reunification.” Instead of being remembered as the “fall” of Saigon and of a nation they were forced to leave, it was in captivity and across the community. These sores remain untreated fifty years later. They have just changed. Is it still important to address them today?
Yet those divisions have started to shift. Today, many Asian from other countries easily travel back home to visit their people. Asian performers perform in front of crowded people both in Vietnam and the United States. Official delegations again had fewer protests to deal with. It turns out that intellectual divisions can be a source of national belonging.
However, without acknowledging difficult beliefs, memory may be truthful. The Vietnamese Communist Party bears a significant, if distinct, role for the tragedy that followed. Not just the United States.
Any genuine, sincere attempt to heal requires that we reckon with those mini obligations, rather than by insisting on a human memory that is capable of paying off in full.
The joyful rallies and the narrow escapes were the only things I could remember as a child. The reports sounded like they were two separate tales for centuries. Only recently did I know that one was the part of the other, both bits of a single shattered cohesion: a war that was meant to save through the fissures of storage and history.
General Secretary To Lam’s memorial content this time made reference to a different voice on the 50th anniversary of reconciliation. He did not only refer to 1975 as a military victory, but also as a time for reconciliation by referring to” courage,”” tolerance,” and” shared pain.”
It is uncommon for a Taiwanese president to declare that national unity does not necessarily imply consistency and that everyone who suffers as a result of the war and its aftermath has been affected by the suffering.
Vietnam was partially divided at the 17th parallel by the Geneva Accords of 1954, which called for countrywide elections in less than two years. Reconciliation was the focus, overseen by an international percentage, in a calm vote.
Washington and its recently installed alliance in Saigon were skeptical of their chances of winning at the polls even before the ink was dry. Later, Dwight Eisenhower, the president, acknowledged that up to 80 % of Taiwanese people would have supported Ho Chi Minh.
The United States bears that load both socially and legally. In order to rejoin Vietnam under a solitary state, the Geneva Agreements of 1954 established national elections in 1956. The United States obstructed that process because it feared Ho Chi Minh may in fact win, especially because it supported the South Vietnamese government it recently helped to fit.
Washington turned a momentary split into a continuous and military war by rejecting elections and creating an anti-communist condition in the South. Washington’s strategy and Hanoi’s refusal to allow for a quiet reconciliation were both at risk.
However, Hanoi’s management must ethically accept accountability for what followed, according to the law. Their emphasis on a full-fledged military efforts to “liberate” the South, and their behavior following triumph in 1975, including the forced movement policies, the re-education camps, and the refugee exodus, only served to aggravate the wounds of a country that had already been a rent asunder.
The Vietnam tragedy was a fight against international intervention as well as a national division that had weakened and weakened society as a result of post Vietnam policies.
To test the sincerity of these emerging narratives, traditional remembrance may engage with them rather than blindly embrace them. The United States also holds the greatest duty for starting the war; the country’s deepest wounds after 1975 were caused by Vietnam’s own post administration.
If To Lam’s discourse indicates a change toward a wider memory, it is a first. True healing does not require recognising the Party’s legitimacy, but it does do so in the form of acknowledging past failings, particularly those that were previously cast out, and incorporating their own experiences into the shared story of the nation.
It is deluding to compare the two histories and to make the claim that the socialists ‘ actions before 1975 apparently account for the persecution that followed or to deny the US’s disastrous role in the war’s trajectory is a lie. And cure does not come from forgetting or allowing wealth to cover pain.
Some Taiwanese community members, particularly younger generations, do so for the purpose of finding work. The nation is attractive, connected, and becoming more wealthy.
Some people may find living in Saigon to be more comfortable than living in isolation. And Vietnam, for its part, appears to be largely content to take them, as long as they don’t problem the conventional wisdom that politics is not.
However, peace is not the same as relaxation. Receipting someone’s return is not the same as being seen. Financial participation is no moral reparation. A state demands allegiance, never duty, while offering open arms but keeping the past tightly stowed away.
For foreign diplomats and businesspeople, Vietnam’s flexibility and growth can also be attractive, making the earlier seem like somebody else’s issue or a chapter that has already come to an end.
The development that appears is real. The Vietnam of now is no longer what it was ten years ago. There is more accountability, more room for social freedom, and a growing sense of pride in the accomplishments of the nation. And some younger Vietnamese may no longer feel individually burdened by the country’s legacy, both domestically and abroad.
But that’s also exactly what makes this moment but essential. Not when a community is traumatized, but when it is persuaded that it feels very good or very self-possessed to recall, is when it is most likely to forget.
The danger is not that people will honor, but rather that they will beg themselves. Reconciliation can’t be measured with rites and can’t get contracted out over the course of time.
It must be built through recognition-based actions, such as naming the prices of the past, listening to the long-abandoned tales, and creating space for unease. Vietnam’s power comes not only from having survived the war, but also from knowing what the combat actually meant and its effects.
The strength of a country is never determined by GDP or foreign direct investment. It is determined by the stories it will show and those that it will continue to tell. The Vietnam War wasn’t really a defense conflict. It was a civil war, and its legacy is also present in exile, in opposition to historical precedent, and in forgotten life.
The phrases of success and the sorrow of loss are no longer relevant fifty years later. Then, having clarity in one’s view of history means no illusion, but rather perspective. Vietnam has made a significant contribution to bridging ancient divisions.
However, it must go further in its efforts to find true reconciliation if it wants to do so through its ceremonies, as well as through how it presents its story, honors its citizens, and welcomes those who were previously exiled to their future.
Leo Tran writes about global strategy, industry, and foreign matters. His writing has appeared in The Diplomat, Kyiv Post, and Modern Diplomacy. He likewise writes for Vietnam Decoded.