Vietnam’s Dissidents: Political Dissonance in the Age of Global Capitalism and Coloniality [1st ed. 2023] 9819946050, 9789819946051

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Vietnam’s Dissidents Political Dissonance in the Age of Global Capitalism and Coloniality Susann Pham

Vietnam’s Dissidents

Susann Pham

Vietnam’s Dissidents Political Dissonance in the Age of Global Capitalism and Coloniality

Susann Pham Department of Political Science and Public Administration Bilkent University Ankara, Türkiye

ISBN 978-981-99-4605-1 ISBN 978-981-99-4606-8 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-4606-8 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors, and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover illustration: Alex Linch shutterstock.com This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. The registered company address is: 152 Beach Road, #21-01/04 Gateway East, Singapore 189721, Singapore

Acknowledgments

My own quest for truth, knowledge, and democratic being will never be over, because life is simply too distracting and too short. In the meantime, I owe my gratitude to my loving family, my brilliant teachers, and my inspiring friends. First, I wish to express my gratitude to Dr. Jörg Wischermann and Prof. Angie Ngoc Tran for their continuous support, encouragement, and believe in my work. I pay respect to your knowledge, academic accuracy, and inspiring discipline. As this book draws on my doctoral thesis, I also want to thank my Ph.D. supervisors, Dr. Simin Fadaee and Dr. Kevin Gillan, who not only advised and supported me, but trained me to think and write clearly and find a way to make complexities and contradictions comprehensible. I am particularly thankful for your challenging questions, your knowledge, and your numerous comments which most of the time expressed my thoughts better than I was ever able to formulate. The same counts for Dr. Laurence Cox and Dr. Nick Thoburn. I thank you for reading my work and providing your most valuable comments. My research participants in Vietnam, the dissidents, activists, and the ordinary women and men equally deserve my utmost gratitude. I thank you for your kindness, for sharing your stories with me, and for trusting my good intentions. I wish I could mention many of you by name, but political sensitivity prevents me from doing so. I am also grateful for my parents who tried everything to liberate me from the hardship of everyday life and extended family responsibilities so that I could

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focus on my studies. You and many of my friends stimulated my intellectual journey. Without you, my life would feel stagnant. I cannot thank you enough. Finally, I thank the Sociology Department of the University of Manchester and the Political Science Department of Bilkent University for supporting my research and teaching. Having had a place in these institutions provided the platform for me to start an academic career, a privilege that I will always acknowledge.

Prologue: The Quest for Truth

To many Vietnamese dissidents, their struggle is a struggle for truth, so I would like to start this book slightly off-topic. The quest for truth appears to be an innate human characteristic that has persisted throughout the centuries. The concept of truth, defined as the acquisition of objective knowledge, has served as a contested domain, a battlefield, in which the winner could shape collective perceptions and determine the organization of future. For a long time, Western systems of knowledges, philosophical frameworks, legal systems, and entire modes of living positioned themselves as preeminent, rational, and objective truths, thereby establishing themselves as hegemonic and curtailing the autonomous development and self-defined growths of non-Western ideas and practices. This social and historical development certainly allowed for great opportunities, but also entailed devastating setbacks and detours. As for the opportunities, Western knowledges facilitated the epistemological common ground for the Age of Enlightenment, the Industrial Revolution, ethical standards within the scientific community, technological advancements, and much more. As for the setbacks, the assertion of objective truth served as a prerequisite for legitimizing colonialism, perpetuating inequality, and fostering economic dependencies. These developments were followed by the creation and downplay of surveillance technologies and the delusion of infinite economic growth, which

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necessitated the elites’ management and assurance of improved social relations and enhanced productivity, while simultaneously coercing subaltern groups into submission and compliance. Conversely, several things have happened that continuously challenge the hegemony of Western dominance and Western knowledges. These challenges came from the ‘non-Western’ hemisphere, but also from within Western traditions: Many members of the elites were forced to rethink existing state structures, welfare systems, forms of exploitation, and the long-term effects of colonization not least due to reoccurring financial crises, the resurgence of class conflicts, and almost daily protests and demonstrations in many parts of the world. The main driver for social change, however, are the dissenting political ideas and knowledges that were long nurtured, advanced, and strengthened by the organic intellectuals, the working class, the Indigenous, the migrants, the oppressed youth, the silenced political prisoners, and the increasing number of dedicated human rights, labor, environmental, and LGBTQI+ activists. Their voices and ideas could no longer be kept away but became actively integrated into the ideas of an alternative future. Within the landscape of these dissenting ideas and knowledges, some may threaten to endanger the existing order of global capital relations. To many of us, it seems evident that the human species is no longer able to sustain this back and forth. The prospects of maintaining a class-based society, in which different individuals live in different realities, with different truths, seem no longer feasible or desirable. But there are also many enlightening and powerful moments, one of which involves the reconnection between what is referred to as ‘Global Southern’ knowledges and those of the ‘Global North’. In recent years, a surge of decolonial movements spread over continents, profoundly challenging the West’s historical centrality as the focal point of modernity, scientific knowledge, and critical thinking. Notably, decolonial movements and their literary work actively incorporate Southern practices and concepts into its Northern counterparts, with and from a Global Southern standpoint. There is, however, the everlasting pendulum that swings either in favor of the universalist or the cultural relativist worldview. Engaging with the non-Western ‘other’ or ‘us’ (according to one’s standpoint) resulted in the binary logic of antagonistic categories that is particularly characteristic of the post- and decolonial discourse and the studies of Southern social movements (Hanafi, 2020). Accordingly, the Global South is oftentimes caricatured as the bearer of subaltern agency, where

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the emancipation of the oppressed and the valuation of the communal over the individual prevail, and anti-neoliberal and almost Communist/ Socialist-like attitudes flourish. By contrast, the Global North is associated with capitalism and colonialism, the driver of inequality, racism, and the source of Western domination over the non-Western ‘other’ (Hanafi, 2020: 5). The overemphasis on difference side-lines the importance of seeing the common and conceals how authoritarian politics is causing authoritarian attitudes in both the Global North and the Global South. Therefore, it is important to look not only for emancipatory resistance and collective actions as distinct of either the Global North or the Global South but to explore the contradictions and paradoxes that surround and interfere with the hopes for a decolonial and anti-capitalist future on the global level. In so doing, the geopolitical positions of Global Southern countries and its historically shaped identities cannot be viewed as stand-alone indicators for the emancipatory and liberatory force of social movements. Therefore, time has come for us to accept that the quest for truth can be based neither on the experiences of the privileged classes and elites, nor on irrational thought constructs, personal opinions, selective observations, wishful thinking, cultural values, idealizations, or simply the way in which we are pressured to feel comfortable. Rather, understanding the things that seem unacceptable, unintelligible, and unreasonable and the things that make us angry and upset will forge the common horizon (the shared reality) with which we can enter productive conflicts, followed by serious democratic discussions and solutions.

Reference Hanafi, S. (2020). Global sociology revisited: Toward new directions. Current Sociology, 38(1), 3–21.

Contents

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Introduction Vietnamese Dissidents: A Social Movement? A Decolonial Approach Methodological Considerations On Researcher Positionality On Data Collection Observation and Documentation Methodological Limitations Organization of the Book References

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The Making of Dissidents From Plan to Market The Shift Towards ‘Socialist-Oriented’ Market Economy Land Ownership and the Implications for Peasants Post-WTO Accession and the Implications for Labor Channeling and Alienating Political Participation Criminalizing Activism The ‘Regime of Discourse’ Presentation of Dissidents in State-Controlled Media A Glimpse of Public Opinion The Repressive Environment Embodying Experiences of Structural Violence Unintentional Refusal: Collectivity Without Identity

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Refusal of Identity Refusal of Labor References

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A Non-collective Democracy Movement The Political Practice of Democracy Activists Online Petitioning Social Media and Citizen Journalism The Networked Civil Society Approach Coloniality of Democracy Ideologies and the Reworking of Political Concepts The Configuration of Political Concepts: Core, Adjacent, Peripheral Components On the Problems of Essential Contestability and Quasi-Contingency Categories of Concepts: ‘Action-Oriented’, ‘Pro-stance’ and ‘Anti-stance’ The Political Idea of Western Democracy The Political Ideas of Democracy Activists Core Concept: Political Participation Adjacent Concept: Multiparty System Peripheral Concept: Anti-China/Anti-CPV Nationalism Conclusion References

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Rights-Based Resistance of Dissident Labor and Land Activists Political Practice of Rights-Based Resistance Dissident Labor Activism Land-Rights Activism ,, The Duong Nô.i Case ` Tâm Case The Ðông Coloniality in Law The Political Ideas of Land and Labor Activists Core Concept: Rule of Law Adjacent Concept: Self-Determination Peripheral Concept: State Accountability Conclusion References

123 124 125 133 134 138 144 147 147 150 154 156 159

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Catholic Dissidents The Historical Context ‘Progressive’ Catholics in the Republic of Vietnam (1962–1975): Against anti-communism within the Catholic Church Catholic Trade Unions (1962–1975) Post-1975 Political Practice of Catholic Activists The Church as a Political Space for Knowledge Production Class-Action Lawsuits Against and from Within the Prison System Coloniality in Religion The Political Ideas of Catholic Dissidents Core Concept: Justice and Truth Adjacent Concept: Love for One’s Country Peripheral Concept: Anti-communism Conclusion References

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Conclusion and No End to Political Dissonance References

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Epilogue

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Index

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CHAPTER 1

Introduction

Dissonance describes the inconsistency of our thoughts and our actions, the discrepancy of our believes, and our actual behaviors. In Vietnamese, the saying goes: “Nói mô.t d-`˘ang, làm mô.t neo” (Speak one way and act another). Social psychologists describe these moments, which are at times not easy to recognize, as state of cognitive dissonance implying that this inconsistency is a situational and impermanent phenomenon (Elliot & Devine, 1994). As we become aware of our attitudinal and behavioral dissonances, we experience discomfort, which we then seek to reduce by readjusting our behavior in a way that we believe is more in harmony with our attitudes. This state of cognitive dissonance is not solely determined by our individual awareness, education, brain chemistry, or hormones, but significantly influenced by the broad social and political environment as well as our cultural context. Collectively, we participate in shaping definitions, determining the acceptability of certain ideas and beliefs, and deciding over the unacceptability of others, including groups of people.1 Adopting a sociological perspective, it can be argued that activists and dissidents serve as agents in the process of deconstructing socially, collectively, and culturally established dissonances, even if their ij

1 Cognitive resistance theory was popularized in the mid-1950s by the experiments of social psychologists Leon Feistinger, later by Elliot and Devine, and more recently by Elliot Aronson and Carol Tavris.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 S. Pham, Vietnam’s Dissidents, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-4606-8_1

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stated objective may not explicitly aim to minimize these conflicting attitudes and behaviors. From this perspective, and this is the entry point of this book, Vietnam’s activists want to expose the dissonances created by the Communist Party of Vietnam (the CPV). Therefore, to Vietnamese activists, the greatest danger is not ‘the foolish doing foolish things’, but the Communist Party of Vietnam who persists in doing bad things while preserving the image that they do good things for the working-class people. Therefore, this book considers activists and dissidents as agents of socio-political change ‘from below’ who aim to realign the thoughts and practices of the party-state in a way that is intended to serve the majority of the ‘Vietnamese people’ as promised by the elites. However, as we delve into this book, we will observe that Vietnamese dissidents themselves are embedded in a state of cognitive dissonance. Precisely, we will see that Vietnamese dissidents do not neatly align with the Western scholarly portrayal of committed and emancipatory activists. A common and widely accepted reading is that dissidents and reactionaries aim to overthrow the ‘communist state’. However, one of the distinguishing factors that classifies Vietnamese activists as dissidents is their distinct approach to addressing socio-political and economic issues, which diverges not only from the communist party-led state but also from many decolonial and Marxist scholars. Therefore, we will explore distinct intricacies and caveats: Vietnamese dissidents hold the perception that the Global South and communism embody authoritarian and conservative ideologies, contrasting them with the Western capitalist world, which they perceive as democratic and liberating. Vietnamese dissidents openly express their disagreement with the Communist Party-led government, its doctrines, and policies, for which they are considered outright anti-communists. The Vietnamese state media also labels them as ‘reactionaries’, ‘terrorists’, or ‘agitators’ who aim to overthrow the state. At the end of this book, we will recognize that Vietnamese dissidents are fundamentally opposed to oppression, forced dispossession, workplace injustices, ideological indoctrination, and corruption. Their demands revolve around democratic participation and representation, the enforcement of human and civil rights, freedom of expression, and access to critical, ideology-free education. In general, there is very little known about who these Vietnamese dissidents (or activists) really are. Although public discourse about Vietnamese

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dissidents is fairly exhaustive, the dominance of ideologically driven narratives by Vietnamese state-run media offers little space for independent sociological inquiry. This book aims to uncover the identities of these dissident, explore the reasons for their collective actions, and examine the circumstances that motivate them to make sacrifices to their personal freedom. As Foucault (1976: 136) puts it: “We should listen to these people, not to our century-old little love song for ‘socialism’. […] And above all, let us not ask them, if they are still and despite everything, ‘communists’, as if that were the condition for our consenting to listen to them”. Regrettably, the political left and existing scholarly literature on Vietnam have overlooked the diverse ideological and conceptual challenges posed by ‘actually existing socialisms’ and how they operate within a global capitalist world. Therefore, this book targets sociologists and social movement scholars who are interested in studying political minority groups across the political spectrum. It also appeals to scholars interested in contemporary resistance in post-socialist countries. Drawing on field research conducted in various urban and rural areas in North, Central, and South Vietnam, this book explores the characteristics of contemporary dissident activism. It focuses on the political practices employed in specific cases, shedding light on the political ideas and ideologies that are articulated by dissidents to justify their endeavors. In certain contexts, different political practices and political ideas can be perceived as radical, while in others, they may appear common and unspectacular. This differentiation is shaped by the context, i.e., the concrete structural conditions that facilitate or constrain dissidents’ choice of political practices and ideas. However, as is the premise of this book, we need to explore the political ideas and knowledge systems that give substance to the chosen political practices, in order to determine whether a group of activists can be seen as a threat to the existing social and political order or as a driver for social change. Precisely, this book explores how Vietnam’s activists establish connections between their struggles against authoritarianism, workplace injustices, land grabbing and environmental pollution with the ideas of democracy, the rule of law, nationalism, and Catholic theology. It also investigates how these connections are shaped by capital and colonial relations. Therefore, at the heart of this book lies the attempt to lay bare the common grounds, complexities, and dissonances that exist between the political practices and political ideas of Vietnam’s dissidents.

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Vietnamese Dissidents: A Social Movement? From a Marxist perspective, a social movement is a “self-activating class” which represents the discontent and political potential for social change from a position relative to their class composition and should not be considered as an unidentifiable mass (Eyerman & Jamison, 1991: 16). Nilsen and Cox define social movements as “a process in which a specific social group develops a collective project of skilled activities centered on a rationality – a particular way of making sense of and relating to the social world – that tries to change or maintain a dominant structure of entrenched needs and capacities, in part or whole” (Nilsen & Cox, 2013: 65f). Other definitions also accentuate the non-linear processes of social movements and characterize them as social formations subject to constant changes and transformations. Coming from a materialist critique of Marxist analysis, Touraine argued that social movements should not be perceived as “a truly analytic category” but as a “category of historical nature” by which he invoked parameters of time and spatiality (Touraine, 2004: 717). In other words, what a social movement is or is not depends on the type of society and changes accordingly. For instance, what counts as a social movement and what not changed with the transition from the industrial to the post-industrial society; it has also changed in countries with communist leaders now operating within and in service of capital accumulation and unequal power relations, and where Socialists turned into policemen and capitalists (Touraine, 2007: 120). Touraine therefore questioned whether the notion of social movements should be applied in a less flexible way and might need to be reserved for a social force that challenges domination in general rather than defending particular social interests (Touraine, 2004: 718). And despite his concerns, Touraine concluded that studying society through the lens of social movements, even if flexible per definition, is more important than determining the different notions of social movements throughout history (Touraine, 2004: 725). We will see that both the Marxist and the Tourainian perspective are relevant for our understanding of the subject matter. Beyond the question of whether Vietnam’s dissidents count as a social movement or not, I draw on many valuable insights of the social movement literature. For instance, social movement scholars have argued for the importance of reading social movements as producers of knowledge and theory, rather than as mere rational operators that compete against the powerful (Cox & Nilsen, 2014; Eyerman & Jamison, 1991: 85;

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Nilsen & Cox, 2013: 145). Equally intriguing is the work by Eyerman and Jamison who formulate that knowledge production or, as they put it, cognitive praxis in social movements can only be identified in formation; that is, cognitive praxis does not come readymade to a social movement but can only be understood while capturing it as a social process in the making (1991: 60). Furthermore, as Cox and Nilsen note, from an epistemological realist perspective, “practical processes of experience, the discovery of needs, and the attempts to resolve problems” condition our way of knowing (2014: 7). Hence, as much as social movements move from one socio-political pattern and historical conjuncture to another, so do ideas, thoughts, and knowledges. Therefore, this book starts with recognizing that social movements are spaces in which activists generate diverse and emancipatory ideas concerned with agency, critique of the status quo, and possibilities for social change. Movements are, as Della Porta and Pavan (2017) describe, “laboratories of social and political innovation” and have reached many milestones in advancing emancipatory theories and knowledges. Yet, as this book will demonstrate, behind the scenery of achievements, solidarity, and collectivism lies a conflictual process between activists and their opponents as well as internal political disagreements among fellow activists which can result in political divisions or distinct and separately acting political groups. At the heart of these conflicts, we often find ideological differences. Ideologies, its different shapes and effects, have always been an important topic for movement scholars, activists, and revolutionary figures alike. And as many of them have pointed out, the relationship between social movements and ideologies is a complex one, because as individuals and groups we necessarily interact with dominant and/or repressive ideologies. In this book, we will also touch on the question of ideology, but the main subject revolves around the political practices and political ideas of Vietnamese dissidents. By political practices, I refer to distinct tactics of resistance, i.e., what did dissidents do to make their voices, grievances, and concerns heard? Following this, I explore the political ideas that seem to inform and motivate their practices and examine whether they are in tension with the diverse political practices. These ideas will also tell us how dissidents make sense of the social and political world and how they imagine an alternative future. Here, we will explore that dissidents actively reshape and reconstitute political ideas with which they aim to contest

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and ultimately liberate themselves from dominant ideologies and ways of seeing the world. Metaphorically speaking, they ‘resist cognitively’. This book finds that the political practices and political ideas of Vietnamese dissidents are complex and paradoxical, which is not surprising. But it also finds that there is an architecture of political ideas and concepts, an architecture that is configured in such a way that gives these dissonances and paradoxes a certain logic. But to arrive there, we have to give particular importance to context, which reveals that political practices and political ideas are relative to where they are encountered, what is adjacent to them, and how they are perceived.

A Decolonial Approach The social and political sciences have for a long time engaged in the imagination of alternative futures, always in one way or another in dialogue with activists and the people ‘on the ground’. Despite the general emancipatory nature of many empirical cases of social movements and their theories, the focus has historically been placed on geographically Western areas. This resulted in the social sciences being dominated by Western-centric theories. And in reaction to this persistent dominance of Western-centric social theories, scholars have developed approaches to incorporate the complexities and particularities of the non-Western world and the Global Southern experience since the early 2000s. Since then, an increasing number of scholars from Western and non-Western countries have devoted their attention to Southern social movements (Bayat, 2010; Fadaee, 2016; Nilsen & Motta, 2011) and Southern epistemologies (Bhambra, 2014; Comaroff & Comaroff, 2012; Connell et al., 2017; Santos, 2016). Born out of an anti-colonial struggle and being one of the surviving remnants of communist revolutions, Vietnam is clearly part of the Global Southern world, yet in an odd position considering it was founded with an explicitly Marxist-Leninist vision but developed an economic practice that is thoroughly capitalist. The question that arises is “Where does the anti-colonial experience and the persistence of the Communist Party leave Vietnam today?” and “What do present-day ‘movements from below’ have to say about it given that today’s ruling party was once the country’s liberator?”. In attempting to answer these questions, two challenges need to be overcome. The first challenge is a methodological one: It will be necessary

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to think the multiple and divergent forms of activism that will be encountered in this book together rather than in isolation from one another. And this requires positioning these forms of activism in a global rather than in purely national and local context. The second challenge is an empirical one and requires us to capture and then make sense of the contradictions between practices of resistance and the ways in which activists’ thinking draws on and reinforces some dominant paradigms and ideologies. To help finding answers to these questions and challenges, this book uses a decolonial approach. The decolonial perspective is helpful as it pays particular attention to the continuous colonial hierarchies in present day’s global capitalism and is perhaps the first school of thought that comprehensively calls for an ‘epistemic decolonization’, that is, a cognitive liberation from Western-centric-modernist ways of seeing and explaining the world. It starts with criticizing the persistence of these (neo-)colonial relations long after the official withdrawal of colonial powers. This is referred to as ‘coloniality of power’, which surely needs further explanation: Decolonial theorists point out that the way in which present-day’s power relations are distributed globally is presupposed by a worldview that legitimizes the classification of the world’s population into the ‘modern and civilized’ and the ‘inferior and uncivilized’. In the words of Quijano: “Historically, this meant a new way of legitimizing the already old ideas and practices of relations of superiority/inferiority between dominant and dominated” (Quijano, 2000: 534f). This ‘coloniality of power’ became the new structure of social relations and was organized around capital and the world market (Quijano & Wallerstein, 1992). And not only that, but the expansion of global capitalism and the maintenance of (neo-)colonial relations had long-lasting cognitive implications. Walter Mignolo writes: “The expansion of Western capitalism implied the expansion of Western epistemology in all its ramifications, from the instrumental reason that went along with capitalism and the industrial revolution, to the theories of the state, to the criticism of both capitalism and the state” (Mignolo, 2002: 59, emphasis added). Mignolo criticizes coloniality as the ongoing dependencies that structure and rank all spheres of life, particularly the epistemological sphere. Therefore, the history of global capitalism runs parallel to the history of Western epistemological dominance. Against this background, decolonial thinkers argue that many postcolonial societies constructed ideologies of “national identity”, “national development”, and “national sovereignty” in response to

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a Western-centric worldview (Grosfoguel, 2011: 17f). What followed was the constructed illusion of “independence, development and progress” of and for the postcolonies, while in fact, economic dependencies with capitalist core countries were forged (ibid.). The Western-centric worldview, with all its complexities and values, myths, and amnesia, has ‘equipped’ postcolonial societies in a way that keeps them locked in the frame of Western modernity and Western notions of civilization, while stripping off the opportunities to develop its economy, politics, culture, and intelligentsia on the base of self-defined development and dialogue. The enormous impact of this epistemological dominance (or epistemological coloniality) is expressed in the global span of Western-centric education systems and curricula, the adaptation of capitalist and neoliberal ideologies, the popularization and domination of Western culture and politics, as well as the spread of Christianity. These and other dominances gave way for the construction of ideas and values that are “assumed to have universal value across time and space” (Mignolo, 2002: 69). But we all know that these values are neither universally implemented, nor shielded from abuse, opportunism, and selectivity. As Grosfoguel emphasizes, we are not only dealing with a global division of labor but with a capitalist and neocolonial world order that “makes subjects that are socially located on the oppressed side of the colonial difference, to think epistemically like the ones on the dominant positions” (Grosfoguel, 2011: 7). Therefore, Grosfoguel proposes to distinguish between the “epistemic location” and the “social location” of social actors: “The fact that one is socially located in the oppressed side of power relations does not automatically mean that [they] are epistemically thinking from a subaltern epistemic location” (ibid.). For Marxist and decolonial thinkers, the subaltern perspectives are essential and valuable knowledges ‘from below’ that ought to be rediscovered, but scholars also acknowledge that not all knowledges ‘from below’ are able to produce a critical perspective on existing power relations and dominant ideologies, nor are they necessarily systemically reflected upon. Yet, these scholars also suggest that through the practical knowledge of collective action, social movements have the ability to reshape and rework these hegemonic forms of knowledges and therefore, challenge repressive systems and the ideologies they uphold. In addition to this, I see great value in drawing on Connell et al. who rightly point out that “No society, whether formally colonized or not, is

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now outside the economic, political and cultural world created by European empire and the global neoliberal economy” (Connell et al., 2017: 29). In other words, Global Southern social movements and Southern epistemologies too are characterized by Western or European influences, internal tensions, and differences. They are deeply interconnected and in constant movement. Hence, Connell et al. ask: “Given these differences, multiplied across the continents, can we make any general claims about knowledge relations between Global North and South?” The authors rightly warn against the risks of assuming a fixed global relation of dominance and subordination which would end up in the perception of binary categories of a homogenic and static Global North and Global South. Despite this, Connell et al. stress, “there is no contradiction between recognizing deep diversity, and recognizing structures of centrality and inequality in a world economy of knowledge” (ibid.). In this spirit, I like to explore the viewpoint that Western epistemologies as well as non-Western epistemologies are characterized by coexistence but asymmetry, whereby the former dominates the latter. I conclude this section with Alatas, who formulates: Non-Western thought and cultural practices are to be seen as sources of theorizing, while at the same time Western knowledge is not to be rejected in toto. There is an explicit claim that theories and concepts can be derived from the historical experiences and cultural practices of the various nonWestern cultures. (Alatas, 2000: 5; emphasis in original)

For Alatas and other observers of more conciliatory decolonial approaches, what is required is not the rejection of Western social sciences but the adoption of it in a more realistic understanding that reflects particular geographic and historical contexts (Alatas, 2000). In this way, a differentiated and nuanced approach to ‘epistemological decolonialization’ would acknowledge that Western thought has a lot to offer but should not and cannot dominate or even silence non-Western knowledges. In short, with a decolonial approach, I seek to further explore whether the political practices and political ideas of Vietnamese dissidents are expressive of Western-centric worldviews through which a colonialcapitalist world order is defended. Therefore, one of the questions is: Are Vietnam’s dissidents liberated from or caught in a state of ‘epistemological

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coloniality’? And depending on whether the answer is yes or no, do Vietnam’s dissidents bear the potential to rewrite Western-centric ideas for critical and transformative purposes and thus, contribute to the global struggle against coloniality?

Methodological Considerations As many studies have shown, ethnographic research is one of the most insightful ways to access the multi-layered, the hidden, and the ordinary. Seeking to understand how activism is politically and ideologically composed, this book is the first comprehensive ethnographic study to explore dissident activism in contemporary Vietnam, a place that has been closely entangled with the history of Western imperialism and colonialism and yet, culturally and politically so alien that an outsider’s eye struggles to make sense of the prevailing ideological and structural contradictions. Therefore, this book illustrates not only the political practices and ideas, but also how different groups of Vietnamese dissidents make sense of their lived realities, how they challenge socio-economic structures, and how they imagine political transformations with regard to the capitalist economy and the ideology of the Communist Party of Vietnam. But first, I reflect upon my positionality as a Western-educated and second-generation Vietnamese migrant who grew up in Germany. I go into more detail of critical ethnography and describe the challenges I had to face during and after my fieldwork. Finally, I critically assess the limits of my research and the scope and method of data collection. On Researcher Positionality In what follows, I draw on Noblit et al. (2004: 23) who discuss the premise of self-critique by addressing aspects of positionality, reflexivity, objectification, and representation within the field of what they termed ‘postcritical ethnography’. In its broadest terms, postcritical ethnography is not a single methodological approach, but a methodology that considers the plurality and flexibility of critical ethnographic approaches relative to the specific historical and political context. It is a method that helps me to represent the lived experiences and voices of activists and their perceptions on life and society. Postcritical ethnography acknowledges that we are bound up with a dilemma of objectivity. For a researchers’ positionality arises from the

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inescapable embeddedness of our work, Noblit et al. (2004: 21) contend that “Positionality involves being explicit about the groups and interests the postcritical ethnographer wishes to serve as well as his or her biography. One’s race, gender, class, ideas, and commitments are subject to exploration as part of the ethnography”. In fact, recalling theories of standpoint epistemology, I openly ground my experiences in my intersectional being as a woman with working class and migrant background. But a truly reflexive postcritical approach also requires acknowledging that I entered the academic world. I ‘moved up’, which provides me with privileges, such as time and resources to experience different parts of the world, to engage in scholarship, to read, think, and write about systemic exploitation, capitalism, and all ills and injustices of the Western as well as Eastern world. The activists presented in this book do not have these privileges and therefore reflect and understand things differently. Against this background, a postcritical ethnography requires that “the act of writing inscribes a critical interpretation that exists beyond the intentions of the author to de-objectify, de-reify, or demystify what is studied” (Noblit et al., 2004: 22). And since I have learned that social and political subjects are constantly moving as much as ‘new’ ideas, experiences, and failures are arising out of ‘older’ ones, ethnographies always display a phase of transition. In other words, ethnographies are more or less transient snapshots of our partial and positional interpretation at worst, and a transient snapshot of the oppressed and marginalized voices at best. Therefore, my ethics and responsibility require me to illustrate Vietnamese social realities and struggles as extensive as possible and as (self-)critical as warranted. However, the authoritarian research context and the patriarchal, hierarchical society have rendered myself likely to be scrutinized (Morgenbesser & Weiss, 2018: 4). In Vietnam, I learned how intense the clash between my Western education and socialization with my ethnic background would be. Many interview partners were mostly surprised, some were skeptical. “Why is a young woman who is safe in Europe risking her personal security for a PhD thesis/book project?” they asked. In the aftermath, activists from the same network told me, generally quite amused: “They thought you were a spy”. Others immediately made sense of me as a young woman who “loves and sacrifices for her homeland”. Yet, I have never considered Vietnam nor Germany (where I was born and raised) as my ‘homeland’. One country I perceived as the place where my parents grew up and the other where my socialization process took place

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and that I knew best. Therefore, the ‘nationalization’ and ‘patriotization’ of my person took me by surprise. Many of my interview partners read me as a “nationalist” and “anti-communist”. For others, I was “the one who would write down the truth about Vietnamese dissidents” and at least two people believed I was a Communist Party informant. Marxists living in Vietnam, who couldn’t understand why I was researching dissidents, or so-called reactionaries and anti-communists, made sense of me as being “tricked into liberalism and conservatism”. The product was a multitude of identities that were not mine. I had to learn to maneuver around them. Sympathy, but also ‘professional outmaneuvering’ and patience, was what made my fieldwork possible. Despite all this, I never lied, but most of the time revealed that I owed large parts of my critical and analytical understanding from reading Marx and Engels’ original texts and learning from Marxist scholars. Most participants chose to ignore or not to commentate on my confession. Like the Vietnamese activists that I researched, I also went through different stages of political activism in my life. From everyday resistance to leftist groups and back to a low-key civil society approach, my perceptions never changed but adapted according to my lived realities. Changing conditions led to a change of political practices. It seems that all ideologies and political presuppositions originate in some sort of grievance, precarity, anger, or instability, but also in hope and empathy. While writing up this book, I have not changed my initial political beliefs. As I realized that my research findings bring out the best and the worst of expectations, I decided to go for both, in the hope, that readers are willing to acknowledge a researcher’s responsibility for scientific rigor, aim for objectivity, and honest reflexivity. I position myself in Marx’s approach of grasping the totality and facing material and political realities even if they do not show what we want to see. I reject reductionist and ahistorical explanations of non-economic phenomena and the violent, patriarchal, and racist wings of those who call themselves radical Marxist-Leninists. And as a final note on that topic: To understand and translate political ideas independent of my European or Western theoretical grounding is a challenge. But to be a researcher who is reflective of one’s own position in the global hierarchy of knowledge means that one must learn and unlearn the meaning of different concepts, ideas, and interpretations in different constellations of power.

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On Data Collection Like many ethnographic approaches, my fieldwork relied on snowball sampling and intermediaries to set up interviews. Over a period of 11 months from September 2018 until July 2019, I conducted 52 indepth interviews with activists based in and around Ho Chi Minh City (Southern Vietnam), Hanoi (Northern Vietnam), and Nghê. An and Hà T˜ınh (Central Vietnam). Historically, the three regions underwent distinct socio-economic and political phases that continue to shape present-day biographies and political views regarding France’s and United States’s colonial and imperial involvement in Vietnam. Interviews lasted from 50 minutes to 2 hours; one interview lasted 4 hours. Among my interview participants, two were political refugees who I met and interviewed in Thailand. Out of these 52 people, 44 were actively involved in long-term political practice, and the other 8 have either participated in a demonstration once or are relatives of political prisoners. The activists’ social and economic backgrounds are diverse, ranging from socially disadvantaged to more affluent family backgrounds. Many people with whom I was able to talk identify themselves as activists from the ‘older generation’ that included the age ranging from 35 to 70. I also spoke to five individuals from the younger generation, approximately around the age of 30. That imbalance, however, does not evince that there are fewer young people who are critical or politically active, but merely shows that the network of younger and older networks of activists is not strongly connected. In addition, students who are critical of the CPV declined my interview requests and avoid public criticism out of fear of being suspended from university and that public political criticism would hinder their careers. This is, of course, understandable, but made the research method of snowball sampling difficult to pursue. For this reason, I decided to focus on the ‘older generation’, i.e., the ones who are no longer students. The educational, political, and ideological biographies of Vietnamese dissidents are diverse. Some participants had university degrees, and others finished high school; some used to be or are still affiliated with the Communist Party, and others were proponents of the old Southern Republic and thus, self-declared anti-communists. Religious backgrounds ranged from Buddhists, Catholics, and Evangelists; others were secular. Some converted to Catholicism in the course of their experiences in political activism. Vietnam connoisseurs would be interested in knowing whether my research participants were related to the Third Republic

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of Vietnam (abbr. DTVNCH, a claimed anti-communist government in exile headquartered in Orange County, Greater Los Angeles) or the banned Party Viê.t Tân (a network of anti-communists considered as terrorist organization by the Vietnamese government). Except for 5 people who are members of Viê.t Tân (and surely self-critical about it), I could not identify any participants associated with DTVNCH (which does not mean that none of them really was). I designed semi-structured in-depth interviews, which guaranteed a level of consistency (Corbin & Strauss, 2015). A main set of themes was planned to direct the interview outcomes towards answering my proposed research questions. However, research participants varied in their performativity as outspoken activists and many times turned the nature of the semi-structured interview into an open and unstructured narrative and lifeworld interview. Permitting a methodological shift is not an indicator for a failed research design, but highlights that flexibility is required to listen, adapt, and interpret the interviewees’ way of responding to my questions (Kvale, 2007; Mason, 2002; Nairn et al., 2005; Pratt et al., 2020). This way, they provided information that was significant and that felt natural to them. The length of the interviews also indicated that my interview partners felt confident, and in fact, the performativity of activists’ storytelling greatly informed and enriched my semi-structured agenda. In the semi-structured part, I queried how their everyday lives as activists looked like, what they are fighting for and how they organize their activities, what motivated them as political activists, and whether they are members of organizations or groups. I also asked them how they make ends meet after being made redundant or after being released from prison. With particular emphasis, I asked what strategy they chose for their political actions, what difficulties they encountered, and what they registered as successful tactics and what not. Based on the provided information, the subset of questions aimed at unpacking the ascribed meanings of certain concepts they have previously referred to and asked, for instance, what democracy meant to them, or how democracy and human rights relate to the cause of labor struggles or anti-China protests. The interviews quickly revealed that the activists’ political practices are non-static, albeit limited, whereas political ideas are heterogeneous and at times paradoxical. Following Morgenbesser and Weiss’ (2018: 10) recommendation, building an informal team helped to “navigate the authoritarian landscape”. Accordingly, key intermediaries recruited my interview partners

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and were, in fact, the only link that ensured other informants would have enough trust to respond to my questions. They also closed the gap between me and my respondents and “curtailed suspicions about my motives and trustworthiness” (Morgenbesser & Weiss, 2018: 11). Although snowball sampling is a nonprobability technique, I noticed that my key intermediaries introduced me to new informants by using ‘judgment sampling’ among themselves. My intermediaries introduced me to key opinion leaders (KOLs) that represented specific struggles, including struggles over land, labor, democracy, and human rights as well as environmental issues. They also evaluated possible interview options and occasionally advised to avoid them due to concerns about their lack of personal trustworthiness. In my informants’ opinions, political prisoners were generally considered as knowledgeable, reliable, and trustworthy democracy activists. Welcoming my intermediaries’ attendance during interviews curtailed suspicions about sensitive interview questions. The occasional interjection of intermediaries helped to close certain gaps between open research questions and the vagueness or ‘hidden transcript’ of my respondents’ answers (Scott, 1990). Intermediaries also directed me towards certain aspects that I could not have known or did not ask, indicating that they observed and studied me and my research as much as I observed them (Morgenbesser & Weiss, 2018: 3). In yet other interviews, they helped me to navigate through social hierarchies (Morgenbesser & Weiss, 2018: 11). As an early career researcher of Vietnamese descendent who never lived in the country, it was obvious to many of my interlocutors that I was no insider or experienced expert, and that the underground scene of Vietnamese activism was unchartered territory for me. In some cases, I consulted my intermediaries about the sensitivity of my interview questions. They advised me against questions concerning specific tactics and practices when the participant was recently released from prison or had affiliations with a prominent political group. Especially in the latter case, activists considered their responsibilities towards maintaining the confidentiality of the group to be of utmost importance. In one instance, the interviewee asserted that it was only a matter of time and historical research before all information is made public, as state and police archives would eventually become accessible at some point in the country’s history. Even if these challenges (i.e., influences by my intermediaries and deviation in interview technique) side-lined my initial research design and agenda, it was worth preserving the organic development of a conversation and playing along with the social conventions and hierarchies.

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Therefore, I chose not to interrupt the participants’ narrative, interjected only hesitantly or only when I was given a verbal or non-verbal sign to ask my next question. Many participants filled the space and time with content they thought would be important for me to know even without hearing out all my questions. Where possible, I arranged follow-up meetings that were of informal nature, but which opened a fairly private perspective on the activists’ lives and grievances. Hundreds of informal conversations with non-activists, academics, and family members greatly informed my understanding of the public opinion in general. Data saturation manifested when answers in interviews were repetitive, and the method of snowball sampling closed the circle of the activist network. Most interview partners were comfortable with being recorded. A written form of consent and participation information sheet was prepared as required by university standards. Yet, signing a printed consent form raised concerns among my interlocutors, not least because their signature meant actual evidence for their participation in my research, and thus their involvement in underground activism (see Morgenbesser & Weiss, 2018: 11; Wackenhut, 2018). Providing my contact details ensured my flexibility and openness to any withdrawal of information. Verbal consent was given prior to the interview and reconfirmation afterward. All voice recordings, typed-up notes, and transcripts were stored on an end-to-end encrypted and password protected cloud server and immediately deleted from my recording device. Contact information was stored separately, encrypted, and protected with a password. I anonymized all interviewees and avoided mentioning specific locations throughout the book. However, few names are followed by the symbol ‘*’ with which I indicate that those are the real names of Vietnamese activists and activist-authors, as I refer to their identifiable cases of imprisonment and accessible publications. The trade-off between protecting sources (the participants and myself), maintaining confidentiality and anonymity, and expectations of academic transparency and replicability has been continuously encountered and acknowledged throughout this study (Morgenbesser & Weiss, 2018: 4). As far as possible, the real Vietnamese names are spelled in full. When I repeat a name more than twice, I use the given name. Observation and Documentation The data recorded from observation includes different objects. Given the authoritarian setting and the lack of political opportunities, I

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neither participated in nor observed demonstrations and protests onsite but followed the livestream recordings of protests whenever available. However, I focused on two aspects of observation that would serve my data collection: The sites of everyday life of activists, their housing conditions, choice of public spaces for meetings; and the physical signs of distress and verbal and non-verbal patterns of communication. Another particularly important site was a local Church in Central Vietnam, where I resided for several days. Church services and the witnessing of sermons that had a political character were particularly interesting. Given the authoritarian context, in which both the state and activists tend towards secrecy for reasons of protection (national and individual) (Morgenbesser & Weiss, 2018: 2), participants were at times evasive and cagey, which I interpreted as their inclination to utilize “hidden transcripts” (Scott, 1990). This reflected vulnerability concerns over surveillance or at times mistrust towards my political positionality. Observing and interpreting these communication and language patterns were extremely important to understand the specificity and vulnerability of the topic. And finally, the documentation I gathered over this period included activist online newspapers, Facebook posts and livestreams, various YouTube videos, and items from overseas news channels including BBC Vietnam, RFA, and VOA, because they regularly feature Vietnam’s dissident voices and cover issues regarding political prisoners and state-critical protests. These channels, especially RFA and VOA, can be considered somewhat right-wing (or conservative to say the least), but they play a significant role in the dissidents’ stronghold and have an influence on how they shape their worldviews and political ideologies at home. In addition, I paid attention to state-run publications that covered relevant themes. A more extensive documentation would need to include online petitions and activist blogs. The scope of this study did not allow for a systematic data collection of documents. Therefore, I chose a randomized approach that was defined by contingent factors (e.g., political events specific to that moment and documents as well as writings that research participants shared with me). Methodological Limitations Field research in authoritarian and hierarchically structured contexts comes with limitations that have certainly affected the dataset of this

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book. It is important to note that my method of observation lacked standardized criteria and consistency. I was not able to take part in or observe group meetings, protests, or demonstrations and thus, had no access to observing overt forms of resistance. Instead, I relied on the storytelling of my interlocutors. Therefore, my observations were limited to the precarious housing conditions of activists as well as their verbal and bodily markers such as facial expressions, change of tone, and general performance, which gave me valuable insights into the material conditions and lived experiences of repression and surveillance of dissidents. These are not generalizable but serve the narrative purpose of this book. It is also worth noting that I had no access to representatives of state institutions and more critical and dissenting voices that are likely to exist within Party structures or institutions of higher education. Neither was I able to draw on the expertise of Vietnam-based academics to counterbalance activist narratives (because local research on this topic is limited or completely avoided). One exception was Prof Nguyen Van Chinh, based at the VNU in Hanoi. Other limitations produced by the authoritarian context concern my limited access to the current generation of students which resulted in a demographic imbalance in my sample. Students might have a perception of the West that is distinctly different from the generation I interviewed, not least because they consume different international media. Furthermore, the snowball sampling technique allowed only limited access to Cao Ðài adherents and Hòa Hao Buddhists, generating interviews with a few Hòa Hao Buddhists and one Cao Ðài religious leader only. With the snowballing technique, I did not arrive at data saturation with regard to Cao Ðài adherents and Hòa Hao Buddhists, and thus, a deeper analysis of decolonial voices outside of the Catholic Church was not possible in this project. Also worth noting is the absence of representative voices from ethnic minority groups. During my fieldwork conducted in 2018/19, the resistance of ethnic minorities appeared relatively dormant or subdued in comparison with dissident groups, which is why I did not focus on them extensively. However, at the time of writing this book, on June 11, 2023, a group of approximately 40 indigenous living in Dak Lak Province in the Central Highlands of Vietnam attacked two police stations, leaving nine people dead. While this case received much national media attention, the underlying motivation of the groups remains unclear, but experts trace it back to the fact that the region has experienced mounting anger ij

ij

ij

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and frustration in the region due to extensive government surveillance, land disputes, and economic hardship endured over several decades. The region is home to around 30 tribes of indigenous people collectively known as Montagnards (RFA Vietnamese, 2023). Lastly, it is important to acknowledge that dissident groups did not specifically address gender inequality and feminism as distinct and separate issues but rather as an inherent critique intertwined with the larger struggle for democracy and human rights. The reader will notice the absence of a separate chapter on gender, which should not be interpreted as the author’s lack of awareness regarding Vietnam’s patriarchal structure, but as an honest representation of the current absence of an explicit feminist critique within the Vietnamese context. Nonetheless, the lived experiences of female dissidents and their socio-economic differences are very much acknowledged and reflected upon throughout the chapters of this book.

Organization of the Book Chapter 2, The Making of Dissidents, focuses on Vietnam’s socioeconomic and socio-political environment and contextualizes the identities and different forms of criminalization of political activism. It explains the role of the country’s shift from central planning towards a ‘socialistoriented market economy’ for the Communist Party’s relative political stability, followed by outlining the party-state’s strategy to channel and alienate political participation coming from ‘below’ through Communist Party-controlled mass organizations. This chapter also considers activists in authoritarian contexts as producers of knowledge ‘from below’ who focus on the rediscovering and dissemination of ‘subjugated knowledges’. As Vietnamese activists embody the conditions of state repression, surveillance, police harassment as well as the informalization of labor and life, this chapter argues that Vietnamese activists refuse a coherent identity. The three subsequent chapters are of empirical nature and explore how three distinct political practices are accompanied by distinct political thought processes. The political practices include digital activism for democratic change; the circulation of legal knowledge as political tool for the workers and peasants; and the return of Catholic politics. Each of the three empirical chapters starts with exploring concrete practices of political resistance and thereby identifies them as internally related and connected parts of a whole. Each chapter continues with exploring the

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underlying political ideas of activists. Here, I ask how these ideas are constituted and whether they display an influence of capitalist and colonial ways of seeing and thinking about the world. Chapter 3, Non-collective Democracy Movement, explores how digital networks became the crucial technique for dissidents to accommodate themselves within the existing global structures, while carving out spaces in which state-critical ideas can be produced and disseminated without activists being exposed to outright physical repression. However, this chapter also shows that the underlying ideas about democracy are ambiguous and in part contradictory. It shows that activists narrow themselves to a sanitized ideal of Western models of liberal democracy and wish to turn to a social-democratic capitalism. Both are perceived as the political adversary of authoritarian communism. Chapter 4, Rights-based Resistance of Dissident Labor and Land Activists, discusses the practice of rights-based resistance. While dissident labor activists demand independent trade unions for workers, peasants and land activists vehemently oppose enforced land seizures resulting from capital-intensive investment projects. In so doing, rights-based resisters equip workers and farmers with legal knowledge, enabling them to reclaim their agency and assert their rights while operating within the confines of the state’s legal framework. This chapter shows that while the political practice of these two groups exhibits anti-capitalist characteristics, the explicit critique of capitalism is noticeably absent. Instead, they embrace a set of political concepts, including the rule of law, selfdetermination, and state accountability, thereby exemplifying a reworking of dominant ideologies. In Chapter 5, Catholic Dissidents, I show how the political practice of Catholic activists involves issues around environmental justice, political prisoners, and the poor. Catholic dissidents embrace political concepts including justice and truth, a particular kind of nationalism as well as anti-Communism to substantiate their political practice. This chapter, too, finds that Catholic activists combine anti-capitalist and anti-authoritarian political practices with anti-communist and nationalist ideas, reflecting a state of dissonance and epistemological coloniality. In Chapter 6, the Conclusion, I reflect on the key arguments and limitations of this book.

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References Alatas, S. F. (2000). An introduction to the idea of alternative discourses. Southeast Asian Journal of Social Science, 28(1), 1–12. Bayat, A. (2010). Life as politics: How ordinary people change the Middle East. Amsterdam University Press. Bhambra, G. K. (2014). Connected sociologies. Bloomsbury. Comaroff, J., & Comaroff, J. L. (2012). Theory from the south, or, how EuroAmerica is evolving towards Africa. Paradigm Publishers. Connell, R., Collyer, F., Maia, J., & Morrell, R. (2017). Toward a global sociology of knowledge: Post-colonial realities and intellectual practices. International Sociology, 32(1), 21–37. Corbin, J., & Strauss, A. (2015). Basics of qualitative research: Techniques and procedures for developing grounded theory (4th ed.). Sage Publications. Cox, L., & Nilsen, A. G. (2014). We make our own history. Marxism and social movements in the twilight of neoliberalism. Pluto Press. Della Porta, D., & Pavan, E. (2017). Repertoires of knowledge practices: Social movements in times of crisis. Qualitative Research in Organizations and Management: An International Journal, 12(4), 297–314. Elliot, A. J., & Devine, P. G. (1994). On the motivational nature of cognitive dissonance: Dissonance as psychological discomfort. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 67 (3), 382–394. Eyerman, R., & Jamison, A. (1991). Social movements. A cognitive approach. Polity Press. Fadaee, S. (Ed.). (2016). Understanding Southern social movements. Routledge. Foucault, M. (1976). Two lectures (Lecture One: 7 January 1976). In C. Gordon (Ed.), Michel Foucault. Power/knowledge. Selected interviews & other writing 1972–1977 (1980) (pp. 78–108). Vintage Books. Grosfoguel, R. (2011). Decolonizing post-colonial studies and paradigms of political-economy: Transmodernity, decolonial thinking, and global coloniality. Transmodernity: Journal of Peripheral Cultural Production of the Luso-Hispanic World, 1(1), 1–39. Kvale, S. (2007). Doing interviews. Sage Publications. Mason, J. (2002). Qualitative interviewing: Asking, listening and interpreting. In T. May (Ed.), Qualitative research in action (pp. 225–241). Sage Publications. Mignolo, W. D. (2002). The geopolitics of knowledge and the colonial difference. The South Atlantic Quarterly, 101(1), 57–96. Morgenbesser, L., & Weiss, M. L. (2018). Survive and thrive: Field research in authoritarian Southeast Asia. Asian Studies Review, 42(3), 385–403. Nairn, K., Jenny, M., & Smith, A. B. (2005). A counter-narrative of “failed” interview. Qualitative Research, 5(2), 221–244.

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Nilsen, A. G., & Cox, L. (2013). What would a Marxist theory of social movements look like? In C. Barker, L. Cox, J. Krinsky, & A. G. Nilsen (Eds.), Marxism and social movements (pp. 63–81). Brill. Nilsen, A. G., & Motta, S. C. (2011). Social movements in the global south. Dispossession, development and resistance. In A. G. Nilsen & S. C. Motta (Eds.), Social movements in the global south. Dispossession, development and resistance. Palgrave Macmillan. Noblit, G. W., Flores, S. Y., & Murillo, E. G. (2004). Postcritical ethnography: Reinscribing critique. Hampton Press. Pratt, M. G., Sonenshein, S., & Feldman, M. S. (2020). Moving beyond templates: A bricolage approach to conducting trustworthy qualitative research. Organizational Research Methods, 13(1), 1–28. Quijano, A. (2000). Coloniality of power, Eurocentrism, and Latin America. Nepantla: Views from South, 1(3), 533–580. Quijano, A., & Wallerstein, I. (1992). Americanity as a concept, or the Americas in the modern world-system. International Social Science Journal, 44(4), 549– 557. RFA Rade Free Asia. (2023). Armed group attacks Vietnamese police stations, 39 people arrested. Retrieved June 14, 2023, from https://www.rfa.org/english/ news/vietnam/dak-lak-police-attack-06112023231622.html Santos, B. d. S. (2016). Epistemologies of the south. Justice against epistemicide (2nd ed.). Routledge. Scott, J. C. (1990). Domination and the arts of resistance: Hidden transcripts. Yale University Press. Touraine, A. (2004). On the frontier of social movements. Current Sociology, 52(4), 717–725. Touraine, A. (2007). A new paradigm for understanding todays world. Polity Press. Wackenhut, A. F. (2018). Ethical considerations and dilemmas before, during and after fieldwork in Less-democratic contexts: Some reflections from postuprising Egypt. The American Sociologist, 49, 242–257.

CHAPTER 2

The Making of Dissidents

Since the early 2000s, especially since 2007/2008, Vietnamese dissidents have raised public discontent with the current political system and put particular emphasis on problems concerning the lack of democracy and human rights, labor rights, national sovereignty, land dispossession, and environmental pollution (Kerkvliet, 2019a). In 2015, thousands marched through Hanoi in protest of the government’s decision to cut down thousands of large old trees in the city (Vu, 2017). A year later, in 2016, nationwide protest movements occurred in response to the ecological disaster caused by the Formosa steel factory in the central coastal region of Vietnam (see Chapter 4). This was followed by nationwide protests in 2018, this time against two bills. One was the pending draft law that planned to create three new special administrative and economic coastal ` B´˘ac Vân Phong, and Phú Quôc. ´ In SEZs, zones (SEZs) in Vân Ðôn, business and trade laws differ from the rest of the country and promise to create jobs, attract foreign investment, and boost production and importexport (Tran, 2018). They particularly grant foreign investors incentives ranging from free tariffs to low personal income tax. Critical about this new bill was the incentive to allow investors a land lease for up to 99 years, which is widely seen as benefitting mainly Chinese enterprises and, by implication, conducive to a land takeover by China (Kerkvliet, 2019b; Tran, 2018). After this 99-year land lease was widely criticized by the public as well as by policymakers, the government decided to put the draft © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 S. Pham, Vietnam’s Dissidents, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-4606-8_2

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law on SEZs on hold. This, however, was circumvented in 2019, when the Vietnamese government issued a resolution to establish a ‘manage` ment unit’ of Vân Ðôn’s economic zone, with which it plans to develop the area into a major economic hub by 2050 (Mai, 2019). Therewith, the strategy of economic development remains the same but operates under a different name and with an amended time schedule. The other bill was concerned with a new cyber security law, which would give authorities even more power to force tech companies to hand over vast amounts of data and thus, help to clamp down on activists and deteriorate citizens’ freedom of expression (CIVICUS Monitor, 2018). Unlike the bill on SEZs, the cyber security bill was passed on June 12, 2018, and took effect on January 1, 2019. Some activists marked the protests against SEZs and the Cyber Security bill as the biggest protests since the end of the U.S.-Vietnam War in 1975 (Pham, 2018). With growing public suspicion over who it was that staged these protests, much attention was put on dissident activists or so-called reactionaries (CIVICUS Monitor, 2018). But before we delve into the question of who these dissidents really are and how they engage in collective action, a contextualization of the country’s socio-economic and sociopolitical environment is required. Interestingly, unlike regions spurred by the Arab Spring or the pro-democracy movement in Hong Kong, Vietnam’s political system remains remarkably stable. Reasons for its relative stability are manifold, but the following three seem most important to me: (1) Vietnam’s historical shift in political economy from central planning to a ‘socialist-oriented’ market economy, (2) the channeling and alienating of popular contention by CPV-controlled mass organizations, and (3) the repressive apparatus against independent activists and dissidents.

From Plan to Market The Shift Towards ‘Socialist-Oriented’ Market Economy One of the key historical dates of Vietnam’s history is the year 1945, which is remembered as the turning point at which the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRV) declared the country’s independence from French colonialism. Followed by a civil war between the DRV (also known as Communist North Vietnam that received support from the Soviet Union, China, and other countries of the Socialist Bloc) and the

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Republic of Vietnam (RVN, also referred to as Capitalist South Vietnam backed by the United States and Western allies), it was only 30 years later in 1975 that marked the end of the U.S.-Vietnam War and the collapse of the Southern regime. The country’s reunification of North and South Vietnam was subsequently declared under Hô` Chí Minh, the prospective leader of a political system that will be characterized by the rule of a single Party: the Communist Party of Vietnam (CPV). Since then, the regime’s political stability and hence overall legitimacy have been sought from economic growth which led to the state’s expectation that the people will equate economic growth with ‘good governance’ (Fforde, 2017: 47; Vasavakul, 2019). And indeed, the result of the country’s economic performance is above average and one of the front runners according to ‘the East Asian miracle’ debate. With an average GDP growth rate at 6.25% from 2000 until 2018, 6.9% in 2019, and 8% in 2022, Vietnam also secured the general reduction of poverty, increase of life expectancy at birth, and the decrease of unemployment rate (The World Bank, 2020).1 Vietnam is transitioning from one of the world’s poorest countries in the 1980s to ‘lower middle-income’ status. Reasons for its vast economic development included its gradual transition from central planning to a ‘socialist-oriented market economy’—a transition, as marked by Greenfield (1994), that implied an ideological transition in the Vietnamese Communist forces, that is, from the Viê.t Minh as anti-imperial liberator to a pragmatic Vietnamese Communist Party that accepts the state’s increasing level of integration (and subordination) into the capitalist market. This shift was characterized by the decollectivization of land, rural diversification, the privatization and reorganization of state-owned enterprises, new legislation for trade liberalization and industrial development, and subsequent access to the global market and foreign capital—a transition, however, that was not entirely state-run. In fact, peasants and workers were already subjected to exploitation and surplus extraction by the state under the system of central planning. In response to domestic economic difficulties and financial shocks due to cuts of Soviet aid in the 1970s, the U.S. trade embargo that ended only in 1994/1995, authorities’ mistreatment, corruption and extreme poverty, and state enterprises urged for commercialization and 1 Between 2002 and 2018, more than 45 million people were lifted out of poverty, with the poverty rate declining from 70% to below 6% (US$ 3.2/day PPP). At the same time, GDP per capita increased by 2.5 times (US$ 2,500 in 2018).

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market liberalization, while private households formed small businesses which created an informal parallel market (Fforde & de Vylder, 2018; Freeman, 1996). It was a spontaneous “bottom-up” or endogenous drive of change that Fforde translates into “fence-breaking” [phá rào] (Fforde, 2009: 489; Fforde & de Vylder, 2018). This ultimately drove the entire economy away from central planning and towards the awaiting market economy, so that in 1986, at the Sixth Party Congress, Vietnamese policymakers introduced the Ðôi Mo´,i reforms (Renovation Policy). Large fractions of the Party saw these reforms as an opportunity to change course and secure its hegemony as competent and powerful policymaker (Fforde & de Vylder, 2018). With the Ðôi Mo´,i reforms, the country’s political economy officially transitioned from central planning to market economy, which resulted in the present-day model of a ‘socialist-oriented market economy’. Officially and allegedly, the long-term objective of the party-state is the transition to full socialism and ultimately to communism (Gillespie, 2006: 64). At the same time, Vietnamese workers continue to have no control over the production process and technically no financial capacities to gain ownership over the means of production, while peasants are dispossessed from the agricultural land for dubious development projects. After all, Vietnam’s economy is not a textbook ‘free market’ economy but seems to be a ‘coordinated neoliberal market economy’ (Truong & Chris, 2014: 298).2 The politico-economic restructuring included the adherence to an authoritarian single-party regime (Malesky & London, 2014: 396), the conversion of agricultural land into projects of industrialization and urbanization (Suu, 2009: 107), labor migration, gendered (semi-) proletarianization (Cerimele, 2018), further exploitation of the already cheap labor force, an increase in inequality, processes of privatization in the health and education sector (London, 2008), the gradual transplantation and marginalization of legal concepts (Do, 2016), high levels of corruption (Gainsborough, 2010), and the severe repression of dissident voices. In addition, it focuses on the support of and incentives for foreign ij

ij

2 The authors employ Hall and Soskice’s (2001: 8) definition according to which “in

coordinated market economies, firms depend more heavily on non-market relationships […]. These non-market modes of coordination generally entail more extensive relation or incomplete contracting, network monitoring based on the exchange of private information inside networks, and more reliance on collaborative, as opposed to competitive, relations to build the competencies of the firm”.

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investors and export-oriented production (Fforde, 2017: 49; Malesky & London, 2014: 396), while military-owned fractions of capital, powerful state conglomerates, and managers of state enterprises and private businesses occupy crucial positions in the party-state apparatus, which Hughes (2020) calls the “party-state-business-alliance”. In any case, together they form the new bureaucratic bourgeoisie (Greenfield, 1994: 204). The Communist Party of Vietnam that used to be the hope for a progressive postcolonial force is today commentated on rather pessimistically. Political economists have particularly criticized that the party-state was unable to support its state enterprises (SEs)—the crucial forces of a centrally planned economy—with investments in order to catch up technologically and stay competitive (Beresford, 2008; Masina, 2006; Truong & Chris, 2014: 297). While the economy grew fast, labor productivity stayed relatively low, and industrialization lagged behind. As a consequence, foreign investors and the domestic non-state sector evolved into the dominating forces of Vietnam’s economy and capitalism became the main driver of the country’s economic change (Beresford, 2008: 221; Fforde, 2017: 51). The system’s disequilibrium between free market reforms and socialist eulogy can be identified as one of the sources eventually leading to political instability and an increase in authoritarianism against political opponents. In fact, we see mounting dissatisfaction among the general population, addressing the party-state’s misconduct, corruption, and policy failures. At the same time, as Fforde (2017: 58) rightly notes: “For most Vietnamese, the market economy offers freedoms and opportunities that are well beyond anything they have experienced; so, it is not surprising that they report high levels of support for a market economy”. The following section goes into more detail to explain what Vietnam’s shift towards a market economy meant for the peasantry and the working class. Land Ownership and the Implications for Peasants Land ownership in Vietnam has little to do with socialism. Instead, the further integration into the global capitalist market required certain legal transplantations to regulate land ownership for the advancement of industrialization (Do & Iyer, 2008). The contemporary land tenure system is vague and divides land rights into three entities: ownership rights, control rights, and use rights. The first category assigns ownership to the entire

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people. Officially, private ownership of land is not permitted, as Vietnam’s Constitution (with the 2013 amendments) stipulates that land is ‘owned by all the people and represented and uniformly managed by the State’. The second category designates land that falls under the power of the state and the third categorizes the rights of individuals, households, and organizations to acquire the right to use land. The 1993 Land Law allowed households to transfer, lease, exchange, inherit, and mortgage their land-use rights, a policy reform that is typically referred to as land titling (through a registration system introduced by the French colonial government) (Do & Iyer, 2008: 532). The land-use rights are given for a limited period and can be revoked for purposes of economic development. This commodification of land (similar to the colonial market economy) engendered a group of rich peasants and gave Communist Party officials and the state another opportunity to concentrate land, while the many other peasants lost their means of production and hence, their livelihoods (Akram-Lodhi, 2005; Caouette & Turner, 2009: 171). Yet, it also allowed private entrepreneurs and businesses together with state institutions to turn hundreds of hectares of agricultural land into export-processing, industrial, high-tech, and economic zones in a short period of time, for which they required forced land dispossession (or land grabbing) (Suu, 2009: 108). Naturally, the reducing of fees for land rent and other administrative incentives for capital are conditions particularly attractive to foreign investors. Land grabbing is not only accompanied by inadequate compensation but also by corruption acted out by local cadres, which is oftentimes addressed as the main problem (Caouette & Turner, 2009; McElwee, 2007; Tran, 2004). The case of land seizure in Ða.i Lô.c, a village in B´˘ac Ninh Province, lasted from 1999 to 2001 and is a well-known example in which hundreds of households lost their landuse rights to a highway and industrial zone project and received unfair compensation. As an act of political resistance, villagers obstructed the counting of votes on the day of the National Assembly Election, upon which a number of local cadres and villagers were punished by police forces (Suu, 2009: 109). In the end, enforced land seizures took place and over 100 households lost around 90 percent of their land-use rights, while the compensation paid to the farmers did not meet their needs and expectations (ibid.). These unfair procedures set the political scene also for contemporary land-rights activism.

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Post-WTO Accession and the Implications for Labor The urge for economic growth implied the need for Vietnam’s further integration into the global capitalist market, i.e., opening up for stable and continuous access to the global production networks. This, in turn, required both the improvement of the country’s role in the regional production network and the access to core capitalist markets like the United States and the European Union (Masina & Cerimele, 2018: 10). In 2007, Vietnam entered the WTO and eventually developed into one of the world’s largest exporter of garments to the U.S.-American market and number two exporter of rice, while half of its exports are manufactured products. Moreover, the initially modest influence of Western capital through the World Bank was soon to change its pattern.3 In fact, concessions to the WTO limited opportunities for the development of the national industry sector. Instead, FDI-led and export-oriented industrialization has continued to grow and became the central feature of Vietnam’s economic strategy, while the development of the national industry remained weak (Masina & Cerimele, 2018). Masina (2018: 277) concludes: “The Vietnamese trade balance shows massive imports from Asia and subsequent exports of finished goods to the rich markets of North America and the European Union in a process that brings rather limited benefits to the Vietnamese economy”. As a result, Vietnam’s industrial development became dependent on foreign capital and on a cheap and well-disciplined labor force that is made willing to self-exploit under harsh working conditions (Masina & Cerimele, 2018: 11). It became increasingly evident that Vietnam’s commitment to free market ideology was a means to an end for its rapid growth strategy based on FDI-led, export-oriented production. In 2016, ´ D˜ Prime Minister Nguy˜ên Tân ung (in office from 2006 to 2016) and World Bank President Jim Yong Kim confirmed and strengthened their

3 Vietnam’s capitalist pathway has certainly not been directed by domestic policy makers only. The World Bank started to operate in Vietnam in 1993, despite the fact that America’s embargo remained in place until 1994. Cling et al. (2013: 8) defined “the World Bank as an institution which serves the interests of the US hegemony, by promoting its dominating ideology, which is neoliberalism”. Although access to the World Bank meant to be a watershed moment for Vietnam’s integration into the global market, the Bank’s financial influence remained modest and its policy advice flexible compared to other developing countries. Instead, the Bank saw its major contribution, and thus a better reputation for itself, in providing access to knowledge on development.

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ideological partnership in a post-Washington Consensus manifesto titled: Vietnam 2035: Toward Prosperity, Creativity, Equity, and Democracy. In it, both parties reaffirmed their commitment to Vietnam’s further trade liberalization. Masina and Cerimele (2018: 13) emphasize that Vietnam’s exportled development strategy with the objective to industrialize as fast as possible relies “intrinsically on a labor regime highly exploitative of industrial labor” and on the interests of foreign capital. However, FDI-led, export-oriented manufacturing as a share of GDP declined after WTO accession, meaning that it does not contribute to the development of the domestic industry as it was hoped for and proclaimed by neoliberal orthodox theories (ibid.: 14). On the contrary, what happened was a delocalization of labor power, a process during which transnational corporations transfer operations with high labor costs to countries with low labor costs. This sharp global division of labor intensifies as multinational corporations avoid the integration of local firms into their supply chains (or hindering them to enter). As a result, they continue to block international competition and secure the continuation of low-cost manufacturing. What increases, however, is the pressure on domestic firms to commit to bolder economic reforms and stay competitive as regional manufacturers. With this increasing pressure for further global integration into the capitalist market (especially since the mid-2000s) and an increase of FDIinvestment and export-oriented industrialization strategy, low labor costs, higher levels of labor precarization, and the curtailment of worker’s rights became the precondition for Vietnam’s economic growth. As numerous scholars have stressed, part of a capitalist state’s political strategy is to impair, control, and/or repress efforts to organized labor resistance (Amsden, 1989: 148; Chang, 2013; Masina, 2006: 271). And indeed, the economic transition from central planning to a market economy continues to set the agenda anew and—as any capitalist system—it “suffers systematically from an inescapable tension between profitability and legitimacy” (Webber, 2019: 9).4 The need for rapid growth certainly puts Vietnam, a dependent industrialized country, in a state of anxiety in which the fear of organized labor and socio-political resistance can only cumulate.

4 I thank Dr. Joe Buckley for pointing me to Webber’s work.

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Knowing this, the International Labor Organization (ILO), international campaigns, and INGOs have fiercely advocated for the improvement of workers’ rights in Vietnam and elsewhere. Under this kind of political pressure, concessions towards labor improvement were made not only prior to WTO accession. Vietnam also signed a bilateral trade agreement with the European Commission in 2015 and the lengthy discussed Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP) in 2016, from which the U.S. administration under Donald Trump withdrew in 2017, forcing the remaining members to reorganize under the Comprehensive and Progressive TransPacific Partnership (CPTPP). In the course of negotiating foreign trade agreements, proposals concerning amendments of the labor code became subject of public discussion. Another major step was made during the negotiations over the EUVietnam trade and investment agreements (EVFTA). These required Vietnam to comply with the ILO standards, whereupon in June 2019 the National Assembly ratified Convention 98 of the ILO, which officially acknowledges workers’ rights to organize and collective bargaining (Tran, 2016). Vietnam ratified 25 ILO conventions, including seven of the eight core conventions. Vietnam also approved an amended labor code, allowing so-called grassroots worker representative organizations (WROs). The latter came into effect in January 2021. And although these WROs are officially independent from the VGCL, they are restricted to the enterprise level and hence, cannot grow beyond that. Most importantly, WROs should not be mistaken as independent trade unions, since WROs and the trade union VGCL are legislated differently. Thus, both undergo different registration processes and are subjected to different rights, advantages, and penalties, which keep WROs’ impact and possibilities for action very limited (Buckley, 2021: 83). What is also striking is that Convention 87—Freedom of Association and Protection of the Right to Organization—is the last remaining core convention that Vietnam has yet to ratify. This, however, may change as official announcements indicate the government’s plan to ratify Convention 87 in 2023 (ILO, n.d.). Yet, the country’s overall harsh labor conditions and often vague formulations by policymakers have led analysts to raise doubts about drastic improvements. Despite the ratification of possibly all core ILO conventions, technical restrictions could be applied in practice that render any potential independent unions, associations, and strikes powerless or even illegal under the Criminal Code (Hutt, 2019). Hence, the idea of VGCL independent WROs and the prospective formal

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approval of freedom of association must be taken with a grain of salt, as concrete impacts and their credibility are yet to be seen. The fundamental problem, according to Clarke et al.’s (2007: 562) diagnose, lies in the fact that: Vietnam has sought to transplant a bureaucratic system for the regulation of industrial relations in a state-socialist system, based on rights embodied in government laws and decrees and Party instructions, into the emerging capitalist economy in which employers are no longer directly subordinate to the party-state apparatus, so that there is no longer any adequate mechanism to ensure that those laws, decrees, and instructions are respected by employers.

With Vietnam’s development strategy that depends on FDI-led and export-oriented manufacturing, the tolerance of labor strikes and human rights improvements will continue to be tested (Clarke et al., 2007: 563). Having outlined the country’s politico-economic context, the following section provides a more nuanced picture of the socio-political environment and examines how more autonomous social movements are curbed by the state through means of channeling and alienating civil society and the general public’s political participation.

Channeling and Alienating Political Participation Vietnam’s state ideology is anchored in the idea of democratic centralism rather than the genuine democratic participation of citizens, let alone of workers and peasants. Democratic centralism is essential to extend and reproduce the CPV’s hegemony over the state and, at the same time, shield it from genuine public criticism concerning issues such as human rights, labor and land rights, but also political legitimacy of the Party and issues of corruption. However, as Beresford (2008: 241) states: “Socialism is not simply a question of technical solutions to the provision of infrastructure, education, etc., or of providing a social safety net. It is mainly a question of empowerment”. Yet, working-class empowerment is not encouraged under any market economy, including that of a ‘socialistoriented market economy’. As Greenfield (1994: 229) cynically noted: Now that “the socialist project is dismantled […], the working class is free to engage in collective struggle against the new capitalist social order”.

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Unfortunately, while some chances of empowerment through political participation are channeled, others are simply repressed. By looking at the relation between the state and the society (i.e. the public), scholars have shown that certain civil society actors and even some actors within the state apparatus, are, indeed, ‘allowed’ to make significant yet limited contributions to political change (Kerkvliet, 2014; Vasavakul, 2019; Wells-Dang, 2010; 2012; Wischermann, 2011). For instance, civic participation is encouraged in mass organizations, such as the Women’s Union, Peasants’ Union, Trade Union, and Youth Union, ´ Viê.t Nam, of which the Vietnam Fatherland Front (M˘a.t trâ.n Tô quôc VFF) constitutes the umbrella organization (Thayer, 2009: 3). These mass organizations have a rather representative function, linking various sectors and groups to the Party apparatus and aim at the mobilization of its members to carry out Party policies (Sidel, 2010; Tuong, 2014: 479–480). Equally important, however, is that they channel citizens’ concerns and criticism in a way that contains regime-threatening attitudes (Kerkvliet, 2001: 247; 2003: 9f). Moreover, since 2010, citizens are literally ‘permitted’ (cho phép) to form and register civic organizations under specific conditions that are defined by the state in the Decree on Associations No. 45/2010/Nd-CP (Sidel, 2008; 2010; Wischermann, 2011). However, in summer 2022, the government released a new draft decree that would push to adopt new restrictive measures on associations and further prevent the growth of civil society (Sidel, 2023; VIB Online). Issues concerning gender inequality, gender-related violence, healthrelated stigmatization of AIDS/HIV patients, or children with autism (e.g., the #AK campaign 2020) and LGBTQ+ rights can be raised by civic organizations to an extend that even led to policy changes (Fforde, 2008; Kerkvliet, 2003: 16; Vasavakul, 2003: 26–28; Wischermann, 2011). But unlike this rather accommodative stance towards channeled civil society actions, Kerkvliet’s (2014) work and Wischermann et al.’s (2022) study show that state reactions vis-à-vis public protests are inconsistent and oftentimes a combination of repression and responsiveness. Protests in different policy areas such as infrastructure, ecology, economy, and social affairs like the health sector or education are met with different state reactions ranging from responsiveness, tolerance, and facilitation to severe levels of repression. The same counts for labor organizing and small-scale land-rights activism. Especially in a nominally socialist state in which the working class officially constitutes the central pillar, labor resistance such as wildcat strikes are relatively often met with responsiveness, such as in ij

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the form of negotiations between the authorities and employers (albeit on behalf of the workers) (Buckley, 2022: 87). However, there are also numerous cases of labor-rights activism that have been answered with surveillance, harassment, state violence, and long-term imprisonment (Chang, 2013: 287f, and Chapter 4 in this book). One way of channeling organized labor is through the mechanisms of the only legally recognized trade union federation: the state-led Vietnam General Confederation of Labor (VGCL). The VGCL also controls trade unions at the enterprise level, of which the positions are oftentimes filled by the factory’s management personnel (Chi & Broek, 2013). The VGCL abides by the agenda of the Communist Party of Vietnam, that is, maintaining regime stability with its main objective “to channel workers’ grievances to the unions and identify and pre-empt the potential of underground labor activism” (Do, 2016; Nguyen, 2019: 3, 119). However, researchers have also shown that the VGCL does respond to strikers’ concerns, despite its inclination to serve the state’s interests visa-vis labor and capital. For example, the VGCL provides opportunities for the enhancement of worker’s awareness about the labor law and allows for labor-centered newspapers which indeed can lead to improvements for the workers (Tran, 2007a: 445; 2007b: 275f; 2013: 124). Yet, another way of channeling labor organization is through so-called công d-oàn co, so,, which is usually translated as ‘grassroots trade unions’ or the ‘base of the party-state apparat’ (Fforde, 2011: 168). However, it does not contain what the name indicates because these grassroots trade unions are not controlled by the workers, but by the management at the enterprise levels. By employing such a misleading terminology, workers are alienated from the idea of any independent trade union. Understandably then, workers are questioning the credibility and impact of any idea of an ‘independent’ trade union as well. It might be no exaggeration to claim that the VGCL trade union federation has, despite its efforts to find a balance between workers’ demands, management, and the party-state’s interest, alienated their own base: the working class. Despite the CPV’s attempt to channel popular contention through trade unions and mass organizations, numerous micro-strikes (work stoppages) and wildcat strikes occur every year (Buckley, 2022). As they are organized independently of the VGCL, they are unauthorized and therefore, technically illegal. However, these wild-cat forms of industrial action are relatively tolerated (or at least temporarily witnessed) by the state as they are increasingly connected to collective bargaining mechanisms and ij

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social dialogue (Do, 2016: 322, 327). These forms of organized labor are also typically confined to the specific workplace area. The numerous reoccurring strikes and work stoppages testify that certain techniques of collective action are witnessed or tolerated, even if they are far from being accommodated by the party-state outside of official channels (Chi & Broek, 2013). However, tolerating or responding to wild-cat strikes does not imply an active integration of genuine democratic participation. On the contrary, there seems to be evidence that strikers are also increasingly criminalized. Some sources report a case of four detained strikers after an industrial action in Bình Du,o,ng Province that lasted from May 26 to June 1, 2020, when thousands of workers from the Taiwanese-owned Chi Hung Company Ltd. demanded to keep their jobs after the company announced to lay off staff in the middle of the Covid-19 pandemic (RFA Radio Free Asia, 2020). So far, scholars agree upon the fact that the CPV channels political participation through forms of mass organization, including trade unions which leave little room for independent bottom-up participation (Truong & Chris, 2014: 284). As a consequence, many workers as well as peasants might be alienated from their own political power, but they are certainly not alienated from the awareness of oppression and justice (Beresford, 2008: 240; Tran, 2013). Although working-class consciousness has proven to be powerful at moments, class consciousness is also alleviated and seems to disappear at other times (Tran, 2013). In fact, many workers and activists have developed an attitude of cynicism and resentment towards the ideas of Marxism, which, understandably, is challenging to undo. To talk about working-class power is something that all social classes have learned by heart, but especially Vietnam’s workers, peasants, and activists are fed up with. Instead, believing in Marxist and leftist rhetoric is often perceived as buying into CPV propaganda. To sum up what has been outlined so far: Mass organizations, ‘permitted’ civic organizations, and the VGCL-controlled trade unions do not represent the real interests of the people or the workers, nor can one say that they truly and effectively negotiate labor or any human rights (Clarke et al., 2007). And although ILO, international campaigns, and international NGOs have fiercely advocated for the improvement of labor and human rights in Vietnam, mass organizations and the VGCL give priority to the party-state’s interest in forming stable state-capital links and networks and thus have turned into a facilitator of capital discipline and state control (Greenfield, 1994: 225). For now, working-class politics as

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fertilizer for collective action with revolutionary potential continues to be effectively contained, rendering an independent social movement ‘from below’ in Vietnam unlikely. Furthermore, unlike the authorities’ relative responsiveness towards working-class action, other forms of independent collective organizing have been subjected to much harsher mechanisms of state control, discipline, and physical repression. This will be the subject of the next section. So far, this chapter introduced Vietnam’s politico-economic and sociopolitical context and emphasized the account of stability that characterizes the country’s environment of civic and political engagement. Since Vietnam’s struggle for national independence in 1975, the country’s protest culture and political opposition has been reported as relatively calm. Yet, it never came to an end. In fact, Vietnam’s socio-political and economic stability is enabled by (1) the country’s further integration into the global capitalist market while holding on to an authoritarian single-party regime, (2) the state’s inclusion of civil society participation which is channeled through party-state-controlled mass organizations, such as the Women’s Union, Peasants’ Union, Trade Union, Youth Union, and the Fatherland Front, and, as will be shown in the following chapter, (3) the severe repression of activists by means of long-term imprisonment and political alienation. Against this background of ‘fabricated’ socio-political and economic stability as well as in response to state authoritarianism, different forms of dissident activism have emerged in recent years.

Criminalizing Activism One might argue that with the general uplifting of Vietnam’s population into ‘lower middle-income’ status, the channeling function of mass organizations, and the state’s relative responsiveness towards wildcat strikes, policymakers aim to sustain political legitimacy without risking a crisis of profitability (Webber, 2019: 9). This equation, however, is increasingly challenged by critics and dissidents. As illustrated by many Vietnam experts, the CPV is not a monolithic block that represses all attempts of civil society activism and popular contention but is in a ‘responsive-repressive’5 relation or, in one way or another, in dialogue with the society (Beresford, 2008; Kerkvliet, 2005, 5 The “responsive-repressive” state is a term coined by Kerkvliet (2010) and has since been widely used by other scholars.

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2010, 2014; Koh, 2004; Sikor, 2004; Vasavakul, 2019; Wischermann, 2011). Although permitting a certain degree of pluralism, the Party’s ideology of democratic centralism does not permit dissident opinions to be expressed publicly (Do, 2016: 52). The Party statute emphasizes the importance of centralism over democracy, as “the minority must yield to the majority, lower ranks must obey upper ranks, individuals must follow organizations, [and] Party organizations must submit to the Party Congress and the Central Committee” (Party Statue 2011, Art. 9.4. cited in Do, 2016: 52). Therefore, critical thinking regarding the legitimacy of the current political system, its party-state apparatus, and the lack of human rights standards and democracy are on no account tolerated but considered a threat to regime stability. These issues are not channeled by the Party’s apparatus and are therefore absent from public discussions and civic organizations. Instead, critical thinking and dissent operate between the semi-tolerated and ‘uncontrollable’ spaces of life. For dissidents, these spaces are subjected to conditions of surveillance and constraint, which I explore along three axes: The first axis pertains to the stigmatization and criminalization of activists as hostile and subversive forces. The second axis sheds light on activists as producers of knowledge ‘from below’, and the third axis focuses on their political subjectivity characterized by a sense of collectivity without identity. I begin with briefly explaining Foucault’s (1976) terminology of the ‘regime of discourse’, followed by sketching out Vietnam’s public discourse on dissidents. The ‘Regime of Discourse’ In 1976, Foucault explored a thematic which he described as the “insurrection of subjugated knowledges” (1976: 81). By subjugated knowledges, he referred to two things: the historical knowledges that have been silenced and the knowledges that have been disqualified. He argued that it is the buried historical content that allows us to rediscover the effects of struggles and conflicts that a system, with its dominating regimes of thought, has imposed on a society. Furthermore, Foucault understands subjugated knowledges as “a whole set of knowledges that have been disqualified as inadequate to their task or insufficiently elaborated: naïve knowledge, located low down on the hierarchy, beneath the required level of cognition or scientificity” (Foucault, 1976: 82). These knowledges are socially disqualified, buried under what Foucault called the ‘regime of discourse’ (or ‘discursive regime’). These relations of power,

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Foucault analyzed, “cannot themselves be established, consolidated nor implemented without the production, accumulation, circulation and functioning of a discourse. There can be no possible exercise of power without a certain economy of discourses of truth […]”. In fact, “we are subjugated to the production of truth through power and we cannot exercise power except through the production of truth” (Foucault, 1976: 93). It is through the governing of statements and the way in which they govern each other that determines how the relations of power are exercised. Therefore, the discursive regime is not just a question of language and meaning but expresses the relation of power itself. Power organizes and subjugates knowledge, while it is knowledge that can delimit or contain power. Disguised knowledges are “concerned with a historical knowledge of struggles” (Foucault, 1976: 83); they “owe its force only to the harshness with which it is opposed by everything surrounding it” (1976: 82). It is, therefore, through these subjugated knowledges that criticism and critical discourses can be performed. Accordingly, I understand Foucault’s notion of subjugated knowledges as a multiplicity of disguised knowledges that can be rediscovered in the exercise of criticism and resistance against the effects of globalizing discourses—the regime of discourse— and the hierarchies of knowledge that come with it (Foucault, 1976: 82f). Presentation of Dissidents in State-Controlled Media “A movement that is not reported in the media is a movement that does not exist” (Raschke, 1985: 343 cited in Marchart, 2013: 196). Although in today’s context Raschke’s statement would underestimate the power of non-mass media (i.e., media that is produced by movements themselves or conspiracy theories and fake news flooding social media platforms), he makes a compelling case. In recent years, Vietnamese activists have attracted much public attention through their presence on social media, including Facebook and YouTube. Yet, they receive relatively little attention in the official stateowned media channels. Instead, the state-led discourses about activists are predominantly produced within the spaces of social media. Online commentators make use of vulgar language and frame activists as reactionaries who deceive the legacy of Hô` Chí Minh and the communist revolution. As the currently limited grasp of social media content does not allow for the identification of these commentators, experts assume

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that they represent the work of Party-loyal individuals and Internet trolls working for Force 47, a cyberforce run by the Ministry of Public Security which is believed to be approximately 10,000-men strong, to hack and censor social media content, spread disinformation, discredit political opponents, and ultimately arrest unruly social media users as they wish (Bemma, 2020; Hiep, 2019: 5, Luong, 2021: 156f). Luong adds that the ultimate goal of these cyber troops is to “manipulate online discourse to enforce the Communist Party’s line in a country whose leaders have been fixated on curbing anti-state content” (Luong, 2021: 3). It has also been reported that Force 47 should spread “‘positive information’ and counteract ‘negative’ views and fake news, especially those that are hostile to the ‘Vietnamese revolution’” (Hiep, 2019: 5). In other words, social media and especially Facebook became Vietnam’s “cyber unit to safeguard the party line, shape public opinion, and spread state propaganda” (ibid.). State-led media barely publishes reports that investigate who these activists are and what they stand for. Instead, its ideological apparatus operates with subtle propaganda techniques, through which it produces a discourse that misrepresents rather than directly denounces activists. On July 31, 2018, VTV 1 (a national channel) broadcasted its first episode ´ diê.n) which was concerned with the of the program The Opposite (Ðôi effects of social media and digital activism on citizens and the development of the country (VTV1, 2018). The episode’s theme captioned The ` thông xã hô.i) and led to an dark side of social media (M˘a.t trái cua truyên outcry among activists for its one-sided and propagandistic reporting. The episode lasted 38 minutes and began with explaining that social media platforms provide an opportunity for “inciting violence, spreading malicious information and distorting the facts”. In Vietnamese, it said “Kích ´ d-ô.c, xuyên ta.c bóp méo su., thâ.t”. They d-ô.ng ba.o lu.,c, thông tin xâu emphasized that these activities are illegal that they are “breaking the law” and need to be challenged to contain the risk of people being “cap´ theo) by the “ideologies of hostile or subversive forces”. tivated” (cuôn The term “hostile forces” (“thê´ lu.,c thù d-.ich”) describes “any groups or organizations plotting to topple the regime” (Luong, 2021: 5), including protesters, activists, and bloggers. Overseas news channels such as RFA, VOA, and BBC Vietnam are also mentioned alongside the diaspora organization Viê.t Tân and individual activists like ‘Nguo`,i Buôn Gió’, all of which are considered reactionary forces who promote fake news about the Communist Party and the Vietnamese state. The episode showed ij

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photos of demonstrators holding signs (e.g., opposing factories, SEZs, the cyber security law and China), broken shop windows, and people throwing stones. The arson attacks on the fire brigade in Bình Thuâ.n during the time of protests against SEZ in June 2018 as well as the demonstrations against the steel factory Formosa Hà T˜ınh (that caused the marine life disaster in 2016) were portrayed as organized events by ‘hostile and subversive forces’ using social media. The general narrative of the show portrayed the common social media user as “victims” of fake news, while hostile and subversive forces “abuse citizen’s grievances in order to call for protest and cause public disorder”. The victimization of the broader public is a way to demarcate the ‘innocent us’ and the ‘guilty other’, ascribing to the latter the potency of mass-manipulation that needs to be countered. Accordingly, creating webpages, online petitions, and online campaigns is perceived as strategies to manipulate and mobilize the people alluring them into mass-protests and demonstrations. It is also claimed that Facebook and YouTube allow for paid advertisement promoting fake and state-critical news and pages which call for demonstrations. The show consulted expert opinions, including journalists and psychologists, to produce a discourse that associates digital activism with the purposive abuse of crowd psychology, mass agitation, violence, and the misuse of people’s grievances. The protests against the factory Formosa Hà T˜ınh Steel that caused the marine life disaster in 2016 are raised as an example of how people’s legitimate grievances were abused to call for mass-mobilization and protest on social media. The psychologists in the show explained that fake news is oftentimes based on “real facts” but that they are taken out of the context and put into a narrative that serves “their [the activists’] self-interests”. However, what these self-interests are is not elaborated in the show. Pseudo-psychological or decontextualized and misappropriated psychological analysis is a typical tactic of state security and surveillance programs to profile targets. Choudry formulates that “such psychological profiling tends to avoid political/social analysis of activists and dissenting ideas, and attempts to identify and categorize individual or group psychological factors, removed from social and political circumstances and seen through a pathologizing lens” (Choudry, 2019b: 11). Accordingly, the moderator of the Vietnamese TV show further stressed that so-called key opinion leaders (KOLs) are “not all bad people, but also not everyone is good either”, a tactic that seeks to divide people and political ideas into ‘good’ and ‘bad’ (ibid.). The show’s moderator acknowledges that

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dissidents are “talented writers, they can grasp the people’s psyche and are very intelligent”. Yet, many spontaneous and emotionally driven online writers “only want to seek public attention or earn money” by attracting a high number of viewers, he says. They are “organized networks that attack individual politicians, organizations and companies”. As a result, differences of opinion are disrespected and distorted (a claim that manifests in Article 258 of the penal code: “abusing freedom and democracy to infringe upon the interests of the state”). Dissidents are considered reactionaries and hostile forces that are divisive, putting at risk national solidarity and spread distrust against the Communist Party as a legitimate leader. Instead, dissidents would encourage to search “for negative news instead of positive news”; they “promote curiosity (nosiness)” and can “change a person’s awareness and thoughts”. Dissidents are also attributed with provoking “disorientation and alienation that puts national unity and solidarity at risk”. Particularly online discussions on political issues, including national and foreign affairs, “go beyond people’s knowledge and capabilities”. The program repeatedly showed footage of Catholic priests, a tactic aimed at implicitly linking Catholic priests to the notion of hostile and subversive forces. Framing mass-manipulation and mass-mobilization via social media as a risk to national security and solidarity makes state surveillance and cyber security a matter of protection against a perceived enemy: the socalled reactionaries. This kind of propaganda (and counterpropaganda) strategies aims at the reduction of complexity. Possible ambivalences and complexities are eroded, and alternative perspectives channeled and contained. Moreover, the footage provided in the TV show does not comply with the narrative produced by the moderator but instead gives the viewer a face and the messages that are not verbalized. Rather, the aim is to intensify the level of directness and clarity of a message (Marchart, 2013: 214). Official state journals employ direct language, when addressing different standpoints within the Party. The National Defense Journal (Ta.p ´ Phòng Toàn Dân), for instance, writes: Chí Quôc Recent [...] “open letters”, “petitions” of some cadres and party members, including high-ranking ones, which express adverse opinions to the Party’s guidelines and policies and demand pluralism, civil society, depoliticization of the armed forces, the abandonment of the Article 4 in the Constitution, etc. These petitions are extremely dangerous because when the political

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ideology of a number of cadres and party members is degraded or disoriented, the political system may be weakened, separated or even collapsed. […] hostile forces have drastically taken ideological sabotages against us. They try to deny and distort Marxism – Leninism, Hô` Chí Minh’s thought, and the Party viewpoints and guidelines. (Dang, 2016)

A Glimpse of Public Opinion Throughout numerous informal conversations with citizens in Vietnam, one aspect emerged as the most prominent: The simultaneous similarity and discrepancy between the narratives produced by state-led media and the narratives that prevail among the general public. For instance, a Grab driver (Grab is a service and transportation app, similar to Uber) stated in an informal conversation with me: The reactionaries are saboteurs and destroy everything. But I agree with what they say. Much of what they say is true.

Not only did he reproduce the framing by state-owned media channels, but he simultaneously—although perhaps unconsciously—counters the first part of his statement revealing a discrepancy between the official narrative produced by state-owned media and the public opinion. This deviation transpired throughout the 11-month period of my data collection. I was advised several times not to ask too many questions: “They will call you a reactionary and your whole family will be dragged into it”, I was warned by members of the general public. And as much as I appreciated this advice, I could not help but ask in return: “But what is a reactionary?”. Never have I received a satisfactory response. Yet, contrary to some quite reluctant conversations, I had numerous conversations particularly with taxi drivers who were surprisingly knowledgeable about individual activists, their political standpoints, and acts of police repression against them. For instance, on my way from the airport to Hanoi city, my cab driver asked me: “Do you know Pha.m Ðoan Trang?” (see Chapter 3), “Do you know about the recent case of land dispossession in Vu,o`,n rau Lô.c Hu,ng?”. “You should read this blog ‘X’ and follow that Facebook page ‘Y’”. With the time, I realized that the Vietnamese public had a much diverse albeit not always very substantiated perspective on Vietnam’s dissidents.

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The Repressive Environment The concrete forms of repression against Vietnamese dissidents lack detailed scholarly examination. There are, however, plenty of cases. For instance, Nguy˜ên V˘an Hoá*, born 1995, was sentenced to 7 years in prison and 3 years of probation for capturing drone footage of protests in front of the Formosa Hà T˜ınh steel plant that caused massive marine pollution in Central Vietnam (Chapter 4). He was detained under Article 258 of the 1999 Penal Code for “abusing democratic freedoms to infringe upon the interests of the State and the rights and legitimate interests of organizations and citizens” and ultimately charged under Article 88 “Propaganda against the Socialist State”. Activist Hoàng дu,c Bình*, born 1983, livestreamed a march that local activists against the Formosa Hà T˜ınh steel factory organized to submit a collective petition to the Court in K`y Anh. He was sentenced to 14 years in prison with charges under Criminal Code Article 257 “resisting persons in the performance of their official duties”, Article 258 “Abusing democratic freedoms to infringe upon the interests of the State”, and Article 143 “Destroying or deliberately damaging property” (The 88 Project). Other activists who were also involved in the protests against the marine pollution included Nguy˜ên Nam Phong* (2 years sentence) and Nguy˜ên Ngo.c Nhu Qu`ynh*, also known under her blogger pen name “Mother Mushroom” (10 years sentence). The only feminist dissident group that I am aware of is the “Vietnamese Women for Human Rights” (VNWHR). Founded in 2013, the group’s work consisted of supporting mothers, wives, and children of dissidents and political prisoners and advocated for the protection of women’s freedom of expression and belief (Forum Asia, 2016). However, the known founding members have been arrested which left ` Thi. Nga* (who is also the group practically decapitated: In 2017, Trân a labor activist) was sentenced to 9 years in prison under Article 88, but was released in 2020 and is not in exile. In 2015, Hu`ynh Thu.c Vy* (who is also a human rights and democracy activist) wrote the book Identifying , , the Truth, Freedom, and Human Rights (Nhâ.n Ði.nh Su. Thâ.t, Tu. Do & ` Nhân Quyên), but after she spray-painted the national flag in 2017 as a sign of protest, she was detained and prosecuted under Article 276 of the 1999 Penal Code for “offending the national flag” (The 88 Project). She was sentenced to 2 years and 9 months in prison.

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The crackdown on dissident voices is certainly not limited to single cases. Independent activists (mainly bloggers and independent journalists who rely on social media channels) are increasingly subjected to police harassment and long-term charges under Article 79 “activities aimed at overthrowing the government”, Article 88 “anti-state propaganda”, and Article 258 “abusing the rights to freedom and democracy to infringe upon the interests of the state” of the 1999 Criminal Code. Another national security offense is “disturbing social order” Article 245. Being charged under the Articles 79 (Article 109 in the 2015 Criminal Code), Article 88 (Article 117), and Article 258 (Article 331) generally results in long-term prison sentences and thus, testifies that criticism against the state and its political system are suppressed and harshly penalized (Kerkvliet, 2014: 102). Since 2022, Vietnam has repeatedly levied accusations of tax evasion against prominent civil society figures as a strategy of political repression. This is exemplified by the case of the environmental advocates known as the “Vietnam Four”, which includes Ngu.y Thi. Khanh*, the founder of the Green Innovation and Development Centre (Green ID) in Hanoi who was awarded the Goldman environmental prize. The other civil society actors implicated in this case are Ð˘a.ng Ðình Bách, Mai Phan Lo.,i, and Ba.ch Hùng Du,o,ng (Swanton, 2023). In another case, Professor Hoàng Ngo.c Giao*, leader of a legal policy civil society group, has also faced charges of tax evasion (Sidel, 2023). These allegations of tax evasion are regarded by experts as unusual and irregular, strongly suggesting that these sentences have been politically motivated. The 88 Project, for instance, states: These irregularities are strong evidence to suggest abuse of process and arbitrary application of the law. They also indicate that the charges, detention and punishment of the Vietnam Four were neither necessary nor proportionate but rather appear to have been designed to silence these individuals and remove them from society, thereby violating their right to freedom of expression and right to participate in public affairs. (The 88 Project, April 21, 2023)

As of June 2023, ‘The 88 Project’ database counts 197 activists in prison and 368 activists at risk, indicating an increase in the number of political prisoners when compared to earlier reports from other organizations. Amnesty International’s Report on Human Rights reported 97

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political prisoners in 2018, 128 prisoners in 2019, and 170 prisoners in 2021. Similarly, Human Rights Watch states that Vietnam’s human rights situation is deteriorating particularly with regard to freedom of expression. Bloggers who are perceived as threatening national security are sentenced to between 5 and 10 years, while pro-democracy activists are often sentenced to longer prison terms. The 2023 Freedom House report ranks Vietnam as Not Free with a Global Freedom Score of 19/ 100, a political rights score of 4/40, a civil liberties score of 15/60, and an Internet Freedom Score of 22/100. The 2023 World Press Freedom Index by Reporters Without Borders ranks Vietnam 178 out of 180. All reports indicate a deteriorating situation. The major challenge for activists and dissidents is the lack of autonomous spaces for independent political organizing. Any freedom of assembly is reserved to the spaces controlled by the communist party and its umbrella organizations. However, the emerging online spaces provided activists with opportunities to communicate and strategize collective actions using the tools of digital activism. Yet, as noted earlier, Vietnam’s new cyber security law imposed further restrictions on activism and sparked widespread protests across the country in June 2018. The public’s frustration was further fueled by the draft bill on new Special Economic Zones announced at the same time. Final decisions on new SEZs have been adjourned indefinitely, while the cyber security law was enacted in January 2019. This law amplified the military crackdown on dissident bloggers and critical commentators which, in fact, has been an unofficial governmental practice for years. Decree 72/2013 has already banned “the use of Internet services and online information to oppose the Socialist Republic of Vietnam, threaten the national security, social order, and safety, sabotage the national fraternity, arouse animosity among races and religions, or contradict national traditions, among other acts” (Bui, 2017: 108). Under the new cyber security law, tech giants including Facebook, YouTube, and Google are required to store user data on local servers, which opens access for Vietnam’s cyber security ‘Force 47’, clearly a measure to weaponize social media (Luong, 2021; Singer & Brooking, 2018). Yet, as scholar Hiep points out, although Facebook, YouTube, and Google, etc., do selectively comply with Vietnam’s cyber security law, the dominance of mainly Western social media platforms, as well as the diplomatic, business, and other practical reasons, prevent Vietnam from entirely blocking these social media websites (Hiep, 2019: 3).

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However, it is important to stress that not all activists and forms of public criticism are subjected to long-term imprisonment, although some activists reported that they were detained several times, sometimes in intervals of a few weeks. In custody, they are not allowed to give notice to their families but, as some dissidents reported, they were treated relatively respectfully. This indicates that governing through political repression is a matter of manifold techniques characterized by unpredictability and arbitrariness, which is perhaps the strongest technique of state repression as it spreads anxiety, paranoia, and distress. Most importantly, however, it pre-empts a potential upsurge in more state-critical voices. Embodying Experiences of Structural Violence They [the government] use many different tricks to damage the economic base of us activists, destroy our businesses and use psychological and verbal violence [...]. Some activists had to seek refuge in other countries […]. Every activist in Vietnam, every person who has an oppositional voice, who has the mind and takes the steps towards a democratic, free, peaceful and justice Vietnam, all of them are psychologically and physically oppressed by the government. (Interview Kim; environmental and civil society activist, Hanoi)

The social composition of activists is diverse ranging from workers, peasants, fishermen, women, intellectuals, and students. Professional backgrounds include lawyers, retired-state officials, poets, artists, journalists, entrepreneurs, and Catholic priests. It goes without saying that the high risks of criminalization and the illegality of independent civil society organizing offer little resources for political resistance. Moreover, different dissidents have different opportunities to access the material resources and networks that make political activism possible in the first place. Shaped by their cultural identities, women, workers, and students are certainly more limited in their access to these necessary resources. And in cases where women, workers, and students do find access to necessary means, they are likely to be doubly or triply burdened in the formal as well as the informal spheres of life.6 As a result, dissident activist groups usually consist of no

6 I thank Prof. Angie Ngoc Tran for pointing me to the importance of intersectional analysis.

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more than a handful of members. However, as will be shown throughout the next chapters, activists and their struggles are well connected and, in fact, constitute an informal political network. Many democracy activists used to work as journalists and lawyers ` before they chose to become activists. Ðào (human rights lawyer), Trân Hu`ynh Duy Th´u,c* (businessman and author), Nguy˜ên Quang A* (entrepreneur, translator), Pha.m Ðoan Trang* (author, journalist), and Thiên (author, blogger) are among the most prominent democracy advocates and activists at the time of writing this book. In activist circles, they are also referred to as intellectuals (ngu,o`,i trí th´u,c). Pha.m Ðoan Trang* (hereafter: Trang) is a democracy and human rights activist who has written a number of books including Politics for the Common People (Chính Tri. Bình Dân) and Non-Violent Resistance (Phan Kháng Phi Ba.o , Lu. c), A Handbook for Families of Prisoners (Câm nang nuôi tù), Anh Ba Sàm and Politics of a Police State. She is also one of the voluntary editors of numerous activist-based online newspapers and blogs, including the English online newspaper theVietnamese.org and the Journal of Law (Luâ.t Khoa ta.p chí).7 As an independent journalist, she is Vietnam’s fiercest female advocate for democracy and human rights. Her horizon of activism is broad. She covers issues from women’s rights, gay and lesbian rights, non-violent resistance, political prisoners to human rights, and democracy, for which she received international prizes including the 2017 Homo Homini Award from People In Need and the 2019 Press Freedom Prize for Impact from Reporters Without Borders. Under economically, socially, and politically precarious conditions, activists like Trang, human rights lawyer like Ðào, or independent journalists and bloggers like Thiên seek to disclose and disseminate state-critical ideas, promote critical thinking with the aim to alter public opinion, and encourage democratic political participation (see Chapter 3). I refer to them as producers of knowledge ‘from below’ who seek to shape public opinion despite conditions of censorship. In liberal democracies, they would seek professional positions—perhaps as freelance journalists, academics, or human rights lawyers. Unlike in liberal democracies, the advancement of critical thinking and the dissemination of dissenting ideas in Vietnam—both are ij

ij

7 Sources of Websites: the Vietnamese. Retrieved December 27, 2020 (https://www.the vietnamese.org) and Luâ.t Khoa. Retrieved June 20, 2020 (https://www.luatkhoa.org). Luâ.t Khoa is an online journal that focuses on political and legal issues in Vietnam.

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criteria for democracy and political participation—are not considered a profession in any sense. Trang has no official publisher who would dare to publish her books. Instead, she relies on donations and an underground publisher who, like other dissidents, is subjected to state surveillance and police intimidation. Trang told me (and other activists confirmed) that most of the donations that Trang receives from her supporters go into the printing and shipping of books. Trang and fellow activists produce value (societal value) that is not exploited in a capitalist sense, yet she carries the signs of physical and emotional distress similar to many other laborers operating in a highly exploitative system. Similar experiences of repression are made by human rights lawyers Lê Công Ði.nh* and Ðào. After both were released from prison, they were barred from exercising their jobs as lawyers. Forced into the informalization of his work, Lê Công Ði.nh continues to provide legal advice to families who suffer from land eviction. He also supported the priests and fishermen to draft the petitions against Formosa (see Chapter 4) and collaborates with many other activists by bringing in the perspective of a lawyer. His work also produces societal value for the marginalized strata of society. Originally coming from Hanoi, Trang decided to flee to another city to protect her family from police intimidation. Her personal documents have been confiscated a long time ago. Under pressure of foreign embassies and international human rights organizations, Trang was ultimately informed that she could go to the police station and pick up her documents. However, she refused to do so and said: “The ones who stole my papers, must bring them back to me. I will not go to the thieves and ask them to return what belongs to me and get humiliated in turn” (Interview Trang). Confiscating her ID documents is not only about intimidation, but it affects her everyday life on many levels. Traveling without documents comes with complications, while registering for a telephone number or change of residence is rendered formally impossible. It is an act of informalizing her citizenship, one may argue. In addition, she was followed and beaten by the police many times and ended up in hospital with severe injuries. She suffers from long-lasting physical damages. Only by relying on her friends and her support network, she can change her place of residence on a regular base in order to hide from police surveillance and secure her books from confiscation. Trang relies on her friends, supporters, and other activists to support her, both financially and mentally. What Trang experiences is an “impossibility of

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activity” (Thoburn, 2016: 370). Instead of accepting capital exploitation and succumbing to censorship, she opts for exhaustion, despair, anxiety, and voluntary self-exploitation for the common good, which can be understood as “the extended exploitation of one’s own body and social relations required in order to remain active […]” (Papadopoulos et al., 2008: 223). ‘Exploitation of the self’ is an attribute that describes many activists’ lives. Trang’s main drive for her self-exploitation is her fear of the limited time remaining until she gets prosecuted or silenced in prison. Her working space is her hideout. Trang embodies the experiences of criminalization and stigmatization expressed in her vulnerability (physical attacks and surveillance), hyperactivity (constant availability to other activists), simultaneity (multiple investigative research projects), recombination (her crossing between different networks, struggles, and space), restlessness (overwhelmed by activity and communication), unsettledness (continuous mobility), and affective exhaustion (emotional exploitation) only to mention a few characteristics (Tsianos & Papadopoulos, 2006). Her fears of not having enough time became reality, when Trang was arrested on October 7, 2020, for “making, storing, spreading information, materials, items for the purpose of opposing the State if the Socialist Republic of Vietnam”. She was charged with “Propaganda against the State” under Article 117 of the penal code and sentenced to 9 years in prison. Ðào is another prominent human rights lawyer and activist who speaks out against China’s maritime aggressions and demands democratic change and the state’s compliance with international human rights standards. She participated in several grassroots organizations including a group of labor activists. When the chance to interview her opened, she invited me to her home. She rents a cramped, moldy, and dark apartment in which she lives together with her husband (a physician and human rights activist), daughter, and mother. She lives in a working-class area, not an area where Vietnamese lawyers and doctors usually reside (housing condition is a significant characteristic of a person’s class background and inseparable from social status). On the phone, lawyer Ðào advised me to keep on my motorcycle equipment and the facemask until I would enter her home, because the building she lives in is regularly watched by state officials. I did what she advised and only revealed my face after she closed the door behind me. Other than that, there would be no problem and no reason to worry, she asserts. And indeed, I noticed the camera from her neighbors’ doors directing towards Ðào’s apartment (other apartments were

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not equipped with cameras). She told me that she confronted her neighbors after she noticed the camera, who revealed to her that it was the police who installed the device. Ðào accepts her condition, because she is used to it, she says. Yet, the lack of trust and solidarity, but also the fear and anxiety among the neighborhood daunts her (Interview Ðào). It is known that the state’s security and surveillance practices have disciplining effects on societies. Scholars emphasize how surveillance effects reshape the political subjectivity of activists and note that the normalization of surveillance as part of everyday life is a method of counter-surveillance by which activists refuse to accept “the burden of private shame” (Choudry, 2019a: 7; Maira, 2019). In order words, surveillance of activists reshapes political subjectivity in class terms (Maira, 2019: 92). Another couple of activists was exposed to similar precarious conditions after they were released from prison. Liên and her husband also had been political prisoners convicted for protesting Chinese maritime aggression in the South China Sea. In order to secure a living for their new-born, they built a house on semi-legal land, an area that was known as “Loc Hung Vegetable Garden”. According to the former residents, the sixhectare area of the Loc Hung Vegetable Garden belongs to the Catholic Church of Vietnam since 1954 and has been home to Catholic refugees and a number of activists who farm and live on the land (Quynh-Vi, 2019). The Catholic Church in the area also provided accommodation to invalids from the South Vietnamese Republic. The day I visited Liên and her husband was the day before residents were unexpectedly and forcefully evicted from the area on January 8, 2019. The demolishment left 88 households without shelter. The state’s proclaimed reason was ‘wrongful and illegal occupation of the land’. Liên and her family lost their home to a bulldozering project. Those state actions are “a way of targeting all those ‘economic, social and cultural’ connections that constitute one’s home” (Harker, 2009 cited in Joronen, 2019: 14). And although Trang, Ðào, and Liên are among the few women that managed to gain access to a set of material and political resources, their stories reveal significant differences from their male counterparts. Trang admits that her choice to dedicate her life to political activism meant as a consequence a future that is likely to be without children of her own. In a personal conversation, Trang expressed concerns about her future imprisonment, a thought that is already difficult to wrap one’s head around, but certainly unbearable when she considers the identity and responsibility of a mother who potentially has to abandon their children. Ðào and Liên are

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faced with the challenge to take care of their family members in their role as wives and mothers, while reproducing themselves as well as their role as outspoken political activists. And although both women have supportive husbands, their time resources are much more limited compared to those of male activists. Male dissidents were freer to prioritize political activism, while all female activists are culturally expected to prioritize the family and the reproduction of the household first. This relates to the subject of unequal and multiple structural burdens that shape the opportunities of different groups based on cultural identities such as class, gender, and race/ethnicity. This structural overlap is widely discussed under the rubric of intersectionality and will be touched upon in the chapters to come. On the other end of the spectrum, there are political activists whose social position is not determined by gender or class, and who have access to more material resources and political networks. This, however, does not prevent these activists from repression. Prominent figures including Nguy˜ên Quang A* (Chapter 3) and retired police officer Ðình (Chapter 4) have also been harassed and physically attacked, but their previous political affiliation with the Communist Party and their class backgrounds provides them with the political and financial resources that certainly contribute to a milder level of repression compared to what other activists have to face. Activists who are former CPV members or are retired state officials are faced with public denunciation mostly exercised by other CPV comrades. Ðình, for instance, served 42, 5 years as a police officer and has been a Party member for more than 50 years. After his retirement, he became an active supporter of land-rights activism ` in Ðông Tâm (Chapter 4) and published online articles about the 2016 marine life disaster (see Chapter 5) and Chinese maritime aggressions. He reports to me that on “politically sensitive days” he receives occasional phone calls from other state officials in which they “respectfully recommend him to stay at home” (Interview Ðình). However, these forms of micro-intimidations are not the main problem, he said. It is rather the pressure and intimidation that is put on the rest of the family or the alienation among family members what hinders most people from speaking out in public. Nguy˜ên Quang A* is also a former CPV member and a well-known figure among the blogger and activist scene. In public, he is considered an intellectual, while he is equally respected among and connected to dissident circles. Occasionally, he is referred to as ‘a dissident voice’, although not everyone would agree that he is a dissident (The 88 Project). His

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concerns involve the imprisonment of activists, land grabbing, corruption, and foreign relations. He advocates for an independent civil society and was one of the founding members of the Civil Society Forum (Chapter 3). His social and educational background is extensive. Not only is he the son of a family whose father died in the uprisings against French colonialists, but he was also a high accomplishing student who was sent by the government to study in Hungary in 1965. He later received his doctoral degree in Electronics and Telecommunications and worked for the Vietnam Military Technical Institute. As an entrepreneur, he founded 3C Computer-Communications-Controller Company and co-founded VP Bank, the first private bank in Vietnam. In 2007, he and eight other researchers founded the independent Institute for Development Studies (IDS), a quasi-private think tank. IDS published political analyses and critical comments on public policy, but pressured to dissolve after only two years, due to the 2009 issuance of Decree 97 which banned all research institutes from making public criticism (Vu, 2014: 44). After the official closure, the institute’s website continued with issuing critical analysis of government policies, submitted petitions on territorial disputes with China, human rights, Internet freedom, and constitutional reforms (ibid.). Moreover, Nguy˜ên Quang A has largely contributed to the academic field as a translator of Western classics of political economy (including works of Thomas Friedman, Karl Popper, János Kornai, Friedrich Hayek) and created the open-access online Bookcase SOS 2 (Tu sách SOS 2 ).8 Continuous physical attacks, public denunciation, and the criminalization of his civil society projects are common features that constrain Nguy˜ên Quang A’s political and civil society activities. Not only are democracy activists subjected to repression, but so are dissident labor activists. The dissident labor activists with whom I had the chance to talk have endured lengthy prison terms. For instance, labor ´ Hùng* endured nine years. Migrant labor activist Nguy˜ên Hoàng Quôc ` Thi. Nga* was also sentenced to nine years, but and land activist Trân under international pressure, Nga was released after three years and went into exile in the United States. Labor activist Huy was arrested several ij

8 The name SOS2 is an abbreviation for “Software of the Social System”, by which Nguy˜ên Quang A refers to fundamental laws, policies, statutes, rules, practices, and cultures, which shall not be manipulated or changed but only be implemented and performed. See, Tu sach SOS 2 . Retrieved June 20, 2020 (https://www.chungta.com/ nd/tu-lieu-tra-cuu/tu_sach_sos2.html).

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times and spent a total of 4.5 years in prison. I met Huy, who now lives in Thailand, where he supports Vietnamese political refugees. He told me that, he used to be a construction worker himself, but shortly after being involved in underground labor activism, he had to halt his employment due to the intimidation and emotional pressure on the side of the management, which severely affected his financial situation. Being away from his family, he now makes a living through activist solidarity circles and occasional private donations. Nam is another underground labor activist based in Hanoi (Chapter 4). He was pressurized by the management to quit his job as accountant in an FDI-led Japanese factory. Nam is now occasionally driving ‘Grab bike’ and takes other jobs in the informal sector to make ends meet and provide for his wife and son. Labor activists have no mass base in the working class, but as will be explained in Chapter 4, this is not because they chose so, but because labor activists want to avoid putting the workers at risk. Moreover, labor activists see themselves also connected to the struggle for democracy and human rights (Chapter 4). Thiên is a prominent blogger and democracy activist who advocates for the strengthening of an independent civil society. He also became a fierce critic of land grabbing and the marine disaster caused by the steel factory Formosa (Chapter 5). He writes about corruption cases and investment projects of state-owned and multinational conglomerates with particular focus on the city Ðà N˜˘ang. In a conversation with me, he describes the many incidences during which he was watched, followed, and called into the police station. During his involvement in the movement against Formosa Hà T˜ınh Steel, he had to hide in the local Catholic Church after he was notified that Father Lý*—who he was supposed to meet that day—was arrested by the police. Father Lý is a member of the democracy group Bloc 8406 (see Chapter 3) and has been sentenced to 8 years in prison. Other Catholics, among them priest Sáng and priest Phúc, have played a major role in the organization of collective actions against the toxic chemical spill caused by Formosa (Chapter 4). In a conversation, priest Sáng reports: We [priests] face danger and repression. The government seeks every possible opportunity to oppress people like me and other activists. So far, I have counted eight unknown people who watch me and follow me every day. On specific days, when political events happen, my phone doesn’t work, so that I can’t get in touch with anyone. The internet is cut off on these days too. Every time I go out, there are people following and

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watching me, they are keeping me under surveillance. (Interview priest Sáng)

Surveillance is a technique of governing. It is everywhere and nowhere. I spoke with land activist Tâm in a relatively calm coffee place in Du,o,ng Nô.i (at the outskirts of Hanoi). She is known for her involvement in peasant protests against land dispossession in Du,o,ng Nô.i (Chapter 4). On that day, I was joined by labor activist Nam and democracy activist Bách, not only because they introduced me to several land activists, but mostly because they were particularly concerned about my safety in the area. Only a few minutes after we started our conversation, both Nam and Bách noticed two young men entering the coffee place. They sat down on the two chairs at the entrance and did not engage in any conversation. Both seemed occupied looking at their smartphones. None of us had evidence that the two were plainclothes security forces (referred to An Ninh in Vietnamese). In the beginning, Tâm conducted herself as a calm persona. As soon as she spotted the two suspiciously looking men, Tâm changed her performativity by adopting a loud voice and using provocative language, which can be interpreted as adopting markers of masculinity in a patriarchal society. She insists that she does “not care about surveillance by national security forces”. In fact, they “motivate [her] to speak even louder” because all she did was to “speak the truth” she vindicates (Interview Tâm). This experience of changing performativity reoccurred in conversations with other activists and in other semi-public places. This more masculine performativity can be identified as an embodied expression of how various intersectional structures of oppression impact female activists. It illustrates what Maira (2019: 87) describes as a heightened sense of self-confidence and ‘subversive humor’ in climates of state (and male) surveillance. Moreover, many female activists emphasize that their encounters with the police and their living conditions in prisons are as harsh as the experiences made by men, indicating an awareness of the need for physical strength and the absence of women’s protection in cases of physical violence. Indeed, the atmosphere of gendered, patriarchal, and traditional societies requires female activists to prove their strength and endurance with their male counterparts and mostly male security forces, which again illustrates the multiple burdens that female activists have to face. Because many land activists are women, the simultaneous embodiment of fear and courage in the face of a patriarchal system is particularly

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expressive. Strikingly, Maira (2019: 88–89) points out: “This inversion of stigma of surveillance is perhaps also an affective or psychic strategy to deal with the anxiety of acknowledging oneself as an object of surveillance, by reclaiming the political agency of surveillance and reasserting the need to continue to engage in dissenting politics despite, and in some cases because of, the climate of repression”. This suggests that Tâm’s performativity can be read as an inversion of stigma of gendered surveillance, where the female activist reclaims her political and emancipated female agency as the male security officer exercises his power both as men and as government official. Yet, it also signifies a process of empowerment in which female dissidents transcend socially constructed gender roles. ` who stands as a prominent figure in land-rights The narrative of Kiêu, activism in and around Hanoi, also provides evidence for a process of ` grew female empowerment and the deconstruction of gender roles. Kiêu up in the North of Vietnam, but unlike Tâm, she was not a farmer herself, but was also personally affected by a case of unfair land transfer. Hailing from a family of high-ranked Communist Party officials dating back to the subsidy period (1975–1986), she acknowledges her previous class privileges and her past political affiliation: “I used to be part of the Communist world”, she states. Her family’s affluent background, her access to higher education, and her professed admiration for Hô` Chí Minh were all influenced by her firsthand experience of witnessing U.S. aerial bombardments in North Vietnam. She remembers: “I was taught to hate America. I was only in 7th grade when people called for the Liberation of South Vietnam for the first time”. This is a quite common narrative to be found in Northern Vietnamese biographies. When I asked her what it was that made her become one of the most vocal activists against land disposses` responded: “Wherever I see injustice, I will resist”. Due to her sion, Kiêu family’s internal discrepancies, she experienced a land dispute herself. She retells the effect it had on her when she went to the People’s Bureau for the first time to file a complaint: “There, I met many other people, mostly peasants, who suffered from land grabbing, and of course their cases were ` realized that the Vietnamese people face much worse than mine”. Kiêu many cases of injustice of which she had never heard before. Through this encounter, she started to volunteer with material help, providing rice and food to those subjected to land dispossession. Her fierce and loud nature, but probably also her education and organizing skills as a former businesswoman made her a leading activist. She ended up in prison, where

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´ Thi. Thêu*, another outspoken woman, farmer, and mother she met Cân ´ Thi. Thêu’s (hereafter: Thêu) very conscious of two (Chapter 4). Cân ` to connect to her prior to and cautious nature made it difficult for Kiêu her imprisonment. “Thêu was suspicious of me because of my financial ` remembers. Yet, both ended up status” (i.e., her class background), Kiêu in the same prison sharing the same cell. They got to know each other and joined forces. While being in prison together, they empowered other female prisoners to be in solidarity, demand sanitary products, the general improvement of hygiene measures, such as in the public shower units, and simply more water for personal hygiene especially during menstruation. These physical constraints were exacerbated by other hardships, such as afterpains from hunger strikes and the intimidation tactics employed by prison guards and fellow inmates. And worth noting is that regardless of their previous socio-political and economic class backgrounds, upon their release from prison, none of these male and female activists are able to regain full access to or maintain control over the privileges they may have enjoyed prior to their imprisonment. The accounts presented thus far substantiate the understanding that entering the world of political resistance results not only in indirect forms of repression through stigmatization, state surveillance, social isolation from family and friends, and the exclusion from the labor market (details see next section), but also in direct ways of repressive governance. These direct forms of repression include the demolition of houses, physical violence, humiliation, and intimidation against both male and female activists. Here, the perspectives put forward by embodied cognition theory help to recognize the significance of our bodily interactions with the environment, known as the subject’s situatedness, and how those influence cognitive processes such as meaning-making, memory, decisionmaking, reasoning, and perception. Cerulo (2019: 82), for instance, asserts that “thinking is inseparable from the environments in which our bodies gather such information”. Similarly, Vygotsky sees the ‘mind’ as a social relation rather than an individual property stored in the head (Vygotsky, 1978, as cited in Krinsky, 2013: 117). And Pitts-Taylor (2016: 92) describes: Embodiment can be understood as marked by inequality; affected by race, class, gender, and other patterns of social difference; enmeshed in suffering and violence, as easily as it can be viewed as a common thread that unites. Embodiment is not exactly the same for everyone…The potential

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for conflict, misunderstanding, and violence should not be set aside, …but rather understood as part of embodied reality in contexts of persistent inequality.

Pitts-Tayler’s quote calls attention to different locations of activists within the different, but intersecting structures of oppression. Class, gender, racial, but also political and religious minority identities often intersect with each other and provide different structural opportunities and constraints depending on one’s identities. Accounting for those structural differences and intersections can therefore contribute to a better understanding of how different repressions depending on different identities result in “discrepancies and dissonances in how minded bodies and worlds fit together” (Cerulo, 2019: 88; Pitts-Taylor, 2014). From this perspective, activists’ understandings and interpretations rest not only on mental processing, but also on these corporeal experiences and the different accesses and limitations to structures based on the intersections of their identities. If we take this as a premise, we can infer from here that political activists should not be reductively presented as victimized and damaged, nor as mere irrational ideologues and reactionaries, but that the different experiences of structural oppression and the processes of its embodiment are complex. These complexities may lead to transformative potentials, but can also sometimes be conducive to the reproduction of existing power structures (Bustamante et al., 2019: 309).

Unintentional Refusal: Collectivity Without Identity Having delved into dissidents’ experiences of repression, I now turn to the question of how dissidents make and remake their political subjectivity. Against the assumption that dissidents as political subjects have a coherent collective identity, and are unified by a common standpoint and political practice, there is a different way of reading political subjectivity, one that accounts for the complexity and multitude of individual and collective experiences, the irreducible differentiations, and most importantly, the actual lack and refusal of a coherent identity (Thoburn, 2016: 367). Following Thoburn, this section considers Vietnamese dissidents or activists as a political minority group that “experience[s] the interplay between the individual and the social, the personal and the political […]”

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entangled in the conflicting imperatives and constraints set by the majority standards (Thoburn, 2016: 368). I will illustrate that Vietnamese activists not only lack but also refuse to have a coherent identity for two reasons: First, because collective identity is an achievement and a product of collective struggle, as E. P. Thompson said (and many scholars after him). And second, their subjectivity, too, is conditioned by the material constraints of a capitalist and repressive state. They are conditioned by what Thoburn refers to as the “cramped space”—a condition of social existence which “contends that politics arises among those who lack and refuse coherent identity, in their encounter with the impasses, limits, or impossibilities of individual and collective subjectivity” (see Deleuze, 1989: 218; Deleuze & Guattari, 1986: 17 cited in Thoburn, 2016: 367). To assist my case, I also borrow from Marxist autonomists who argue that political subjectivity is not produced from the position in the class structure; that is, subjectivity does not equal class position, but is shaped along embodied experiences (Gill & Pratt, 2008; Negri, 2003; Papadopoulos et al., 2008). Indeed, the manifold embodied experiences of repression, the impossibility of autonomous and independent political activity, “matched with the impossibility of doing nothing if life is to be lived”, have shaped the political subjectivity of Vietnamese dissidents (Thoburn, 2016: 368). In other words, subjectivity is always relational and “mediated by the meanings” that people give to corporeal and emotional experiences. Therefore, I treat subjectivity as a situated and “embodied way[s] of knowing” (Gill & Pratt, 2008: 19). Embodied experiences of repression under the conditions of a ‘cramped space’ provide the ground for a sense of “collectivity without identity” (Thoburn, 2016: 377). The following pages reflect on two expressions of subjectivity: ‘The refusal of identity’ and ‘the refusal of labor’. These two expressions illustrate, on the one hand, the lack of a coherent identity and, on the other hand, the plenitude of collectivity. Refusal of Identity The climate of criminalization, surveillance, and political stigmatization are subjects that concern all activists with whom I have spoken. Under these cramped social conditions, dissidents and activists are also confronted with the term ‘reactionaries’ that is commonly employed

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in state-led discourses to ascribe a malignant identity to these political opponents. As a brief side note: When I looked up the term ‘reactionary’, I came across Corey Robin’s description. According to Robin, the reactionaries’ imperative is “to press for conservatism in two rather different directions: first, to a critique and reconfiguration of the old regime; and second, to an absorption of the ideas and tactics of the very revolution or reform it opposes” (Robin, 2011: 43, emphasis added). It seeks to reconfigure the old and absorb the new through the creation of an ideologically driven movement of the masses. Furthermore, according to Robin “conservatism is a mediation on – and theoretical rendition of – the felt experience of having power, seeing it threatened, and trying to win it back” (Robin, 2011: 4). This definition of a reactionary does not apply to Vietnam’s dissidents and activists, neither do they identify themselves with the term ` (Communist family background, Democracy and land activist Kiêu Hanoi, see Chapter 3) remembers: Our society at that time [when access to Web 2.0 was not widespread] had no alternative channels for news and information. I remember the times before the state authorities called me ‘reactionary’ and I now realize that I always thought only ‘the others’ are reactionaries, but I never considered ` myself a reactionary. (Interview Kiêu)

Conceiving ‘other people’ as reactionaries but not herself indicates her momentary state of self-reflection. It displays her refusal to succumb to an identity that is ascribed to her by a state-led discourse. One reason for the refusal is the ahistorical use of the term itself. To most activists, the term ‘reactionary’ is void of meaning but considered as the state’s attempt to ascribe a retrograde political ideology to them. ‘Reactionary faction/ traitors’ (bo.n phan d-ô.ng) became a catchphrase and a way to simplify, delegitimize, and denounce activists. It may also be considered a way to reproduce the social and structural conditions of the cramped space that renders the multitude and complexity of activists obsolete, and impossible to inhabit in a positive and coherent form (Thoburn, 2016: 376). ´ Diê.n, the state-led discourse Instead, as illustrated in the TV show Ðôi ij

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imposes a view of ‘reactionaries’ as a minority identity that is associated with criminal behavior, state hostility, and violence. Mai, a female labor activist (Chapter 4), notes: Once you fight for democratic rights, you are related to politics. And once you are related to politics, you will be labelled as reactionary. […] We activists and especially our group were at some point denounced as terrorist group and accused of using violent means. (Interview Mai)

The dissidents I have spoken with distance themselves from violent means of resistance, but some acknowledge that it exists in the underground political scene. Blogger Hà My (Chapter 3) states: I support all tactics of non-violence […]. Violent groups do exist, but no one knows who they are. They, for example, throw bombs into police stations. Their aim is to fight against the police, and I don’t support this, but if I had the chance to talk to them, I would do so, because I want to learn and know why they choose this path. […] And to be honest, I think many of them are just normal people who are angry and disillusioned with the government. The people of our country who don’t really know much about our laws and our rights are easily drawn into these violent means of resistance. […] But those who know ways of non-violent resistance, those need popular power, they have to write about their ideas and share what they know. This way, at some point, they will also reach those ones who sided with violent means. …I also think those people who use violent means don’t have the knowledge about non-violent means.

Hà My’s refusal of violence and her simultaneous understanding of violence as a reflection of the people’s embodied anger and powerlessness is suggestive of her sense of collectivity in the absence of a unifying and coherent identity. It seems that by reflecting upon this terminology and rejecting the ascribed identity of ‘violent reactionary’, activists Hà My selfconsciously regulate and re-narrate the meaning of political activism. This act of refusal and re-narration is also practiced by songwriter Bách, who was sentenced to 6 years in prison for his political music. He was found guilty of conducting anti-state propaganda under Article 88 of the Criminal Code. As a former political prisoner, he not only refuses to consider political activism as a criminal activity but counters the state discourse: “I am proud to be a reactionary, because it stands for democracy and human rights”, he proclaims. In doing so, activists like Bách use

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the technique of counter-narrative to reclaim political subjectivity and to generate a sense of collectivity and solidarity among the politically stigmatized. Jasper and McGarry call this the “stigmatized identity dilemma”, by which they describe how groups develop “around the same categories that they are trying to eliminate” and possibly convert the negative stigmas into positive ones (McGarry & Jasper, 2015: 6).9 At the same time, the cracking power relations are coming to light as the state negatively acknowledges the activists’ increasing influence on the public sphere. Bách’s attempt to counter the stigma of a ‘reactionary’ by “being proud of it” is, however, not shared by everyone. Rather, most activists sneer at the term ‘reactionary’ and choose to identify either as ‘dissidents’ ´ or most of the times simply as ‘activists’ (nhà ´ d-`ông chính kiên) (ngu,o`,i bât hoa.t dô.ng). Through refusing a stigmatized identity as ‘reactionaries’, activists shape and rehabilitate their political subjectivity as a collective without a coherent identity. Instead, they refer to themselves simply and neutrally as ‘activists’ (nhà hoa.t d-ô.ng) belonging to the world of fighters (gio´,i d-´âu tranh). Worth noting, “gio´,i” is a term that can be translated as “scene”, “community”, or “world”. In my interviews, activists used the term “gio´,i” also in combination with social classes. For example, “gio´,i công nhân” (industrial workers), “gio´,i trí th´u,c” (intelligentsia), and as already mentioned “gio´,i d-´âu tranh” (activists). Activists rarely use the ´ term ‘class’ (giai câp). I speculate that the term “gio´,i” functions as a replacement for the notion of class and has been combined with activistspecific language rather recently. This way, activists formulate a language that delineates a sense of collectivity without having to revert to Marxist/ Communist jargon. To reiterate, Vietnamese activists refrain from creating a coherent identity for themselves, not only because they are aware of their multitude of experiences and socio-political backgrounds, but, as we will see, also because they actively embrace the plurality and diversity of practices and ideas that are welcomed in the Vietnamese activist scene. However, despite the fairly divergent activist subgroups, they all refer to themselves collectively as “we activists”. In that sense, they don’t associate themselves with an ideology but rather the fact that they all engage in political 9 Using the example of Irish Republicans and the British state, McGarry and Jasper pointed out that the British state labeled the Irish Republicans as terrorists, while they viewed themselves as freedom fighters. The terrorist label attacked the Republicans on moral grounds and framed them as criminals.

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practices and ideas that are independent and in opposition to the partystate. This reminds of Jasper and McGarry who have demonstrated that identities “can be useful as a strong, unquestioned label for a group, but it is also a fiction that, in other circumstances, can be deconstructed” (McGarry & Jasper, 2015: 5). The case of Vietnam’s dissidents substantiates that “fixed identity categories are both the basis for oppression and the basis for political power” (Gamson, 1995: 391 cited in McGarry & Jasper, 2015: 6). Refusal of Labor There is another central stigma that has not been explicitly mentioned so far, which refers to the prejudice that activists ‘seek public attention to make money’ by ways of donations from mostly overseas Vietnamese and democracy supporters or via high viewer traffic on YouTube. This stigma is constructed by state-led discourses, but also reflected upon by dissidents. When I confronted labor activist Nam and other activists with this discourse. Nam avowed: Some members enter and leave [the labor activist group] in a very short time span. I call this the activist market. On this market we have two types: Those who really have skills and enthusiasm and those who simply don’t. Many people might be thinking ‘Yes, democracy is good’, but once they become active in the movement, they don’t have enough enthusiasm and endurance. To be honest, many people who decide to enter the democracy movement just hope to receive some donations from supporters. Unfortunately, this is the reality.

Arguably, we have no evidence that supports this claim, but Nam makes an important note that points to the difference between refusal of labor and refusal of work. While international trade unionists and large sections of international labor movements have called for the right for work, less working hours, or less alienated work, it is the refusal of labor that Autonomist Marxists consider as a political and potentially revolutionary act (Gill & Pratt, 2008). While strike or work stoppages negate certain processes of production and capital accumulation, the entire refusal of one’s labor and thus, the refusal of exploitation, negates the fundament of capital relations (Negri, 1979: 124). It also signals a particular form of political subjectivity and collectivity.

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As indicated earlier, many Vietnamese activists have been forced out of the labor market as a consequence of their political activities. Others purposefully chose to escape the “territorialization of labor, state control and state ideology [that] constitutes a form of creative subversion capable of challenging and transforming the conditions of power” (Papadopoulos et al., 2008, 56). In case of the latter, activists refuse to supply their labor force to the Vietnamese market, and they escape labor exploitation and state control that would censor their writings. Moreover, they refuse to translate their social struggles into a set of demands channeled by the state apparatus (Papadopoulos et al., 2008: 60). Yet, against the stigmatization of activists who ‘want to make money’, activists are anything but freeloaders. On the contrary, they do not refuse to work; instead, they dedicate their resources to their political struggles, such as in the case of Pha.m Ðoan Trang. To put it in Nam’s words, “those who have enough skills and enthusiasm offer their work to the transformation of society” (Interview Nam). Instead, activists cultivate new ways of living and working that are certainly still interlaced with capital relations, but that operate at the margins of the capitalist society. Activists change their senses, their ways of seeing and thinking, their everyday practices and experiences in interaction with the struggles of the oppressed, the poor, the marginalized, and subjugated. Undoubtedly, political subjectivity is complex, yet the refusal of a coherent identity and of capitalist labor bears the potential to form a sense of cross-class and cross-regional collectivity. Thiên commentates: I remember that around five or six years ago, activists from the North and South of Vietnam have not been connected to one another. Activists in the North were not even really connected to the intellectuals like Nguy˜ên Quang A [based in Hanoi]. If anything, it was only very loosely. The ` people in Ðông Tâm village for example are working with Ðình, a very committed activist, but also a retired police officer [and Communist Party member]. Who would have thought that the two sides could be working together? (Interview Thiên)

I repeatedly experienced that activists refer to this growing national network of activists as ‘their new family’, while others emphasized that their sense of collectivity and trust grew particularly throughout the times they spend in prison. However, I also encountered activists who were more skeptical towards fellow activists and expressed the upside to the

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absence of collective identity. This upside is captured in the ‘identity dilemma’ concept which suggests that the internal commitments, selfdefinitions, and political worldviews may differ to such a considerable extent that it becomes an obstacle to identify trustworthy members of a collective. The upside also squares with the autonomist view in that political subjectivity is not a product of someone’s class position but is shaped along the manifold and divergent experiences of repression and injustice that one embodies. This applies not only to the dissidents opposing the CPV, but also to the (still-) CPV members that are mentioned by Thiên. I was lucky to be able to interview two people who are members of the Communist Party, but who are collaborating with dissidents and activists involved in land, territorial, and environmental issues. These (still-) Communist Party members raise criticism against the present-day CPV, for which they are publicly denounced as pursuing ‘self-evolution’ ´ “tu., chuyên hoá”) (SE) and ‘self-transformation’ (ST) (“tu., di˜ên biên”, by which Vietnamese state authorities refer to a deviation from MarxistLeninist Hô` Chí Minh ideology or a “lose faith in the regime and decamp from its ideology” (Luong, 2021: 5). The National Defense Journal explains that “SE and ST are internal changes of each cadre [that] transform[s] them from a good person to a bad one. In the worst possibility, they may counter the Party, the State and the people […] as a consequence of the severe sabotage of the hostile forces, […] A number of cadres and party members become disoriented and skeptical about the leadership of the Party, the goals, ideal and the path to socialism in Vietnam” (Dang, 2016). But we will get back to these individuals in Chapter 4. The previous section examined how activists, here considered as a politically repressed minority, seek to break down the social barriers of the ‘cramped space’. In so doing, they forged new social relations and interpersonal connections between a multitude of individual identities, which, in turn, makes the sense of collectivity without a coherent identity conceivable. In what follows, I will reconstruct these social relations and explore how the ‘making of dissidents’—i.e., the embodied experiences of repression and constraint—translates into political practices and political ideas. In essence, the following three chapters follow what Marx and Engels (1845: 47) described in the German Ideology: ij

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The production of ideas, of conceptions, of consciousness is at first directly interwoven with the material activity and human beings’ material intercourse, the language of real life. Conceiving, thinking, human beings’ mental intercourse, appear at this stage as the direct efflux of their material behavior.

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CHAPTER 3

A Non-collective Democracy Movement

Close your newspapers and stop watching TV ´ Khanh*)1 (Dissident singer Tuân

Is there an overall theme that can be said to connect all of Vietnam’s dissidents? A common theme that goes beyond the general fragmen` says: “Yes, the struggle for tation of social movements? Activist Kiêu democracy”. This is supported by other scholars who have shown that previously isolated groups and struggles around democracy, human rights, religious freedom, and anti-China protests have begun to form a loosely connected network committed to the overall promotion of democratic change (Kurfürst, 2015; Thayer, 2009). Indeed, many activists who will be introduced in this book describe themselves as part of the “activist movement” (phong trào d-´âu tranh), which is used interchangeably with “democracy movement” (phong trào dân chu). Simultaneously, they identify as environmental activists, religious activists, political prisoners, labor and land activists, or human rights defenders. Technically, so I have learned, they form a networked social movement, comprising mainly horizontal and leaderless groups, along with independent dissidents who ij

1 Tuân ´ Khanh is a dissident singer who released his album Bu.i Ðu,o`,ng Ca Song on the

Internet in 2007. He wrote the song Trai Tim Viet Nam (The Vietnamese Heart) in which he expressed his opposition to the Chinese actions in the South China Sea.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 S. Pham, Vietnam’s Dissidents, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-4606-8_3

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employ internet-based channels such as blogs, webpages, YouTube, Facebook groups, and other means of online publication suitable for a fast or real-time dissemination of information (Kerkvliet, 2019: 88; Luong, 2020). ` is the daughter of a former high-ranked Communist Party offiKiêu cial. She has been detained twice for participating in demonstrations against China’s territorial claims in the South China Sea. After her release, she became prominent for supporting dispossessed peasants and ` regularly uses Faceleading demonstrations against land grabbing. Kiêu book to livestream the demonstrations during which she publicly criticizes the government’s authoritarian handling of land disputes. Without her livestreams, many peasant demonstrations would have gone unnoticed. ` also advocates for human rights and religious freedom. When I met Kiêu her, she explained: “All these struggles are part of a larger movement: the movement for democratic change”. Like many other dissidents, she proclaims: “We need to fight against the Communist Party” (Interview ` Kiêu). Prominent democracy activist Pha.m Ðoan Trang* (introduced earlier) is the author of the book Politics for the common people (Chính tri. bình dân), which has become an essential reading in contemporary dissident literature in Vietnam. In this book, Trang addresses the power of the people and promotes the idea of politics ‘from below’, a concept with which she hopes to encourage the ordinay citizen to exercise their right of independent political participation. Trang has received several international human rights awards and has become one of the most prominent female voices in Vietnam’s activist scene. She also contributes to Viet` nam’s environmental groups and was involved in investigating the Ðông Tâm case (Chapter 4), the Formosa case (Chapter 5), and numerous other social and political disputes. ` exemplifies the connectedness The political activism of Trang and Kiêu ` of Vietnam’s various political struggles. We will also see that Trang, Kiêu, and other democracy activists address a wide spectrum of socio-political concerns that, at first glance, seem to be disconnected from the demand for democratic change. However, as this book also traces the connections of these seemingly disconnected themes and subgroups, we will find that democracy activists maintain close personal relationships with activists from other dissident groups. This chapter corroborates that democracy activists focus on different local problems, including the politico-economic dependence on China

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and the lack of political transparency. It also shows, in the second part of the chapter, that activists rely on sanitized notions of Western liberal democracy, while envisioning a social-democratic capitalism as a more desirable alternative. First, we delve into how digital activism has connected previously isolated struggles and how at this point an activist network was born: a network that collectively contributes to the disclosure and dissemination of state-critical or anti-state ideas, which can be broadly defined as any content that “is deemed detrimental to the reputation and legitimacy of the regime and its leaders” (Luong, 2021: 3). In this context, I identify three main practices of democracy activists: ‘online petitioning’, ‘citizen journalism through social media channels’, and ‘a networked civil society approach’.

The Political Practice of Democracy Activists Online Petitioning On April 6, 2006, a group of 116 people issued an Appeal for the Freedom of Political Association (Thayer, 2009: 14). Two days later, on April 8, 118 pro-democracy advocates, including Catholic priests, teachers, doctors, writers, professionals, and several military officers, issued the “Declaration on Freedom and Democracy”, in which they called for a multiparty democracy and the protection of basic freedoms and human rights. These advocates formed the prominent coalition Bloc 8406 (named after the date of their founding declaration). Both documents were spread widely on the internet and ignited the contemporary wave of digital activism for democratic change. Bloc 8406 demanded the complete replacement of the political system and worked out a four-phase proposal for the democratization of the country, including “the restoration of civil liberties, establishment of political parties, a new constitution and democratic elections for a representative National Assembly” (London, 2013; Thayer, 2009: 15). They published the dissident magazine Freedom of Expression (Báo Tu., Do Ngôn Luâ.n) which also circulated as online version. The usually short time window for independent dissident publishing lasted for seven months during which the members were able to produce 15 issues. Bloc 8406 was the first informal coalition that used the Internet to express political demands with considerable outreach (Kerkvliet, 2019: 89). The Declaration on

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Freedom and Democracy started with 118 signatures but collected more than 1400 signatures later that year. Signers provided their names and locations; some indicated their occupations, showing that most of them were peasants and teachers, followed by monks, priests, and professionals from various backgrounds (Kerkvliet, 2019: 90; Thayer, 2009: 14). The number may not appear high, but the visibility and importance of the petition were unprecedented, not least because signers of the Declaration were beaten and harassed by plain-clothed police in the aftermath (Kerkvliet, 2019: 125). Other signers were arrested and tried, which attests to the political sensitivity of online petitions. In 2013, a group of 72 prominent intellectuals initiated the online Petition 72 that was signed by 15,000 supporters. The petition dealt with constitutional revisions and even suggested a draft for a new Constitution. It advocated for a society based on democracy, equality, and the rule of law; the United Nations’ Declaration on Human Rights; the limitation of state propaganda; and a halt to the state’s abuse of power (Morris-Jung, 2015: 409). Since then, launching online petitions and circulating open letters on the Internet developed into an even stronger political statement. One of the decisive open letters was set up by 61 party members on July 28, 2014, in which they argued that “following an erroneous path to build a Soviet-style socialism” and “preserving a singleparty totalitarian system that impedes freedom and democracy” was to be linked to the Vietnamese party-state’s unwillingness to counter China’s geopolitical dominance (Kerkvliet, 2019: 82). It also stated that the country must “abandon the mistaken path to building socialism”, set the country “firmly on the path of nation and democracy”, and “create a state system of laws and real democracy” (Kerkvliet, 2019: 83). Other letters demanded the protection of freedom of expression, press, association, and demonstration and even the peaceful transition from a “totalitarian system to democracy” (Kerkvliet, 2019: 83). And despite Article 25 of the revised 2014 Constitution reaffirming the freedom of speech and press, the right of access to information, the right of assembly, the right of association, and the right to demonstrate (Kurfürst, 2015: 1), it is, in actual fact, the continuous state control and repression that dominates the activists’ lived realities. Ðào, a Catholic lawyer specialized on international and economic law, made her first step into political activism as a member of Bloc 8406. Ðào became interested in international human rights and workers’ rights

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during her time as a law student (Interview Ðào).2 Together with lawyer Nguy˜ên V˘an Ðài* (co-founder of Brotherhood for Democracy, former political prisoner) and other lawyers, she organized human rights classes and advocated for democratic change on social media. Retelling her story to me, Ðào remembered: The first time I heard of Bloc 8406 was on BBC Vietnamese. After that I got in touch with lawyer Nguy˜ên V˘an Ðài. He came up with the idea to form a ‘group of lawyers for justice’ (hô.i luâ.t su, vì công lý). Working with lawyer Ðài was always a partnership of equals. Although we were in his office and he is much more experienced than I was, there was no hierarchy, no leader and no executive. It was a very nice atmosphere, like being among friends. We soon formed a group of several lawyers. I may say we became a community of democracy activists. This was more than a decade ago. We had quite a lot of meetings and members, but it’s not comparable with today since we have access to social media. I would say that 2005 was a milestone [for the democracy movement]. The Internet became accessible for the common citizen and especially the young people. Prior to Internet access, people may have occasionally heard about democracy, but at this point it was in front of your eyes, just like Nguy˜ên V˘an Ðài’s office, it was right there across the street.

For Ðào personally, access to the Internet was the bridge that connected her to other lawyers who shared common political interests and provided a space for her to express her views. The group of lawyers made an active effort to break with social hierarchies and to create a democratic culture of politics and activism, as she described. Ðào believes that through this practical experience, knowledge of democratic organizing and critical thinking can be set free. Moreover, as Castells (2015: 315) emphasizes, Internet access increases the potential to communicate with an international audience and build a larger network that could lead to the creation of new forms of democracy. In this way, knowledge concerning democratic change was not only domestically disseminated but extended to many segments of the Vietnamese diaspora, particularly former political refugees and anti-communists living in the United States. In November 2006, Ðào along with 27 other democracy activists signed an open letter demanding democratic change which was sent 2 ÐàO was one of the recipients of the Human Rights Watch Hellman/Hammett Award.

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to George W. Bush, who at that time attended the APEC meeting in Hanoi.3 Ðào was overall grateful for the support provided by the American embassy: The American embassy […] organized free conferences to educate us about immigration law and trade related issues. They organized everything for us, we only had to attend and participate. One of the ambassadors asked me what it is that interested me most in the study of law. I said: human rights.

Ðào’s gratefulness attests to her positive attitude towards the Western powers in general and the United States in particular. Hence, her inclination towards liberal ideology of development through free market economy: In the developed countries [United States and Western Europe], they have a sustainable and long-term strategy to develop their economy, one that is based on moral principles. We can learn from what already exists, from these great ideas. We don’t have to invent anything new.

In 2007, she was sentenced to three years in prison and three years of house arrest under charges of “misinterpreting government policy on trade unions and laborers in Vietnam” and spreading propaganda against the state. After Ðào was released from prison in 2010, she continued with political activism and became a founding member of a group of labor activists based in Hanoi. After all, Morris-Jung (2015: 411) reasons that petitions should be seen as “symbolic interventions on the political discourse and ideology”, rather than an attempt to directly influence state decision-making. He observes that online petitions as a common technique applied by democracy activists, problematizes very concrete issues such as “peasant rights to land, the leadership of the CPV, and struggles against foreign and especially Chinese domination” (Morris-Jung, 2015: 411). For this reason, Morris-Jung argues, the main points of reference for these “liberal democratic ideals are not international agreements or even universal ideals,

3 APEC Vietnam 2006 was a series of political meetings with the 21 member economies of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation. In 2006, the APEC meetings was held in Vietnam and discussed the advancement of free trade agreements, investments, and security issues.

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but rather culturally and historically embedded experience” (Morris-Jung, 2015: 411f). Nonetheless, as this section illustrates, online petitions and other forms of digital activism prove to be an effective means of disseminating state-critical ideas and building networks domestically and internationally, which can contribute to fostering democratic change. In fact, online petitions have influenced certain political outcomes, such as the revision of the Constitution, even though these instances should be considered exceptions rather than the rule. Social Media and Citizen Journalism Digital activism has evolved far beyond the mere purpose of online petitioning and has become a powerful tool for promoting political engagement, coordinating protests, reclaiming individual and collective autonomy, and reconstructing the public sphere. The obvious advantage is that these virtual activities and associations tend to provide more anonymity than traditional group memberships, come with lower costs of political participation, and provide access to alternative or publicly silenced information (Bui, 2016: 93; 2017: 96). In December 2007, digital activists continued to publicly criticize China’s aggressions in the South China Sea. After China’s maritime interventions resulted in the killings of 9 Vietnamese fishermen, with 8 others detained and 2 being wounded, anti-China activists used Yahoo Messenger and several blogs as the main communication tools to announce times, dates, reasons, and code of conduct during protests (Kerkvliet, 2019: 67; Kurfürst, 2012: 60). According to Vietnamese dissidents, relieving Vietnam from political and economic dependency on China and ensuring the country’s national independence requires the country’s abandonment of its socialist political system and its replacement with democracy. Thus, as activists and commentators underscore, the critique of China’s involvement in Vietnam’s economy and politics is directed against the Vietnamese party-state itself (Kerkvliet, 2019: 68). The CPV’s open door policy for Chinese investors and the simultaneous suppression of Vietnamese protesters have been viewed as evidence that the Vietnamese party-state is compromising the protection of its citizens for the sake of economic and political relations with China (Interview Liên; Ðào, Kerkvliet, 2019; Morris-Jung, 2015: 412).

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Liên (human rights defender, pro-democracy, former political prisoner) was one of the young critics who started to speak out against China in 2007 and participated in the 2008 demonstration in front of the Chinese embassy together with many students and younger people (Interview Liên; Do, 2017: 151; Hoang, 2019). Initially, they called for protests on every Sunday, but the main protest site (the square in front of the Chinese embassy) was soon to be barricaded by security and police forces. Since then, the 2008 demonstrations are referred to as the initial spark of today’s democracy movement (Interview Liên). On the mission to self-investigate the case, Liên, along with a student activist, traveled to Thanh Hoá, the region from which the 9 fishermen who were killed hailed. Liên recalls: I started to ask questions. In 2005, I didn’t know anything about resistance or the [democracy] movement. I still loved Hô` Chí Minh and the [Communist] Party and so on. It was much later when I realized that I have to contribute at least something so that this country could change. That’s why I went to Thanh Hoá and searched for the truth. There was no social media, no groups and very little bloggers. I became one of the first bloggers on social media.

During that time, the case received limited coverage from national newspapers, and to this day, the topic of China-Vietnam relations remains a sensitive issue frequently subjected to censorship. Liên conducted a self-investigation into the fatal incident in the South China Sea and interviewed relatives of the fishermen. She then wrote a report and published her findings online, exposing what had been kept away from public. Through numerous online essays and appearances on diaspora radio channels, during which she discussed China’s maritime aggressions, government violations, and presented her book about Vietnamese prison conditions, she established herself as a prominent figure among Vietnamese dissidents. Many online activists who were vocal around 2007 have been imprisoned and sought refuge in exile following their release. Nevertheless, a new generation of online activists continues with their own approach, creating online spaces that focus on the rediscovering of silenced and marginalized ideas related to political struggle, democracy, and human rights. Between 2008 and 2010, activists and dissidents became increasingly outspoken and attracted thousands of readers and followers through

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writing political blogs and websites. Since then, activists utilize various online platforms to advocate for democratic rights, freedom of association, assembly, and political participation. Well-known blogs included Bauxite Vietnam, People Discuss (Dân Luâ.n), Citizen Journalists (Dân Làm Báo), the Gossiper (Anh Ba Sàm), and Civil Society Forum (Di˜ên d-àn Xã hô.i Dân su.,) (Bui, 2016, 2017; Kerkvliet, 2019: 91; Luong, 2020: 149). Between 2012 and 2014, there was a significant increase in households gaining access to the Internet, which expanded opportunities for public criticism and the circulation of unauthorized material (Kurfürst, 2012: 60). During that time, Facebook pages, such as Patriotic Diary (Nhâ.t Ký Yêu Nu,o´,c), and various blogs written by Nguy˜ên Xuân Die.n*, ` Thi. Nga*, and Nguy˜ên Ngo.c Nhu Qu`ynh* started to gain popuTrân larity (Kerkvliet, 2019: 67). Nga and Qu`ynh were sentenced to 10 and 9 years in prison, respectively, but were released earlier due to national and international pressure from democracy activists and human rights organizations. Their release was contingent upon the conditions that a third country would grant political asylum. Since 2019, both Qu`ynh and Nga have sought refuge in the United States, where they are now experiencing unmediated exposure to Western liberal democracies (more on this will be discussed later). The CPV’s ideological, political, and economic relations with China continue to occupy a central role in both online and offline discussions, which culminated in a range of online campaigns, such as We Want To ´ Biêt) ´ in 2014. Anti-China-oriented democKnow (Chúng Tôi Muôn racy activists demanded transparency and a historical revision of what the two communist parties had agreed upon at the 1990 Chengdu conference.4 Many activists reference the 1990 secret summit in Chengdu during which Vietnamese and Chinese party leaders officially discussed the settlement of the Cambodian war. According to some activists’ theories, often regarded as conspiracy theories, there is an assertation that the CPV surrendered to the CCP, granting China long-term control over Vietnam’s natural resources, including oil, gas, and bauxite. Hà My (democracy, human rights defender, blogger) is one of the campaigners for ‘We Want To Know’ and ‘Freedom For Workers’ (Công

4 By anti-China/democracy activists, I deliberately refer to democracy activists who center on the issue of China.

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Nhân Tu., Do). Both campaigns were launched by The Network of Vietnamese Bloggers (Ma.ng Lu,o´,i Blogger Vietnam), whose members advocate for the protection of human rights, freedom, and democracy. They also emphasize their interconnectedness through an extensive network that adheres to principles such as pluralism, democracy, nonpartisanship, and non-profit orientation. Established in 2013, the blogger network has campaigned for issues around human rights, freedom of expression, and the release of prisoners of conscience. Their most significant campaign ‘We Are One’ was launched online in 2015 and garnered much attention. Through this campaign, they circulated information about universal human rights and democracy, while also demanding the release of political prisoners (Interview Hà My).5 Addressing both local and diaspora Vietnamese, they called for 100,000 signatures in support of their online petition.6 Additionally, they encouraged collective hunger strikes, candlelight vigils, and prayers. Furthermore, they called for the establishment of self-organized committees and delegations, encouraging them to seek meetings with embassies in Vietnam and the United Nations Human Rights Council abroad to advocate for their cause. As a final measure, they called for a demonstration in which all participants were requested to wear white shirts. Another prominent blogger, Anh Chí* (democracy, human rights, Hanoi), used to work in a publishing house before taking on his role as an activist. His Facebook page had around 40,000 followers before his account was reported and ultimately shut down, while his YouTube videos continue to garner an average of 40,000–50,000 views within a span of 48 hours. Other online activists had more than 100,000 Facebook followers (Tostevin, 2017). However, since the cyber security law was

5 Call for online campaign: Mang Luoi Blogger Vietnam. (2015). Lo`,i kêu goi tham gia .

` 2015. Retrieved September 2, ´ Di.ch Tranh Ðâu ´ cho Tu. , Do - Dân Chuij - Nhân Quyên Chiên 2020, from http://mangluoiblogger.blogspot.com/2015/03/loi-keu-goi-tham-gia-chiendich-tranh.html. 6 The campaign was supported by 27 unregistered organizations (many of them introduced throughout this work) and 163 individuals, many of them prominent intellectuals. ` Bí Tu,o,ng Thân, Bauxite Viê.t Nam, Dân Làm Báo, Among the organizations were: Bâu ` Tu., Do Tôn Giáo, Hô.i Phu. N˜u, Nhân Di˜ên d-àn Xã hô.i Dân su.,, Hô.i Baij o Vê. Quyên ` ´ ´ Quyên Viê.t Nam, Khôi 8406, Lao Ðô.ng Viê.t, Ma.ng Lu,o´,i Blogger Viê.t Nam, Nhà Xuât , ij ´ ´ Ban Giây Vu.n, NO-U Sài Gòn, Phòng Công Lý Hoà Bình, Phong Trào Liên Ðoi Dân Oan, Hô.i Anh Em Dân Chuij .

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enacted in January 2019, many dissident Facebook pages were increasingly reported by state forces, and the shutdown of online profiles was soon to follow. Like many other online activists, Anh Chí is a regular user of the Facebook livestream feature in which he speaks about both national and international politics: I try to share what I know about the political systems in other countries including the Philippines, Zimbabwe etc. Although I am banned from travelling abroad, I find ways to educate myself and share my analysis online, on Facebook livestream and YouTube. Recently, I spoke about the elections in Switzerland, Germany, USA and Zimbabwe and Thailand. I want the citizens to educate themselves.

The outreach of his videos goes beyond urban communities. Anh Chí recounted a conversation he had with a person who approached him in public: He was from the countryside and said: ‘I am always watching you on TV.’ I was confused, because I am labelled as reactionary, so why should I appear on TV, so I asked him. He answered: ‘I am watching you at my neighbor’s house, he is always watching you.’ I slowly understood that people in the countryside are technologically catching up and some have smart TVs and Internet access now. Instead of watching national TV they are watching activists on YouTube. Because we are addressing the social problems of the people and the everyday problems. To sum up, the grassroots and underground movements of communication are a real threat to the statecontrolled media. This is why they are so desperate to work with Facebook and Google now. But I think they will not be successful. Because one hand cannot hide the moon.

While independent activists use popular social media tools to communicate their messages and share news they consider as relevant, other activists organize themselves into groups. These groups establish alternative news channels with a specific outlook and agenda. An example of such is CHTV (Chính Hu,ng TV), a YouTube channel founded by Hùng, which he operates in collaboration with four other democracy activists. CHTV focuses on various issues, including peasant dispossession, women, infrastructure, traffic, and legal matters, for which they have launched different subchannels. While Hùng covers issues on peasant dispossession, Ngai focused on traffic and the injustices in prosecuting

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crimes, accidents, and corruption that involved the traffic police. The subchannel on law was hosted by a male activist; EVA TV, operated by two women, focused on issues surrounding “female issues”, i.e., family, children, health, inequality, and everyday politics. Ngai explained that the law section of CHTV puts particular emphasis on Chapter 2 of the Vietnamese Constitution, which is the chapter that enshrines the principle of human rights. Members of CHTV use sources from national news, analyze and criticize how state-media journalists reported on certain issues and invite peasants and citizens for interviews to report on local or neighborhood concerns that are otherwise silenced. Ngai emphasizes the importance of the Constitution: I soon realized that it is difficult to popularize all laws related to traffic. No one can memorize and understand hundreds of laws. So, the most important issue for people is to learn our fundamental rights as inscribed in Chapter 2 of the Constitution, human rights, and Article 25, which is about the freedom of expression, freedom of press, freedom of information and the freedom of association. I communicate that this chapter 2 of the Constitution is crucial for our understanding.

Initially, the CHTV team scheduled in-person meetings once a week. After continuous harassment and group members being detained, they restricted themselves to online meetings. Ngai split from the group because he preferred a “more direct” and confrontational approach (tru.,c diê.n) of political activism (Interview Ngai). The consensus of the CHTV group is to act with a ‘safe’ approach, that is, avoiding stateconfrontational language in order to not to alienate the audience and to counter the criminalization and stigmatization as state reactionaries or terrorists. For digital activists, it is the art of language that matters. Ngai’s solidarity with the group is still unconditional, he stressed, but he is convinced that more than one approach is necessary. He decided to become independent for a certain time until he finds strategically and tactically like-minded fellow activists who would like to form a new group with him. Ngai explains: My language is direct and strong. For example, every day there are news about traffic accidents. I prefer to speak out directly and point to the injustices of prosecution. Party members and officials are treated like human beings in front of the law, while the poor people are treated like animals […] When I’m live streaming on Facebook, I get emotional. But talking

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from the heart is what people want and the reason why people can identify with me. Knowing that the diaspora in the developed countries [he refers to the Vietnamese living in the United States and Europe], are supporting me as well, both materially as well as emotionally, is what keeps me going.

Concerns regarding whether to opt for a state-confrontational or a stateaccommodating approach is an essential question in all social movement approaches. In authoritarian contexts like Vietnam, however, the line that determines what is state-confrontational, accommodating, circumventing, or compromising is unclear. It seems that it is less of a tactical question and more of a matter of sensitivity of concrete political ideas that makes dissident activists being perceived as a threat. As the following section demonstrates, even an independent civil society approach can be perceived as such. The Networked Civil Society Approach Founded in April 2013 by lawyer Nguy˜ên V˘an Ðài, the network Brotherhood for Democracy (Hô.i Anh Em Dân Chu) attracted a significant number of democracy supporters within and outside the country. Many members of the network were Christians and received material support from Viê.t Tân, a ‘Democracy Party’ based in the United States which is considered a terrorist organization by the Vietnamese State.7 Brotherhood for Democracy used encrypted chatrooms mostly to discuss, connect, or organize online learning classes (Interview Chinh). In 2015, lawyer Nguy˜ên V˘an Ðài and many other members of Brotherhood for Democracy were arrested and sentenced under Article 79 and 88 of the criminal law. Since then, the network has been formally decapitated, but democracy activists continue to identify with the name and the ideas that were born in this group. Like Liên, democracy activist Chinh still considers himself a member of Brotherhood for Democracy, despite the lack of any form of centralized ij

7 Viêt Tân is a network/organization of Vietnamese living in the country and in the . diaspora. Founded in 1982, many members are based in the United States upholding liberal democratic, conservative, nationalist, and anti-Communist ideologies. The network demands democratic reforms in Vietnam but has been deemed terrorist organization for carrying out violent attacks in the past. Many Vietnamese activists dissociate themselves from Viê.t Tân, others consider them as peaceful and an important organization for Vietnam’s democracy movement.

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organization, which is to avoid charges of misconduct and illegal assembly. Chinh, however, continues to educate his colleagues and friends on the idea and need for democracy. On a regular base, he meets with a group of students who are eager to learn about the idea of democracy (Interview Chinh). By keeping a low-key profile, he was able to reorganize the first confidential online class in 2019 after the years-long surge against the group members. One evening, for example, he invited a university Professor based in the United States (who stayed anonymous) to talk about different strategies of leadership in social movements. Less than 10 participants were invited based on personal relationship and trust of Chinh. In the same year (2013), prominent democracy activist Nguy˜ên Quang A* established the Civil Society Forum (Di˜ên d-àn Xã hô.i Dân su.,) consisting mainly of writers, poets, academics, and lawyers. Some members were imprisoned shortly after they formed the group and were released only in 2019. The forum aimed at becoming a network that connects independent civil society groups. Nguy˜ên Quang A explained that they first encouraged individuals to create interest groups (Interview Nguy˜ên Quang A). One of the group formations was named Independent Writers Association II (V˘an d-oàn d-ô.c lâ.p/Hô.i Nhà V˘an Th´u, II) because they distance themselves from the existing Writers Association linked to the CPV. Due to the limited range of activities, they later renamed the forum into the Independent Campaign Committee (Ban Vâ.n d-ô.ng V˘an d-oàn Ðô.c lâ.p), consisting of 70–80 writers and poets. They subsequently launched a website, V˘an Viê.t, on which they published essays and facilitated debates around influential literary contributions from the pre-1975 (pre-unification) era. Nguy˜ên Quang A describes: It was an open forum, not one that follows classical models. We were not organized vertically, but worked horizontally, completely transparent. We announced our goal, which was to contribute to the change of the current dictatorial system into a real democratic system by peaceful, legal and nonviolent means (hoà bình, bình pháp, ôn hoà). Nobody held a position as a leader. In fact, every group could start its own project and discuss about the ideas that each group was concerned about most. And in the end, not everything needed to be discussed transparently. We were completely self-managed and autonomous, but most importantly we were organized horizontally.

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Nguy˜ên Quang A is a computer scientist by training and a businessman. In 1989, he became a founding member of the influential Vietnamese Association for Information Processing (Hô.i Tin ho.c Viê.t Nam). The association was a non-governmental body but had political leverage in the Communist Party. He stressed: We were a business organization that considered itself more of a social movement and that promoted access to the Internet for the wider society. The Internet revolution was as important as any infrastructural advancement.

Access to Internet provides connectivity and an avenue for like-minded people to exchange ideas, while creating a space for counter-narratives that are independent of authorities (Luong, 2020: 149). Nguy˜ên Quang A’s conceptualization of civil society is one that puts non-governmental agencies at the center, whereas communist mass organizations, including the CPV-controlled youth organizations and women’s organization mentioned in Chapter 2, do not match with his understanding of civil society and independent political participation. Other activists endorse this viewpoint. In 2013, Ðào (lawyer, anti-China, democracy, worker’s rights, and human rights) along with other activists, founded a civil society ` Bí Tu,o,ng Thân, which translates to “Mutual group called Hô.i Bâu Friendship Association” in English. The primary objective of this group is to provide financial assistance to political prisoners and dispossessed peasants. The group actively seeks donations for political prisoners, and they assure full transparency by granting access to their financial records for anyone interested. They maintain transparency for every individual transaction of the donations, but allow donators to use pseudonyms, while revealing the recipient’s name to the public, usually announced on Facebook. The considers this form of transparency as a strategic principle, not only for accountability but also to protect themselves against political denunciation. Ðào explains: This transparency is a strategic choice itself, so the communists can’t say that we misappropriated funds.

They also provide mental support for political prisoners and their families:

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Political prisoners deserve to have a worthwhile life, a decent living standard like any other person and that’s what we want to support. Many people who were released from prison fell into poverty, and hence, lost their political voices. This is very unfortunate. (Interview Ðào)

Political prisoners rely on their supporters and lawyers to communicate their defenses in Court, the injustices during the prosecution, their hunger strikes, health conditions, and letters written to family members. Facebook livestreams are also employed as monitoring device for prison visits and to organize vigils in front of police stations when activists are detained. The Facebook posts are usually reposted thousands of times (Wallace, 2017). In 2016, online campaigning entered the arena of electoral politics. In that year, 24 independent candidates (i.e., with no Party affiliation), among them many activists and celebrities, ran for the National Assembly. Nguy˜ên Quang A*, Nguy˜ên Trang Nhung*, or Germany based singer Mai Khôi* were among the better-known figures. Mai Khôi does not consider herself a dissident, but her music encourages young people to get involved in civil society and politics. “I just want to make politics more public”, she says (Ives, 2016). Nguy˜ên Trang Nhung is a businesswoman and activist in Ho Chi Minh City whose candidacy was declared a direct challenge to the party-state. In an interview to the New York Times, she said: “We have a one-party regime; I would like to have a multiparty one” and “If we have many parties, we can choose which one makes things work better” (ibid.). In the same article, civil society advocate Nguy˜ên Quang A was quoted as follows: Vietnam had recently taken several major steps toward international integration, like joining the Trans-Pacific Partnership, an American-led trade deal reached in February that awaits congressional approval. Such a shift, he said, has created room for civil-society groups in Vietnam to operate.

Physical forms of political campaigning are impossible for independent candidates. Instead, they rely on digital activism, YouTube videos and support coming from their social media communities. These independent candidates promoted themselves on the base of a networked civil society approach. Thiên (democracy, human rights, environment, civil society) is a prominent blogger and a key figure in the anti-Formosa movement

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(Chapter 4). Thiên’s posts on Facebook cover investigations on corruption related to corporate investment projects and everyday domestic politics. His Facebook posts receive several thousand ‘likes’. In a conversation with me, he emphasized: Citizens don’t believe in mainstream media anymore. They believe in social media instead. […] With the help of social media, we can compete with the government in terms of shaping public opinion. This is very important in politics. The government is able to produce an image of us with the entire media they own, an image that is very ugly, so much that we risk losing the trust of the wider population or community. Competing with the government in questions of media communication and information is essential for a base in the wider public.

During his stay in a Catholic Church in Central Vietnam, Thiên helped the villagers to raise their voice in protest against the marine pollution caused by Formosa industry. He taught them how to conduct interviews with people, how to ask investigative questions, and how to produce footage to report on social media. The fishermen opened Facebook accounts and used them as information and communication channels. Thiên explains: This was a very important step, because in those regions people are far from knowledgeable about using technological communication devices, they are very ‘low-tech’ so to say. Central Vietnam, however, had many young people prior to the marine pollution, so the effectiveness was very high and the learning process was very positive and fast. So, this was the first tool of resistance with which we raised awareness.

What Thiên describes is the power of digital activism to reclaim agency and foster knowledge production, with which the reconstruction of an autonomous public sphere can be enhanced. What he describes is precisely what Foucault (1976) conceptualized as the struggle against the “regime of discourse”. Put differently, dissidents as well as common citizens became direct actors in producing a counter-narrative to statecontrolled media. They connect, self-publish, and organize through social media and form networks across regions. Thiên himself once posted a copy of his summons after being questioned by the police, which was reposted thousands of times on Facebook. Publishing summons is part of

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activists’ online practice ever since. A strong symbol for how dissent can be disclosed via social media. Pha.m Ðoan Trang and her co-authors Tri.nh H˜u,u Long* and Nguy˜ên ´ Anh Tuân* published a book together Studying Public Policy: The Case of Special Economic Zones (Ho.c chính sách công qua chuyê.n d-a˘. c khu), in which they argue for the importance of understanding public policies (Luat Khoa Tap Chi, 2018). As mentioned earlier, Trang herself wrote several other books on political prisoners and non-violent resistance. Printed versions are produced by the Liberal Publishing House, an independent publisher established in February 2019 by a group of activists based in Ho Chi Minh City (Bemma, 2020; Hutt, 2020). However, the distribution and sale of these books are organized online, mostly through directly contacting the authors on social media. Other activists produced audio versions of these book chapters and uploaded them on YouTube. Since registered shipments are subject to state control and confiscation, Trang relies on a country-wide network to organize the clandestine distribution of her books and with it, a guide for critical thinking. Her social media account is thus, not only an essential channel for the promotion, sale, and organization of distributing her books, but also provides guidance on who might be a trusted customer. Indicators of trustworthiness include common Facebook friends, group affiliations, ‘liking’ political pages and posts on the timeline that indicate a critical standpoint towards the party-state. Since Trang has been arrested in October 2020, her Facebook account is managed by a fellow political activist who provides updates on the judicial proceedings of her case. Vietnam’s nationwide access to the Internet has paved the way for a first-time cross-regional and cross-generational network of activists uniting previously isolated struggles under the banner of a democracy movement. We have seen that democracy activists make tactical use of the virtual spaces provided by social media and online blogs, thereby transforming them into essential platforms for expressing dissenting political ideas. This phenomenon is reminiscient of Castells’ (2015: 5, 315) seminal work on networked social movements, where he highlights the potential of online networks to foster innovative democracy approaches and that, in actuality, the fundamental power struggle lies in the struggle over meanings, that is, the minds of the people. And as Foucault (1976) taught us, communication, indeed, plays a pivotal role in knowledge production and knowledge dissemination, making it a means of power and control. In view of this, it makes sense when Castells (2015:

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6) argues that through the means of online “mass self-communication”, networked social movements gain the ability to manage and rebuild the public sphere, ultimately reclaiming autonomy. Digital activism is thus regarded as a promising avenue for “re-learn[ing] how to live together. In real democracy” (Castells, 2015: 316). Until now, this chapter has illustrated how democracy activists from various social backgrounds, including former Communist Party members, lawyers, and well-educated urbanites with different political affiliations ranging from labor, human rights, environment, and civil society, have created a networked civil society and, with it, new spaces to disclose and disseminate silenced and disqualified knowledges concerned with democratic change and human rights, and general issues revolving around dissident activism. However, as this chapter has shown, digital activism cannot supplant the practice of democratic organizing, such as face-to-face meetings, demonstrations, workshops, ballots, or activist conferences, and is hampered by an increasing level of cyber security. This results in an absence of democratic experiences that activists certainly regret, but which substantiates the decolonial critique of an overall lack of true democratic experience. In light of this, the second section of the chapter will discuss the ideational content of democracy activists by examining the configuration of political concepts that motivate the activists’ political practices. I contend that activists’ thinking is in tension with the manifold forms of political resistance because they are implicated in dominant paradigms that idealize and sanitize Western liberal democracies. We will soon scrutinize what dissidents mean by ‘democracy’ and, by implication, we will explore how they relate to the terrain of capitalist and colonial ideologies. Coloniality of Democracy Before delving into the specific political ideas of Vietnam’s democracy activists, the following pages will lay out the theoretical framework necessary for our analysis. In recent years, scholars have increasingly highlighted the colonial aspects of democracy and consequently advocated for the ‘decolonization of democracy’. In view of this, Güven asserts that “[…] a radical questioning of democracy, including the promise of an ideal democracy in the future, is necessary because democracy today functions as a global, political, and intellectual form of colonization” (Güven, 2015:

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3). According to Güven, the way in which democracy as a political project is actualized has to be read as a tool of biopower to discipline the citizens and control political thinking “through a complex network of controlling and regulating mechanisms” (Güven, 2015: 16). Following Foucauldian analysis, Güven distinguishes between a democratic subject and a disciplined subject. While the former refers to the ideals of democracy, the latter is the constructed product we find in actually existing democracies (Güven, 2015: 10f). Put differently, instead of educating democratic subjects (with a democratic way of being, debating, and living), actually existing democracies construct subjects that are disciplined to the functioning of a political system (Güven, 2015: 8). In view of this, the promise of Western liberal democracy occupies the activists’ imagination and colonizes the future thinking for any political alternative that could go beyond liberal democracy. Concrete practical problems that continue to put liberal democracies under scrutiny include the undemocratic protection of democracies by means of physical violence against protesters, the enabling of racism, classism and all kinds of social inequalities and the military intervention and supply of weapons to non-Western countries all under the banner of democracy. Güven also stresses that the problem of democracy is the rule of the majority, while no space is given to the negotiation of different minority opinions. Güven suggests that instead of accepting the rule of the majority, we should aim for the rule of the people (Güven, 2015: 10). In other words, a decolonial notion of democracy is embodied in a certain way of living rather than the existence of a political system only. Before democracy became a political project, it was considered a rather “practical exertion of political will by the people” (Stockwell, 2010: 124). Dominant Western discourses, however, presented the idea of democracy as rooted in Western civilization, whose values, and practices ‘needed to be taught’ to the non-Western ‘other’ (Mentan, 2015: 3f). Yet, the alleged project of democracy developed into a resource for international political pressure. Thus, Mentan states that “it is the specific political practice of a few (ironically) self-appointed countries around the world, mostly in the North Atlantic, that have come to be defined as setting the tone and the parameters for what democracy is and is not” (Mentan, 2015: 2). Although spreading the Western idea of democracy may have indeed advanced liberation movements against dictatorial rule, it nevertheless failed to bring the peace and equality it promised. Instead, democratization as a political project became a source of conflict (Mentan, 2015:

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144), and spreading democracy became a mechanism to make nondemocratic countries economically dependent on the ‘democratic’ (i.e. core capitalist) countries.

Ideologies and the Reworking of Political Concepts Before looking into the concrete constellation of political concepts and ideas of dissidents, let me first introduce Freeden’s conceptualization of ideologies. Freeden distinguishes between a functional and a morphological perspective. From a functional perspective, ideologies are a set of political ideas, beliefs, and attitudes but also practices and plans of action (Freeden, 1998: 749f). From a morphological perspective, ideologies are groupings of political concepts that are configured and shared over time and space (ibid.). However, what exactly makes an established or distinct ideology is a more complex question. Freeden states that from a morphological perspective, a distinct ideology would be characterized by a morphology of a restricted core that is attached to a narrower range of adjacent and peripheral political concepts (Freeden, 1998: 750). Freeden also stresses that in order to be an established or full ideology, “the core concepts will have to be unique to itself alone or will need to provide a comprehensive range of answers to political questions that societies generate” (ibid.) How Freeden operationalizes the configuration of political concepts into ideologies is indeed useful. If ideologies can be defined as groupings of political concepts, and political concepts can be defined as a configuration of core, adjacent, and peripheral components, so, I suggest, activists are also agents of cognitive resistance who shape, contest, and reconfigure the constellation of these political concepts. Therefore, Freeden’s conceptualization provides an analytical lens through which we can understand how activists make sense of the world and how they imagine changing it. This cognitive resistance is, however, generated from and locked into the realm of activists’ embodied perceptions of their socio-political and economic conditions and environments, that is, their embodied experiences of repression, surveillance, and perceived and real injustices. Activists’ cognitive resistance does not manifest as large-scale and comprehensive bodies of thought like socialism, capitalism, or liberalism, but as a dynamic process in continuous relation with their material environment. Moreover, based on the premise that activists are embedded

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in the terrain of dominant, i.e., capitalist and colonial ideologies, the following section assumes that this process of cognitive resistance is characterized by the re-contestation of concepts that are taken from these dominant ideologies. Thereby, activists engage in the reconfiguration of core, adjacent, and peripheral concepts and rework them into a new ideational structure through which groupings of concepts are given new meaning. This analytical framework recognizes the situatedness of activists within the given terrain of dominant ideologies, but also reveals how activists negotiate between the Western and local ways of making sense of the world. I now elaborate on the configuration of political concepts, problems of contestability, and quasi-contingency and how this rather abstract model of morphology will help our analysis. The Configuration of Political Concepts: Core, Adjacent, Peripheral Components Political concepts are arranged in a specific configuration, and depending on their spatial arrangement, they can either mutually define or even contradict one another. The specific meaning that is attributed to each concept has developed historically, while the perceptions of them are shaped by cultural conventions and societal variations and limitations. Thus, meaning can be driven by analysis and observation (e.g., history), by culture (e.g., social convention) and emotions (e.g., embodied cognition). Moreover, political concepts are relational in a double sense: (a) from a morphological perspective, they are relational with respect to each other within ideational constructs and (b) they are related to the socio-historical context including the claims they make about necessary transformations of that context. In either case, cognitive resistance represents a sample of political concepts and ideas depending on what is at the disposal of a particular society (Freeden, 1994: 141). In other words, political concepts do not have a fixed meaning across time and space but depend on its acceptability and applicability within the wider public. Although these meanings are to a certain extent arbitrary, plural, and undetermined, they have several advantages. First, they enable the construction of meaningful political worlds and the translation of the multiplicity of meanings into a singularity. In fact, political concepts are internally complex entities and organized in a way that attaches meaning

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to socio-political experiences, signifies political phenomena, and is holding together a set of connected ideas (Freeden, 1994: 141). But how are political concepts structured concretely? How do they behave? Do they all share a common core? Freeden specifies the configuration of political concepts along two factors: First, they consist of an ineliminable component and second, a non-random (or quasi-arbitrary) collection of additional but limited number of components that are locked into the core (Freeden, 1994: 149). One might argue that political components themselves could be broken down into further or even smaller entities. This, however, Freeden notes, is heuristically unmanageable and ontologically unnecessary (ibid.: 147). Within this generalized pattern, the core concept is considered indispensable to the epistemological function of a thought entity and is thus an ineliminable component. Freeden reasons that “concepts are idea-artefacts that serve human convenience as ways of coming to terms with the world” and some of these idea-artifacts become “centrally ineliminable anchors for different concepts” (ibid.: 149). Arguably, this might be explained with embodied cognition theory, according to which the way our body experiences certain phenomena shape the way our mind makes sense of the world. Yet, no thought entity—neither ideology nor knowledge system—can be reduced to its ineliminable elements or narrowed down to a minimum component. It needs further components to flesh out its meaning (ibid.: 148). Without any additional components (adjacent and peripheral concepts), the core would otherwise remain “vacuous, devoid of content and meaning” (ibid.: 150). The additional components—adjacent and peripheral concepts—are attached to the core concept. They are attributes that give substance to the core, but are replaceable and contestable, while the core is indispensable to the functioning of the thought entity itself. Like core concepts, additional concepts are likely to be historically and culturally dissimilar, non-universal, and quasi-contingent. But again, unlike the indispensability of a core component, additional components are individually dispensable (ibid.). Take, for instance, liberalism as an ideology (or more generally: a political thought entity). Concepts such as liberty, individuality, and selfdevelopment constitute the indispensable core concepts for liberalism.

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Adjacent concepts would be well-being, democracy and property and peripheral concepts would be elitism or ethnicity (Freeden, 2013: 125). Different examples of core concepts are tradition in conservatism, equality in socialism, and ethnic superiority in racism. The interplay and relation of these different adjacent and peripheral concepts change and can internally mutate the core to an extent that they can pull ideologies into different directions and variants. One variant of liberal ideology emphasizes solidarity and mutual responsibility, leading to welfare state policies. Another variant of liberal ideology can emphasize self-sufficiency, leading to market-oriented policies (ibid.). Freeden’s structure of political concepts will help to conceptualize and demarcate the cognitive process of Vietnam’s dissidents, and at the same time, it gives space to the multiplicity and indeterminism of their political thought, acknowledges the absence and exclusion of concepts, as well as explores the replaceability and oscillation of concepts. Consequently, wherever we find connections, we will also find disconnections and tensions that need to be acknowledged. On the Problems of Essential Contestability and Quasi-Contingency Freeden argues that within a given ideology, such political concepts are de-contested, that is, the meaning of concepts is settled by their morphological relations with other concepts mobilized by the ideology (Freeden, 1994: 156). Yet, like any societal construct, political concepts are embedded in an environment that inhabits a range of other closely related concepts. Against this background, Freeden points to several problems that arise with the morphological approach to define the ontology of a thought object. Two problems are of particular interest for the subject matter of this book: The essential contestability of concepts and the quasi-contingency, that is, the tensions that emerge from unavoidable associations of one concept with many other concepts. Drawing on Gallie’s notion of the ‘contestability of concepts’, Freeden elaborates that political concepts “contain various rival descriptions of their component parts and are open to modification in the light of changing circumstances” (Freeden, 1994: 142). Freeden emphasizes that these tensions are likely to occur due to the chains of associations we have in mind for certain concepts. For instance, authority is associated with power, or autonomy is closely related to liberty. However, as Freeden notes, these competing political concepts

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can “override logical linkage” (Freeden, 1994: 154) resulting in inherent contradictions and tensions. In other words, ideologies or any constellation of political concepts can seem illogical to an outsider. But Freeden’s understanding helps to see that while some concepts may overlap, partly belong to, or incorporate, reinforce, or contradict each other, they are ultimately brought together under certain societal conditions and thus, socially, and culturally legitimized. However, with this increasing complexity in abstract thinking, the applicability of theoretical and analytical frameworks becomes also more intricate. Therefore, Freeden suggests solving this analytical complication by establishing certain ‘categories’ to constrain this infinite range of meanings. He proposes that the main political concepts include certain categories, such as ‘unit of analysis’, ‘notion of social structure’, or ‘view of human nature’ (Freeden, 1994: 150). This way, the quasi-contingency of political concepts is constrained by the categories they occupy. This will be addressed in the following section. Categories of Concepts: ‘Action-Oriented’, ‘Pro-stance’ and ‘Anti-stance’ Finally, we arrive at the questions that are concerned with the practical applicability of Freeden’s morphological analysis. Precisely, at this stage the pressing question is: How do we arrive at the choice of core, adjacent, and peripheral concepts? In this book, I follow Freeden’s idea that core, adjacent, and peripheral concepts occupy categories that fulfill specific purposes in the thought entity. Categories constrain that indefinite variety of concepts, while simultaneously unveiling their pluralistic structure (Freeden, 1994: 152). Here, I will not adopt Freeden’s suggested categories of ‘unit of analysis’, ‘notion of social structure’, and ‘view of human nature’, but I categorize core concepts as ‘action-oriented’; adjacent concepts as ‘pro-stance’; and the peripheral concepts as ‘anti-stance’, whereby the peripheral behaves antithetical to its adjacent concept. The core concept functions as a common point of reference and orientation. It functions as a guidance to political practice and as the basis of a common political discourse. The core concept is shared by all adherents of a certain political practice. Adjacent concepts articulate the pro-stance and refer to imagined ideals and attach assertive values to the core. They specify the core and are driven by both analytical observation and the political culture of the wider ‘idea’ environment. The peripheral concepts denote

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an anti-stance and a concrete political demand. But unlike the adjacent concept, the peripheral concept is not necessarily analytically driven, but mostly emotionally and culturally defined and legitimized. Remember, the adjacent and peripheral concepts are both anchored in and function to concretize the core. Capturing this construction of a political thought entity allows us to see resistance at the cognitive level not simply as a reflection of activity in thought and speech. This morphological approach paves the way to explore resistance also as a distinct cognitive process of shaping and contesting political thought and eventually leading to transformations of dominant ideologies. We can now come back to the concrete life and political thought of Vietnam’s dissidents.

The Political Idea of Western Democracy We have seen that Vietnam’s democracy activists make use of social media and online networks to advocate for democratic change. But what do they mean when they speak of democracy? The more I asked about it, the more I was puzzled, yet I could say with certainty that it was not the idea of democracy that Marxist or decolonial scholars would hope to find. Vietnamese activists use the term democracy to express their demand for more political participation, in real terms but also in performative ways: In real terms as it is related to the imagination of a better future, a future that incorporates political participation and representation, and in performative ways as the term democracy developed into a concealer for anti-China/anti-Communist nationalism. The following section identifies the key political concepts as ideational building blocks of Vietnam’s democracy activists: ‘political participation’ as the core concept (action-oriented), a ‘multiparty electoral system’ as the adjacent concept (pro-stance), and ‘anti-China nationalism’ as the peripheral concept (anti-stance). Before I explore the ideational level of democracy activists, let us recall the relevant arguments of the decolonial perspective in order to better situate what follows: Central to Güven’s work is the argument that actually existing projects of democracy function as a tool of biopower that disciplines the citizen and controls political thinking (Güven, 2015: 10f). Similarly, Mentan elucidates that instead of creating democratic ways of living, being, and learning, democracy as a political project became a “source of conflict” and pressured many global Southern countries “into

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becoming liberal democracies and believing in western capitalist values” (Mentan, 2015: 131, 139). Altogether, decolonial scholars urge for a decolonized understanding that liberates hegemonic conceptualizations of democracy from “Western cognitive imperialism” (Mentan, 2015). In view of this, the following section captures the process of contesting and re-configuring political concepts taken from hegemonic ideologies to understand how democracy activists engage in resistance at the cognitive level. It also wants to understand the extent to which Vietnam’s democracy activists are epistemologically situated in the ideology of Western liberal democracy, and thus, possibly hindered to imagine a decolonial model of democratic being and living.

The Political Ideas of Democracy Activists Core Concept: Political Participation Political participation is not the concrete expression used by activists to describe the core concept of democracy, but they refer to a range of terms including civil society, freedom of expression, and freedom of association to argue that independent political participation is both the precondition for and the objective of a future democracy. Political participation as the core concept expresses the guiding principle that all democracy activists share. It occupies the position of the action-oriented connection point without which the adjacent and the peripheral concepts would not hold to the idea of democracy. When democracy blogger Anh Chí* introduced himself and his political objectives, his straightforward and expressive manner of speaking indicated that this was not the first time he felt the need to defend himself: My goal is not a coup attempt against the government or the overthrow of the communist system. There are always many other factors that contribute to the constant change of a given system. We activists are one of these factors. We increase the temperature and force a reaction in our social environment. However, I believe it will be the people in power themselves who will change the system, but for this, they need external influences, voices like ours. […] My goal is not to focus on how to bring this system to fall, but how to create a new system after that. (Interview Anh Chí)

I heard many activists declaring that they never aimed to stage a coup, partly because they needed to distance themselves from a violent wings

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and interpretations of anti-communism, but also because they were convinced that an abrupt overthrow would be no guarantee for a transition towards democracy. Anh Chí’s statement conveys that democracy activists perceive themselves as legitimate political actors who participate in the construction of a democratic future. In a similar vein, Thiên (civil society, democracy, Hanoi) emphasizes that a “real democracy requires a powerful social movement, but given the current political atmosphere, keeping a low profile and focusing on strong interpersonal connections is the only reasonable practice” (Interview Thiên). He goes at great length to map out what he considers as the three most important components of a democratic movement. Accordingly, a cross-class political leadership, a strongly developed civil society, and the political participation of the masses constitute the essential ingredients. He expands on his framework and emphasizes that a political leadership is supposed to set the political agenda and offer an alternative perspective on how to change and develop a new society that integrates all social classes (workers, peasants, students) across policy fields (businesses, domestic and foreign affairs, education, and health system). The second component, the independent civil society, he considers as “necessarily separate from the political leadership” (Interview Thiên), a classical point of view, but nonetheless an important attribute stressed by activists and dissidents. This is because in Vietnam, formal civil society organizations need to be registered and officially permitted by the government in order to gain legal recognition, which can be a very time-consuming process, requires intensive bureaucratic work and is often followed by difficulties in getting projects approved. Furthermore, many civil society organizations are financially sponsored and/or guided by the CPV through the six governmental mass organizations (MOs) that are directly led by the party-state: the Fatherland Front, the Farmers Union, the Women’s Union, the General Confederation of Labor, the Ho Chi Minh Communist Youth Union, and the Veterans Association (Dang, 2022; Nguyen, 2013). These MOs participate in state management, receive salaries and funds from the state budget (Dang, 2022). The two national unions are the Vietnam Union of Literature and Arts Associations and the Vietnam Union of Science and Technology Associations (VUSTA) (ibid.), whereby VUSTA functions as the umbrella association to all registered civil society organizations. This means that any form of—let’s say—registered ‘NGO’ works under the auspice of VUSTA and is therefore either guided by, under surveillance of, or plainly and directly controlled by the party-state,

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however with varying degrees, i.e., some being more controlled than others (Nguyen, 2013). This, however, does not mean that these organizations are insignificant actors or that they are only of symbolic meaning. On the contrary, these existing mass organizations or civil society organizations are acting from within the state apparatus which, as Wischermann, Dang, and others have argued, are indeed capable of triggering changes, ameliorate problems as well as reinforce stability in different areas of governance (Dang, 2022: 238; Wischermann, 2011: 385; Wischermann et al., 2016). Nonetheless, Thiên and other activists keep the critique of surveillance and control of civil society organizations alive. From his point view, allowing state-independent and unregistered civil society organizations to exist would foster a system of checks and balances vis-à-vis state powers, allow for public criticism against individual policymakers, and promote a different kind of awareness among the wider population. In other words, independence is key. As a third and most important component he determines the “power of the masses”, for which he puts emphasis on the role of workers and students. Yet, Thiên explains, the power of the masses reveals itself only with the ability to organize: If the government would allow us to form independent organizations, many student unions and trade unions would come to life. The political leadership [of a movement] may have a vision, but they don’t have the power. Only the masses have the power. The question then is: How to organize the masses? (Interview Thiên)

His remarks display awareness of the important of forging solidarities across different classes and across political groups and struggles as well as to formulate and exercise concrete political practices that focus on the organization of these diverse societal strate. This perspective brings to mind the stance of labor activist Mai (as discussed in Chapter 4), who points out that the environmental movement against the steel factory Formosa (see Chapter 5) “carried a distinct color, that is, the color of democracy”. This motivated Mai and her fellow labor activists to participate in the movement against Formosa and support the Association of ` Trung) (InterFisherman in Central Vietnam (Hiê.p Hô.i Ngu, Dân Miên view Mai). Therefore, as Thiên points out, it is evident that without a well-defined vision and a progressive political agenda, “neither civil society

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nor spontaneous mass uprisings can sustain themselves over the long term. They have to have a clear vision of the future and a social contract that provides both parties [the state and the people] with societal responsibilities”. Civil society is a way to organize this ‘social contract’, that is, the political participation and the responsibilities of both the party-state and the members of society. For civil society advocates, such as Thiên and Nguy˜ên Quang A*, it is essential to organize the interests of the masses and to foster independent political participation across classes and groups as a means to foster democratic transformation. Their ultimate goal is to shift the distribution of political powers from the political elite towards independent civil society organizations. Returning to my interview with labor activist Mai, I noticed her hesitation to provide a rigid definition of democracy or the term ‘democratic’. However, she made it clear that the essence of labor resistance is rooted in political participation. She says: I define democracy as the right for workers to be their own masters, have the right to implement human rights, have the right to participate and decide over societal policy making, contribute to the advancement of society (thúc d-ây xã hô.i) and be respected in the society. If you want a more complicated definition or theory you should talk to the intellectuals, but for me it is as simple as that. ij

By “intellectuals”, she refers to people like Nguy˜ên Quang A*, Thiên, and Pha.m Ðoan Trang*, with whom she is politically connected despite their difference in political practices and disagreements. When democracy activist Trang is not writing books, she uses her time to collect information, to visit former political prisoners, and to give interviews to international newspapers or dissident news channels. She advocates for a liberal democracy based on four elements: an open and accountable government, civil society, free and fair elections, and human rights. In her book Politics of a Police State, she invokes Austin Ranney’s definition of democracy8 and writes: “In a democracy, it is crucial that every citizen can participate in the process of making collective decisions at their wish. Policy making is not the business of just ‘the Party and 8 According to Austin Ranney’s definition, democracy is a form of government organization that complies with the principles of popular sovereignty, political equality, popular consultation, majority rule (Ranney, 2001).

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the State’ as communist propagandists usually put it” (Pha.m, 2019: 36). Moreover, she writes that a growing civil society will give rise to major social movements that ultimately put pressure on the CPV to compromise and share its power. Although Trang is critical of the current practice of internet-based civil society organizations as “they are poorly organized and politically inexperienced”, she believes in their potential for prospective non-digital civil society organizations once the freedom of expression and freedom of association is rightfully implemented by the state. She is convinced that civil societies are the “sources for non-communist candidates” that will run for offices in future democratic elections (Pha.m, 2019: 62). Nguy˜ên Quang A (democracy and civil society advocate) is also optimistic. He explains that the change towards “democracy in Vietnam needs only a few more steps to go” (Interview Nguy˜ên Quang A). “Since Vietnam’s economic base is already a capitalist base, the fundament for democracy is already established”, he reasons. According to him, the element that needed change is the form of the state, that is, the “dictatorial one-Party regime” that does not allow for political involvement independent of the Communist Party’s control (Interview Nguy˜ên Quang A). Rather, political participation is determined by “access to information, freedom of expression and press, the freedom of association and the right to education that also allows for critical analysis of Marx, Hô` Chí Minh and Mao” (Interview Nguy˜ên Quang A). Especially, Nguy˜ên Quang A’s and Trang’s definitions of democracy display the activists’ inclination towards liberal democracies and evoke the idea of ‘social democratic capitalism’. Contrasting these definitions, let us now ` consider Kiêu’s definition of democracy: In this society only the people who work for the state are valuable. In the school you learn what they—the teachers, public workers—want you to learn. But out there, in the streets, knowledge is very diverse and plentiful. Only when you go out, you will have lived a full and honest life. You may fall, but you will stand up again and will learn things that only a few people may be able to understand. And all this starts in your family. I was accused of being stubborn and difficult by my family, but actually this [the fact that she was allowed to be stubborn and difficult], this is democracy.

Pausing at these different understandings of democracy and invoking the decolonial framework, we can see that all activists are aware of the

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` emphasizes the value state’s ideological apparatuses, but that only Kiêu and importance of perceiving democracy as an everyday life experience. However, these actual experiences of democratic practice and alternative ways of democratic being, arguing, and negotiating seem to be missing not only within society at large, but also within the democracy movement itself. When Pha.m Ðoan Trang (2018: 15) gave me her book Politics for the Common People, I skimmed her preface that ended with: Because I myself suffer from poor political knowledge with little experience of living in a democracy, I must admit that the knowledge in this book is simply what I collected from a variety of sources, though in a more systematic way than the Internet. Any error or mistake you may find in this book is mine, not anyone else’s.

` Her statement is not just a humble remark but, like Kiêu’s comment, it points to a fundamental problem: the lack of actual democratic practices and experiences, experiences that should be the foundation of all modern societies but have been stripped off by authoritarian regimes as well as liberal democracy’s colonial project to discipline the citizen and control political thinking (Güven, 2015: 10f). It illustrates what Mentan highlights: “[t]he conditions that favor democracy depend for their emergence largely upon the political skills of a given society” (Mentan, 2015: 142). Adjacent Concept: Multiparty System Trang does not believe in direct democracy. She is aware that “direct democracy is the purest form of democracy” in which no mediation by political parties but the regular participation by all members of a community exists. Equal access to information and knowledge would be the prerequisite of direct democracy, she writes. However, Trang (2019: 32) objects promptly, “direct democracy is too ideal to be applicable in today’s world”. Instead, she considers representative democracies “more practical” as they provide a “better division of labor” with the elected politicians carrying the responsibility for state governance (ibid.). She also avows that representational democracy is, in fact, “less democratic than direct democracy” because the rule of the majority entails the disaffection of the minority (Pha.m, 2019: 33). Moreover, she mentions that a multiparty system does not necessarily lead to a democracy, yet, “a single party

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system is definitely leading to a dictatorship” (Pha.m, 2019: 42). Despite being aware of the deficiencies of representative democracies, Trang is confident that a multiparty system is the logical approach to foster political participation and ultimately to arrive at a democratic system. Many other democracy activists share Trang’s understanding. Therefore, one can infer that the concept of a multiparty political system occupies an adjacent position relative to the core concept and functions as an attribute to specify the meaning of political participation. In other words, the idea of the multiparty system is anchored in the core concept of political participation. It also concretizes the pro-stance of democracy activists and embodies the notion of diversity, multiplicity, and equal political representation across social classes and social identities. On this matter, democracy lawyer Ðào is even more absolute than Trang. Ðào cannot imagine a democracy without a multiparty system: “A society without a multiparty system cannot be democratic”, she stressed several times (Interview Ðào). Ðào is frustrated with activists who neither lay claim to the implementation of a multiparty system nor define communism as a form of dictatorship. For example, she is well connected to environmental activists who consider themselves as part of the prodemocracy movement, but, as she reiterates, “they are not coming out publicly to declare that the reason for our political problems is the dictatorship itself, the one-party rule, and that only a multiparty system can bring democracy” (Interview Ðào). Despite her critique, she continues to be supportive of civil society groups that advocate for the freedom ` of association, a free press and environmental protection. Similarly, Kiêu emphasizes the need for an oppositional party: Oppositional parties would provide the opportunity for people to express their own political agenda and to be open about everything. But the leaders of oppositional parties need to be very strong in every aspect. They should be intellectual and communicative. The goal would be to fight against the Communist Party, and ultimately to defeat the [Communist] Party.

When Hà My (member of The Network of Vietnamese Bloggers) started to actively research and write for different online blogs, she eventually concluded that changing an authoritarian one-party system needs a multiplicity of political parties and the people’s right to vote. She is particularly concerned about the working class that needs not only an independent trade union and legal education but also a political party

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that would represent working-class interests (more on this in Chapter 4). “Bringing workers into politics is a complex issue”, she worries, as workers cannot catch up with the education that is needed to compete with other political parties: Workers don’t have time to rest, they work at least ten hours a day and don’t have time and energy to advocate for societal issues. If they have any time left, they will use the time to relief their stress a bit. They don’t have time to study. (Interview Hà My)

Hà My points to the fact that studying labor rights, popularizing respective ideas among the working class, and achieving immediate effects regarding the improvement of working conditions are indeed challenging, not least because of the structural constraints and limited resources that characterize the environment of the working class. At the same time, it shows that defining the long-term goals in the interest of the entire working class is a difficult task for democracy activists to do justice to. The lack of democratic experience is crucial. For this reason, some democracy activists look to existing models of Western democracy for guidance, while others are adamant about Vietnamese democracy as it was practiced in the Republic of Vietnam (Viê.t Nam Cô.ng hòa), the official state of South Vietnam from 1955 to 1975. Labor activist Huy (Chapter 4), for example, is an enthusiastic advocate for the Republic of Vietnam, of which the symbol—a yellow flag with three horizontal red stripes—has become a signifier. Although the yellow flag is often associated with reactionary and anti-communist forces in public discourses, its meaning has also been re-claimed by certain factions of Vietnam’s democracy movement.9 Huy explains that “the children of Viê.t Nam Cô.ng hòa”, like himself, “do not seek to go back in history” but that they want to “remind the Vietnamese people of better times with a democratic Constitution, the rightful implementation of civil rights and greater freedom of religion”. What Huy describes, however, is a mythical past that was mainly to the advantage of a Catholic elite, while Buddhist, 9 South Vietnam (RVN) was a member of the Western Bloc during the Cold War,

backed by the United States of America. In the course of the American War and the Vietnamese liberation struggle that ended in favor of Vietnamese Communist forces, many South Vietnamese anti-Communists became refugees and were granted asylum in America. Since then, subsequent generations of Vietnamese refugees disavow the legitimacy of the Communist political leadership.

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minority groups and critical voices were subject to harsh state repression. In present-day Vietnam, however, any portrayal that does not comply with the narrative of the RVN as ‘capitalist allies’, ‘reactionaries’, or ‘antiCommunists’ means to delegitimize the leadership of the Communist Party. Hence, Huy’s sanitized and, in fact, highly misleading reference to the RVN is his attempt to counteract the current “regime of discourse” and to rediscover those ideas that are “concerned with a historical knowledge of struggles” (Foucault, 1976: 83, 116), even though historians have convincingly and correctly argued that the RVN was by no means democratic. However, rediscovering these ideas and knowledges about historical struggles is not a straightforward issue. The symbolic reference to the yellow flag, for example, became a divisive issue among democracy activists in Vietnam. Many activists who grew up in the northern part of Vietnam, including Pha.m Ðoan Trang and Thiên, have no biographical link to the Republic, and therefore, do not identify democracy with the RVN or the yellow flag. In fact, Pha.m Ðoan Trang was criticized by some of her readers and followers for not mentioning the yellow flag in her books and general writings (Interview Pha.m Ðoan Trang). Blogger Anh Chí*, who also grew up in the north of Vietnam, declares that he is an activist “by virtue of his values and not a representative figure of any flag” (Interview Anh Chí). He disassociates himself from the people who are “fighting in the name of the flag”. They seek an act of retaliation, he believes. Describing what it means to act “by virtue of his values”, he exemplifies: The people must truly hold the ballot, be free to vote for a candidate that has enough competence, qualification, and knowledge to take the responsibility for this country. It means that people should not vote because a candidate follows a certain flag or a certain Party. Candidates can be activists, communists, the next generation or even diaspora Vietnamese. But for this, we need to (re-)gain our right to vote. (Interview Anh Chí)

Another historical dimension that many democracy activists nostalgically reference is the 1946 Constitution, which was Vietnam’s first Constitution born in the year of the country’s official independence. Activist Trang agrees that the 1945 Constitution included at least some democratic principles and held governmental leaders accountable, unlike the more rigid socialist line of the Constitutions that followed in the years

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1959, 1980, and 1992 (Sidel, 2009: 27). Many Vietnamese activists view the 1946 Constitution as a democratic Constitution that put the people and their political participation at the center and that was built upon the idea of “broad national consensus” (Sidel, 2009: 27). Trang writes that one day after the Declaration of Independence (September 3, 1945), Hô` Chí Minh called for a democratic Constitution and requested a general election to form the National Assembly. Despite the country’s economic hardships, socio-political fragility and foreign interventions, 85% of the Vietnamese population voted and established the first democratically elected National Assembly in 1946. Pham Doan Trang (2019: 75) remarks: “It affirms all people’s right to freedom, right to be the master of their country, and demonstrates Hô` Chí Minh’s thoughts of national liberation, independence and freedom”. However, as the renowned Vietnam analyst Bernard Fall noted: “The [1946] Constitution gives a generally ‘Western democratic’ impression to the reader in that it does not deal in economic theories and does not make use of stereotyped communist phrases […]. Like the Democratic Republic’s declaration of independence, it appears designed to provide ‘reader appeal’ in the AngloSaxon countries, and particularly the United States” (Fall, 1954: 13f cited in Sidel, 2009: 27). Yet, to Vietnam’s democracy activists the influence of Western thought is not a hindrance but, in fact, an affirmation of their demands. Trang writes: […] the Vietnamese people, facing a severe lack of information and knowledge for reference, remain strangers to democracy, liberty, rule of law, and other political concepts. Until recently, you can still find top propagandists arguing strongly that human rights are Western values that should never be sowed in Vietnamese land, that the Vietnamese people do not need a “US-style democracy”. (Pha.m, 2019: 20f)

Arguing against this relativist approach shows that Trang is convinced that democracy is a universal struggle, but one that requires the people’s grasp of basic political knowledge: “Fortunately, it’s just the basic knowledge that is available elsewhere in the world; we need not create new one [knowledge]” (Pha.m, 2019: 22). She refers to the experiences of multiparty systems in Western liberal democracies and is confident that these offer a solid basis for imagining and building a democracy in Vietnam. To Vietnamese dissidents, the concept of a ‘multiparty system’ represents the multiplicity of groups and interests and thus, concretizes the

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core concept of ‘political participation’. What is striking is that although different activists (Northern based and Southern based) do refer to the democratic ideas of the country’s own history, the imagination of a prospective democratic multiparty system is repeatedly made with reference to Western-oriented liberal democracies, which indeed, illustrates the hegemonic presence of Western political ideas. Peripheral Concept: Anti-China/Anti-CPV Nationalism In September 2008, democracy blogger Liên was sentenced to 4 years in prison and 3 years under house arrest. She was accused of propaganda against the state (Article 88) and was particularly punished for her involvement in anti-China protests. I asked Liên about the link between territorial disputes with China and her demands for democracy in order to understand the role of these sentiments among the dissident groups. She points out: I can see how for you it may look like the two have no relation to each other, that they are two different things, but they are not. Besides struggling for the environment, human rights, and democracy, we also have to focus on territorial sovereignty, because this is about the security and the safety of the country’s people. The main problem lies not between the Chinese Communists Party and the Vietnamese people, but between the Communist Party of Vietnam and the Communist Party of China. The two parties fight over domination and now it is no longer about the Paracel and Spratly Islands but about large parts of the Vietnamese country. Many products, the environment, the culture, almost everything is affected by China’s dominance.

Her statement reads that the reoccurring protests against China are also a direct critique against the Vietnamese Communist Party. In fact, we will see that to dissidents like Liên, democratic change would require a drastic change of Vietnam’s relations with China. Since the late 2000s, China’s political and economic relations with Vietnam are increasingly seen as a threat by many Vietnamese dissidents as well as citizens. As Luong (2021: 2) notes: “The reasons [for this perceived threat] are not hard to fathom: Vietnam is believed to have selectively followed the Chinese model, given how ideologically, politically and economically similar Vietnam’s system is to China’s”. As a natural response, the CPV finds itself to be at odds with growing anti-China

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sentiments as it needs to secure a close relationship with Beijing out of its ideological, economic, and political dependencies (Vu, 2014: 34). Or as Vu formulates, the CPV finds itself in a “precarious position between its Chinese patron and its own people” (2014: 58). Yet, the population’s perception of China as an aggressor and thus a serious threat has been aggravated by reoccurring violent clashes between Chinese and Vietnamese workers and reports on Chinese managers harassing Vietnamese employers (BBC, 2014; Kaiman & Hodal, 2014; Nguyen, 2017: 2). Moreover, the state’s incentives of tax breaks and low rents for foreign investors in Special Economic Zones whose main beneficiary is widely believed to be China aggravated the public’s frustration. Another political moment that stirred up the public’s concern over a national development strategy starkly resembling the ‘China model’ was in October 2018, when General Secretary of the Communist Party Nguy˜ên Phú Tro.ng was sworn in as the country’s 11th president, making him the first leader to hold both positions since Hô` Chí Minh’s presidency. Although his presidency lasted only one term until April 2021, this constellation alerted many experts and dissidents as it resembled China’s political double-configuration headed by Xi Jinping. Nguy˜ên Phú Tro.ng’s powerful position is criticized by democracy activists. Liên, for example, comments: Vietnam is a dictatorship because only one political party is allowed. Nguy˜ên Phú Tro.ng is the official representative of the people but, in fact, excludes the people from political decision-making processes. He is influenced by the West, especially by Europe and America, but the biggest influence on him comes from China. […] We are dependent on China. The problem here is the relation between the two Communist Parties […]. To be clear, this is not an issue between the Vietnamese people and the Chinese people, but between the two Parties [and what they do to the country’s citizens]. (Interview Liên)

Similarly, blogger Hà My (member of The Network of Vietnamese Bloggers) explains that many anti-China protesters understand that Chinese businesses, investments, and their military actions in the South China Sea are entangled with Vietnam’s domestic politics. An example here would be the new cyber security law issued in January 2019. Online activists, particularly democracy activists, discussed how this new cyber security law, which reminds so much of China’s strategy to control the online

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space, will authorize state bodies to further undermine the already limited freedom of expression and clamp down on activists’ Facebook pages and chat groups. Many anti-China and democracy activists believe that there are conspiracies and hidden political agreements between both governments that would ultimately lead to the sell-off of Vietnam to China. Against this background, Hà My asserts that “protests against China are protests against the Vietnamese government’s support for it [China]” and that protesters “want to exercise pressure on the Vietnamese government and ask them to choose sides: Protecting the Vietnamese people or protecting the government’s relations to the Chinese Communist Party” (Interview Hà My). This brief insight suggests a correlation between how dissidents define democracy and the country’s relationship with China. In fact, as scholars have pointed out, a distinct and enduring feature of Vietnam’s nationalism is the undercurrent of anti-China sentiments. Therefore, being against China is conceptualized as being part of the country’s anticolonial struggle (Loung, 2021: 4; Vu, 2007). The anti-China sentiment, however, has been exploited by both sides, the state authorities as well as the activists. Both sides aim to control the public discourse for their own purposes (Nguyen, 2017: 5). On the one hand, the CPV is clearly at odds with the growing anti-China sentiments, not least because of its economic dependency with China. On the other hand, state authorities do tolerate and at times even leverage these antiChina sentiments. An active role in promoting nationalist narratives triggered by and coupled with anti-China sentiments is carried out by, for instance, online state-sponsored groups, pro-regime groups, and neutral and private groups (Luong, 2021: 19). The state’s ambivalent position on anti-China sentiments can be interpreted as a strategic choice to “(i) boost legitimacy of the [Vietnamese] regime, (ii) shore up national unity; and (iii) to stoke and maintain nationalism” (Luong, 2021: 7; Nguyen, 2017: 31), while at the same time it may give authorities the flexibility to play the public opinion card, i.e., cite public opinion in order to push back diplomatic concessions that would weaken Vietnam’s position (Luong, 2021: 15). Then we have the dissident groups, who have a different agenda when they employ anti-China narratives. Dissidents appropriate and amplify the public critiques against China as a framing opportunity to create a common enemy and invoke a sense of national liberation that is

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not directed against foreign powers only, but against the CPV (Nguyen, 2017). Luong formulates that in general these rather new anti-China nationalist voices do not seek to stir up conflicts with China or even call for a war, but “seek to expose inefficiency, weakness and malfeasance in Vietnam’s leadership” (2021: 8). In other words, Vietnam’s dissidents aim to counter the ‘pro-regime but anti-China nationalists’ and promote a version of anti-China nationalism that revolves around the opposition to the CPV. The identified peripheral concept in this section is termed ‘anti-China/ anti-CPV nationalism’ due to dissidents’ coupling of their anti-China nationalism with their opposition towards the Communist Party. I observed that many democracy activists somewhat conflate their criticism of entities like the Taiwanese Formosa factory or ‘anti-Singapore sentiments’ with their anti-China position, as also observed by Luong (2021: 28). Democracy activists Nguy˜ên Quang A and Thiên both pointed out that many activists depicted China as the main problem in the context pf speaking out against Formosa. However, Thiên affirmed that despite the small number of Chinese contractors, there is no clear evidence of China’s involvement in the Formosa case, but that it has clearly been Taiwan’s responsibility (Interview Thiên). Anti-China activists, on the other hand, have utilized available political opportunities to emphasize China’s relationship with the CPV, aiming to disrupt the CPV’s political legitimacy vis-à-vis the Party-loyal members of society. For activists like Thiên, the most pressing concerns about China are its human rights violations. He hopes that the ‘anti-China sentiment’ can serve as a form of ‘inclusive’ nationalism, uniting Vietnamese people against China while also opening the opportunity to stimulate public critique against Vietnam’s government. In Thiên’s words: “In this context, this is an opportunity because resisting China equals resisting Vietnam’s government and vice versa” (Interview Thiên). The divergent and reoccurring critiques against China and the CPV together give space to a different reading of anti-China/anti-CPV sentiments, which would revolve around an implicit critique against China as a neighboring capitalist superpower, a neighbor that engages in a neocolonial relationship evolving around the 99-year land lease, and whose employers and supervisors treat Vietnamese workers unfairly. Yet, the anti-China issue also raises questions concerning the amplification of modern Sinophobia, i.e., the discrimination and racist attitudes against Chinese people (Nguyen, 2017). Nguy˜ên Quang A, for instance,

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is alarmed about activists conflating criticism against China’s economic and political dominance over Vietnam with anti-Chinese sentiments. Here, Nguyen’s distinction between anti-China sentiments and antiChinese sentiments is helpful, according to which the former denotes “animosity against the nation-state China”, its leaders and/or China’s political and economic system, whereas the latter is a “set of negative characteristics” giving way to racist and derogative stereotypes (Nguyen, 2017: 8). However, among radical anti-China dissidents, there are more conciliatory ideas, such as those of Nguy˜ên Quang A, who points to the fact that “Hoa people and their communities (the Chinese Vietnamese minority) have always lived and contributed to the country together with the ethnic Vietnamese (Kinh) and are therefore part and parcel of Vietnam”. He warns: If we are not careful, we will end up discriminating the Chinese Vietnamese. This form of nationalism can turn out to be extremely harmful to the democracy movement […]. History must not be repeated. You remember when they [the Hoa people] were forced out of the country in 1978/79. This was a very stupid decision of the communists in Vietnam. Equality for Hoa, Kinh Vietnamese and any other ethnicity. Never promote and encourage any action that divides the people of this country. Only do actions that connect the people in a way that the culture of Vietnam becomes more diverse. (Interview Nguy˜ên Quang A)

Nguy˜ên Quang A’s call for tolerance and support towards ethnic minorities has become more evident in light of the June 12, 2023 incident, where approximately 40 indigenous people in Dak Lak carried out deadly attacks on two police stations. In an interview with RFA, Nguy˜ên Quang A expressed his perspective on the matter. He states: In terms of consequences, it’s certain that the Vietnamese government will consider this a big deal. [...] Involved people, if arrested, would definitely get heavy sentences, even death sentences. [...] I think we should have a better understanding of them [the indigenous]. […] It’s unfortunate that the elite in Vietnam seems to fail to understand indigenous and ethnic minority people, what they want, and how they want things to be managed. We should have respected those things. (RFA, 2023)

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He emphasizes the importance of adopting a conciliatory approach between the government and ethnic minority groups (including ethnic Chinese), even in cases where they resort to violent forms of resistance. Despite some conciliatory voices such as Nguy˜ên Quang A’s, political divisions remain a pressing concern. While anti-China/anti-CPV nationalism can be seen as a common ground or a unifying denominator among Vietnam’s democracy activists, the embrace of a sanitized pro-Western and pro-U.S. American attitude by some dissidents has also become a source of internal division. This became particularly extreme during the Donald Trump era. I met activists that not only expressed their sympathies for U.S. President Donald Trump, but I noticed some activists proudly wearing a Donald Trump cap and uploading photos to show off their pro-Trump election giveaways that have been sent to them by American Vietnamese. Donald Trump is seen as the leader of the world’s strongest economy, the symbol of liberal democracy, and perceived as an ally when it comes to the critique against China. Donald Trump and Melania Trump are also lauded for granting political asylum for Vietnamese prisoners. All these factors combined undoubtedly bolster the activists’ anti-China/anti-CPV nationalism. Together with the proclaimed commitment to improve labor and human rights in Vietnam as conditions for international free trade agreements, both the United States and the European Union continue to position themselves as the crusaders of democracy. This aligns with the argument put forth by Mentan (2015) and Güven (2015) who describe the agenda of Western liberal democracies as part and parcel of a neo-colonial political project. The general impression is that the image of the United States is unreal, sanitized, and mythical, yet it serves as an ideologically useful tool to justify the activists’ anti-China/anti-CPV nationalism. Nonetheless, there are plenty other activists demonstrating a much higher level of awareness and critical assessment of the problematic situation within formally democratic societies. For instance, environmental activist Kim (Green Trees, anti-Formosa, pro-democracy) worked with an U.S.-based environmental NGO and spend several months in Washington D.C. She reflects on the general pro-Western attitude in Vietnam: Many people in Vietnam think that the U.S. is a very prosperous place, but when I was there, I realized that the U.S. is not so much different from Vietnam. As is the case with any system, I think it is most important

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that we learn how to protect our environment and realize that we are the tenants of this planet. (Interview Kim)

´ Nguy˜ên Ngo.c Nhu Qu`ynh* (pen name: Me. Nâm, engl: Mother Mushroom, blogger, anti-FHS, democracy) is one of the political prisoners whose early release and subsequent move to the United States was publicly portrayed as dependent on Melania Trump’s patronage and commitment for ‘freedom’. In March 2020, Qu`ynh was attacked for her critique of Trump’s handling of the COVID-19 pandemic by other Vietnamese democracy activists. On March 22, 2020, Qu`ynh stated on her Facebook page: “America is not as great as many of you think […] It’s not any different here. […] Follow the advice of medical professionals, instead of obeying any leadership [by which she referred to D. Trump]”.10 Her post received around 1000 comments and was shared and ‘liked’ around 700 times. Individuals of the Vietnamese diaspora living in the United States started a petition against Qu`ynh titled: Say No to Undercover Communist ‘Me Nam’. In the description of the petition, it was argued that she “blasted at President Trump”, “indoctrinated Communist propaganda” and that “She is ungrateful to our beloved country [U.S.A] and a traitor. She should be deported back to where she belongs”. 13,000 people (certainly the majority being Vietnamese-Americans) have signed this petition.11 This sanitized and mythical U.S.-centric worldview which is mainly articulated by U.S.-based Vietnamese democracy activists evinces how ideas have traveled from Vietnam (mainly South Vietnam’s refugees after 1975) to America and Europe and are still traveling back to Vietnam 50 years later. Social media enabled the diaspora movements to connect with the national movements, but also exposed many democracy activists to the right-wing and pro-Trumpist propaganda of a few but vocal Vietnamese-Americans (of which Viê.t Tân members are likely to make a significant percentage). The result is the belief in a dualistic political

10 Source of Qu`ynh’s Facebook post: Nguy˜ ên Ngo.c Nhu Qu`ynh. (2020). Facebook Entry. Retrieved March 22, 2020, from https://www.facebook.com/bloggermenam/ posts/269613360698746. 11 Change.org. (Undated). Say No To Undercover Communist ‘Me Nam’ Nguyên ˜ Ngo.c Nhu Qu`ynh. Retrieved September 20, 2020, from https://www.change.org/p/uscis-say´ ˜ên-ng%E1%BB%8Dc-nhu,-qu`ynh. no-to-undercover-communist-m˛e-nâm-nguy

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imaginary that embraces Cold War rhetoric and divides the world into two camps: the democratic West and authoritarian-communist Vietnam. To summarize: Unlike the adjacent concept of a multiparty system, which signifies a pro-stance towards multiplicity and diversity, the peripheral concept anti-China/anti-CPV nationalism denotes the anti-stance against the ruling elite. At the same time, it creates an idealized notion of national unity and homogeneity to attract more members and sympathizers to the dissident movement. While it may seem analytically problematic or at least contradictory to associate democracy and political participation with any form of nationalism, this constellation makes sense in Vietnam and many other postcolonial contexts. This is particularly true when considering that a peripheral concept can be emotionally and culturally driven, and thus, specific to certain geographical regions.

Conclusion This chapter has demonstrated that Vietnam’s democracy movement consists of subgroups and subthemes, which collectively challenge the authoritarian state while being embedded in an ideological landscape characterized by Western liberal democratic and capitalist ideologies. Let us recapitulate the findings step by step. What is obvious is that Vietnam’s nationwide internet access has paved the way for the emergence of a first-time cross-regional and cross-generational network of activists. This network has connected previously isolated struggles under the banner of democracy. This ‘networked democracy movement’ is home to actors with diverse social backgrounds and identities, including women, former Communist Party members, lawyers, well-educated urbanites with varying political interests such as labor rights, human rights, environmental concerns, and civil society. Together, they create digital spaces for collective action and make use of tools such as Facebook livestreams, blogs, and YouTube channels. In doing so, they aim to disclose state-critical ideas concerned with the struggle for democracy and human rights and disseminate these statecritical ideas throughout the public using digital activism. However, as indicated in this chapter, the digital space also facilitates the spread of right-wing and conservative ideas, conspiracies, and ill-informed content. As a general note, the phenomenon of increased political activism due to internet access has been observed not only in Vietnam, but in many other world regions and is therefore not surprising (see Castells, 2015).

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A certainly noteworthy and overall positive development facilitated by digital activism is the increased access to alternative political discourses and the ability for individuals to participate in such discourses. However, the level of access varies and is oftentimes shaped by different social and cultural identities. It matters whether one is a worker, a farmer, indigenous, a woman, a well-educated urbanite, an intellectual, or a former Party member. Unlike intellectuals and urbanites, workers, farmers, and ethnic minority groups do not have the time and educational resources to become equally active and thus, represented in democracy discourses. But one may recognize that with the increasing access to Internet, the landscape of political access for different groups is changing significantly. Female activists, for instance, have opportunities to establish online platforms that directly and indirectly link women’s rights to the struggle for democracy and human rights, particularly to the right to freedom of expression for women. Although the group ‘Vietnamese Women for ` Thi. Nga (also labor and land Human Rights’ whose lead activists Trân activist) and Hu`ynh Thu.c Vy (also human rights and democracy activist) have been imprisoned and are granted political asylum in the United States, the brief existence of this women’s group for the first time posed an alternative to the party-state controlled Women’s Union and its subchannels. Overall, despite differences in access to digital activism, Vietnam is experiencing a profound change in the available and accessible resources within which today’s activists operate and are exposed to. As the remaining chapters will demonstrate, workers and farmers also derive benefits from access to digital forms of collective action. Against this background, this chapter has also shown that digital activism cannot replace the practice of democratic organizing such as face-to-face meetings and discussions, demonstrations, workshops, voting or activist conferences. Activists themselves lament the absence of these democratic experiences; whereas decolonial scholars problematize that the lack of genuine democratic experience is inherent in all liberal democracies. Given the structural constraints that hinder real democratic practices, Vietnam’s activists engage in a form of political resistance that primarily focuses on the critique and improvement of state-society relations, rather than on the critique of capital relations or the dominance of Western powers and ideologies. In light of this, the chapter discussed the process of cognitive resistance by examining the configuration of political concepts that substantiate the

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activists’ understanding of democracy. I contend that Vietnam’s democracy activists are ideologically embedded in Western models of liberal democracy which, as Güven (2015) puts it, produces disciplined subjects fit for a political system, rather than producing agents that try to “re-learn how to live together. In real democracy.” (Castells, 2015: 316). The core concept of Vietnam’s democracy activists emerges around the notion of independent ‘political participation’, which is common in liberal understandings of democracy. Vietnam’s democracy activists associate political participation with critical thinking and non-ideological education, political expertise, and the organization of interest groups (in the form of civil society organizations and a multiparty system). At the same time, they reject the idea that communism can exist along a democratic leadership and believe that communism can by no means facilitate a democratic life for all people. As adjacent concept, democracy activists advocate for a multiparty system and thus, call for a representative democracy rather than a system of direct democracy. It occupies the pro-stance towards multiplicity, diversity, and equal representation of different interests, and is anchored in the political participation of varying social classes. A significant line of thought was that citizens, including activists themselves, are not sufficiently educated and thus, not fit for a system of direct democracy. A multiparty system is thus perceived as the logically derived attribute to specify the core concept of political participation as it channels the current lack of democratic experience and education. Finally, I identified anti-China/anti-CPV nationalism as peripheral concept. It exerts a culturally derived anti-stance against China and communism and simultaneously performs the idea of national ‘unity’ in a dialectical relationship to the ‘diversity’ of a multiparty system. Linking anti-China nationalism to democracy is driven by a socio-cultural and emotional standpoint rather than an analytically legitimized inference. China, the CPV and communism signify the overarching enemy and are built into a hidden transcript with which they articulate critique against the CPV, but it can also be read as an indirect critique against China as a colonial capitalist force that is a threat to Vietnam’s independence. Finally, we found that in order to disclose state-critical ideas and, at the same time, counter the “regime of discourse” (Foucault, 1976: 116), activists combine anti-authoritarian practices with reworked concepts taken from nationalist, Western-centric and Cold-War ideologies. I conclude that this displays a state of epistemological coloniality in which a quite ill-informed and sanitized view of Western liberal democracies,

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particularly of the United States, is reproduced. It is, in fact, astonishing that many activists seem to know so little about racism, classism, and poverty in Western liberal democracies. Nonetheless, the chapter revealed that democracy activists are not unanimous, but are in the process of contesting and reworking dominant ideologies and construct new ideational systems from the ground up, even if they are imperfect.

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CHAPTER 4

Rights-Based Resistance of Dissident Labor and Land Activists

“The Vietnamese Law is interpreted like poetry”, says democracy activist ` This description illustrates her perception of how Vietnam’s offiKiêu. cially declared ‘rule of law’ has become subject to arbitrary interpretation ` ` got involved in the by the judicial system itself (Interview Kiêu). As Kiêu protests against land dispossession, she developed close relationships with peasants and land activists. Other democracy activists, including Nguy˜ên Quang A and Pha.m Ðoan Trang, publicly expressed their solidarity with ` the peasants of Ðông Tâm and helped investigate and campaign against the unlawful procedures of land disputes in 2017 and 2020. Democracy lawyer Ðào was a founding member of a dissident labor rights group, whereas Pha.m Ðoan Trang and Thiên, together with the civil society group Green Trees, published the first book-length report on the marine disaster caused by the steel factory Formosa Hà T˜ınh (see Chapter 5). The position of the working class and the peasantry is pervasive among many democracy activists, signifying a connected struggle against the party-state’s authoritarianism and capital interests. This chapter explores how democracy, labor, and land activists share a common network of supporters and allies and collectively engage in a political practice of rights-based resistance. Rights-based resistance has a global tradition, from female workers in the United States using legal strategies to demand wage reforms, indigenous environmental networks in Canada, to peasants in rural China, as © The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 S. Pham, Vietnam’s Dissidents, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-4606-8_4

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well as labor and land activists in Vietnam. In this chapter, I explore how rights-based resistance is about the rediscovering of subjugated legal knowledges and how those knowledges are characterized by a particular configuration of political concepts. This chapter commences with a comprehensive account of rights-based strategies, drawing on examples of labor-rights activism in Ho Chi Minh City and Hanoi and land ` Tâm. The second part of the chapter activism in Du,o,ng Nô.i and Ðông focuses on the ideational level of Vietnam’s labor and land activists. I identify ‘rule of law’ (core concept), ‘self-determination’ (adjacent concept), and ‘state accountability’ (peripheral concept), together forming the ideational structure of Vietnam’s rights-based resisters.

Political Practice of Rights-Based Resistance In Vietnam’s Socialist Constitution, the working class and peasantry are officially declared as the pillar on which the society and economy are build. Chapter I, Art. 2 of the Constitution states: “The people are the masters of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam; all state powers belong to the people whose foundation is the alliance between the working class, the peasantry and the intelligentsia”. Yet, workers and peasants continue to face unjust working conditions, exploitation, and forced dispossession, despite the relative improvement of working and living conditions in recent years. Rights-based resistance aims to address these problems and employs a variety of approaches. In the first section of this chapter, I delve into two processes: The practice of reclaiming positive rights and the rediscovery of subjugated knowledges. The latter process involves the promotion of legal knowledge and the production of state-critical knowledge. The rights-based practice of Vietnam’s labor and land activists resonates with a form of political contention that O’Brien and Li (2006: 2) called ‘rightful resistance’ by which they refer to: a form of popular contention that operates near the boundary of authorized channels, [that] employs the rhetoric and commitments of the powerful to curb the exercise of power, [and] hinges on locating and exploiting divisions within the state and relies on mobilizing support from the wider public.

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Rightful resisters employ existing laws and policies and officially promote values to reveal the gap between rights promised and rights delivered (O’Brien & Li, 2006: 24). O’Brien and Li’s concept of ‘rightful resistance’ helps to signify the practical and ideational orientation of labor and land activism in Vietnam. Like O’Brien and Li’s conceptualization of ‘rightful resistance’, Vietnam’s labor and land activists exercise forms of political contention that puts the implementation of ‘legal rights’ at the center of their political praxis and encourages the use of authorized channels to make claims. But other cases of land-rights activism indicate a shift away from unsanctioned resistance to more disruptive, illicit tactics of contention that is more open to trespass on authorized channels of popular contention. Therefore, to allow more analytical flexibility, I consider the practice of labor and land activism more broadly as ‘rights-based resistance’, with which they aim to legitimize and justify the opportunity of resistance where political conditions make it difficult or impossible to organize independently.

Dissident Labor Activism Labor resistance against exploitative working conditions has a long tradition in Vietnam. Hundreds of spontaneous wildcat strikes each year (Anner, 2018; Anner & Liu, 2016; Siu & Chan, 2015), alongside collective work stoppages or “micro-strikes” (Buckley, 2022),1 lodging complaints and petitions against the management (Nguyen, 2019: 1), and the publishing of labor newspapers (Tran, 2007b) are common forms of labor resistance in Vietnam. Worker’s resistance encompasses a variety of demands, such as improved wages, social insurance, fair treatment by employers, and better working conditions in general (Buckley, 2022; Kerkvliet, 2011; Nguyen, 2019; Siu & Chan, 2015). However, requests for independent labor organizations or demands for changes of state laws and national policies are relatively uncommon, although they do existent (see Buckley, 2022: 104; Chan & Hui, 2022; Clarke, 2006; Tran, 2007a, 2013). On the other hand, collective demands for regime change or anticapitalist ideas seem to be non-existent. This is, however, not surprising since authoritarian regimes are much fiercer in repressing political strikes than those which can be considered as primarily industry related. Many 1 During micro-strikes, workers stop operating the production line but usually stay at their workplaces, rather than leaving the factory.

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contemporary scholars of labor resistance focus on workers’ agency and class consciousness, while problems of ideology and workers’ political thought are yet to be explores. This gap in analysis is partly because only a limited number of countries now present the situation where the language of class consciousness is coopted by a nominally socialist state.2 Experts on Vietnam’s labor resistance make a clear point, which is that Vietnamese workers mistrust the idea of trade union representation and feel abandoned on various fronts, but mainly because the state-led trade union federation Vietnam General Confederation of Labor (VGCL) is currently the only legally recognized institutional body under which labor disputes can officially and legally be carried out. Furthermore, positions in trade unions at the enterprise level are oftentimes filled by the factory’s management personnel and controlled by the VGCL (Nguyen, 2019: 3, also interviews with Mai, Huy, Nam). Although the VGCL does provide space for the enhancement of legal knowledge in forms of workers’ congresses and trainings, those are provided mainly for employers and not for workers (Do, 2016: 322). Moreover, policymakers employ a language that alienates the workers from the idea of an independent trade union. For example, because the ‘grassroots trade unions’ (công d-oàn co, so,) as currently in operation are also controlled by factory management, workers are questioning the credibility and impact of any possible independent trade union in general (Interview Mai). In the process of negotiating trade agreements, such as the EUVietnam trade agreements (Trans-Pacific-Partnership [TTP] and the European Union Vietnam Free Trade Agreement [EVFTA]), proposals concerning amendments to the labor code became a focal point of discussion. The Negotiations over the EVFTA required Vietnam to comply with standards of the International Labor organization (ILO), leading Vietnam to ratification of seven out of eight ILO core standards and agree to an amendment of the labor code that came into effect in January 2021. On paper, some overall positive changes can be noticed, including the provision for the formation of ‘worker representative organizations at the enterprise level’ (WROs), which are not mandated to be affiliated with the VGCL (Buckley, 2020). However, overall vague formulations in the amended labor code has led analysts to express skepticism regarding the idea of truly independent WROs, and their effectiveness ij

2 I express my gratitude to Dr Laurence Cox for pointing out this important detail, along with numerous other details of this book.

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and credibility remain to be evaluated (Ebbighausen, 2020; Francavilla, 2020).3 Moreover, Vietnam has yet to ratify the ILO core standards related to the freedom of assembly, although plans are in place for its ratification in 2023. During these negotiations, the NVGO-EVFTA Network was formed in November 2020 with the objective to raise awareness about the EVFTA and its civil society component, known as the EU Domestic Advisory Group (DAG). Comprising seven community service organizations (CSOs), the NVGO-EVFTA Network aimed to monitor the implementation of the EVFTA in various areas, including worker’s rights, land rights, and environmental issues. However, this seemingly positive initiative faced a setback when two members of the network, Mai Phan Lo.,i and Ð˘a.ng Ðình Bách, were arrested on July 2, 2021, on charges of tax evasion. They were subsequently sentenced to four and five years in prison (Business & Human Rights Resource Centre, 2022). While labor resistance, including strikes and trade union activism limited to the enterprise levels, has been witnessed, semi-tolerated, or somewhat responded to by the state, this section will illustrate how dissident labor activism, involving activities beyond the enterprise level, is subjected to much harsher mechanisms of repression, including long prison sentences and public denunciations. At this point, it becomes clear that the potential spaces for collective action in official trade unions continue to be effectively contained, while organizing any form of an independent labor movement (including a dissident-led labor movement) in Vietnam is extremely risky and unlikely, especially for dissident labor activists who are already known to the state and deemed reactionaries. At the time of writing, Hoàng дu,c Bình* (former construction worker, labor, and environmental activist, Chapter 5) is serving his fifth year in prison out of a 14-year sentence. To understand Hoàng дu,c Bình’s story, I met with one of his relatives, Hoài, as well as three other former dissident labor activists: Mai (a university graduate), Huy (a former mechanic), and Nam (a former accountant). During my fieldwork, these dissident labor activists were members of two groups; Viet Labor Movement (Phong Trào Lao Ðô.ng) and Free

3 Vietnam has insisted that the terms “civil society” and “civil society organizations” do not appear in the draft text of the agreement. In November 2019, 18 NGOs wrote a letter to the EU Parliament calling for the free trade agreement to be postponed until Vietnam releases all political prisoners and allows for a free press.

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Viet Labour Federation (Liên Ðoàn Lao Ðô.ng Viê.t Tu., Do), with estimated membership size ranging between 5 and 10 members. Years of observing harsh and exploitative working conditions and the failure of the state to tackle workplace injustice led these dissident labor activists to focus on the improvement of working conditions, first individually and then in the form of an organized political group. One of the former key members of the dissident Viet Labor Movement, Ðoàn Huy Chu,o,ng*, also co-founded the United Workers-Farmers Organi´ Công-Nông VN) in 2006. Viet zation Vietnam (Hiê.p hô.i Ðoàn kêt Labor Movement aimed at combining the struggles of the working class and peasantry for which, only a few months later, he was sentenced to 18 months in prison on charges of ‘abusing democratic freedoms’. ˜ Thi. Minh Two other founding members of Viet Labor Movement, Ðô ´ Hùng*, are also members of the proHa.nh* and Nguy˜ên Hoàng Quôc democracy group Bloc 8406 and supporters of Victims of Injustice (Dân Oan), a petition movement that assisted dispossessed farmers to demand fair compensation from the state. Vietnamese dissident labor activists assert that the working class is an important force capable of challenging the existing power structures of the state and promoting transformative changes both within and against the current system. However, the criminalization of labor activism constrains their potential to build a mass base (Interview Mai). Despite these challenges, labor activists seek to organize workers with the intention to increase legal knowledges, form solidarities, and ultimately establish an independent trade union. In doing so, rights-based resistance lies at the core of dissident labor activism. Navigating within the boundaries of the state has become an existential question and, de facto, the only option available for dissident labor activists and workers alike. Reaffirming what Kerkvliet (2019) and Buckley (2021) already indicate, Mai, one of the former members of the Viet Labor Movement (and Free Viet Labor Federation), avows that their group lacks a strong mass base: I used to find access to the workers quite easily. I could talk to them naturally and freely… Knowing that the other person is also poor was good enough of a reason to trust each other. Nowadays, workers are very sensitive and don’t really want to talk to me. They immediately question who I am. They are very skeptical.

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Mai recalled three different types of reactions that she experienced while talking to workers. While some seemed to agree with her standpoints, others were more reserved, mostly nodding and repeatedly saying “yes” but then walked away quickly. Other workers were visibly afraid and refused to talk to her. Reflecting on these three types of reactions points to the fact that dissident labor activists find it difficult to build a mass base within the working class. However, Mai argues: Mobilizing the workers to strike is impossible in our country. You cannot mobilize the workers to undertake industrial action by saying: ‘When you go on strike you will receive this and that in exchange’. We only show them what may happen after they go on strike. We want to show them how valuable it is when they unite and demand their rights. And in the end, they will realize themselves that there is no other way but to go on strike. This is the most powerful method.

In an environment that restricts labor activism and where workers seem too afraid of management repression, how should political mobilization be possible after all? What tactics are left to be chosen without risking their safety and the further alienation of the working class? Labor activists are faced with a range of challenges for which they have yet to find solutions. Mai describes: When I first entered the [dissident labor] movement, there was no actual strategy or tactic. The tactics developed over time. … Many of us [members the movement] used to be workers ourselves, so we know how hard it is to live in such an environment. The first step is always to examine the environment, the places where they work and live. Living with them to fully understand is an important part of our activities. We learned about their emotions, their ideas and wishes, their strengths and weaknesses and what is needed for them to speak up and fight for their rights and what can be a safe platform for them to do so.

According to dissident labor activists, one way to raise legal knowledge among the working class is to live with them. Huy, another member of the Viet Labor Movement, narrates his experience of living in the most precarious industrial areas where the working class resides: On the outskirts of Ho Chi Minh City, he rented a room in a typical workers’ compound of about 7 sqm, made from simple cement walls, all rooms erected side by side. “Although I used to be a worker, my condition was

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not as bad. That’s why I decided I had to experience how it is to live on subsistence level”, he says. Huy brought print outs of the Vietnamese labor code, stapled them in piles in his room, and distributed them to workers whenever possible. “I said to the numerous young workers: Only this [the labor law] is going to protect you”. He gave them directions about which laws are promised and which laws are violated. The right to physical protection (for instance, safety equipment) was one of the most important rights he shared with the workers. He explained that another crucial step was to recruit potential activists within the working class, meaning the workers who felt capable of becoming labor activists. Finding someone who would speak out for the rights of the fellow workers in the workplace was the main idea behind it. This person would also be responsible for sharing information and knowledge about the labor law and workers’ rights with their co-workers. What these dissident labor activists are promoting is what Foucault described as the “insurrection of subjugated knowledges” (1976: 81). In this case, labor activists are concerned with the subjugated knowledges contained in the labor law and by rediscovering these buried knowledges, they hope to unleash critical thinking among the working class. ˜ Thi. Minh On February 23, 2010, the groups’ leading figures Ðô ,, ˜ ´ Ha.nh*, Ðoàn Huy Chuong*, and Nguyên Hoàng Quôc Hùng* were arrested after disseminating leaflets and “exacerbating an ongoing strike” of 10.000 workers at the Taiwanese-Vietnamese shoe factory M˜y Phong in Trà Vinh (Human Rights Watch, 2011; Kerkvliet, 2019: 28). Unlike some non-academic sources that claim that the group ‘helped to organize’ the strike, my interviews, as well as Kerkvliet’s observation, indicate that they never had such a sizeable impact on the strike at the M˜y Phong factory. Rather, their success was “modest”. Nonetheless, they suffered severe repression (Kerkvliet, 2019: 28). The three were sentenced to long ´ Hùng receiving nine year and prison terms, with Nguy˜ên Hoàng Quôc ˜ Thi. Minh Ha.nh and Ðoàn Huy Chu,o,ng receiving seven years for Ðô each the Court convicted them under Article 89 of the penal code: “Disrupting security and order against the people’s administration”. With ˜ Thi. Minh Ha.nh was released in the help of international pressure, Ðô 2014 after more than four years in prison. After Ðoàn Huy Chu,o,ng was released in 2017, he continued to be politically active and became an online activist primarily explaining the labor law via Facebook livestreams. A fellow member, commenting of the groups’ activities, described Ðoàn

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Huy Chu,o,ng as “an activist for workers’ rights, for democracy and for the law” whose aim is to “direct the people to protect themselves and their rights”. Nam is a member of another dissident labor activist group named Free Viet Labor Federation, whose key members have managed to remain anonymous. Like the other labor activists, Nam also considers himself a democracy activist. Similar to the above-mentioned Viet Labour Movement, this group aims to establish an independent trade union and emphasizes the importance of advancing worker’s education and awareness, given the restrictive conditions for underground organizing. “But we do it very silently. No demonstrations and no strikes, because these have to be organized from within [the working class]”, he comments. This is a proto-type Marxian argument, one that is reminiscent of Marx’s statement in the General Rules of the International Workingmen’s Association written in 1864: “The emancipation of the working classes must be conquered by the working classes themselves, that the struggle for the emancipation of the working classes means not a struggle for class privileges and monopolies, but for equal rights and duties, and the abolition of all class rule”. Nam’s group organizes offline classes and prints leaflets with which they aim to distribute knowledge about the labor law. They address questions such as how to put together a petition, how to go on strike effectively, what to do when the employer fails to pay overtime allowances, and how to handle situations where deductions for social insurance and health insurance are not implemented as promised. According to Nam, the primary challenges in organizing these activities stem from overcoming the widespread fear among many workers: They know that they can get fired easily once they raise their voice [or become politically active]. … If you want to increase workers’ resistance, you have to first improve the educational base. We want to provide knowledge about the law but also about work ethics. For example, if your manager violated ethical codes, let alone the labor law, workers need a framework and the confidence to say: ‘This was offensive’. In the law no article controls the insulting language of managers.

Similar to the experiences of labor activists Mai, Nam reflects on the lack of a mass base: “Many of us worked in a factory … But you will get fired as soon as you speak up because they [the management] fear that

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we will mobilize other workers” (Interview Nam). This difficulty makes it almost impossible to build a sustainable labor movement or independent trade union from within the workplace. Nam, too, has spent time in industrial areas, trying to encourage workers to organize their own trade unions. However, Labor activists often avoid using the explicit term “trade union” when communicating with workers to mitigate the risks of stigmatization and criminalization. Instead, they use the terminology ‘support group’, which is a way to modify sensitive language into ‘safe language’ intended to create safer spaces for discussion. The goal is that these support groups will eventually evolve into more overtly transformative projects. In other words, rights-based resistance provides a toolkit for normative legal language through which legal injustice can be called out. During the tome of my interviews, one Free Viet Labor Federation managed to form a handful of “support groups” composed of workers in the tertiary industry. These groups hold meetings outside of the workplace, typically at their homes or in coffee shops. The primary purpose of these groups is to provide mutual support in their daily life and everyday struggles. Nam describes: For example, if something is going on in your family, it is the member’s responsibility to share it with the group and find solutions together. In Vietnam, those support groups don’t exist, especially not among the working class.

Yet, Nam also expresses his doubts about this method: But to be honest, I am not even sure that they would support each other in the struggle for democracy or that they would unite with other workers when necessary. The essence of trade unions is to protect workers’ rights and not to support each other in their daily life. But the way things look like at the moment [i.e., having support groups] will be an important step for the future.

Certainly, the task of organizing the working class with a mass base is fraught with challenges and limitations. Mai’s hope is that the actions of individuals who begin to fight for their own rights can have a ripple effect, eventually leading to positive changes for the entire factories and, in the broader scope, for the rights of the entire working class. In other words, the current efforts of independent and dissident labor activism are

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mainly focused on spaces outside the shop floors and on individual workers’ everyday resistance. While it may appear that these dissident labor activists, who themselves face criminalization and forced unemployment (as discussed in Chapter 2), do not have a direct impact on the immediate living and working conditions of workers, their goal is to create open channels through which collective organizing and the dissemination of legal knowledge can take place. So far, we have explored the conditions of dissident labor activists and how they attempt to produce and disseminate legal knowledges in critique of and resistance against the unjust treatment of workers.

Land-Rights Activism In the following section, will delve into the crucial role of legal knowledge in shaping the political strategies of land-rights activists. This part of the ´ Thi. Thêu* and her family. Cân ´ Thi. Thêu (herejourney starts with Cân after: Thêu) is a prominent female land activist. While settling to start the interview, Thêu made a quick video call. On the other line: democ` (introduced in Chapter 3). An immediate change of racy activist Kiêu energy filled the room. I could sense the friendship, trust, and mutual ` tried to respect both have for each other. Thêu told me that when Kiêu ` ` connect to her the first time, she ignored Kiêu. Unlike Kiêu, Thêu appears to be a calm and motherly person. Initially, Thêu who was cautious ` ` of Kiêu’s public appearance partly because she was skeptical of Kiêu’s affluent social and financial background. However, their paths eventually crosses in prison, where they exchanged stories of the injustices they faced. In prison, their method was to publicly name and shame individual prison guards who mistreated them, which created a sense of agitation among other inmates and led the prison guards to place both ` and Thêu in the same cell. Individual prison guards, which caused Kiêu prison getting the two agitatmates, as told by Thêu. It is also well known to Vietnam experts that Vietnamese peasants have historically engaged in various forms of everyday resistance and expressed discontent through open protests and petitions, particularly during the period from the 1960s to the 1980s. This era witnessed significant changes, including the collectivization of the means of production under a cooperative system, followed by economic liberalization, privatization, and industrialization) (Kerkvliet, 2005, 2014). However,

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these overt forms of resistance were rather localized and focused on holding local cadres accountable for misconduct (mostly corruption) rather than demanding structural or policy changes (Kerkvliet, 2014: 23; Suu, 2009; Tran, 2009: 175). Contemporary peasant resistance in Vietnam has shifted its focus. The primary catalyst for resistance now is forced dispossession, followed by inadequate compensation, revealing a dissatisfaction with state control and corrupted local authorities as the main fulcrum for peasants’ discontent. Kerkvliet’s (2014) research on protest over land rights in Vietnam showed that millions of complaints and petitions filed from 2008 to 2011 were related to issues of land confiscation. Kerkvliet’s analysis was also informed by O’Brien and Li’s concept of rightful resistance, but he concluded that although a predominant pattern of village protests corresponds to strategies of rightful resistance (petitions, complaints, seeking help from Communist Party members and authorities, quiet sit-ins), other examples did not fit this pattern. These outliers exceed rightful resistance in that they challenge state laws (Kerkvliet, 2014). Taking up Kerkvliet’s observations, the following pages demonstrate that more recent cases of peasant resistance indicate a shift away from purely rightful resistance to more disruptive, illicit tactics of contention, for which I use the term ‘rights-based resistance’. ,,

The Duong Nô.i Case Located at the south-western edge of Hanoi, Du,o,ng Nô.i is one of the numerous cases in which farmers have for years protested against enforced land seizures and unfair compensation. The Du,o,ng Nô.i case has become increasingly reported on since 2014, after several farmers were sentenced for up to 22 months under charges of disturbing public order. Regular small-scale and large-scale protests followed, such as in 2016, when a group of 100 farmers protested the local government’s attempt to seize land for large-scale investment projects that are typically disguised under the state-rhetoric of ‘national development’. The protest was disrupted by the local police (Nguyen, 2016). One of the critical development projects that is responsible for these land seizures was planned by the Vietnamese real estate firm Nam Cu,o`,ng Group. Farmers were expected to transfer their land rights under conditions of unfair compensation, a typical practice. But despite the protesters’ efforts, Nam Cu,o`,ng Group went ahead with the construction of a luxurious apartment complex known as Anland,

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a 25-story building tower comprising penthouses, duplex, and apartments. The project was completed in 2019, but small local protests continued. Typically, farmers use non-violent means of protest, such as marches and demonstrations. For several months, farmers marched from Du,o,ng Nô.i to Hanoi and demonstrated in front of the parliament. They carried banners, used pans and pots to make noise, and wore red and orange shirts as their symbol of identification. The protesters also sought help from state-run newspapers to make their cases public and worked with ` дu,c* and various bloggers (Barras, anti-corruption activists like Lê Hiên ´ Thi. Thêu* (Thêu) and Nguy˜ên Thi. Tâm* 2013). I interviewed Cân (hereafter: Tâm), two female farmers, mothers, and vocal activists who lived and worked in Du,o,ng Nô.i. Both experienced forced land eviction and confiscation and became vocal activists against land grabbing. They have been arrested several times but were released at the time of my fieldwork. In my interview with Thêu, she narrates that at the peak of the protest movement, her group of protesting farmers marched up to five times a week for two months, and sometimes they even slept outside at 34 Ly Thai Tho Street, regardless of the weather conditions. At that time, there was no Facebook available to the group, but they filmed the protests with cameras and saved them on disks. Thêu hopes that one day she will see this material exhibited in a museum. But since the peasants and villagers of Du,o,ng Nô.i gained access to Internet and social media, land activists use the Facebook livestream feature to make their voices heard. Moreover, Thêu and the farmers spend plenty of time to read and critically assess various online material that they find relevant. Part of her political practice is to sit together with other farmers and analyze newspaper articles and online posts. Thêu and Tâm also distributed photocopies of the Human Rights Declaration, the Vietnamese Constitution, and the Grassroots Democracy Decree (dân chu o, xã). Both activists stressed the tactical usefulness of abiding by the Vietnamese law, the Constitution, and the Human Rights Declaration. Tâm, for instance, emphasizes: “Although the current laws on land rights have some difficulties, there is still much potential of which we can make use”. This, again, is a reminder on how the dissemination of subjugated knowledges—particularly land and democratic rights—is central to rightsbased resistance. Yet, Tâm has also received criticism for her approach: ij

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I never had the thought of being violent. Some people texted me and said that it is useless to speak up against the government, but that the only thing we can do is to stand up and overthrow it. But this is a ridiculous thing to say. (Interview Tâm)

Non-violence is an important principle for rights-based resistance, while dialogue and transparency are the preconditions for a flowing communication. To ensure this, the peasants of Du,o,ng Nô.i organized what resembles the idea of a council democracy. According to Thêu, a leadership consisting of one or two people would increase the likelihood of that very leadership being corrupted by the police. Police attempting to corrupt movement leaders is a typical strategy of state repression and ´ leaves a movement decapitated as a result. To avoid this, Thêu’s community elected 20 representatives who are living in the same residential area to be responsible for any potentially occurring dialogue with the government. Among this group of 20, one person was elected as head of the team whose position is to gather and circulate information to the rest of the group. All decisions require unanimous consent and voting by hand sign. “We formed a mini government” declares Thêu. In the event that Thêu gets imprisoned, the 19 other members will vote another person to fill in her position. This way, they ensure that the movement can continue. With a subtle smile, Thêu says: “There is no law that forbids us to meet and hang out in the neighborhood”. During their meetings, the land activists of Du,o,ng Nô.i practice a form of ‘sworn sister´ ngh˜ıa), in which members swear to hood and brotherhood’ (anh em kêt consider and treat each other as “brothers and sisters of the same house”, a practice that Thêu say has its roots in Buddhism. They collectively swear to not to give in to attempts of bribery, to not to get corrupted and to resist blackmailing. This practice of collective oaths contributes to the strengthening of mutual trust and solidarity. Another strategy of non-violent resistance and collective learning was actual capacity building. Thêu describes: The first step [of collective organizing] was difficult because we had no experience. Every time we knew that another village nearby was protesting against land grabbing, some of us went there to learn from their experience. We connected with each other. For example, peasants in V˘an Giang (about 40 km away) are connected with us in Duong Nô.i. The state has no law that forbids connection and networking among peasants.

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The Du,o,ng Nô.i case illustrates that the disclosure of hidden and silenced knowledges entails not only acquiring and disseminating legal knowledge for the cases of land grabbing but is also about discovering ‘historically disqualified’ knowledges of how to live and organize democratically. Thêu was arrested two times in 2014 and 2016. The first time she was charged with “public disorder” and “resisting officials from conducting their work”. On the day of her first arrest, 1000 troops entered the village of Du,o,ng Nô.i to start the land confiscation. As she filmed the scene, police forces attacked her husband, Tri.nh Bá Khiêm*. Thêu narrates: When they took my husband, I asked the policemen: ‘Why are you treating our people like this?’ They took me, put a bag over my head and beat me until I fainted. They did not take me to the hospital but to the police station and waited until I woke up. I was wounded. Yet, they charged me with resisting officials.

Thêu and her husband were detained by the police, alongside two other ` V˘an Sang and Trân ` V˘an Miên. The two farmers were farmers Trân reported to have committed suicide (HR Defender, 2016; Lam, 2014), while Thêu and her husband were sentenced to 15 months in prison. After her release from prison, Thêu continued with political activism. On April 18, 2016, Thêu went to the Ministry of Natural Resources and Environment wearing a shirt that stated: “Freedom for Nguy˜ên V˘an Ðài” (she also became a vocal supporter for the release of political prisoners, ` such as anti-corruption activist Lê Thu Hà and human rights activist Trân Hu`ynh Duy Th´u,c). Other protesters wear shirts carrying the words: “Democracy is not a crime” (Dân Chu không phai là tô.i). Thêu requested to file a petition that demanded the government to take accountability for its wrong-doings and to enter into a dialogue with Du,o,ng Nô.i’s villagers. She reports: “As I filled in the document in a coffee place, 4 or 5 policemen arrived and forced me into their car. They took me to the police station”. But the peasants that accompanied her during that day were protesting her arrest loudly, upon which she was released from the station. However, only a few weeks later on June 10, 2016, Thêu was arrested for the second time, charged with ‘public disorder’ and sentenced to 20 months in prison. Thêu reiterates: ij

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I am not an activist that uses violence. I respect the Vietnamese law and constitution. but the government uses police to suppress us.

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Lastly, Thêu reflects on her role as a mother and wife: The moment I made the step into activism, my family and I sat together many times. I couldn’t do it alone. I was aware that it is going to be a difficult path, and that I needed to sacrifice until the end. As a mother it is particularly difficult. After I was released from prison, I had problems looking at family photos [due to feelings of guilt]. I could not keep myself together, but with time this goes away, and I overcame these emotions. Only then one can continue to commit to the cause. If there is a little bit of hesitation in you, then it becomes very difficult. When you think of your husband, your children, you can’t commit to the struggle. And once you are committed you can’t think about your family, its as if no one is behind you.

Thêu was again arrested on June 24, 2020, charged under Art. 117 (2015 Code) with “making, storing, spreading, or propagating information, materials, items for the purpose of opposing the State” and sentenced to 8 years in prison and 3 years under probation. Her sons, Tri.nh Bá Phu,o,ng and Tri.nh Bá Tu,, received 8 and 10 years in prison and 3 and 5 years under probation. Tâm was arrested on the same day on June 24, 2020, also charged under Art. 117 and sentenced to 6 years in prison and 3 years under probation. According to personal letters and reports of the prisoners’ family members, the land activists suffer from poor health conditions. Nguy˜ên Thi. Tâm’s daughter, for instance, reports that her mother had been suffering from uterine fibroids. After severe blood loss, she was submitted to a local emergency room but was sent back to prison on the same day (The 88 Project, Profile: Nguyen Thi Tam). ` Tâm Case The Ðông ` During my journey, I was also invited to visit Ðông Tâm, a village about ` 40 km south of Hanoi. Ðông Tâm became a prominent site of contestation after local residents, most of them were farmers, took 38 police and security officials captive in protest over a land dispute in 2017. For nearly a week (April 15 until 22, 2017), residents controlled the village and erected barbed-wire barricades to block the police from accessing the village. In question was a 59-hectare area that the state-owned telecommunications conglomerate Viettel Group, owned and operated by the Ministry of National Defense, claimed for building a defense-related

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project. The military claims that the plot belonged to the state since 1968 and that villagers are illegally occupying the land. Protesters refuted this claim, arguing that the specific 59-hectare (out of 106.36 hectares) lie outside the military plot. However, the truth is that farmers paid taxes and land fees and cultivated the farmland at least since the 1980s (Hiep, 2020). As Viettel began to clear parts of the land, residents tried to obstruct the construction and were subsequently investigated for “disturbing social order” (Ives, 2017). Disputes over land rights are common in Vietnam, as land ownership, property rights, and the local government’s right to reclaim land for socio-economic development and public or national interest are loosely defined and susceptible to corruption. According to Chapter II, Article 15 of the Constitution, Vietnam’s multi-component economic structure with various forms of organization of production and trading is based on a system of ownership by the entire people.

Article 17 states: The land, forests, rivers and lakes, water supplies, wealth […] the funds and property invested by the State in enterprises and works in all branches and fields […] and all other property determined by law as belonging to the State, come under ownership by the entire people.

And Article 18, specifying the management of the land, states that: (1) The State manages all the land according to overall planning and in conformity with the law and guarantees that its use shall conform to the set objectives and yield effective results. (2) The State shall entrust land to organizations and private individuals for stable and lasting use. (3) These organizations and individuals are responsible for the protection, enrichment, rational exploitation and economical use of the land; they may transfer the right to use the land entrusted to them by the State, as determined by law.

As I (accompanied by two democracy activists) arrived at the village of ` Ðông Tâm, I entered a house that turned out to be the home of Mister Lê Ðình Kình* (1936–2020). To my surprise, the front door of the house was decorated with Communist Party flags and slogans:

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´ Ðoàn Kêt. ´ Ða.i Ðoàn Kêt) ´ Solidarity. Solidarity. Great Solidarity (Ðoàn Kêt. Down with corruption (Ða Ðao Bo.n Tham Nh˜ ung) Long live President Hô` Chí Minh. Work in the name of the constitution and the anti-corruption law is the responsibility of the entire Party and the ` entire people. The people of Ðông Tâm commune unite to fight against ´ the corrupted enemy. (Chu Ti.ch Hô` Chí Minh Muôn N˘am Sông, và làm ´ ` ´ viê.c theo hiên pháp và pháp luâ.t phông chông tham nh˜ ung là trách nhiê.m ` ´ d-ê d-´âu tranh Tâm d-oàn kêt cua toàn Ðang, toàn dân. Nhân dân xã Ðông vo´,i gi˘a.c tham nh˜ ung là gi˘a.c nô.i xâm). ij

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Picture of banner at Mr Lê Ðình Kình’s house, taken by Susann Pham in 2019.

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Picture of banner at Mr Lê Ðình Kình’s house, taken by Susann Pham in 2019. Throughout his career, Kình served as the head of the local police and secretary of the local Party cell. Kình was a Party member for 58 years ` and considered loyal to communist ideals. During the Ðông Tâm land dispute in 2017, he became the official representative of the residents. When I entered the house, Lê Ðình Kình sat with his back to the wall that was decorated with two large maps of the disputed land area. He narrated the recent developments of the case, which—at the time of my visit in January 2019—was mostly dominated by confidential meetings of local authorities, while the villagers’ demands to be included in the negotiations and discussions were ignored (Interview Lê Ðình Kình). ` It was April 2017, when the Ðông Tâm case started to attract public ` attention. After Hanoi’s police invited Ðông Tâm representatives, among them Lê Ðình Kình, to take part in an official land measurement on April 15, 2017, he was beaten by the police and arrested without any written warrants. Lê Ðình Kình broke his leg. At this point, non-violence as a

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principle of rights-based resistance turned untenable. As clashes with the ` Tâm villagers took 38 police officers hostage as an police broke out, Ðông act of retaliation after the local police arrested four protesters (The Dong Tam Task Force, 2020: 6). Among these hostages were two journalists, ` Deputy Chief of People’s Committee Deputy Chief Ð˘a.ng V˘an Triêu, ˜ Public Security Nguyên Thanh Tùng and district party committee propaganda chief Ð˘a.ng V˘an Canh. Lê Ðình Kình’s son in law, Hai, was one of the villagers who filmed and witnessed significant scenes during the days in April 2017. Hai told me that the policemen were hold hostage in the commune’s house of culture (nhà v˘an hóa): ij

ij

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The house of culture is beautiful, not a basement or dark hall or anything like that. There was a lot of dialogue between the hostages and the protesters. We talked about the policemen’s schools, what they do and everything. We were busy cooking food. The hostages got three meals per day. We brought fruits and drinks. We treated them very well. ij

Hai narrated that when all policemen were released both sides were respectful to each other. Protest leaders shook hands with hostages upon release, some were hugging and crying, and others even expressed ` sympathy with the villagers of Ðông Tâm (Ives, 2017). Taking the ` policemen captive was certainly not legal, but Ðông Tâm’s residents stressed that they acted upon the principle of non-violence and guaranteed that every hostage would be treated well (Interview Hai). Indeed, it created pressure and drove authorities to enter negotiations, ultimately leading to concessions by Hanoi’s mayor Nguy˜ên дu,c Chung and the ` Tâm’s people municipal government to not to press charges against Ðông (Le, 2017). As time passed during my visit, Lê Ðình Kình’s house filled with more people, mostly neighbors including one female local Communist ` Party member. She expressed solidarity with the villagers of Ðông Tâm. ` Lê Ðình Kình’s son-in-law explained that Ðông Tâm has not formed any official organization or group, but that anyone who had information about the land dispute was welcomed to share it with Lê Ðình Kình. From time to time, plainclothes policemen sat close to the house or even inside, but this did not discourage anyone from coming to speak ` to Mr. Kình. Ðông Tâm’s residents and protest leaders displayed banners ` in the village stating: “We, the people of Ðông Tâm, do not oppose the ij

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` Tâm Chúng Tôi Không Chông ´ Ðôi ´ Vietnamese State” ( Nhân Dân Ðông ,, Nhà Nuo´ c Viê.t Nam). Later, Ðình (a retired police officer, Communist ` Party member, supporter of the Ðông Tâm case) explained that many comrades in the Party agree with his critique on the land grabbing and “express solidarity in private, but that they don’t dare to speak up as their children and relatives are generally also Party members who would lose their jobs if one of them would get involved in any form of activism or public criticism” (Interview Ðình). For this reason, many Party members publicly criticize Party policies only after they have retired, or as Vu (2014: 44) puts it: They are “retired party members [who] benefitted from market reforms and no longer depend on the government for a living”, allowing them, after decades of loyalty to the Party, to have the material stability and relative political immunity to do so. ` In January 2020, the situation in Ðông Tâm changed radically. On the night of January 9, 2020, the Vietnamese government dispatched a special task force estimated to consist of three thousand policemen, which ` overwhelmed the villagers of Ðông Tâm. According to official reports, three policemen were set on fire and burned to death. Lê Ðình Kình was shot dead by the police. Kình’s eldest son, Lê Ðình Công*, his younger brother, Lê Ðình Ch´u,c*, and 27 other land activists were charged with obstruction of officials, murder, and terrorism, while activists from various regions expressed solidarity and formed groups to independently investigate the case. On September 14, 2020, the Hanoi People’s Tribunal sentenced the two brothers to death. The other 27 people on trial received sentences ranging from 15 months of probation to life imprisonment (Nguyen, 2020). The cross-regional solidarity network ` ` of the Ðông Tâm case exemplified that this was not just about Ðông Tâm alone; farmers from other regions, journalists, Communist Party members, and anti-Communists joined forces to criticize land seizure and forced dispossession. Contemporary peasant resistance in Vietnam highlights how land seizure, and thus, “accumulation by dispossession”, plays a crucial role in Vietnam’s political economy (see Harvey, 2004, 2005). It also demonstrates that rights-based resistance is left with no alternatives when an unfortunate combination of repression, powerlessness, and anger renders rights-based resisters defenseless and subject to police violence. So far, this chapter has demonstrated that the political practices of labor and land activists aim to rediscover subjugated legal knowledges without appearing to be overtly anti-systemic. From a different perspective,

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however, rights-based resisters do engage in an anti-systemic practice that seeks to both avoid and transcend the state’s repressive and constraining judicial apparatus. Yet, as we could see in the cases of Du,o,ng Nô.i and ` Ðông Tâm, rights-based resistance is a vulnerable political practice and not a guarantee for unsanctioned collective action. In general, skepticism about rights-based practices raises legitimate concerns about its effectiveness and its power to induce societal change. As a tactic to change the workings and mechanisms of a state, a rightsbased approach may appear to be an impasse. In an Althusserian manner of speaking, the primary function of the legal apparatus is to facilitate the interplay of the capitalist relations of production, “since it defines proprietors, their property (assets), their right to ‘use’ and ‘abuse’ their property with complete freedom, and the reciprocal right to acquire property” (Althusser, 2014: 166). Similarly, Foucault (1976) argued that to embrace a liberated idea of rights, one must free it from the principle of state sovereignty, that is, the authority of the state. In other words, the root of the problem is not just the concrete laws or the erroneous implementation of laws, but the legal apparatus itself and the ‘normalization’ of the law as the expression of state sovereignty, which needs to be challenged. In light of this, the following section will revisis the issue of continuing colonial relations via legal systems, followed by exploring the configuration of the political concepts that underlie the practice of Vietnam’s rights-based labor and land activism. By the end of this chapter, we will gain a deeper understanding of how activists reshape the ideologies of the legal system and thus, construct new ideational systems ‘from the ground up’, reflecting constant movement and transformation in activist thinking.

Coloniality in Law Before examining the ideational content of dissident labor and land activists, let’s explore two critical perspectives that highlight the repressive and ideological mechanisms of the legal system and their relation to the continuation of colonial hierarchies. Many scholars drew on Althusser’s ([1971] 2014) understanding of the law as integral to what he called the ideological state apparatus (ISA). Another helpful perspective is Saeed’s (2019) concept of ‘coloniality in law’, which provides a more nuanced way to make sense of the context at hand. According to Althusser (2014: 57, 166), the law is “a system of codified rules” that inherently repressive,

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as it “inscribes the sanction of law in law itself”, for instance in the form of “the Civil Code, the Penal Code, Public Law and Commercial Law”. The law operates based on the conditions of a repressive state apparatus to enforce penalties (ibid.), while also utilizing mechanisms of preventive repression and relying on the subject’s internalization of legal ideology. In other words, the institutionalization of entitlement relations regarding ownership, property, and state accountability codifies the meanings of (il)legality and (in)justice and conceals the fact that law is an intimately tied to capitalist relations of production and therefore aimed at protecting of the ruling class and capital relations. In short, law has two positions: as a repressive apparatus and as an ideological force. In line with Althusser, Saeed helps us understand that law itself is a battlefield of ideas and colonial relations and a field that produces and reproduces a normative standard of political thought. Legal concepts such as state accountability, private property, and terrorism have come to dominate our minds only since modern and colonial history. Their persistence demonstrates the continued dominance of Western legal knowledge systems and their political institutions (Saeed, 2019: 104). Saeed argues that instead of solely critiquing coloniality in law, we should emphasize the coloniality of law, by which he stresses that the nexus between law and coloniality is not indestructible, but that different approaches to the ideas and mechanisms of law can also function as a force to decolonize our legal imaginations and counter colonial ‘hierarchies of knowledge’ (Saeed, 2019: 113, 129). Adding the decolonial perspective to it, we see that the expansion of liberal democracy was not the result of moral convictions, but driven by the conviction of Western superiority coupled with the need for a universal model of law that supports capitalist elites and societies (Mentan, 2015: 139). The universalization of the Western model of a legal system has served to protect capitalism and perpetuate neocolonial hierarchies, excluding the non-Western and non-democratic countries from democratic decision-making processes and autonomous political learning. Instead, non-Western countries are often treated as static and frozen entities, whose people need to be rescued from their authoritarian and corrupt governments. This instrumental use of colonial and modern law has established and legitimized the basis for capitalist ideology, sustaining the continuation of colonial relations, and allowing concepts such as state accountability, human rights violations, workers’ rights, private property, and terrorism to dominate our thinking, while sincere critiques of global capital relations and the exploitation of Global Southern labor forces are

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often overlooked.4 In fact, this epistemological dominance of Western legal thinking, disguised as a moral project that ‘spreads democracy’, survived the official decolonization of the Third World (Saeed, 2019: 104). And as Saeed argues, the influence of colonialism runs much deeper than the mere format of legal institutions and the idea of ‘law’, but “it laid the foundation on which the socio-legal architecture stands and the normative struggles take place” (Saeed, 2019: 108). In other words, understanding the colonial inheritance of the socio-legal architecture is crucial to grasp how colonial relations continue to impose normativity on our political thoughts. Therefore, Saeed suggests looking through the lens of coloniality in law, rather than coloniality of law, by which he stresses that although colonialism radically transformed the logics and rationalities of pre-colonial and perhaps locally existing legal systems, the nexus between law and coloniality is not indestructible. Instead, he appeals to the emancipatory potential of law as an approach to decolonize legal imaginations (Saeed, 2019: 113, 129). Put differently, the law itself remains a battlefield of political ideas, and our imagination for an alternative future. However, the idea of law itself should not be outright dismissed, but rather decolonized and freed from the shackles of colonial legacies. While the first half of this chapter examines how labor and land activists tactically utilize the Vietnamese law, the second half will delve into how they perceive the law, the meaning they give to it, and how they propose to transform society through legal means. We will explore the political concepts that inform the practice of rights-based resistance. The political concepts discussed in the upcoming pages reveal that, despite their anti-capitalist and anti-authoritarian tendencies in their political practices, Vietnam’s labor and land activists—still engage with the law’s ideological apparatus by upholding the state’s role in regulating and controlling capitalist relations of production. However, we will also observe that rights-based resisters seek to transcend capitalist concepts of leadership and ownership and negotiate over ideas of self-determination. Precisely, I identify ‘rule of law’ as the core concept, ‘self-determination’

4 In Vietnam, the idea of a nation-state and nationhood goes back to pre-colonial times. Different expressions of nationhood/nation-state manifested during the rule of kingdoms, via imperial officials (mandarins) and peasant or communal collectives. Thus, the idea of a nation-state itself cannot be considered a product of sole Western colonial domination (Fforde & de Vylder, 2018).

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as adjacent concept and ‘state accountability’ as peripheral concept. Again, this clustering of political concepts is not meant to be deterministic, but rather provides a level of abstraction that helps to work out the general argument of this book.

The Political Ideas of Land and Labor Activists Core Concept: Rule of Law Labor and land activists firmly believe that the ‘rule of law’ must be reclaimed by the people. When I asked about the main political demand ` of Ðông Tâm villagers, one elderly person was particularly expressive: We only demand what is already inscribed in the Constitution and the law, nothing beyond that. We demand that our rights must be implemented. ` We, the residents of Ðông Tâm, only fight for justice and want to reclaim justice. For example, when I lose my land, I have the right to reclaim it or at least get proper compensation.

Similarly, Tâm (land activist in Du,o,ng Nô.i) states: The only thing we can do is to demand the implementation of our rights. […] I say to the other farmers that our fundament is the law and that we don’t have to be afraid of using it.

Furthermore, they emphasize that terms such as ‘democratic change’ and ‘human rights’ are deliberately excluded from their rhetoric, signaling that their rights-based approach is a tactical compromise. The avoidance of language critical of the state also aligns with the core principles of rightful resistance, as described by O’Brien and Li (2006). However, despite the activists’ claims, I observed on other occasions that this form of ‘safe’ language is not consistently maintained but is sometimes overstepped, once again indicating that dissident labor and land activists do not confine themselves within the boundaries of what is tolerated or deemed legal by state authorities. Nevertheless, the two statements provided above demonstrate how openly embracing a rights-based approach helps build a tactical narrative that counters the criminalization of activists as reactionaries and anti-state forces.

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Insisting on the ‘rule of law’ denotes the action-oriented stance while at the same time they hold the state accountable for the protection of citizens’ rights. Dissident labor and land activists particularly refer to Article 8 and Article 119 of the Constitution, which stipulate that “the State is organized and operates in concordance with the Constitution and the law […]” and that all state agencies must “maintain close contact with the People, listen to their opinions and submit to their supervision; resolutely struggle against corruption, wastefulness and all manifestations of bureaucracy, arrogance and authoritarianism” (Article 8). Additionally, it states, “The Constitution is the fundamental law of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam and has the highest legal effect” (Article 119). Other laws that land activists frequently draw upon include the law on administrative procedures (Luâ.t tô´ tu.ng hành chính), the law on denunciations ´ na.i và luâ.t tô´ cáo), the criminal law (luâ.t and complaints (Luâ.t khiêu hình su.,), and the Grassroots Democracy Decree (dân chu o, xã).5 The latter refers to Decree No. 30, promulgated in 1998, which was initially intended as a means to regain the trust of the peasants and later to channel popular discontent within the existing political system (Beresford, 2008: 240; Nguyen, 2016: 7; Wells-Dang, 2010). Although this decree is officially meant to enable the citizens to monitor the activities of local authorities and participate in local decision-making processes, the implementation of the Decree remains highly uneven and inconsistent, and it is simply not used to truly engage residents into discussions (Beresford, 2008: 21; Vasavakul, 2019: 62). Overall, all these abovementioned laws regulate legal procedures, the right to submit complaints, the right to legal representation, and participation (Interview Tâm; Thêu). Yet, rights-based resistance, which relies on the law and Constitution, is an approach that does not protect activists from violating the law. For helping workers to increase their legal knowledge and defending peasants from land grabbing, activists were charged with “abusing democratic freedoms to infringe upon the interests of the state, the rights and interests of individuals” (Article 258, penalty up to 7 years). Other common charges for activists under the penal code include “activities aiming to overthrow the people’s administration” (Article 79, penalty up to death sentence), “undermining national unity policy” (Article 87, up to 15 years in prison), ij

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5 For a book-length examination of the history, development, and cases of implementation of the Grassroots Democracy Decree is provided by Hai Hong Nguyen (2016).

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“conducting propaganda against the State of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam” (Article 88, up to 20 years), and “disrupting security” (Article 89, up to 15 years). Huy (labor activist) argues that the function of the legal system is to protect the interests of the ruling elite: Is the law protecting the weak or the Party? The Vietnamese law is protecting the powerful. The police are called people’s police (bô. công an nhân dân), but they are not protecting the people, they are protecting the Party. (Interview Huy)

Similarly, Thêu (farmer from Du,o,ng Nô.i) says: Our principle was that no one should violate the law, otherwise we will end up in prison very quickly. […] I respect the Vietnamese law and the Constitution, but the government and the police are using it to suppress us. (Interview Thêu)

` In a similar manner, farmer Thêu from the village Ðông Tâm reflects on the potential impact of rights-based resistance on the political system: Many foreigners [by which he includes me, the author of this book] don’t understand why we only demand our rights [instead of a radical political transformation]. It’s not that villagers don’t know what a multi-party system is. They [the foreigners] don’t understand that if we successfully reclaim and implement our constitutional rights, the system as it operates now will not be able to survive and that it will change the system by implication. The problem is that many villagers don’t even know their rights and behave as if they are asking the government for charity (d-i xin). (Interview ´ Hiêu)

Despite experiencing the state apparatus as violent, arbitrary, and asymmetrical, rights-based resisters insist on the power of the Constitution and the law. This is somehow understandable given the limited opportunities in a highly repressive context. Yet, it also indicates the activists’ bipolar relationship towards the state’s repressive and ideological apparatus (Althusser, [1971] 2014). Saeed’s work (2019) offers a solution, that is, to criticize and decouple those aspects in the law that perpetuate neocolonial and repressive elements, rather than discard the entire legal system itself.

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Adjacent Concept: Self-Determination Following discussions on the importance of the law, labor activist Nam also stresses the importance of contextualizing labor resistance as part of the wider struggle for democratic change. He states: Democracy must go hand in hand with the rights of the workers. The workers have to make use of their rights as their own masters (làm chu). Masters of their education, their knowledge and intellect. Be the masters of their actions (hành vi). […] But most importantly, democracy has to arrive together with the improvement of the lives of the workers. (Interview Nam) ij

Labor activist Mai uses a similar framing: Democracy is the right for workers to be their own masters, to have universal human rights, have the right to participate in and decide over relevant policies, contribute to the advancement of society (thúc d-ây phát triên xã hô.i) and be respected in the society. (Interview Mai) ij

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Tâm (land activist from Du,o,ng Nô.i) would go even further and identifies the state’s institutions as paternalistic and ideologically driven. She explains: The Communist Party says: ‘We will take care of everything’. And because of this, the Vietnamese people don’t even know their own rights and believe that the Party will manage all problems. Communists claim to provide educational orientation (giáo du.c d-.inh hu,o´,ng) - but this education is fake, it dims the peoples’ minds. People don’t dare to be their own masters anymore (làm chu). (Interview Tâm) ij

What is particularly interesting is that Mai, Nam, and Tâm use the expression “being one’s own master” (làm chu). This can be interpreted as a description of a self-determined life. In view of this, let’s consider how Mai explains why she thinks the working class plays an important role in social transformations: ij

Workers are powerful, more powerful than intellectuals. Because intellectuals have more rights, and these rights constrain their potential and power to lead a movement. The chances of frustration are much higher for intellectuals. For example, when they start to criticize publicly, they will lose

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many things. A worker won’t lose much. I mean, the level of loss is much lower than the loss for intellectuals. Farmers may lose their land, but the workers own literally nothing and thus, cannot lose much, except their workplace without which they won’t be able to nurture their families.

Mai’s answer reveals that the concept of self-determination as a pro-stance is brought into a relationship with the rules and regulations of ownership. Mai does not refer to a Marxist understanding of ‘ownership over means of production’ and ‘ownership of land’ (farmers don’t own land according to the Socialist Constitution, and workers do, in fact, own their labor power), but she considers the power and agency of workers as rooted in the lack of access to material resources. Although labor activists do not seem to demand workers’ ownership over the means of production (at least not explicitly), it reveals that a positive connection is drawn between social and material inequality and agency and, by implication, between ownership and self-determination. Indeed, negotiating the meanings of agency, leadership, and ownership over the means of production is pervasive in Vietnam’s socialist-oriented market economy, where contradictory ideologies manifest blatantly obvious. This sheds light on the legal system as an ‘epistemological battlefield’ (Saeed, 2019). While the meaning of self-determination and ownership in a neoliberal market economy is based on private ownership and capital accumulation, a socialist-oriented market economy is proclaimed to be a combination of collective ownership and private ownership, supposedly under the leadership of a party that represents the interests of the working class and peasantry. Accordingly, the Vietnamese Constitution states that “The people are the masters of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam; all state powers belong to the people whose foundation is the alliance between the working class, the peasantry and the intelligentsia” (Article 2, emphasis added), while the country’s political economy is “based on the regime of concurrently all-people ownership, collective ownership and private ownership, in which all-people ownership and collective ownership constitute the foundation” (Article 15). Yet, it also states that resources are managed by the party-state: “the citizen enjoys the right of ownership over his/her lawful incomes, savings, housing, chattel, means of production, capital and other assets in enterprises or other economic entities; regarding land allocated by the state for use, the provisions of Articles 17 and 18 will apply” (Article 58). In Articles 17 and 18 of the 1992 Constitution, ownership over means of

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production has been redefined in a way that adapts to the needs of the capitalist market. Therefore, citizens’ ownership rights were expanded, and the right to freedom of enterprise for those who could afford it was unlocked. Articles 17, 18, and 58 also imply that collective ownership (especially over land and the means of production) is subjected to state capitalist purposes disguised under the rhetoric of ‘national development’. It is therefore unsurprising that labor and land activists are largely concerned with ownership relations as a means to acquire self` Tâm) has to say determination. Consider what land activist Hai (Ðông against land grabbing: ij

The people only have their land to farm on. If they lose that they will lose everything. What comes next for them [dispossessed farmers] is to be exploitated as laborers. ij

What Hai points out is that land is not only of substantial importance to the farmers’ right to self-determination but that ownership over land constitutes a way to avoid labor exploitation on the free market. Expanding on this, farmer Thêu (from Du,o,ng Nô.i) explains that dispossessed farmers are, in fact, entitled to receive free training to enhance their chances in the labor market, but these programs rarely adapt to the lived realities of the farmers. Thêu narrates that, at the age of 60, she was offered training to become a taxi driver, while her neighbor, also at the age of 61, was offered to participate in an APEC-organized program to work in IT-related jobs. After the Ministry of Resources published a critical report on the fallacies of state-funded educational programs that aimed at the integration of peasants into the labor market, the Vietnamese government suggested intensive training in the service sector as an alternative. Thêu explains that land dispossession forces peasants into the chain of labor exploitation and strips them off their right to self-determination: Yes, some laws in Vietnam are oriented towards human rights standards, for example the right to live, the right to choose work, the right to own means of production. But dispossessed farmers can’t change their jobs. They take our land and now they want to teach us how to be a waitress and serve the rich, so that these rich people can live on my land? But all they [the state authorities] have to say, is that we can be waitresses even without knowing how to read and write. (Interview Thêu)

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Farmer Hai voices: I am not a reactionary. I just want the land to be given back to the villagers ` Tâm. It was us, the villagers, who have been cultivating and living of Ðông on this land for decades. We don’t want to do business with it. (Interview Hai) ij

Thêu’s husband, Tri.nh Bá Khiêm, who is also a land activist for which he was imprisoned twice, narrates: I am a peasant of Du,o,ng Nô.i. I was born here, and I met my wife here. Now I am over 60 years old. I am deeply connected to the paddy field, to my home country, to the grass and soil of this land. … . I don’t care about how much they [the authorities] would offer me [in compensation]. They are the sharks with millions of dollars in their pockets. The communists are also untransparent, they should publicize what they make with the land, how much profit they make and how they invest, but none of this is publicly available. Instead, they call us reactionaries and say that they work in the interests of the Du,o,ng Nô.i villagers to advance national interests and develop the economy of the country.…The communists are only still alive because they live on the base of stealing and betraying the people. (Interview)

Tri.nh Bá Khiêm and Thêu’s statements display awareness of the state’s contradictory political economy and the fact that ‘collective ownership over land’, as inscribed in the Constitution, is in actuality the state’s control over land to serve the interests of the ruling and capitalist elites. Furthermore, Thêu’s husband illustrates how peasants embody an emotional connection to soil and land, which is, however, buried by the fear of land dispossession and personal political denunciation. What the previous section has shown is that land activists and labor activists alike seek self-determination through the ‘rule of law’. Land activists are particularly unwilling to concede to the state’s control over their agricultural land. However, to them, reclaiming the rights over their farmland and the implementation of workers’ rights are not meant to maximize personal gain but to signify that the lack of access to material resources is intimately linked to one’s self-determination. In other words, there is no self-determination without the adequate implementation of land and labor rights for peasants and workers.

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Peripheral Concept: State Accountability This is complemented by and partly conflicts with the peripheral concept and anti-stance: ‘state accountability’. Labor activists have expressed uncertainty about the future role and ability of the working class. Mai, for instance, states: I don’t think we can say for certain that workers should occupy the role of a country’s leadership. You see, the communists used to say that the working class will lead the country... But when the qualifications are not high enough, how will that country look at the end? A person who has been educated until eighth grade, how should this person lead the country or even become president? (Interview Mai)

The limited education of workers poses a problem to labor activist Mai. She is concerned that the lack of education and political experience may affect the actual ability of the working class to form a country’s political leadership. On the other hand, doubts about the activists’ own involvement into the realm of parliamentary politics has been articulated by labor activist Nam: If there would be a new political Party, I wouldn’t participate. I am too sensitive for this. I am very aware of my social environment, but for politics you need to be very cruel. Politicians say one thing and do another (nói mô.t d-`˘ang, làm mô.t neo); you have to have a somewhat cold personality. I prefer to remain in the field of civil society, because for me this is a matter of sharing and being close to the people. (Interview Nam) ij

Nam does not identify with the idea of political leadership and succumbs to the rigid understanding of politics being something that is reserved to politicians. He externalizes the responsibility of state leadership to a type of personality that does not apply to people like him. Consequently, despite Nam’s and Mai’s anti-authoritarian and emancipatory political practice, they seem insecure in imagining that labor activism, civil society, as well as any other form of politics ‘from below’ are in fact the essential component parts of a democratic state. Another critical perspective on the repressive state and its ideological apparatus is provided by Huy:

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If the state would be on the side of the people, if they would uphold the people’s rights and wellbeing, why would anyone resist the state? […] Instead, they are taking our resources, pollute our environment and sell our country […]. The Vietnamese police does not protect the people, but it protects the state and the managers. Citizens pay tax, they pay the salary of the police, but they do not get protected in turn. (Interview Huy)

Huy’s comment begins with placing emphasis on the state’s responsibility to protect the rights of the people (i.e., the rule of law) and he further associates this with the idea of collective ownership over land (“our resources, our environment”). His assertion that resistance against the state would cease to exist if the state adhered to the rule of law is noteworthy. This statements reveals a perspective where the Vietnamese state is prominently singled out as the primary source of all evil, while global capitalist structures are not mentioned in this context. Retired police officer and still Communist Party member Ðình (active ` supporter in Ðông Tâm) is also critical of the political apparatus but believes that over time, the Constitution will be fully implemented, indicating that he also places responsibility for this process on the state and its legal apparatus: The Constitution of Vietnam says that the Vietnamese people have the right to protest, to form groups, to organize, the right of freedom of expression etc. but when it comes to the implementation of the rights, problems occur. That doesn’t mean that these rights will never be implemented and realized, but that they are not realized yet [emphasis added]. That is why we need the law. There is no law that regulates demonstrations yet and no law of association. For these ones we have to wait.

After police officer Ðình retired, he had to visit the district police office several times to complete his retirement papers. During these visits, he observed a distorted perception of the state’s role on the part of the civil servants: [In the police office] I met people and [learned about] their grievances of which I have not been aware in the past. I met people at my age for example. I noticed how the employees in the office treated the people badly. They shouted at them and disrespected them. I got furious and asked the young boy: ‘Do you know who pays your salary?’ He said: ‘Yes I

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do, it is the government’. I replied: ‘You are very wrong. The people who pay for your salary are the people like the men at whom you were shouting at a minute ago […]’. I want to believe he started to understand… This is not the failure of an individual person, but the failure of an entire political system that is responsible for his lack of awareness and education. (Interview Ðình, emphasis added)

Ðình’s critique is directed against the political and institutional levels of the state apparatus, which he holds responsible for the ideological and educational status of public workers. It becomes clear that to Ðình, as well as to Mai, Huy, Nam, and many other activists, the concept of state accountability occupies the position of the anti-stance and fleshes out the previously articulated adjacent concept of self-determination. Remember that activists appealed to the concept of self-determination to criticize the people’s subjugation to the state’s arbitrary implementation of the law. They justify their, at times, ‘illegal’ political activities with the state’s failure to hold its institutions accountable and appeal to the agency and autonomy of workers and peasants. Therefore, these activists appear to criticize their subjugation to the rules of the established order and express opposition to the law’s repressive and ideological apparatusses, while at the same time, they leave the explicit critique of capitalism as a system and the law’s role protecting and facilitating capital relations and capital accumulation out of their focus.

Conclusion This chapter began by tracing the personal relationships between democracy, labor, and land activists. It then illustrated that the political struggles of labor and land-rights activists are directed against workplace injustices and enforced land seizures. The chapter also revealed that legal knowledges with which activists aim to improve labor conditions and reclaim land rights has been silenced by what Foucault (1976) termed ‘the regime of discourse’—the hierarchical system of knowledge that decides what is allowed to be said and what not. In countering this ‘regime of discourse’, activists make use of rights-based resistance, whereby they aim to rediscover and disseminate subjugated legal knowledge to workers and fellow peasants. In doing so, labor and land activists carve out spaces that allow them to move within the existing structures of the state and maneuver between the borders of what is officially defined as ‘legal’ and ‘illegal’.

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This, in turn, allows them to share these silenced legal knowledges without appearing to be outright anti-systemic. The chapter covered two underground labor rights groups: Viet Labor Movement and Free Viet Labor Federation, as well as two prominent ` cases of peasants resisting against land seizures in Du,o,ng Nô.i and Ðông Tâm. These cases have shown that activists prioritize non-violent and rights-based forms of resistance to enforce negotiations with and concessions from the government. Yet, especially in the later developments ` in Ðông Tâm, it becomes evident that protesters face limited strategic opportunities when confronted with police violence. Clashes between ` residents and the police resulted in the deaths of Ðông Tâm’s village leader Lê Ðình Kình and three policemen. Shortly after these events, ´ Thi. Thêu, along with her sons Tri.nh Bá Phu,o,ng and key activist Cân , Tri.nh Bá Tu, as well as Nguy˜ên Thi. Tâm, were sentenced to long prison sentences. The socio-political composition of these cases reflect the differing structural constraints and opportunities of individual rights-based ´ Thi. Thêu report resisters. Whereas female land activists such as Cân the burden of emotional sacrifice towards her family, along with severe health issues during their imprisonment as reported by Nguy˜ên Thi. Tâm’s family, it was also apparent that retired police officer Ðình and deceased Communist Party member Lê Ðình Kình had access to material resources and a political network that likely shielded them from more precarious living conditions, severer forms of police harassment, and prolonged prison sentences, at least until the tragic police raid in January 2019. This recognition does not diminish the contributions of figures like Ðình and Mr. Kình but underscores the disparities in accessing material and political resources influenced by political and gender identities. Despite the variations in their structural positions, a comprehensive analysis of the overall political actions of labor and land activists reveals a collective commitment to confronting workplace injustices and preventing state-sponsored land seizures that often serve the interests of the party-state-business alliance. In essence, the cases examined in this study exhibit anti-capitalist tendencies in their practical objectives. Yet, it is essential to revisit one of the central questions that this book addresses, which is to ascertain whether these dissidents and activists consider

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themselves as aligned with an anti-capitalist struggle or if their primary identification is as anti-communists. To delve into this question, the second half of the chapter explored the ideational aspects of labor and land activists’ strategies. It first showed that rights-based resistance served as a potent tool for these activists, not only to challenge the state’s interpretations and arbitrary enforcement of the law, but also to raise public awareness about the repressive mechanisms employed by the party-state apparatus. In doing so, labor and land activists contest the meaning of political concepts including ‘rule of law’, ‘self-determination’, and ‘state accountability’ while at the same time, these contested political concepts are reconfigured into a new ideational structure. The core concept ‘rule of law’ serves as an action-oriented guiding principle that empowers activists to draw upon and navigate a legal repertoire, even if it involves actions that may not be fully sanctioned by the state. ‘Self-determination’, as adjacent concept, exemplifies the pro-stance taken by activists, further elaborating on their interpretation of the ‘rule of law’. Given the ideological background of a socialist-oriented market economy, as outlined in Chapter 2, it is not surprising that these activists couple self-determination with the right to establish independent bodies of workers’ representation and the right to keep their farmland. Yet, the system of labor exploitation itself and the party-state’s prioritization of business interests are not explicitly criticized, which suggests that the focus of their activism is concentrated on the rights of workers and peasants within the existing framework, without fundamentally challenging the capitalist structure or explicitly opposing communism. Contrasting the configuration of these three political concepts with their actual political practices reveals an intriguing dynamic. While these activists demonstrate a clear awareness of the repressive and ideological aspects of the party-state, which often favor political and capitalist elites, their approach appears to be less confrontational when it comes to their perceptions of the legal system’s central role in safeguarding and perpetuating the very capitalist relations they practically resist. From a decolonial perspective, one may conclude that the demand for and prioritization of the implementation of institutionalized rights cannot serve as the ultimate political objective as such a focus omits the fact that it would once again give way to the continued subjugation to a system that imposes a normative understanding of legality and illegality. However, more importantly,

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the chapter has hopefully shown that the political practice of rights-based resisters carries an anti-capitalist tendency and that they do criticize and rework dominant ideologies to legitimize and justify their resistance, even if they do not intend to break with existing social relations. This alone deserves recognition.

References Althusser, L. (2014). On the reproduction of capitalism: Ideology and ideological state apparatuses. Verso Books. (Original published in 1971) Anner, M., & Liu, X. (2016). Harmonious unions and rebellious workers: A study of wildcat strikes in Vietnam. ILR Review, 69(1), 3–28. Anner, M. (2018). Strikes in Vietnam. In M. Nowak & J. Dutta (Eds.), Workers’ movements and strikes in the twenty-first century: A global perspective. Rowman & Littlefield International. Barras, C. (2013, March 16). Land-grabs in Vietnam: Losing the plot. The Economist. Beresford, M. (2008). Doi Moi in review: The challenges of building market socialism in Vietnam. Journal of Contemporary Asia, 38(2), 221–243. Buckley, J. (2020). Vietnam: New labour code set to allow worker representative organisations independent of state-led general confederation of labour. Business & Human Rights Resource Centre. Retrieved September 8, 2020, from https://www.business-humanrights.org/en/latestnews/vietnam-newlabour-code-set-to-allow-worker-representative-organisations-independent-ofstate-led-general-confederation-of-labour/ Buckley, J. (2021). Freedom of association in Vietnam: A heretical view. Global Labour Journal, 12(29), 79–94. Buckley, J. (2022). Vietnamese labour militancy: Capital-labour antagonisms and self-organised struggles. Routledge. Business & Human Rights Resource Centre. (2022). Vietnam: Civil society members of the EUVN free trade agreement advisory group charged and imprisoned. Retrieved February 5, 2023, from https://www.business-humanr ights.org/en/latest-news/vietnam-civil-society-members-of-the-eu-vn-freetrade-agreement-advisory-group-charged-and-imprisoned/ Chan, C. K. C., & Hui, E. S. I. (2022). Pension systems and labour resistance in post-socialist China and Vietnam: A welfare regime analysis. Journal of Contemporary Asia, 53(2), 233–252. Clarke, S. (2006). The changing character of strikes in Vietnam. Post-Communist Economies, 18(3), 345–361. Do, H. H. (2016). The dynamics of legal transplantation: Regulating industrial conflicts in post-Doi Moi Vietnam. The University of Melbourne.

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Ebbighausen, R. (2020). EU-Vietnam trade deal puts spotlight on workers’ rights. Deutsche Welle. Retrieved January 2, 2020, from https://www.dw. com/en/eu-vietnam-trade-deal-puts-spotlight-on-workersrights/a-52040200 Francavilla, C. (2020). MEPs: Don’t waste your chance to change Vietnam. Euobserver. Retrieved December 27, 2020, from https://euobserver.com/ opinion/147134 Fforde, A., & de Vylder, S. (2018). From plan to market: The economic transition in Vietnam (2nd ed.). Routledge. Foucault, M. (1976). Two lectures (Lecture One: 7 January 1976). In C. Gordon (Ed.), Power/knowledge (1980) (pp. 78–108). Vintage Books. Harvey, D. (2004). The “new” imperialism: Accumulation by dispossession. Socialist Register, 40, 63–87. Harvey, D. (2005). The new imperialism (2nd ed.). Oxford University Press. Hiep, L. H. (2020). Deadly clash brings Vietnam’s land disputes into the spotlight. ISEAS: Yusof Ishak Institute. Retrieved January 15, 2020, from https://www.iseas.edu.sg/medias/commentaries/item/11152-deadlyclash-brings-vietnams-land-disputes-into-the-spotlight-by-le-hong-hiep HR Defender. (2016). Hanoi: 1000 police suppressed Duong Noi farmers and kidnapped Mrs. Can Thi Theu. Retrieved June 6, 2023, from https://www. vietnamhumanrightsdefenders.net/2014/04/27/hanoi-1000-police-suppre ssed-duong-noi-farmers-kidnapped-mrs-can-thi-theu/ Hudson, A. (2018). Law as capitalist technique. King’s Law Journal, 29(1), 58–87. Human Rights Watch. (2011). Vietnam: Overturn labor activists’ harsh prison sentences. Retrieved January 22, 2022, from https://www.hrw.org/news/ 2011/03/16/vietnam-overturn-labor-activists-harsh-prison-sentences Ives, M. (2017). Vietnamese villagers release 19 officials held hostage in land dispute. New York Times. Retrieved May 2, 2018, from https://www.nytimes. com/2017/04/22/world/asia/vietnam-hostages-land-dispute.html Kerkvliet, B. J. T. (2005). The power of everyday politics: How Vietnamese peasants transformed national policy. Cornell University Press. Kerkvliet, B. J. T. (2011). Workers’ protest in contemporary Vietnam. In A. Chan (Ed.), Labour in Vietnam (pp. 160–210). Institute of Southeast Asian Studies. Kerkvliet, B. J. T. (2014). Protests over land in Vietnam: Rightful resistance and more. Journal of Vietnamese Studies, 9(3), 19–54. Kerkvliet, B. J. T. (2019). Speaking out in Vietnam: Public political criticism in a Communist Party-ruled nation. Cornell University Press. Lam, M. (2014). Wife of Vietnam death in custody victim ‘outraged’ by light sentences. Retrieved June 3, 2023, from https://www.rfa.org/english/news/ vietnam/sentences-04032014173243.html

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Le, T. (2017). Lessons learned from Vietnam’s Dong Tam standoff. The Diplomat. Retrieved March 2, 2019, from https://time.com/4741992/vie tnam-land-dispute-hostages-my-duc/ Mentan, T. (2015). Decolonizing democracy from western cognitive imperialism. Langaa RPCIG. Nguyen, T. P. (2019). Workplace justice: Rights and labour resistance in Vietnam. Palgrave Macmillan. https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-13-3116-9 Nguyen, H. H. (2016). Political dynamics of grassroots democracy in Vietnam. Palgrave Macmillan. Nguyen, A. (2016, December 1). 30 detained in Hanoi over land-grab protests ahead of party meetings. RFA Vietnamese. Retrieved January 12, 2021, from https://www.rfa.org/english/news/vietnam/protests-011 22016142102.html Nguyen, W. (2020). Recap: Sentencing in the Dong Tam trial. Thevietnamese.org. Retrieved September 5, 2020, from https://www.thevietnamese.org/2020/ 09/recap-sentencing-in-the-dong-tamtrial/ O’Brien, K. J., & Li, L. (2006). Rightful resistance in rural China. Cambridge University Press. Saeed, R. (2019). Law and coloniality of empire: Colonial encounter and normative orderings in the Indian sub-continent. Yearbook of Islamic and Middle Eastern Law Online, 19(1), 103–133. Siu, K., & Chan, A. (2015). Strike wave in Vietnam, 2006–2011. Journal of Contemporary Asia, 45(1), 71–91. Suu, N. V. (2009). Agricultural land conversion and its effects on farmers in contemporary Vietnam. Focaal, 54, 106–113. The Dong Tam Task Force. (2020). Fighting over Senh field. A Report on the Dong Tam Village Attack. Retrieved September 29, 2020, from https://saf eguarddefenders.com/sites/default/files/Dong%20Tam%20report.pdf The 88 Project. (n.d.). Profile: Nguyen Thi Tam. Retrieved June 7, 2023, from https://the88project.org/profile/501/nguyen-thi-tam/ Tran, A. N. (2007a). Alternative to the ‘race to the bottom’ Vietnam: Minimum wage strikes in Vietnam and their aftermath. Labor Studies Journal, 32(4), 430–451. Tran, A. N. (2007b). The third sleeve: Emerging labor newspapers and the response of the labor unions and the state to workers’ resistance in Vietnam. Labor Studies Journal, 32(3), 257–279. Tran, A. N. (2013). Ties that bind: Cultural identity, class, and law in Vietnam’s labor resistance. Southeast Asia Program Publications, Cornell University. Tran, T. T. T. (2009). State–society relations and the diversity of peasant resistance in Vietnam. In D. Caouette & S. Turner (Eds.), Agrarian angst and rural resistance in contemporary Southeast Asia (pp. 159–179). Routledge.

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Vasavakul, T. (2019). Vietnam: A pathway from state socialism. Cambridge University Press. Vu, T. (2014). The party v. The people: Anti-China nationalism in contemporary Vietnam. Journal of Vietnamese Studies , 9(4), 33–66. Wells-Dang, A. (2010). Political space in Vietnam: A view from the ‘riceroots.’ The Pacific Review, 23(1), 93–112.

CHAPTER 5

Catholic Dissidents

…it matters which kind of Marxism or socialism is adopted by those who are inclined to espouse such ideas. It would be a mistake for those on the left to fail to leave some space for religion in their approach to society and politics. (McLellan, 1987: 5)

In the spirit of McLellan’s discussions on Marxism and religion, this chapter sheds light on the position of Catholic dissidents in Vietnam. Given the historical complexity of the topic, this chapter starts with a brief historical outline.

The Historical Context The relationship between Vietnam’s Catholics and Communist forces is perhaps best described as a complicated structure of fractures and divisions (Keith, 2008, 2012). This complicated structure formed throughout the different periods and stages of anti-colonial and anti-imperial resistance against French colonialism (1887–1954), the U.S.-Vietnam War (1955–1975) and the communist-led liberation movement.

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 S. Pham, Vietnam’s Dissidents, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-4606-8_5

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French Catholic missionaries had already established Christian communities in Vietnam 200 years prior to French colonialism.1 With these already existing Catholic communities, French powers were provided with an additional excuse to finally conquer Vietnam’s land, establish a colonial state that officially lasted from 1887 to 1954 and therewith consolidate their overall imperial structure in Indochina. All this under the pretext of a mission civilisatrice. Against this background, one cannot deny that Vietnamese Catholics initially cooperated and colluded with French Catholic missionaries and French colonial forces. Yet, as tensions between French missionaries and secular colonialists began to grow at a time of mounting anticlericalism, so did the tensions between missionaries and Vietnamese Catholics (Daughton, 2006; Keith, 2012). Abusive, racist, and hierarchical practices of French missionaries towards Vietnamese Catholics resulted in, which an increasingly adversarial relationship between the Vietnamese Catholic Church and the colonial state rather than a cooperative one (Del Testa, 2014; Keith, 2012: 133). This gave rise to the beginning of resistance by Vietnamese Catholics against French colonial forces and French missionaries. And gradually Vietnamese Catholics developed into an important ally of Vietnam’s anti-colonial movement (Keith, 2012). This leads us to the historical figure Phan Bô.i Châu (1867–1940), a Vietnamese intellectual and one of the most prominent leaders of Vietnam’s independence movement. Phan Bô.i Châu viewed Catholicism as “culturally separate and precolonial”, but saw the main problem in the missionaries, who exploited religion for political ends. This, in turn, gave rise to anti-Catholic sentiments in Vietnam caused resulting in “antiCatholicism to divide the nation” (Keith, 2012: 6). In other words, to 1 Vietnam’s history of Christianity can be traced back to the pre-modern era, the time of the two kingdoms Ðàng Trong and Ðàng Ngoài in the sixteenth century. Keith explains that with Catholicism arriving in the region, it was particularly “the social authority, scientific knowledge and the international connections of foreign missionaries” that were perceived as a threat by the kingdoms’ rulers. As a consequence, they called for “the destruction of Church property and the imprisonment or execution of Catholics” (Keith, 2012: 4). However, despite ongoing conflicts, by the end of the eighteenth century Catholicism was able to settle its foundation, became officially tolerated and ultimately embraced as part of the religious scenery especially in Ðàng Ngoài, the northern kingdom of today’s Vietnam. Back then, Vietnamese Catholicism did not challenge the given sociopolitical order but quite contrary, integrated itself into Confucian hierarchies (Keith, 2012: 4).

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Phan Bô.i Châu, Catholicism was undeniably a foreign import, but it was the instrumentalization and politicization of religion that constitutes the actual reason for social divisions. Ultimately, Vietnamese Catholics (together with several French missionaries) started to criticize and resist against French colonial forces. Here, the 1940s mark a historically significant period, when many Vietnamese Catholics supported the communistled nationalist movement Viê.t Minh against Japanese and French forces (Chu, 2008: 157; Denney, 1990: 271). At this point, Hô` Chí Minh and the Viê.t Minh were not hostile towards Vietnamese Catholics, but rather appealed to Catholic intellectuals and rank-and-file clergy to join the revolutionary government and the resistance movement against the French colonial administration (Keith, 2012: 219). During these years, Catholics and communists worked for the same objectives and used similar mobilization techniques, so it would be wrong to believe that Catholics were fundamentally opposed to communism from the outset. In fact, different continuities reflect otherwise. For example the association of Catholics for ´ remained an important organiNational Salvation (Công giáo c´u,u quôc) zation. Similarly, the dioceses of Bùi Chu and Phát Diê.m became bastions of the anti-French struggle, and the president of the National Assembly was a Catholic priest.2 Nonetheless, many members of the Viê.t Minh (the communist-led organization spearheading the independence movement) retained skepticism regarding the potential persistence of colonial influence and foreign control through covertly operating French missionaries and foreign priests (Chu, 2008: 157; Gheddo, 1970: 28; Marr, 1987: 6). This apprehension reached its peak in 1946, as the Viê.t Minh consolidated their political power. Subsequently, they purged non-communist factions, including Catholics, from the coalition government a few years later. This move drew parallels to Mao Zedong’s persecution of the Chinese Catholic Church. However, it is worth noting that the Vietnamese communist forces never systematically repressed Catholics to the extent seen in the actions of the Chinese Communist Party. Nonetheless, the stance among Catholic bishops and the laity started to change, mounting in a profound anti-communist position around 1949 (Chu, 2008: 158; Denney, 1990: 271; Keith, 2008: 159; 2012; Marr, 1981: 85). The position of Catholics further complicated after Hô` Chí Minh, the leader of 2 I thank the anonymous reviewer for this important information.

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Viê.t Minh, declared independence from French Indochina in 1945 and announced the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRV), of which he became the first president. Vietnam’s anti-colonial movement ended with the 1954 Geneva Accords in which France agreed to withdraw from its colonies in French Indochina and to temporarily divide Vietnam into two parts. This resulted in the establishment of de facto two regimes: the north as ‘Democratic Republic of Vietnam’ (DRV) under control of the communist Viê.t Minh and Hô` Chí Minh (1890–1969) and the south as ‘The Republic of Vietnam’ (RVN) whose president Ngô Ðình Diê.m (1901–1963, presidency from 1955 to 1963) was a Catholic. At a time when the country needed to rebuild itself as a newly independent postcolony, the temporary division of Vietnam fueled a civil war. In the fight against the communist forces of North Vietnam, South Vietnam sought aid from the United States, while Vietnam’s communist forces received backing from China and the Eastern Bloc. However, for the majority of Vietnamese, it was not solely the U.S.-Vietnam War that dictated the country’s quest for independence; rather, it was the civil war that shaped the country’s political destiny. The Vietnamese civil war displayed a massive ideological chasm between the communist forces in the north and the anti-communist regime of the south. Adding to this, the authorities of the DRV linked the Catholic Church with French colonial powers and its ties to the Vatican, considering it an instrument of imperialism (Denney, 1990: 272; Mais, 1985). Consequently, many Catholics feared religious persecution, deportation to education camps, imprisonment or simply poverty. Nearly 900,000 North Vietnamese migrated to the south of Vietnam between August 1954 and mid-1995 (Denney, 1990: 271). Among these refugees, about three-quarters were Catholics and around 200,000 were Buddhists (Keith, 2012: 7; Miller, 2013: 98). Living in the South, under the presidency of Ngô Ðình Diê.m who “represented himself as a progressive reformer who believed that U.S. aid and expertise would figure prominently in Vietnam’s postcolonial future”, these Catholic migrants (or refugees) enjoyed religious freedom (Miller, 2013: 40). Yet, the Southern regime was far from being perfect, which was also recognized by anti-communists. Fear (2016: 56) notes that although “many anti-communist South Vietnamese gained a new admiration for Ngô Ðình Diê.m, they decisively rejected the political institutions he had created”. Why this was the case is well expressed in Chu’s (2008: 161) account of the context. Chu is worth quoting at length here: “Despite the

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changes of Vatican II, the Church still was not completely welcomed in the south. This is because any positive effects of the process of absorbing and assimilating the policies and the spirit of Vatican II were offset by Ngô Ðình Diê.m’s regime. Although a devout Catholic himself, Ngô Ðình Diê.m’s regime was corrupt, allowing certain Catholic political elites access to better education while much of the population (both Catholic and non-Catholic) never enjoyed such privileges. In fact, the majority of Catholic families remained poor and uneducated”. And not only that, but critics of the South Vietnamese regime have foregrounded the violence against other religions, the crackdown on student activists and Buddhist protesters, repression against the political opposition, corruption, and the presence of an undemocratic nepotistic system (Fear, 2016: 6). As a consequence, the legitimacy of South Vietnam’s government as well as the president’s Catholic integrity was increasingly put under scrutiny and Catholic life in the RVN became deeply fractured (Keith, 2012: 247). It all ended in the collapse of the Southern regime that ultimately fell into the hands of the communist forces who declared national reunification and the end to the U.S.-Vietnam War on April 30, 1975. Until 1975, the year of the reunification of North and South Vietnam, a handful of Catholics referred to themselves as “progressive and left-wing, but ´ bô., câp ´ tiên, ´ not communist” (in Vietnamese: “ngu,o`,i công giáo tiên khuynh ta, không phai Viê.t Cô.ng”) (Tran, 2013: 81). Drawing on Vatican II principles, these ‘progressive’ Catholics advocated a dialogical approach aimed at tempering the strong anti-communist sentiment within the Catholic Church. Instead, they promoted shared values and a conciliatory stance between communists and Catholics (Chu, 2008: 153). ij

ij

‘Progressive’ Catholics in the Republic of Vietnam (1962–1975): Against anti-communism within the Catholic Church During the years of the Southern regime, a group of politically outspoken Catholics, led by no more than 20 priest and followed by workers, students, intellectuals, and laymen, began to diverge from the staunchly anti-communist stance of the Catholic Church. Their sphere of influence was confined to two parishes in Saigon (present-day Ho Chi Minh city): Vu,o`,n Xoài and the Redemptorist parish (Denney, 1990: 279). This group was neither fully aligned to communism nor did they defend the U.S.-backed Southern regime. Instead, they advocated for an alternative approach rooted in dialogue and cooperation with communist forces,

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aimed at leading the country into peace and independence from foreign powers (Keith, 2012: 245f). Their political activities exhibited varying degrees of pro-communist or more liberal view points within the group. But their efforts mainly focused on establishing Catholic trade unions and producing numerous publications, including a significant collection of journals written over a period of 15 years. Catholic Trade Unions (1962–1975) A robust Catholic labor movement gradually developed, giving rise to the establishment of several subgroups and trade unions, including the ‘Catholic Youth and Worker Movement’ PTTNCG (Phong Trào Thanh ´ S˜ı lao Niên Lao Ðô.ng Công Giáo), ‘Catholic Labour Soldiers’ (Chiên dô.ng công giáo), the ‘Catholic Worker Movement’ (Phong trào Lao Ðô.ng Công Giáo), and the ‘Young Catholic Workers’ TLC (Thanh Lao Công ). For example, the ‘Catholic Youth and Worker Movement’ aligned itself with certain communist values and collaborated with the National Liberation Front of South Vietnam (the communist organization in South Vietnam, Lao, and Cambodia), pursuing a shared objective of uplifting the working class and creating a just society that included all social classes (Tran, 2013: 81). Reconciling the Christian principle of social justice with Marxist-Leninist ideas, as it was proclaimed by the Communist Party prior to 1975, served as their means of coexistence with communist forces. The concept of social justice was paramount in fostering a collective awareness that transcended both class and religion (ibid.). Progressive Catholic priests established connections with communist cadres and engaged together in a form of underground labor activism. Catholic labor activism encompassed actions like the publishing of periodicals, such as the ‘Labour Newsletter of the Committee for the Protection of Workers’ Rights’. One of the most outspoken groups was the ‘Young Catholic Workers’ (TLC).3 According to the perspective of TLC members, progress within communities could only be achieved by propagating Catholicism and 3 TLC is inspired by the ‘Young Christian Workers’ founded by priest Guise Cardijn, later Cardinal Guise Cardijn in 1924 in Brussels. The Jeunesse Ouvrière Chrétienne (JOC) mobilized male and female Catholic youth in the working environment whose strategy was to improve the very environment they were working in and to strengthen their belief. Because of their relation to workers, the JOC is considered as left-wing Catholicism.

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reforming institutional environments, including factories, schools, wards, ` family structures, and religious communities themselves (Tru,o,ng Bá Cân, n.d.). This standpoint was met with opposition from a group known as the ‘Catholic Labour Soldiers’ who contended that reforming the institutional environment would not effectively change a society that prioritizes profit, unregulated competition, control of the means of production and private property as the core drivers of development. Instead, they advocated ideas of ‘justice and brotherhood’. TLC was originally founded in Hai Phòng in 1947, under the leadership of Nguy˜ên Ma.nh Hà, a former Catholic from North Vietnam, had been exiled to France where he established connections with leftwing French Catholics (Quinn-Judge, 2017: 38). He became one of the leading voices advocating for reconciliation with communist forces and later served as a minister of economic affairs during Hô` Chí Minh’s presidency (Quinn-Judge, 2017: 38; Tran, 2013: 447). In 1954, TLC members migrated to the south and formed a group ` 2008). The TLC movement in Saigon was in Saigon (Tru,o,ng Bá Cân, split into two branches, the ‘Young Female Catholic Workers’ (TLC N˜u,) and the ‘Young Male Catholic Workers’ (TLC Nam). While each group operated within different parishes, both supported the working poor in striking for better wages and working conditions at the factory Pin Con Eagle Battery (or Videopin) in March and October 1971. Peter ` was the chaplain of the TLC movement from 1964 to Tru,o,ng Bá Cân 1975 and propagated the “see, judge, act” method, which aimed to foster closer collaboration between Catholic and non-Catholic workers. In doing so, they advocated for the rule of law to protect workers and uphold social justice (Tran, 2013: 99). Together with the ‘Catholic Worker movement’, the TLC sympathized with the ideas of socialism (Tran, 2013: 83). As they assisted the striking workers at the Pin Con factory, authorities arrested fourteen female workers and seven organizers, including three TLC members, three priests, and one labor union cadre. Another important figure in the development of Catholic activism was ` Quôc ´ Bu,u, a lay Catholic, labor organizer and veteran political Trân activist. As Tran (2013: 74) describes: “Bu,u was a complex figure, who maintained shifting alliances with the French and then with the United States. In the 1930s, he participated in anti-French efforts for national independence and eventually was arrested and sent to the Poulo Condore prison (on an island in the South China Sea) in 1940, where he allied ij

ij

ij

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with some prominent communist leaders”. He thereupon became affiliated with the Viê.t Minh, but his enthusiasm dwindled, and he became disillusioned with communism in the late 1940s. Inspired by the ideas and tactics of the Christian democratic trade union movement, he began to clandestinely unionize urban and rural workers in 1949. As the Southern regime under president Nguy˜ên V˘an Thiê.u intensified censorship in 1972 and continued to imprison politically active Catholics, these Catholic groups expanded their scope of activities. They organized demonstrations, protests, and open letters against the Thiê.u regime. There demands included a peaceful resolution to the U.S.-Vietnam War, the release of political prisoners and an end to torture and repression (Tran, 2013: 451, 462). As the Thiê.u regime failed to present an alternative to the total war levied by the Americans, many Catholics became further politicized. They demanded general elections and the formation of a National Union government (Tran, 2013: 459). It is also important to mention that numerous Catholics from anti-communist family backgrounds changed their radical anti-communist views not least due to the influence of the dialogical approach promoted by these ‘progressive’ Catholics. Amid the escalating war, the Thiê.u regime displayed its inability to find a peaceful resolution and resorted to even harsher measures against opponents, regime critics, and student movements. As a consequence, political prisoners became an increasingly pressing concern for the progressive Catholics. On October 30, 1970, students, intellectuals, Catholic priests, ´ Diê.n [Face Buddhist monks and nuns gathered in the office of the Ðôi to Face] journal, an outlet overseen by some of the progressive Catholics. Their intent was to voice their protest against the detention of students who had rallied against the tax and fees hikes imposed by the Thiê.u regime. On that day, they inaugurated ‘The Committee to Reform the Prison System of South Vietnam’ with leadership under Redemptorist ´ Diê.n and the internal Father Chân Tín. Together with the journal Ðôi newspaper Lao Tù [prison], they gathered information about arbitrary arrests, incidents of political prisoner torture, and prison conditions in South Vietnam. Their collective demanded was the unconditional release of all political prisoners. According to Priest Chân Tín, the struggle for the release of political prisoners is “as much as the other struggles part of the liberation movement: liberating the nation in order to clear political prisons” (Chân Tín, 1977). Although these Catholic activists

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had their disagreements with one another, their solidarity with students, workers, intellectuals, and other religious groups seemed to outweigh their at times divergent perspectives. Needless to say, there are other priests and religious figures who shared concerns with social injustice and advocated for a social revolution; however, these individuals could not be mentioned within the scope of this book. Post-1975 Vietnam’s post-1975 era and the early years of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam were marked by an ongoing repression of Catholics, the seizure of Church property, the closure of Catholic-oriented schools, and the cruelties of re-education camps across both northern and southern regions of Vietnam (Chu, 2008: 163). At the same time, the structures of the Catholic Church did not lead towards radicalizing their anti-communist wings, nor did they actively seek complete alignment with the party-state. Rather, as commentators noted, the Church’s institutional bodies shifted away from political positioning. Notably, it was especially the former South Vietnamese Church that engaged in into dialogue with the now communist-led state, in accordance with principles of Vatican II. The Church’s transnational relations and the adherence of Vatican II principles make it therefore difficult to assert that any Catholic Church in Vietnam, past or present, was or is overtly anti-communist, as this would diverge from Vatican II thinking. Thus, neither the institutional Church nor any political Catholic movement seemed to substantially disrupt the initial years of nation-state development. However, following the establishment of the independent nation-state, the Socialist Republic of Vietnam (SRV), in 1975, and particularly since the implementation of economic reforms in 1986, the Communist Party of Vietnam took on the role of the ruling elite. This transition meant a gradual embrace of free market capitalism and a fostering of an environment conducive to corruption (Hai, 2012). At the same time, the institutions of the Catholic Church and other religious minorities were integrated into the CPV apparatus, with the intention of reining in and isolating reactionary priests. Although certain Catholics obtained positions within local administrative bodies and management boards, many Catholics, Buddhists, and indigenous people continued to protest— sometimes escalating to violent outbreaks. Their grievances centered

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around issues like the seizure of church property and land, the unfulfilled promises of compensation, the loss of religious autonomy, and an increase in state regulations. Driven by concerns that the Catholic Church might be a vestige of colonial influence that receives foreign aid from the Vatican to oppose communism, the CPV’s perception of the Catholic Church has been particularly marked by a sense of political threat (Abuza, 2001: 198–200). This threat, however, is not rooted solely in the fact that they are ideologically opposed to each other, but rather in the Church’s global and nationwide network, its hierarchical structure, and control mechanism that extend to the grassroots level. Altogether, these aspects pose is a challenge to the political authority, control and power of the party-state (Abuza, 2001: 199; Hansen, 2005: 316). In light of this context, present-day (non-political) Christian lay people increasingly enjoy freedom of religious practice and expression, and the party-state increasingly accepts the Catholic Church as a legitimate institution. While this seems to suggest a positive trajectory in the relations between the church and the state (Denney, 1990; Gillespie, 2014; Tran, 2010), the picture looks different when considering the ongoing harsh repression against Catholic activists/dissidents and outspoken priests. Given this complex historical background, religion—and particularly Catholicism—continues to play an important role in contemporary dissident activism in Vietnam. In this chapter, I will introduce several Catholic dissidents and outline their political practices and ideas. One of the prominent Catholic labor and environmental activists is Hoàng дu,c Bình*. He was sentenced to more years than 10 in prison for criticizing a marine disaster in Central Vietnam in 2016, which resulted from the release of toxic chemicals by the Formosa Hà T˜ınh Steel Corporation (FHS). Hoàng дu,c Bình was also a member of Viet Labour Movement the labor-rights group introduced in Chapter 4. Other important individuals featur in this chapter include Catholic priests, like priest Sáng, priest Phúc, and priest Thành. In an interview with democracy activist Bách (also a Catholic), he insisted: “If you seek to understand the power and potential for democratic change in Vietnam, you must know the power of the bishops and the priests. Only they are powerful enough to mobilize the people” (Interview Bách). Priest Sáng is one of the key figures of the environmental movement in Central Vietnam, the region that was most heavily impacted by FHS’s spill of toxic wastewater. Catholic communities have a strong foothold in Central Vietnam, which is one reason why Catholic activism gained prominence in this area. And

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as we will delve into, in reaction to priest Sáng’s political involvement and mobilizing capabilities, he was relieved of his duties in September 2020. What do Catholic dissidents want to achieve? Present-day Catholic dissidents aspite to contribute to the establishment of a civil society and to a knowledge system that is rooted in the Catholic principles of justice, truth, and love. Although the Catholic Church’s potential to foster democratic change in Vietnam is recognized by different actors, including international NGOs, it continues to be a pessimistic topic in scholarly discourse (Chu, 2008: 151). One factor is the control the Vietnamese state wields over Church activities, significantly constraining the Church’s role within civil society and its connections to Vatican resources (Chu, 2008: 152). Indeed, many Catholic activists and writers acknowledge that, at least partially, the Catholic Church has been and still is co-opted by the state, as well as the political and financial bodies of the CPV. Yet, activists such as Bách emphasize that a select group of priests and activists became the most important drivers for democratic change and that some parishes carved out crucial spaces for collective action. Salvatore’s view of knowledge and religion could be applied to the Vietnamese context: Religious traditions often play a decisive role in equipping practitioners with a type of knowledge that decisively nurtures—even though not always smoothly—wider civilizing processes. (Salvatore, 2016: 161)

At this point, some may wonder whether this chapter will delve into the realm of liberation theology. I can preempt that Vietnam’s Catholic activists do not advocate for a Vietnamese version of liberation theology, nor do they directly adhere to or draw inspiration from the principles of classical liberation theology as popularized by figures like Gustavo Gutierrez and others.4 Bearing these points in mind, let us now enter the political world of Catholic activists and dissidents.

4 Classical liberation theology originated in Latin America. Gustavo Gutierrez, David McLellan, and many others have explored the congruities and contradictions between theology and Marxism, which became globally known as liberation theology.

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Political Practice of Catholic Activists As Vietnam opened the doors for a capitalist market economy, many things have changed. The increase of domestic and foreign capital investments, coupled with the ongoing land expropriation, environmental pollution, low wages, poor working conditions, and the lack of legal safeguards and social welfare for the marginalized, prompted several Catholic priests and a considerable number of Catholic activists to carve out protected spaces within their parishes. These spaces were intended to facilitate civil society activities and foster the production and dissemination of subjugated knowledges. Eyerman and Jamison (1991) have highlighted the importance of knowledge production and learning within social movements, for which protected spaces are a necessary. It is within these spaces that the creation, transformation, and testing of knowledges can take place. However, Eyerman and Jamison also remind us that the fluidity, the impermanence, and ultimately the decline of a social movement are equally integral to these processes of knowledge production. We can now explore some of the political spaces forged by Catholic activists and examine in more detail three facets of their political practice. These encompass the carving out of politically protected spaces within select Catholic parishes, the initiation of class-action lawsuits and petitions, and the campaigning for the freedom of political prisoners. The Church as a Political Space for Knowledge Production On April 6, 2016, fishermen in the economic zone V˜ ung Áng and several regions in Central Vietnam Hà T˜ınh, Quang Bình, Quang Tri., Th`u,a ´ and Nghê. An began discovering dead fish washed ashore Thiên-Huê, along Vietnam’s 200-km coastline. The cause was traced to the excessive release of toxic wastewater, which polluted coastal waters and led to the death of an estimated 115 tons of marine life. This catastrophe left thousands of individuals out of work, particularly those in Vietnam’s fishing and tourism industries. Official reports estimated that around 44,000 families saw their livelihoods affected by the pollution. The operations of regional fisheries, involving about 2600 fishing boats, came to a halt. Meanwhile the long-term health consequences for residents remain uncertain (Cantera, 2017; Fan et al., 2020: 5; Pha.m, 2017; Radio Free Asia, 2016). In the province Hà T˜ınh, fishermen stumbled upon a massive waste discharge pipe buried undersea that was directly linked to the ij

ij

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V˜ ung Áng economic zone. They suspected a connection between this discovery and the dead fish. Yet, the government’s initial response categorized the incident as a natural disaster and not as a result of industrial processing. Due to mounting pressure from citizens and scientists, the Ministry of Science and Technology initiated an investigative process that involved more than 100 national and foreign specialists. They discovered (or rather confirmed) that a huge waste source from the Vung Ang economic zone contained phenol, cyanide, and ferrous hydroxide, flowing down the sea and resulting in the mass fish killings. By the end of June 2016, the Formosa Hà T˜ınh Steel (FHS), a subsidiary of Taiwan’s Formosa Plastics Group and one of Taiwan’s biggest conglomerates, admitted their responsibility for pumping untreated industrial wastewater into the ocean. This action caused a toxic chemical spill in Vietnam’s waters (Tuoi Tre, 2016; Vietnam Law & Legal Forum, 2016). The steel complex in Hà T˜ınh, valued at $10.6 billion, encompasses a steel plant, a power plant, and a deep seaport, making it one of Vietnam’s largest foreign investments. Prior to the permission of FDI-led projects, state agencies and foreign investors are required to assess possible environmental impacts and protection plans and consult with local residents (Vasavakul, 2019: 60). However, officials failed to fulfill their responsibilities in monitoring the steel plants’ environmental protection measures. Instead, state agencies hesitated, only initiating an investigation weeks later in May 2016 after the fish deaths took place in early April. The initial government response aimed to disassociate the case from the steel plant, attributing it to a natural disaster (Vasavakul, 2019: 61). Later, measures were taken, including demarcating safe and unsafe maritime zones for fisheries and providing financial and material assistance to the affected residents. Unfortunately, these actions were implemented inadequately and lacked transparency (ibid.). After Formosa voluntarily paid a fine of $500 million, the Vietnamese government allowed the factory to continue operations and expressed its commitment to enforcing additional environmental protection measures in Hà T˜ınh and other key FDI sites (ibid.). Residents responded with anger. Due to the FDI character of the FHS, there has been no authorized channel for civic action in forms of mass organizations to monitor environmental pollution or illegal corporate behavior (Vasavakul, 2019: 60). The anti-FHS movement formed shortly after the dead fish occurred, with protesters expressing their discontent regarding the conditions that favored FDI projects. These

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conditions include subsidized land rentals, all of which are detrimental to locals’ interests and environmental protection. Many critics also expressed anger towards Chinese investors who were believed to be involved in the FHS project (Vasavakul, 2019: 61). The key figures of the movement against Formosa were the local fisher families, mostly Catholics, living in the provinces of Nghê. An and Hà T˜ınh. Solidarity protests were held in various cities, including Hanoi, Ho Chi Minh City, Hai Phòng, Ðà ` These protests were also supported N˜˘ang, Nha Trang, and V˜ ung Tâu. by activists and local citizens who were not necessarily direct victims of the environmental disaster. The heart of the movement, however, remained in the provinces Nghê. An and Hà T˜ınh. Several outspoken Catholic bishops and priests from that region collaborated with individual activists associated with labor-rights groups introduced in Chapter 4, the environmental group Green Trees5 and the Association of Fish` Trung),6 as well erman in Central Vietnam (Hiê.p Hô.i Ngu, Dân Miên as individual democracy and human rights activists and lawyers. The most vocal members of the movement were the Catholic parishioners in the province of Nghê. An. To a large extent, the movement was organized by Catholic bishops and priests, among them priest Sáng, priest Phúc and priest Thành. Because many villagers in Central Vietnam are Catholics, many of whom working in the fishing industry and agricultural sector, the priests naturally assumed leadership roles within the movement and represented the victims of the marine pollution in the legal proceedings against FHS. The movement exclusively employed non-violent means of resistance, such as protests, demonstrations, sit-ins, marches, blockading the National Highway (1A), alongside the organization of class-action lawsuits. These commonly used tactics of resistance were supplemented by religious practices, including collective prayers.7 ij

5 Green Trees is an independent and unregistered environmental organization based in Hanoi. 6 Hiêp Hôi Ngu, Dân Miên ` Trung made statics of all families that were affected, gath. . ered the information given by the victims, and sent them to human rights organizations, NGOs, and civil society organizations. The parish in Vinh was also one of the crucial places with bishop Nguyen Thái Ho.,p* who assisted the victims by organizing legal advice, material support, and moral support. 7 For a whole year, from 10 June 2016 until 30 May 2017, parishioners organized Saturday supplications to pray for the victims of Formosa.

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It was February 2019, when I was invited to a parish in Nghê. An province. When I arrived, priest Sáng was engaged in a conversation with a local family outside of his office. They seemed to be asking for his advice and their expressions indicated unease and worry, while another couple patiently waited their turn to speak to the priest. I recognized the busy schedule of a priest and signaled my understanding. I waited outside his office until he welcomed me. Over the next three days, the complexity of Catholic activism became apparent to me. To my surprise, the Saturday prayers at the Church in Nghê. An evolved into an important gathering point for both the villagers affected by the marine pollution and the activists residing in the commune. The Church became an information hub, where updates about the latest developments in the FHS case were disseminated. The Church also served as an educational arena, bridging the lived experiences of the people with the moral and religious duties of being Catholic. These Saturday prayers were different from all the Church services I have witnessed throughout my life. Priest Sáng combined his prayer with religious teaching and historical knowledge and provided a critical analysis of current political affairs of the country. On that particular evening, priest Sáng added a lecture to the Church service informing about the Chinese-Vietnamese Border War in 1979. He encouraged his audience to honor the fallen soldiers and “to autonomously study Vietnamese history, independent of State propaganda” (Quote priest Sáng from the Church service). He concluded the Saturday mass by calling for solidarity with the oppressed and the poor, and at that time, especially with the fisher families that were afflicted by the marine pollution. Under the (one may say) leadership of priest Sáng, the parish in Nghê. An carved out a protected space in a double sense: A physical space for activists and civil society groups that is detached from the party-state’s ideological apparatus and protected from state surveillance mechanisms, and a political space that allowed for public critique and knowledge dissemination that is otherwise subjected to censorship. Later that year in 2019, I met democracy activist Thiên (non-Catholic) in Hanoi (Chapter 3). He was also one of the leading activists involved in the protests and collective actions against FHS. Thiên narrates how he found refuge in the Catholic Church in Nghê. An when he organized the distribution of rice to the “victims of Formosa” (Interview Thiên). Thiên, together with other anti-FHS activists conducted interviews with fishermen, which they then uploaded to their Facebook accounts. Many

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democracy activists conducted a form of citizen journalism and helped the fisher families to do the same by teaching them how to politically organize using social media. They taught the residents how to conduct interviews, how to set up Facebook pages and how to upload information and videos. Similarly, priest Phúc from one of the neighboring parishes temporarily transformed his Church into a protected space that facilitated meetings with international journalists, civil society organizations and lawyers. Members of the unregistered NGO Green Trees, dedicated to environmental protection, also journeyed to Nghê. An and Hà T˜ınh to gather information about the case. Like others, they had to depend on the spaces provided by the parishes. As a result, Green Trees took the lead in publishing a detailed report on the FHS case, available both in Vietnamese and English languages. They also produced a documentary film featuring diverse voices of Vietnam’s wider civil society including Catholic priests and activists. Due to the circumstances, the report and the film could only be investigated and released clandestinely.8 By the end of my fieldwork in Vietnam, I met environmental activist Kim who is one of the founding members of the unregistered NGO Green Trees. Her conversion from Buddhism to Catholicism played an important role for her political identity: I never thought I would convert from Buddhism to Catholicism […] Before I converted, I sometimes went to the Catholic Church, just because I liked sitting in the Church and listening to what the Father preaches, especially what he preaches about human rights. This [particular] Church is one of the few places where you can hear someone talking about human rights in an honest and most straightforward way. (Interview Kim)

Her experience testifies to how certain churches provided a space for knowledge concerned with human rights that otherwise remains silenced. Moreover, priest Phúc explained to me that in order to distribute information to the local residents, such as details about the FHS case, members of his parish printed information fliers. These materials were written in a language that could be easily understood by fishermen, workers, and local residents. In doing so, they shifted their approach from providing

8 Green Trees published the report An Overview of the Marine Life Disaster in Vietnam in October 2016 and the documentary film Don’t be afraid, later renamed to “Fear???” , , , (Vietn.: Ð`ung So. , later renamed: So. ???) in May 2019.

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immediate material aid, like distributing rice, to adopting the practice of citizen journalism as a strategy of self-directed investigation. This aligned with their demand for transparency and political accountability. This demands was captured in the widely recognized slogan displayed on protest banners: ` nu,o´,c sa.ch, dân “Fish need clean water, people need transparency” (Cá cân ` minh ba.ch) cân

The slogan referred to the overarching struggle for the protection of natural resources and the people’s right to know about and participate in political decision-making processes. Priest Sáng described how in the period between June and October 2016, the diocese Vinh counted 60–100 young people showing up at the Church every day to volunteer in helping the victims of the marine disaster and to investigate the case ‘from the ground up’. Most actions that included direct involvement of witnesses and victims, such as conducting interviews, were relatively short-lived, because these volunteers soon encountered police harassment and surveillance. In addition, the hardline communist group known as the ‘Red Flags’ have a particularly strong presence in Nghê. An. This group predominantly recruited young individuals from communist mass organizations such as the Communist Youth Organization and Women’s Association. Particularly in Nghê. An, Red Flag groups propagate discrediting misinformation about Catholic priests and bishops. Amid this period of protests, local residents gradually realized that their collective efforts to oppose FHS went beyond the issue of water pollution and environmental justice. They began to recognize another another aspect inherent to this situation. Thiên states: As a matter fact, the Vietnamese people were furious about the government’s lack of accountability. Now, people understand that with this government in office, our environment will never be protected. (Interview Thiên)

Class-Action Lawsuits In June 2016, when FHS admitted responsibility and pledged to pay $500 million in damages, a turning point was reached that marked the

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beginning of a second phase of the anti-FHS movement lasting from June until September 2016. Residents and activists in Central Vietnam started to broaden their demands and called for immediate action. This included advocating for proper compensation for the victims and ultimately the closure of the Formosa steel factory in Hà T˜ınh. Yet, the actual negotiation and distribution of the $500 million compensation funds took place in an opaque and arbitrary manner (Fan et al., 2020; Green Trees, 2016: 108ff). Interview partners and locals reported that in some instances corrupt government officials took back the money from the affected families or kept it for themselves (Interviews with priest Sáng, priest Phúc, priest Thành and informal conversations with locals). Priest Phúc states: Many Christian activists have a strong awareness and are very committed to resist wherever there is injustice. We Catholics are also more united and stand in solidarity with one another and have a high communal awareness. (Interview Priest Phúc)

In the case of smaller towns and communes (làng/xã structures), Christian communities maintain even closer personal relations. Vietnamese Catholics consider the parish as a family, with the priest positioned at the top of the hierarchy, reflecting a patriarchal system influenced by both the colonial and pre-colonial Confucian order. Meetings occur once, sometimes twice, a day. The regular community gatherings not only help members stay informed about local developments, but also foster communication and the sharing of ideas and demands. Priest Phúc emphasizes that this sense of collectivity developed “especially because we have the fighting spirit, the spirit of resistance” (Interview priest Phúc). Although the religious practices have certainly cultivated a sense of collectivity within the communities prior to the protests against FHS, it was the political character of the weekly prayers, in particular, that amplified this collectivity beyond the religious affiliation. How this was put into practice could be observed in the religious-political practices on Sundays, where the parishioners and villagers organized weekly demonstrations and sit-ins in the villages. However, as the political situation changed, the movement’s demands and activities also needed to adapt. This clarified that the anti-FHS protesters, contrary to the attempts to label them as religious conservatives, were not a religious group exploiting the environmental cause for their own self-interests, such as advocating for

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religious freedom. Rather, the anti-FHS protests highlighted to a fundamental problem intrinsic to the capitalist system itself, that is, the legal safeguarding of capital-intensive industries and the suppression of political dissent against these state-party-business relations. The protesters and residents invoked the Vietnamese law and engaged in collective legal action to demand justice for the affected residents. While the religious component certainly played a crucial role in the shaping of the political movement, it was the collective legal action that took center stage in the political practice of Catholic activists. Under the leadership of priest Sáng, they gathered evidence and legal documents to file a class-action lawsuit against FHS. The process of filing the lawsuit involved carefully organizing and drafting legal documents, alongside providing legal guidance to individual cases with the assistance of volunteer lawyers. All of this took place within the protected spaces of a few Catholic parishes.9 The first class-action lawsuit consisted of a total of 506 individual cases, submitted by fisher families and other residents whose businesses and livelihoods were impacted by the marine disaster. Each case incorporated evidence from ten affected families, forming the basis for their compensation claims from FHS. On September 26 and 27, 2016, priest Sáng along with 545 residents traveled 200 km to the K`y Anh People’s Court to file the 506 lawsuits against FHS. In response to the movement’s call, however, the Court dismissed and returned the 506 lawsuits. Chief Judge of the Hà T˜ınh People’s Court Nguy˜ên V˘an Th˘ang stated that the claimants had failed to provide legal evidence and hence, according to the law, the Court is prohibited from granting legal procedure (Nhi, 2016).10 Two days after the claimants went to Court (September 29, 2016), then-Prime Minister Nguy˜ên Xuân Phúc issued 9 To file a lawsuit in Vietnam the claimant has to address the Court at the provincial level that is in charge of the factory. In this case, it was the province of Hà T˜ınh. Three options are available to submit the documents that will justify the lawsuit: Either the claimants send the documents via postal service, they submit it via online form or hand in the documents in person. Postal service is not a reliable option in Vietnam as the risks of loss or sabotage are high. Similarly, online submission is also not an option for most villagers as they don’t have computers or access to the Internet. Therefore, the only reliable option was to submit the documents in person. 10 The Judge was quoted in official media: “The rejection of the petitions is pursuant to the Civil Procedural Code. Clause 5, Article 189 of the Code stipulates that a petition must be backed by proofs of the damages caused by the violation of the claimant’s legitimate rights. Furthermore, Point C, Clause 1, Article 192 cites issues that have been resolved with a valid decision by the relevant authorities. In this case, the compensation

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the previously mentioned Decision 1880/GD-TTg in which FHS agreed to pay $500 million in compensation to the victims. However, the Decision did not specify the exact damages resulting from Formosa’s chemical spill and thus failed to outline specific measures for compensating the victims.11 In addition, decision falsely stated that the FHS case has been officially processed in line with the provisions set forth in Decision 1880, when in reality, it was on September 26 and 27, two days prior, that the Catholic priest Sáng and the fishermen submitted the petition to the K`y Anh People’s Court in Hà T˜ınh, only to receive a rejection. On October 2, 2016, over ten thousand people protested in front of the steel plant, as affected residents and fishermen reported not having received the promised compensation. A day later, priest Phúc presented a petition filed by more than one thousand households to Vietnam’s National Assembly, demanding immediate compensation. And in the same month, priest Sáng organized another journey with a thousand residents from Vinh to the K`y Anh Court, this time aiming to file a complaint about the wrongful procedure of the court and to resubmit the 506 cases from the first time with an additional 100 new cases. However, on their way out of the village, the protesters and activists faced intimidation and attacks from the local police. Bus drivers were stopped, car drivers were pulled out of their vehicles and beaten, and cars were sabotaged with large nails placed under their wheels. Fearing further violence, priest Sáng decided to withdraw the journey with the one thousand residents and instead traveled to the K`y Anh Court with a group of only 49 people. Similarly, priest Phúc and the villagers in his commune experienced police violence, leading to the arrest of several activists. The anti-FHS movement in 2016 stands as one of the more recent and significant instances of large-scale collective action that made the criminalization of public criticism apparent.

process has already been resolved with Decision 1880/QD-TTg by the Government” (Nhi, 2016). 11 The seven categories of affected persons included (1) seafood harvesting; (2) aquatic breeding; (3) salt production; (4) coastal seafood business activities; (5) fishing logistics; (6) coastal tourism services; and (7) seafood stockpiling and purchase.

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Against and from Within the Prison System After the protests subsided, vocal Catholics and activists against FHS continued to face assaults and arrests, among them Hoàng дu,c Bình* (Catholic, also labor activist). During the Formosa disaster, he helped the fishermen and villagers in filing lawsuits and petitions, for which he was sentenced to 14 years in prison. Hoàng дu,c Bình was first arrested in Nghê. An province while he was accompanying one of the priests. The police forcibly removed him from the vehicle. Hoàng дu,c Bình was charged with “resisting persons in the performance of their official duties” under Article 257 and “Abusing democratic freedoms to infringe upon the interests of the State” under Article 258 of the 1999 Criminal Code. In August 2017, authorities added another charge of “destroying or deliberately damaging property” (Article 143) against Hoàng дu,c Bình. Dozens of Formosa activists have been sentenced since then, including Nguy˜ên V˘an Hoá* (Catholic, anti-FHS activists) to 7 years in prison for capturing drone footage of the protests and Lê Ðình Lu,o.,ng* (Catholic, anti-FHS activist) to 20 years for writing online articles about different cases including Formosa. Nguy˜ên N˘ang T˜ınh* (Catholic, democracy, and anti-FHS activist) was sentenced to 11 years in prison for his posts on Facebook that were allegedly showing anti-state content. The criminalization of political activists was publicly denounced by priest Sáng and priest Phúc. Resistance, however, does not end behind bars but continues in prison. As of the time of writing this book, numerous Catholic antiFHS activists are serving their sentences. Yet, their voices reach the outside world. During Church services, priest Sáng and priest Phúc, together with the parishioners, continued to light candles symbolizing their solidarity with the imprisoned activists. Some were holding photos of the recently detained activists, while others raise signs and banners proclaiming: ‘Freedom for Prisoners of Conscience’. These displays of solidarity, captured in photos, are widely shared on social media platforms, with which the parishioners wanted to raise awareness about the prisoners’ identities and their stories (Interview priest Sáng). In a conver` Hu`ynh Duy Th´u,c* from a sation with me, Priest Sáng quoted Trân ` Hu`ynh Duy Th´u,c is one private conversation he had with him. Trân of the current political prisoners whose intellect and willpower became an inspiration for many democracy activists:

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There are crimes that make you feel embarrassed and humiliated. But there are others that make you feel proud.

The priests are targeting to counteract societal stigmatization associated with political crimes and foster solidarity with political prisoners by building on the notions of pride and patriotic sacrifice. We will delve into these concepts in the second part of this chapter. This practice is particularly important for family members, friends, and other outspoken activists who face the repercussions of political stigmatization. Democracy activist Bách, a former political prisoner who served a 7 year term for making state-critical music, recounts that after his arrest, the priest of his local Church visited his family, prayed for him, and expressed his support for his cause. The priests boosted his family’s morale and, in a way, “made them proud”, he said (Interview Bách). Simply by acknowledging the political prisoners by name and by visiting their families—who not only shoulder the financial burden of supporting the prisoners but who have to cope with emotional, mental, and social distress—the priests help alleviate the fear of societal rejection and rebut the ‘state-enemy identity’ attributed to political prisoners. In doing so, Catholic priests and activists dismantle the stigma of criminalization and anchor the “struggle for political, social judicial and economic justice” in the liberation of the oppressed, a concept that aligns with the teachings of Jesus Christ (Pounder, 2008: 279). Countering the imprisonment of political activists is not only concerned with the physical repression within the prison walls, but it also involves what Pounder (2008: 282) called the liberation “for transformation”.12 Over his seven years of Bách’s imprisonment, he observed that religious inmates (many of them belonged to religious sects, like the Cao Ðài and Hòa Hao) experienced reduced mental distress, were more resilient to physical and psychological abuse and extremely durable in hunger strikes. Other former Vietnamese political prisoners have reported similar experiences. Unsurprisingly, like democracy activist Liên (Chapter 3) who had been an atheist her whole life, found her spiritual connection to God while in prison (Interview Liên). Pounder ij

12 Pounder (2008) proposes the term “prison theology”, by which she targets the oppressiveness of a criminal justice system and identifies liberation, hope, and justice as basis for a Church-led movement for the support of those who are criminalized.

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explains that this process of “prison theology” involves personal transformation and inner freedom, but prison theology als addresses the transformation of the criminal justice system, the government, and the Church’s stance towards those who are criminalized (Pounder, 2008: 283). Therefore, the political resistance of Catholics like Hoàng дu,c Bình*, Lê Ðình Lu,o.,ng*, Nguy˜ên V˘an Hoá*, and Nguy˜ên N˘ang T˜ınh* continues from within the prison walls. Liberation “for transformation”, as Pounder (2008: 282) puts it, “includes those things to be free for, especially freedom for the soul and mind through the power of God”. Liberation does not depend on the opening of the prison gates only but becomes a matter of “concrete struggle rather than abstract ideas” (ibid.). By the end of my stay in the parish, priest Sáng and priest Phúc asked me whether I have heard of democracy activist Pha.m Ðoan Trang (introduced in Chapter 3) and some other prominent labor activists, including Mai (also a Catholic) that I have introduced in Chapter 4. The priests assured me that if I needed to contact any of them, they would be pleased to introduce me to them. They explained that some of the most committed and reliable Catholic activists in Central Vietnam are engaged in a broad spectrum of societal struggles related to democracy, environmental protection, human rights, labor rights, and ‘national sovereignty’ (Interview priest Sáng; priest Phúc). This reminded me on Mai’s statement: When the Formosa disaster happened, it affected many other issues, not only the environment, but the people’s work throughout the whole country. It affected politics and democracy.

Mai points to the fact that many workers in the fishing industry living in urban areas were also significantly affected. Fish sellers in the cities, for instance, were excluded from compensation negotiations, often remaining unrecognized in official reports. For several months, people could not make a living. Others had to migrate to the city to find work, as one former fisherman told me in my bus ride back to Ho Chi Minh City. Therefore, Mai and many other activists considered the FHS case as intertwined with worker’s rights and the lack of democracy. Mai declares: Worker’s rights are human and democratic rights. And therefore our [labor rights] group was involved in the protests against FHS. We speak of labor in many ways.

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This chapter illustrated that different dissident groups collaborated with each other in resistance to FDI projects that affect different segments of society. The political practice of Catholic activists reveals their opposition to the state’s role as a facilitator of these capital investments and thus, the facilitator of environmental pollution, labor exploitation, and political imprisonment. It seems that Catholic activists in Vietnam are employing anti-capitalist practices. At the same time, we have seen that Catholic activism is subjected to severe state repression, indicating that when politics from below and religious groups occur together to challenge capital relations, activists are met with severe repression.

Coloniality in Religion Before we explore the ideological realm of dissident Catholics, I will briefly outline the decolonial critique of religion. The decolonial standpoint emphasizes that, on the one hand, religion has been historically entwined with colonialism, serving as a tool for domination and control, but also for cultural assimilation in the colonized regions. However, on the other hand, religion has also played a significant role in anti-colonial resistance, as was the case in Vietnam. Given this dual role of religion, the decolonial critique is wary of present-day religious institutions unintentionally perpetuating colonial hierarchies and ideologies, even when their intention is to resist them. Therefore, critically examining this double role lies at the heart of post- and decolonial theologians and scholars. And in doing so, they also encourage the reinterpretation and reorientation of religious belief systems in ways that promote values such as social justice and equality from a decolonial perspective. For instance, Joy and Duggan (2012) argued that in order to “liberate Christianity”13 and to deconstruct Western Christianity in the postcolonies, theologians need to take into account “religious pluralism, political struggles, and inculturation” (Joy, 2012: 5). Theologians should center on the diversity of social, cultural, and political realities of the marginalized and poor who experience the dark side of coloniality and capitalism. The project of reorienting and liberating Christianity, has been paid attention to by Urbaniak for the South African context. Urbaniak highlights how Christianity played 13 Examples include the Palgrave Macmillan series on Postcolonialism and Religions edited by Joseph Duggan and Jayakiran Sebastian.

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a subliminal, yet important, role in the 2015/2016 ‘decolonize the university’ movement in South Africa and argues that “the processes of decolonization and Africanization—of emptying and filling the spaces— cannot be separated” (Urbaniak, 2019: 238). Hence, he makes the case for a project that views the relationship between decolonization and Africanization of Christianity as intertwined and argues that, therefore, the resources for “unlearning [Western] Christianity” and “learning it anew”, can be found in the praxis of Black Theology of Liberation, through which South Africans can arrive at a decolonial African religiosity/Christianity (ibid.). The perhaps best known body of literature concerned with the reorientation of religion is the Latin American tradition of liberation theology. In liberation theology, the image of Jesus was re-invigorated as that of a revolutionary figure who stood with the poor and marginalized in the fight against injustice. Liberation theologians conflicted with the conservative Western Catholic Church when they found inspiration in Marxist writings (Forrester, 2012: xii). As liberation theologians actively engaged in political struggles, their concerns included labor rights, political prisoners, the oppressed, and indigenous people. In other words, liberation theology as well as the decolonial lens sheds light on how religion can adapt to the specific regional, cultural and historical context. Therefore, according to liberation theologians, Christianity can be liberated from its colonial and imperial entanglement by centering on the liberation of the working poor and the marginalized. In this way, Christian activists, liberation theologians, and progressive religious politics aim to reclaim the Bible, the Church, and Jesus for and from a post-/decolonial perspective. Against this background, the following and final empirical section explores the political and/or religious concepts that inform and motivate Vietnam’s Catholic activists and again, once again testing whether their ideas are in align with their practices.

The Political Ideas of Catholic Dissidents Our life will begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter! Martin Luther King, Jr

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If you are neutral in situations of injustice, you have chosen the side of the oppressor. Désmond Mplio Tutu The world suffers a lot. Not because of the violence of bad people, but because of the silence of good people! Napoleon Bonaparte (Quotations from a banner installation in a Catholic parish in Nghê. an, Central Vietnam)

The four quotations stem from a banner installation in the parish I visited in Nghê. An. The banners depicted and quoted revolutionaries and liberation theologians, including bishop Desmond Mpilo Tutu, bishop Paulo Nguy˜ên Thái Ho`,p, Rev. Martin Luther King Jr., and (to my surprise) even Napoleon Bonaparte. These quotes shared a common message: they oppose injustice and condemn silence. Other banners displayed in the parish expressed opposition to SEZs, China’s Communist Party, and Vietnam’s controversial cyber security law: No to Special Economic Zones (Không Ð˘a.c Khu). ` Cô.ng). No to Chinese Communists (Không Tâu No to Cyber Security (Không An Ninh Ma.ng). ,

,,

Freedom for all Political Prisoners (Tu. Do Cho C´˘ac Tù Nhân Luong Tâm).

The banner installation created a striking background for the narratives the priests shared during my visit. Analyzing the selection of quotes, it becomes evident that Catholic priests and activists engage with a diverse range of political ideas. This leads us to the examination of political concepts, which, as we will explore, are in tension with the political practices of Catholic activists. The key concepts I have identified are ‘justice and truth’ as core concept, ‘love for one’s country’ as adjacent concept, and ‘anti-communism’ as peripheral concept.

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Core Concept: Justice and Truth The most frequently emphasized concepts among Vietnamese Catholic activists are ‘justice’ and ‘truth’. Derived from the political practice of the anti-FHS movement, an analytically informed choice of political concepts would include, for example, different kinds of justices, such as legal justice, restorative justice, and transformative justice. The kind of justices and truths that Vietnamese Catholics refer to is considered constitutive of transcendental power, although, as we shall see, they remain largely undefined. Nevertheless, Catholic activists an outspoken priests approach the concept of ‘justice’ using the teleological orientation known as see-judge-act (Interview priest Sáng). This method, also employed by classical liberation theology, guides their practice.14 To navigate through this following section, I explore the meanings of ‘justice and truth’ through the framework of see-judge-act, drawing on Gayarre’s (1994: 40) formulations. The first dimension, ‘seeing’, deals with the socio-analytic observations and recognition of conditions of poverty and oppression. The second dimension, ‘judge’, involves the analyses of current material, political, and social conditions in light of the Bible and theological teachings. The third dimension, ‘act’, encourages the people’s active involvement in direct action. In Catholic theology, the act of seeing, recognizing, and speaking the truth is where the struggle for justice begins. To priest Phúc, liberation is rooted in speaking the truth, as the truth starts with rejecting expressions of injustice. (Interview priest Phúc)

For him, a Catholic’s primary responsibility is to confront the truth and speak out against injustice. Justice and truth are intertwined, yet they are not the same (Lorenzen, 2009: 281). Speaking the truth serves as the foundation for the fight against injustice: God teaches us Catholics that for love and justice you must respect the truth…. Life is the truth, and the truth will liberate us! … For that reason, priests do not accept fraud and betrayal. The acceptance of fraud and betrayal must be disregarded, even if the betrayal originates in the political. 14 See-judge-act is an approach promoted by Joseph Cardinal Cardijn, a method from the early twentieth-century Young Christian Workers movement in Belgium. In 1961, Pope John XXIII enshrined it in Mater et Magistra.

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Any force that is aggressive shall not be overseen and the truth shall not be ignored. (Interview priest Phúc)

In a more subdued manner, priest Phúc points to the political wrongdoings and stresses that seeing and naming such political misconduct is a duty for Catholics in upholding justice and truth. In Catholic social teaching, justice and truth are inherent in the very essence of God, the transcendental power. Yet, priest Phúc further elaborates: When we see citizens facing injustice or become victims of the communist system or victims of public policies that negatively affects their well-being, a priest must speak out and advocate for them. (Interview priest Phúc)

Indeed, justice is not solely derived from a connection to God, but is also firmly rooted in the material conditions and everyday experiences of the people. Priest Phúc critically examines and judges the “communist system” and “public policies”, referring to state regulations that disrupt the well-being of the populace, serving as political origins of injustice and as a reason to act (“a priest must speak out and advocate for them”). Priest Phúc expresses his dissatisfaction with the state-controlled media and highlights their impact on the protection of ‘justice’ and ‘truth’: The socialist ideal was the dream of a few people but is the catastrophe for humanity. Places of justice [e.g., journalism] turned into de facto places of injustice and fake news. All this is supported by a whole system of media-communication. With over one thousand state-controlled newspapers, there is only one central propaganda department of the CPV. When you listen to the propaganda of the CPV, citizens know that the opposite is true. Reality and CPV’s propaganda differ from one another by 180. (Interview priest Phúc)

From my secular perspective, it is not entirely clear what specific kinds of ‘justices’ are envisioned, or if they are visualized in concrete terms at all. Given this, priest Sáng notes that advocating for justice is an integral aspect of the Catholic faith, but acknowledges that it is: […] God [who] sets the standards that measure justice and equality of all human beings before God.

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However, he further adds: On earth, truth is always relational. Much of what we perceive my differ from its actual nature. (Interview priest Sáng)

It is intriguing how the notion of relationality can also be seen as an important concept in Christian theology. Priest Sáng’s reference is reminiscent of the ‘theology of relationality’ formulated by Haitian priest and politician Jean-Bertrand Aristide (2000: 63)15 : We begin with what is in front of us. I cannot see God, but I can see you. I cannot see God, but I see the child in front of me, the women, the man. Through them, through this material world in which we live, we know God. Through them we know and experience love, we glimpse and seek justice.

In other words, this perspective highlights that justice and injustice are assessed by the act of seeing and judging the individual (‘children, women and man’) relative to their access to unequal material and social resources. Accordingly, justice cannot be merely defined by transcendental and universal standards (such as those set by God or the human rights declaration). Instead, it must be understood in relation to concrete lived experiences and material conditions of each individual. This contextual approach recognizes the complexity and diversity of human circumstances when determining what is just or unjust. Priest Sáng also links the concept of ‘justice’ to the protests against FHS and how the Vietnamese government handled the case: Until this day [time of the interview Nov 2018], not a single initiative has been taken on the side of the government to improve the environment and to clean the water. Even worse, the government has officially declared that the water is now clean due to the government’s management. But what we see in reality is that people in this region are getting ill, the number of people suffering from cancer increased dramatically, and people are forced to migrate to other regions. (Interview priest Sáng)

15 In Aristide’s articulation of theology of relationality, justice is perceived as expressed in solidarity with the poor. The theology of relationality centers democratic values, rights, freedom, and the poor. It is a participatory approach that promotes the struggle against poverty and oppression (Joseph, 2014: 273).

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Priest Sáng judges the government for its mismanagement, which he sees as the cause for the declining quality of life for the people. He acknowledges that, according to canon law and the principles of Christianity, there is a duty to support collaborate, and foster unity with the government, as long as these are rightful and align with the Vietnamese constitution. He proclaims: Our religion also teaches us that any societal norm or legal rule must harmonize with our conscience, our morality, and the principles of God. Those principles we must perform and enforce. But any rule set by society or politicians that contradicts our good conscience, morality and the truth, those laws do not need to be accepted, nor performed.

Priest Sáng highlights the connection between Catholic social teachings and socio-political structures within the secular public sphere, and legitimizes his act of public dissent with religious teaching. As Lorenzen puts it: “Christian faith entails a truth claim that is concerned with justice in the public space”. In this regard, Christian faith provides a moral basis that is not provided by natural law (Lorenzen, 2009: 282, 288). This sentiment was reaffirmed by numerous Vietnamese Catholic activists with whom I had the chance to speak. Environmental activist Kim (Green Trees) converted to Catholicism and describes: They [the Catholic priests/activists] are not scared of telling the truth. […] I first supported the Catholic Church not because I wanted to change my soul or my belief, but because I wanted to support the priests and what they did. […] The truth they spoke included saving the environment, resisting FHS and stressing the importance of human rights. […] They spoke about the rights of the people and the rights of individual political activists. Many activists were imprisoned, and everyone saw it, but only the priests shared the individual stories of these political prisoners and raised their voices even for the activists who are not Catholic. (Interview Kim)

Her observation affirms priest Phúc’s description of the judging and acting method: I want to help the citizens to make use of their legitimate rights and stand up against the ‘wrong things’. And by ‘wrong things’ I mean the violation of universal human rights. (Interview priest Phúc)

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In a similar manner, priest Sáng states: If our society would be a just society, we priests would not need to do this [political] work. We could be priests who do only religious teaching. But the people today face inequalities and injustices, and this is why we stand with the people and serve the Vietnamese nation.

The statements of priest Phúc’s and priest Sáng’s illustrate not only their personal judgment and actions but also encourage ‘the people’ to participate and act for themselves. Priest Sáng further elaborates on the theological foundations of his call for action and cites Gaudium et Spes, ‘the Pastoral Constitution on the Church in the Modern World’ that was formulated during the Vatican Council II in 1965: According to religious law, we, the Catholics, are allowed to call upon the people. Because in the Pastoral Constitution of the Vatican II, it is said that ‘the joys and hopes, the grief and anguish of the people of our time, especially of those who are poor or afflicted, are the joys and hopes, the grief and anguish of the followers of Christ as well’. (cited in interview with priest Sáng)16

So far, we have seen that the core concept of ‘justice and truth’ provides Catholic activists with an action-oriented guidance, fostering the responsibility to voice concerns publicly and to engage in action that the interests of the general population and the oppressed. Adjacent Concept: Love for One’s Country To make sense of the adjacent concept, we need to remind ourselves of the historical context. It is an open secret that under colonial rule (prior to the formation of the National Catholic Church), French colonial

16 Full quote: The joys and hopes, the grief and anguish of the people of our time, especially of those who are poor or afflicted, are the joys and hopes, the grief and anguish of the followers of Christ as well. Nothing that is genuinely human fails to find an echo in their hearts. For theirs is a community of people united in Christ and guided by the Holy Spirit in their pilgrimage towards the Father’s kingdom, bearers of a message of salvation for all of humanity. That is why they cherish a feeling of deep solidarity with the human race and its history.

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and missionary Catholicism enforced racial hierarchies and racial barriers between native Catholic communities and white European Catholics (Keith, 2008). Adding to this, French missionaries mobilized thousands of native Catholic believers to serve in colonial units and to provide supplies to French forces (Marr, 1981: 83). The role of French Catholicism as a strategic instrument of colonial oppression became increasingly evident, leading to a decline in spiritual legitimacy among the broader population and an escalation of social conflicts (Keith, 2008). It is therefore not surprising that under French colonialism, Vietnamese intellectuals soon began to reimagine the country’s history and future through anti-colonial perspectives. Interestingly enough, the struggle for national independence gave birth to Vietnam’s 1946 Western-oriented constitution (Sidel, 2009: 27), illustrating that anti-colonial struggles are deeply entangled with the ideas and values advocated by the colonial powers, but from which the colonized were previously excluded. Anti-colonial movements also spawned the concepts of nationalism and patriotism in the postcolonial regions which, until the present day, play a crucial role not only within Vietnam’s secular and socialist political sphere but also within its religious-political sphere. ´ nu,o´,c = country) is Lòng yêu nu,o´,c (lòng = soul/mind; yêu = love; d-ât one of those concepts which, when translated freely, stands for ‘love for one’s country’. Yet, it is one of those concepts that cannot be neatly translated into ‘nationalism’ or ‘patriotism’, but rather, it is likely considered an expression of Vietnam’s “new nationalism” (as discussed by Vu, 2014). In my interviews, I found that ‘love’ itself plays a fundamental role in all traditions of Catholic theology. Therefore, I asked Mai (a Catholic labor activist) about the meaning of this expression ‘love for one’s country’. She is also unsur, but she shared the following comment: The fact that many workers went on protest shows that they care about the country and that they love our country. The love of the country is performed during those demonstrations. (Interview Mai)

And fellow Catholic labor activist Huy responds to the same question: Love for one’s country has a lot of meaning. It means that you look after your nation and your people. You look at what your community is suffering

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from, […] which includes resisting China. What do we have to do, so that Vietnam won’t get erased from the world map? (Interview Huy)

I also remember how priest Sáng introduced himself to me: First of all, I am a member of the Vietnamese people. I was Vietnamese before I became a priest and I am a Vietnamese now in the position of a priest. I have one home country and one nationality. The duty of a citizen is to create the good things for a country, a society, a nation. Having said this, I am also a Catholic. As Catholics we love our country and our people, as our worldly authority is given to us by God. (Interview priest Sáng)

I was puzzled. Despite the different explanations of all three protagonists, they do have one aspect in common, that is, the emphasis on the ‘love for one’s country’ (and the love of God) as positively connected to the sense of collectivity, resistance in the name of the people and ethnic belonging. This stance aligns with what priest Phúc explained to me: The Bible and God teach us to love all people, by which we mean not just the love expressed in words but expressed through your actions. This is a true Catholic. (Interview priest Phúc)

These quoted passages denote ‘love for one’s country’ as a prostance directed towards the people, particularly the working poor and the oppressed. Here, ‘love for one’s country’ one is anchored in the duty to ‘act’, often manifested during collective actions such as protest events. Priest Phúc further underscores that his daily actions are derived from the close connection between faith and the responsibility to “liberate the disadvantaged”. These statements show that ‘love’ and a sense of Catholic belonging are grounded in the active support of the disadvantaged, the working class, and the poor. I came to understand that this feeling of national belonging, in connection with God’s love, is quite distinct from the xenophobic and illiberal nationalism seen in many Western and other formal democracies. Rather than advocating for these problematic forms of nationalism, Catholic dissidents seem to promote a kind of ‘good’ nationalism. And here again, remember how Huy and other activists invoke the anti-China sentiment which reads China as a neo-colonial power that is poised to encroach on Vietnam’s territory.

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It is also important to note that the Vietnamese Communist revolution was not only an anti-colonial or anti-imperial movement, but also a nationalist movement. During Vietnam’s revolution, ideas of patriotism, nationalism, and ‘love for one’s country’ played a decisive role. Taylor (2001) elaborates that, after all, it is the elite-national version of history propagated by state agents since the end of the war that puts different visions of modernity and tradition into contestation.17 This detail is crucial because it prompts me to consider ‘love for one’s country’ also as an ongoing subject of debate and contenstation. In light of this, priest Sáng remarks that there have been “meaningless struggles carried out in the name of the ‘love for one’s country’” by which he alludes to the patriotic narrative of Vietnam’s communist forces, the CPV and the ‘fallen heroes’ of the Communist-led liberation movement (Interview priest Sáng). It is possible that he refers to anything that has to do with communism in the name. Despite this, priest Sáng also defines ‘love for one’s country’ in reference to “the struggle for human liberation”, which he considers contradictory to the history of ‘Communist patriotism’: The historical struggles and fights hitherto carried out in the name of ‘love for our country’ were senseless. All things in life are common and belong to the people, only the voice of a hero makes the difference. The hero is not just the one who speaks in public, uses fists and sticks or violence to pursue a revolution. For us [Catholics], the hero is the one who dares to love, dares to forgive, and dares to dedicate himself to serve the others. For us, it was Jesus Christ himself, a person who sacrificed his own life. This is the ideal: To live for the others, for the others to have a good life. (Interview priest Sáng)

This explains why priest Sáng (and priest Phúc) dedicate parts of their practices (prayers and time for personal visits) to the cause of political prisoners:

17 Scholars like McHale (2004) and Vu (2007) formulate that one way of understanding Vietnamese nationality is through the viewpoint of communal identity. McHale also examines that different imaginings of community as related to the idea of a Vietnamese nation, in fact, do not always correspond to nation-state boundaries.

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Prisoners of conscience are people who really love the country and the people. They are people who live for justice and truth and who are fighting for our rights. (Interview priest Sáng)

Admittedly, as a secular scholar one might be tempted to argue that one is nonetheless dealing with a form of nationalism, potentially carrying similar risks as other types of nationalism. That deduction might not be entirely wrong, yet I believe it would be misleading to categorize ‘love for one’s country’ in the same manner as xenophobic, imperial and colonial forms of nationalism. For Vietnam’s Catholic activists, ‘love for one’s country’ does not attach to ideas of racial exclusion, economic dominance over other countries, or the preservation of their ethnicity for the sake of feeling superior. Rather, the type of ‘patriotism’ and ‘nationalism’ that is expressed here reflects a typical form of anti-colonial/postcolonial patriotism/nationalism in a way that resembles ideas articulated by Frantz Fanon ([1963] 2004: 142): [N]ationalism, that magnificent hymn which roused the masses against the oppressor, disintegrates in the aftermath of independence. Nationalism is not a political doctrine; it is not a program. If we really want to safeguard our countries from regression, paralysis, or collapse, we must rapidly switch from a national consciousness to a social and political consciousness.

Fanon considers nationalism of the oppressed as a unifying force against the oppressor, a remark that has also been made by democracy activist Thiên in Chapter 3. Fanon also hoped that nationalism would ultimately disintegrate and transform into social and political consciousness, which would certainly indicate a state of decolonial and cognitive liberation. However, as of now, the latter seems to remain a potential. In view of the preceding pages, I interpret the activists’ ‘love for one’s country’ as an expression of ‘national thinking’ that is positively linked to questions of resistance, collectivity, sense of belonging, and the support for the oppressed (the pro-stance). Yet, its close relation to nationalism and patriotism cannot be ignored either and indicates a state of epistemological coloniality. This indication is fleshed out by the anti-stance ‘anti-Communism’, which brings us to the peripheral concept.

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Peripheral Concept: Anti-communism Catholic activists frame their sense of anti-communism along historical and contemporary. Historically, they draw upon the era of the former Republic of Vietnam (1945–1975), commonly referred to as South Vietnam. The first president of South Vietnam, president Ngô Ðình Diê.m, who was a Catholic himself, attempted to blend contemporary ideas about Catholic Christianity, Confucianism, and Vietnamese national identity (Shaw, 2015: 27). Diem himself was a resolute anti-communist, and linked his anti-communism to his identity as a Catholic (Miller, 2013: 39).18 However, despite representing himself as a “progressive reformer” (Miller, 2013: 40), Diem’s political institutions faced rejection by many anti-communist South Vietnamese, as corruption seeped into the Southern regime (Fear, 2016: 56). A small Catholic elite enjoyed material and social privileges, was able to accumulate capital, and have considerable land holdings, while the majority of Vietnamese, Buddhists, and Christians remained poor and uneducated (Marr, 1987: 6; Chu, 2008: 161). However, despite these complexities, many present-day Catholics have constructed a sanitized picture of their past, particularly regarding the Republic of Vietnam (1945–1975), and Ngô Ðình Diê.m, and this idealized version continues to be an important point of reference for today’s Catholic activists. Against this background, some scholars argue that anti-communism, both as a sentiment and as an ideology, is deeply rooted in the collective traumas left behind by the Communist independence movement (Tuan, 2013). They posit that anti-communism is a response to the “decades of conflict and chaos, deprivation, and physical suffering directly inflicted at the hands of Communist officials” and the pain that emerged out of having “their families permanently broken apart and their relatives and friends psychologically destroyed, brutally tortured, and murdered” (Le, 2009: 193). Moreover, the arrests of Catholic priests and monks, long-term sentences for religious activities, and the internment into reeducation camps shook Catholic life in the post-revolutionary period

18 However, neither Diem’s anti-communism nor his Catholic identity was the decisive factor for his career, but his belief in the development of a modern Vietnamese nationstate. Perhaps for this reason, many people do not commemorate the Republic of Vietnam for having lived by Catholic principles.

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(Chu, 2008: 163; Hoang, 2016). The individual and collective memories of trauma and loss have culminated in a practical rubric of Vietnamese anti-communism that is dominating certain worldviews up to the present day. However, anti-communist sentiments expressed by present-day Catholic activists are not solely products of historical traumas; they are also deeply influenced by the specific socio-political conditions that they currently face. Consider priest Sáng’s declaration: According to the authorities’ language, our government is a ‘government of the people, by the people, for the people’. […] But none of this is close to reality. Rather, it would be better to say: ‘Vietnam of Formosa, by Formosa and for Formosa only’. (Interview priest Sáng)

And so, priest Sáng confesses that ‘justice and truth’, fleshed out by ‘love for one’s country’, is also conditioned by a clear anti-stance: the opposition towards present-day Communism/Socialism, of which the CPV appears to be its embodiment. His following comment displays awareness about the dissonance of communist rhetoric and the government’s subservience to capital relations. He adds: You can see the nature of communism expressed in the cases of Vu,o`,n rau ` Lô.c Hu,ng, Ðông Tâm, Du,o,ng Nô.i and Thu Thiêm, ij

by which he refers to the areas subjected to a forced land-grabbing scheme and that became known for activist campaigns for land-rights activism, peasant resistance, and a stronger Catholic foothold (Duong, 2019).19 In view of the ‘anti-capitalist’ practice of Catholic protesters described in the first half of this chapter, priest Sáng criticizes the state’s priority to protect and advance foreign industries and thus, capital investment

19 At the time of my fieldwork, Vu,o `,n rau Lô.c Hu,ng and Thuij Thiêm were two contested areas in Ho Chi Minh city. Both represented important historical sites for Catholics. Vu,o`,n rau Lô.c Hu,ng originally belonged to a Roman Catholic missionary organization of priests and lay persons, which permitted the French colonial government to set up property. Residents of Thuij Thiêm, many of them belong to the Catholic community, are subject to forced eviction and ill-planning in the reallocation of land and houses. The appropriated land was seized at low prices and sold high to investors for a new urban area project.

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projects. In this vein, however, he also equates the “nature of communism” with the dispossession of peasants and the state’s general ignorance towards its citizens, which again, displays a certain dissonance between political practice and political ideas. As a result, one may hasten to frame present-day Catholic activists as plain anti-communists. Although Vietnamese Catholics do not center on anti-communism, it certainly plays a role in a peripheral position. In other words, anti-communism gains its specific meaning only relative to the core and adjacent concepts. Remember earlier when priest Sáng proclaimed: If our society would be a just society, we priests would not need to do this [political] work. We could be priests who do religious teaching only. But the people today face inequalities and injustices, and this is why we stand with the people and serve the Vietnamese nation. (Interview priest Sáng)

His words are followed by a condemnation of real-existing communism in contemporary Vietnam. Notice his nuanced wording: Our faith stands in contradiction to the kind of communism that is practiced today. The fundamental contradiction lies in the fact that one side is atheist, the other has God. However, this is not the reason why we criticize or resist the government. It is because we are committed to the society, to the aim of advancing and empowering the people. And this is what we do to the level of our possibilities. (Interview priest Sáng)

Again, the concept ‘justice’ is invoked to anchor the anti-stance, which in turn, evinces that a new dynamic of ‘anti-communism’ is positioned in close approximation to the concept ‘justice and truth’. A final general remark made by Catholic activists surrounds the principle of obeying God rather than any social group or individual leader. Priest Sáng explains that as a non-believer one may embrace different kinds of “humanism, or belong to a group, organization or political Party”. But he criticizes the approach of prioritizing a group or a political party, as he sees it leading individuals to focus on their self-interest. In contrast, he asserts that obeying God means following the interest of ´ cô bé ho.ng). Priest Sáng considers the “voiceless and powerless” (thâp communism as contradictory to that principle. He criticizes: ij

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The communist principle: “From each according to his ability, to ` each according to his needs!” (Làm theo n˘ang lu.,c, hu,o,ng theo nhu câu) is actually a biblical reference. But communists strip off its underlying meaning […]. We know that in this world there is no absolutism, everything is relational. But with this saying they [the communists] transform themselves into saints or God-like figures who set new standards of what is wrong and what is right, what is just and what unjust, what is true and what is false. ij

This last quote testifies, once again, that anti-communism for Vietnam’s Catholic dissidents is driven by the action-oriented concept of ‘justice and truth’. I repeat: The concepts ‘justice and truth’ are supported by the adjacent concept ‘love for one’s country’ which is closely related to nationalism and is further nuanced by the peripheral concept ‘anti-communism’. This ideational structure is not purely analytically derived, but is rather culturally and emotionally legitimized within Vietnam’s socio-political environment. It may therefore be plausible to say that Catholic activists have integrated both progressive and conservative ideas into their teachings and practices, which would reflect the ideational tensions and contradictions that the colonial legacy of Christianity and an authoritarian ‘socialist-oriented market economy’ have left behind.

Conclusion Religion provides an alternative framework for interpreting the world and understanding one’s place within it. The presence of this alternative framework makes it perhaps more comprehensible as to why certain Vietnamese activists and dissidents chose to embrace Catholicism. They hope and believe that Catholic practices can serve as a counterforce against the authoritarian state and its ideological apparatuses. Here again, Althusser’s (2014) understanding of the Church as an ideological apparatus is worth recalling. According to Althusser (2014: 82–84), the Church produces a certain kind of knowledge that ensures “subjection to the ruling [religious] ideology” and its religious practices. These practices predominantly take place inside the Church, where the dominant religious ideology is realized and reproduced. The Church and its religious ideological apparatus educate its agents, such as the priests and the faithful, to adhere to particular hierarchical structures that organize the social positions given

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to, for example, the “high priests of the dominant ideology” and its “functionaries”, the worshippers (Althusser, 2014: 51f). The hierarchical and patriarchal structure of the Catholic Church would certainly explain the absence of female representation in this chapter, despite women being at least equally affected by the marine disaster. Although many women have actively participated in the protests against Formosa Industry, they did not occupy leadership positions in the movement, with such roles being predominantly reserved to the Catholic priests. An intersectional critique would point to the patriarchal structures inherent in religious institutions, hindering women’s access to resources that would enable them to organically assume key roles in local collective actions. Furthermore, it would be erroneous to argue that Vietnam’s Catholic activists display a commitment to transgress their subordinate position within the dominant institutional and non-political Church. Instead, what is striking is that they overlook their own subservience to a Catholicism that fails to explicitly criticize capitalism and nationalism. This lack of criticism is, again, not surprising, given that unlike the politically active Catholics of the 60s and 70s era who lived through decades of war and placed their hope on a dialogical relationship with the Communist Party (CPV), which promised to lead the country into a classless, just, and independent society, post-independence and particularly post-1986 dissident Catholics were born into a capitalist market economy, where issues like exploitation, corruption, dependency on foreign capital, and political repression loom large and can not longer able to be hidden from the public. And all of this occurs under the signature of a Communist Party’s leadership. But let us take a step back and recapitulate what has been illustrated in this chapter. One of the intriguing observations was that despite their opposition to the Communist Party and its ideology, Vietnam’s Catholics share some salient properties with classical liberation theologists in terms of their practices. Catholic priests and activists have mobilized and organized in resistance to a concrete capital investment project, such as the Formosa marine disaster in 2016, as well as the government’s inadequate response and the repression of political dissent. These activists have carved out protected spaces within the Church and facilitated a major class-action lawsuit against the Formosa Corporation. Moreover, they organized petitions and campaigns advocating for the release of political prisoners. Through these efforts, farmers and workers have co-created the opportunity to gain legal knowledges, learned techniques of citizen

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journalism and hence, re-claim agency, demonstrating striking parallels with liberation theology practices. With the knowledge of the chapter’s conclusion, it would not be incorrect to claim that these Catholic activists are capable of engaging in an anti-capitalist practice that has the potential to reconcile Catholicism with a decolonial perspective. However, the chapter also illustrated the strong presence of anti-communist ideas among Vietnamese Catholic activists. Precisely, this chapter identified ‘justice and truth’ as the core concept of their political idea system, promoting social justice and the liberation of the oppressed. On the contrary, the adjacent concept ‘love for one’s country’ as well as the peripheral concept ‘anti-communism’ exemplified how Catholic activists rework concepts taken from nationalist and ColdWar ideologies and re-insert them into a new ideational structure. Put differently, the ideas of today’s Catholic activists are characterized by an interplay of anti-capitalist, anti-authoritarian, and religious practices with a proletarian and politically oppressed perspective, but also with nationalist, patriotic and anti-communist ideas. They rework these concept into a new ideational structure that responds to the postcolonial context in which the former revolutionary force is now holding the position of the oppressor, and in which communism is perceived as an authoritarian ideology. This explains why although Vietnam’s Catholic activists share some characteristics with classical liberation theology, it is also in stark contrast to it. The ideas of Vietnam’s Catholic activists developed clearly in opposition to Marxist and communist ideas and in response to the failures of a ‘socialist-oriented market economy’. Again, Catholicism and communism are not perceived as compatible, let alone reconcilable. Nonetheless, their political praxis carries anti-capitalist traits and thus, implies a form of tacit knowledge that is once again worthy of appreciation.

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CHAPTER 6

Conclusion and No End to Political Dissonance

Vietnam’s dissident movement, although concerned with different issues ranging from human rights, democracy, labor, land rights, and environmental issues, share some salient properties. For the sake of building a concluding remark, I return to the introduction of this book and signify these properties as characteristic of cognitive dissonance. The psychologist Festinger (1957) posited that perceiving inconsistency between our beliefs and/or actions in our daily lives generates “a negative intrapersonal state”, an uncomfortably felt contradiction so to say, which we continuously struggle to alleviate. Naturally, in order to justify ourselves we find strategies to reduce this felt dissonance (Aronson & Tavris, 2007; Elliot & Devine, 1994). Put differently, we want to justify that some of our foolish actions were the right decisions and the best that we could do (Aronson & Tavris, 2007). Social psychologists have then shown that a common way of alleviating this dissonance is through confirmation bias, that is, we ignore any information that would be evidence for us having made a wrong decision or having a wrong idea or belief (ibid.). Even more fascinating, they found that in order to minimize our dissonances, we let our group identities define for us what is right and what is not, i.e., we let the group’s ideas justify ours. This may be an elegant way to explain why we stay stuck in personal, but also in political decisions for relatively long times.

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And this brings me to the reason why I began to see the way Vietnam’s dissidents make sense of the world as a state of political cognitive dissonance. Like many postcolonial countries, Vietnam is a place in-between, conflicted, and made disoriented in many ways. Being one of the last surviving remnants of communist revolutions, and officially declared a ‘socialist-oriented market economy’, it is neither fully authoritarian, nor democratic; neither a communist or socialist state, nor is it a capitalist state in a conventional sense. However, a clear tendency towards capitalism that allows a national “state-party-business-alliance” to consolidate its political and economic force with a clear interest in capital accumulation and individual enrichments via means of corruption and patronage networks is hard to overlook (Hughes, 2020: 118). Against this background, this book was an attempt to understand how Vietnam’s political dissidents respond to the contradictions of the ‘socialist-oriented market economy’, a political economy with a dissonance in its name. It was also an attempt to understand how dissidents and activists navigate through the ideological contradictions of this place of ‘in-betweenness’. And naturally, a capitalist state that operates with the ideology of Marxism-Leninism brings with it an amalgam of political practices and political ideas that seem paradoxical and dissonant, but are, in fact, explicable. Certainly, the state of cognitive and political dissonance is not a phenomenon attributable only to the ‘other people’ but is a universal problem. Now, the main protagonists of this book are the dissidents and activists, whereas Vietnam’s “state-party-business-alliance” appears to be the main enemy. Although both groups are conflicted within themselves and by no means to be considered monolithic blocs, members of each group are bound together and form a collective without necessarily having a shared identity. Therefore, belonging to either side defines, in the last instance, the position of the protagonists and guides them to act and justify their actions, and hence, minimizes their dissonances. This way, the need to rethink what one thinks is significantly reduced. It’s a human cognitive shortcut. Now before we move on and recapitulate the empirical content of this book, I would like to conceive of both opposing parties, the dissidents and the ‘party-state’ or (the ‘state-party-business-alliance’) as protagonists that bring out the dissonances of the respective other side. But because this book entered Vietnam’s socio-political world through the eyes of dissidents, it only showed the experiences of discomforting dissonances

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from the perspective of dissidents (and partly from mine). For now, we are allowed to say that dissidents are motivated to alleviate the other sides’ dissonances through a political praxis that aims to change the other side’s behavior and restore the consonance of society. In the remaining pages, I will wander through my fieldwork sites, recapitulate the moments of dissonance and confusion, while reflecting on the key arguments and—hopefully—scholarly novelties made in this book. Three empirical key findings can be identified as the outcome in this journey. The first finding responds to the “fragmentation of subject matter” in social movement studies (Barker et al., 2013; Webber, 2019: 10). We often perceive different movements as disconnected and hence, analyze them separate from one another. This book justifies the need to consider the connectedness of seemingly disconnected struggles. Because what first appeared to be a ‘non-movement’, wherein disjointed yet parallel practices initiate processes of solidarity building and trigger social change without being ideologically guided or bound to a specific organization (Bayat, 2010: 4), turned out to be a network in which well-educated urbanites advocate for democratic change and join forces with peasant, labor, and Catholic activists. The dissident world has shown that “struggles across these interrelated domains can be linked analytically” (Webber, 2019: 3), meaning that various strands of political resistance tie together, often in response to the ills of capitalism and the unequal power relations preserved by the party-state. This was important to understand the socio-political composition of Vietnam’s dissidents. As a second finding, I limited myself to distill three political practices that characterize contemporary dissident activism in Vietnam: digital activism, rights-based resistance, and Catholic dissident politics. Remember that the censoring and control of public criticism led to a networked social movement of democracy activists in Hanoi and Ho Chi Minh City, while labor struggles in urban and suburban factories as well as land dispossession in rural areas gave rise to labor and land activists to employ practices of rights-based resistance. And finally, an acute case of environmental pollution resulting in a region-wide marine disaster further politicized Catholic priests and activists to advocate for the rights of the working poor and political prisoners. What these manifold and divergent forms of activism have in common is that they respond directly to capital relations and capital projects, such as international free trade agreements,

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mega factories, and land grabs and are thus conditioned by Vietnam’s place in the global capitalist order. On a rather abstract level, I then borrowed Foucault’s (1976) terminology and argued that the practice of Vietnam’s dissidents aims at countering the ‘regime of discourse’ and seeks to rediscover ‘subjugated knowledges’. And not only do activists attempt to counter ‘the regime of discourse’, but they create a counter-discourse that reframes dominant beliefs and actions as lies and wrongdoings. Instead, they promote what they believe is the silenced truth and just. Recalling two examples suffice for a final illustration: Is the law protecting the weak or the Party? The Vietnamese law is protecting the powerful. The police are called people’s police (bô. công an nhân dân), but they are not protecting the people, they are protecting the Party and the military. (Interview with labor activist Huy, p. 143 this book) According to the authorities’ language, our government is a ‘government of the people, by the people, for the people’. […] But none of this is close to reality. Rather, it would be better to say: ‘Vietnam of Formosa, by Formosa and for Formosa only’. (Interview priest Sáng, p. 189 this book)

Counter-discourses like those contain subjugated knowledges that are particularly concerned with democratic, human rights, labor, and land rights. The rediscovering of these subjugated knowledges became the unifying strategy of all dissidents to alleviate the dissonances committed by the opposing side, dissonances that obviously have severe societal consequences. The third finding is the most fascinating and perhaps the most confusing as it concerns the epistemological level of activists. By following the footsteps of democracy, labor, land activists, and Catholic priests, I learned how Vietnamese activists move, feel, and live. I noted that their political practices and therefore, their practical/tacit knowledges are essentially anti-capitalist and anti-authoritarian. But I was also interested in understanding what they say about what they are doing. It was revealed that they lack a clearer ideological picture of what is implied in their political practices, which is characteristic of the cognitive and political dissonance they have themselves, and not just the party-state. Against my own hopes to find contemporary decolonial ideas among Vietnam’s activists, the protagonists introduced in this book expressed no

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hostility towards capitalism as an economic or ideological system, neither did they explicitly criticize the West and its geopolitical dominance nor its colonial and imperial past. Instead, activists direct their criticism solely against the Communist Party of Vietnam and communism as an ideology. This is, however, not surprising, since as members of a society we are all necessarily implicated in a codified system of ideologies of which we are not aware. In the cases where activism is severely suppressed, the experiences of repression and constraint caused Vietnam’s activists to equate communism with authoritarianism, while Western capitalism is associated with political freedom and democracy. Based on this, we may go as far as to say that Vietnamese activists succumb to liberal, statist, nationalist, and Cold-War ideologies, while thinking and trying to advance politics ‘from below’ and promote political freedom. But unable to grasp capitalism as a global system that relies on the perpetuation of colonial relations with Global Southern countries and that, by implication, the Communist Party is forced to integrate itself into and depend on the free market economy, resulted in many activists turning into ‘anti-communists’. This brings me to the fascinating subject of knowledge systems, ideologies, and worldviews. In the second halves of Chapters 3–5, we moved on to deconstruct the dissidents’ ideational world. By sketching out the basic morphological architecture of political concepts, I identified an ideational landscape that is, in a way, beautifully contradictory and in stark dissonance with the political practices formulated prior to it. We know by now that this contradictory landscape is not intangible but informed by a certain structure. Without doubt, the occurrence of political ideas or particular concepts is difficult to pattern spatially, while thought processes themselves are perhaps impossible to measure empirically. Nonetheless, we were able to see that a logic in the configuration of political ideas and a general architecture of political concepts can be assembled. Put simply, there is a way to understand how and why certain ideas are contested and reformulated, in which context and under what conditions. For this, I adapted Freeden’s (1994) conceptualization of core, adjacent, and peripheral components to operationalize the configuration of those political concepts that seem to inform activists’ political practices. But as it turns out, these concepts are in tension with the activists’ practical knowledges. While observing and experiencing this, I dealt with the familiar and the unfamiliar. For a social movement scholar, the political practices of Vietnamese activists seem familiar as they resemble movements elsewhere

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in postcolonial contexts. The unfamiliar, however, lies in the composition of the underlying ideas and concepts that seem rather illogical from an academic point of view. There is, in fact, something fundamentally missing in Vietnam’s activist scene. That something is located in between the political and philosophical ideas and the material reality of a given time and space, and that illustrates the tensions and quasi-contingencies inherent in the configuration of political thought. To illustrate, I shall now recapitulate the concrete ideational confusion I encountered in different fieldwork sites. In Chapter 3, I raised that democracy activists assess Vietnam’s political reality from a standpoint that is structured by the experience of censorship as well as the lack of democratic participation and political representation. Furthermore, I identified that democracy activists combine anti-authoritarian practices with liberal, nationalist, and ColdWar ideologies. This can be explained through the knowledge hierarchies established along the continuation of colonial structures on an epistemological level. Although many activists (yet not all) are aware of the fact that Western and other formal democracies are far from being perfect, they would consider U.S. American and European pressure on Vietnam’s political elite as a strategic opportunity that is favorable to their own cause of democracy. As a result, the narrative of democracy being a political project brought by the West to the non-West is reproduced and the imagination for an alternative democratic future that could go beyond Western epistemology continues to be unthinkable. Similarly, Chapter 4 explored that labor and land activists encounter different manifestations of capital relations in suburban and rural spaces. Dominated by an environment of workplace injustices and land dispossession, activists promote forms of rights-based resistance. In so doing, they pay particular attention to the dissemination of legal knowledges about labor and land rights to other workers and farmers. Labor activists also encourage workers to form independent trade unions, while the land-rights activists of Du,o,ng Nô.i temporarily formed council democratic structures. What was striking is that rights-based resisters employ mechanisms of the law to reclaim their right to resist. They combine legal ideas with liberal as well as state-centered concepts, again, in a way that works for them, which shows that they not only reclaim their rights, but that they create knowledges ‘from below’ to legitimize and justify their ‘illegal’ resistance. The moment of dissonance manifests precisely here:

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Despite showing awareness of the law’s repressive and ideological apparatus (that disciplines rather than liberates people without power), neither labor exploitation itself nor the legal protection of capital relations (both of which are preconditions for social and material inequality) is part of labor and land activists’ criticisms. In other words, they do not intend to break with capitalism. In Chapter 5, I explored the movement against Formosa Hà T˜ınh Steel Corporation (FHS), which guided me towards the political practice of Catholic activists. Like democracy, labor, and land activists, Vietnamese Catholics, too, are confronted with material conditions that generate a rivalry of political ideas. This manifested in the protests against FHS in 2016. The political practice of Catholic activists responded to an FDI project that caused a massive marine pollution, followed by the state’s mismanagement and the repression of activists. Catholic activists used Church spaces where possible, in which they made the ongoing oppression against political activists discernible. They initiated the reorganization of a concrete political practice for Catholics to engage in the rediscovering of subjugated knowledges and to support the working poor and the politically oppressed. At first glance, they appeared to resemble the core practices of classical liberation theology, which is known for its closeness to Marxist ideas. But although Vietnamese Catholics center on the perspective of the working class, the poor, and political prisoners, their core ideas are coupled with the revival of a new anti-communism, and thus, differs significantly from liberation theology. In fact, we saw that at the cognitive level, Catholic activists insert Biblical notions of ‘truth and justice’ into a new ideational structure that entertains concepts derivative of patriotic (‘love for one’s country’) and anti-communist ideologies, starkly reminding us of Cold-War ideologies. Despite this, it does not seem legitimate to think that Catholic activists are a camouflage for Western coloniality. Rather, they are better considered agents of ‘politics from below’, whose practical critique is directed against capitalist and environmentally harmful megaprojects, while the theoretical critique is directed against communism as the ideology of the facilitator of these projects. Capitalism as a system itself is, once again, left out of direct scrutiny. Taking into account the many factors discussed throughout this book, including the lack of actual democratic experiences, Vietnam’s dissident movement shoulders both the potential for bottom-up critical thinking and the trap of facade democracy. However, we should remind ourselves

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that the dissonances of political practices and political ideas are not created in a vacuum but conditioned by the intersectionality of social structures that determine different social relations and therein the unequal access to material and political resources. Within these intersecting structures, actions and ideas can often be contradictory, because they are not always intentional or analytical, but can well be the emotional outcome of misrecognition (Papadopoulos et al., 2008: 68), as well as collective traumas and experiences of class, gender, ethnic, religious and political repression. This also reminds of Cox and Nilsen (2014: 38), who describe that social structures are enabling and constraining at the same time as they “provide the means through which the deployment of capacities to satisfy needs can be initiated and enacted”, while these “structures constrain how we deploy our capacities to satisfy our needs as well as the direction in and extent to which we develop new capacities”. Once again, these constraints as well as new capacities are determined by specific sets of intersecting structures shaped by one’s class position, gender, and other cultural identities. Therefore, the answer to our question whether these dissidents and activists can be perceived as implicitly or explicitly aligned with an anti-capitalist struggle or with anti-communism varies among individuals within the community. Some may consciously identify with the label of anti-communism due to their opposition to the CPV, but do not align themselves explicitly with a pro-capitalist framework. Others may recognize the exploitative nature of capitalist markets and the need for fundamental economic transformation, but do not align themselves with an anti-capitalist struggle. A nuanced understanding of the diversity and dissonances of political practices and ideas helps to acknowledge that these are shaped by the concrete but varying structural conditions experienced by political actors. Hence, if cognitive liberation and decolonization is in fact possible, it is based on the actor’s position within these intersectional structures and their access to a variety of material resources. In this book, we saw that the working class, female activists (and the absence of ethnic and non-Catholic religious minorities is suggestive) are multiply burdened and have less or no access to facilitating structures. Conversely, former Communist Party members and many male activists often possess material and political resources that serve to delay or prevent them from experiencing harsh forms of repression. Therefore, as scholars and activist-scholars, one may hope that with the basic improvement of material conditions based on the acknowledgment

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of intersecting identities, it is not only the infrastructure of opportunities and the access to resources that will change, but also the political practices and ideas of dissenting voices that will transform as well. As much as material conditions affect our ideas, these ideas transform political practices too. So, despite these political dissonances and the odd historical positions of both Vietnam’s dissidents and the CPV, this does not stop people ‘from above’ and ‘from below’ from bringing about progressive social changes. Keeping this in mind makes us as readers and observers perhaps more aware and more critical, but also more understanding.

References Aronson, E., & Tavris, C. (2007). Mistakes were made (but not by me). Mariner Books. Barker, C., Cox, L., Krinsky, J., & Nilsen, A. G. (2013). Marxism and social movements (Historical). Brill. Bayat, A. (2010). Life as politics: How ordinary people change the Middle East. Amsterdam University Press. Cox, L., & Nilsen, A. G. (2014). We make our own history: Marxism and social movements in the twilight of neoliberalism. Pluto Press. Elliot, A. J., & Devine, P. G. (1994). On the motivational nature of cognitive dissonance: Dissonance as psychological discomfort. Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 67 (3), 382–394. Festinger, L. (1957). A theory of cognitive dissonance. Stanford University Press. Freeden, M. (1994). Political concepts and ideological morphology. The Journal of Political Philosophy, 2(2), 140–164. Foucault, M. (1976). Two lectures (Lecture one: 7 January 1976). In C. Gordon (Ed.), Power/knowledge. Selected interviews & other writing 1972–1977 (1980) (pp. 78–108). Vintage Books. Hughes, C. (2020). Transitions from state “socialism” in Southeast Asia. In T. Carroll, S. Hameiri, & L. Jones (Eds.), The political economy of Southeast Asia: Politics and uneven development under hyperglobalisation (pp. 111–132). Palgrave Macmillan. Papadopoulos, D., Stephenson, N., & Tsiano, V. (2008). Escape routes: Control and subversion in the 21st century. Pluto Press. Webber, J. R. (2019). Resurrection of the dead, exaltation of the new struggles. Historical Materialism, 27 (1), 5–54.

Epilogue

So, we entered the world of Vietnamese dissidents, their perceptions, grievances, actions and imaginations. It was difficult to draw precise boundary lines of what was subjective and what was objective. I like to think that some parts of the truth are best accepted as relative positions but that other parts on the spectrum of political actions and ideas are not. Otherwise, sentences such as the following would hold true from an unconstrained relativist standpoint: Communism is authoritarian, and capitalism is liberal and democratic. Vietnamese dissidents are anti-communists and favor capitalism. Dissidents abuse democratic freedoms, disturb public order, and therefore deserve prison sentences. A multiparty system does not necessarily lead to a democracy, but a single party system is definitely leading to a dictatorship. (Pham Doang Trang, 2019: 42)

These statements are of course not correct, but also not entirely wrong depending on one’s standpoint. But they point to the complex subject of how we want to organize societies democratically. Therefore, I hoped to contribute to the discussion of political minority groups across the political spectrum because that is what real democracy requires: Attention to and integration of voices with which we have difficulties to agree. This book was also an attempt to recognize the entanglement of Western and non-Western realities and knowledges from and despite © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 S. Pham, Vietnam’s Dissidents, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-4606-8

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the decolonial perspective. The notion of coloniality that was applied in the background of this book does not idealize non-Western ideas as genuinely emancipatory, because not all knowledges ‘from below’ are able to produce a critical perspective on existing power relations and dominant ideologies, nor are they necessarily systemically reflected upon. But through the practical/tacit knowledge of resistance, dominant ideologies are certainly reworked ‘from below’. Accordingly, Southern epistemologies exist and develop in strong relation with capitalist ideologies. Southern epistemologies, too, are characterized by connections, tensions, differences and are constantly in movement. Hence, this book ends with stressing the point that nonWestern as much as Western epistemologies are characterized by the coexistence of emancipatory and conservative ideas. For the observers of alternative knowledges, what is required is not the rejection of Western ideas and concepts but the adoption of it in a more realistic understanding that reflects particular geographic and historical contexts. In this way, a differentiated and nuanced approach to epistemological decoloniality would acknowledge that Western-centric work has a lot to offer regarding methodological and theoretical contributions. In other words, there is a fundamental difference between the critique of epistemological coloniality and anti-Western-centrism, as the latter repudiates all Western ideas as non-applicable in global-Southern or postcolonial countries. This undifferentiated rejection of Western ideas risks justifying unconstrained cultural relativism which then denounces struggles for universal standards such as universal human rights and democratic political participation: Concepts that seem to be fundamental to all humans regardless of their social and cultural particularities. Vietnam’s dissidents make a strong case for it.

Index

A Abuza, Z., 172 Action, political, 14 Activist, 1–3, 5–7, 10–20, 24, 35–40, 42–55, 57–59, 61, 63, 64, 73, 74, 78, 80, 81, 83, 85, 88, 90–93, 98, 99, 102, 106, 107, 110–112, 114, 115, 117, 118, 123, 127, 128, 130, 132, 133, 135, 137, 143, 144, 146, 148, 156, 158, 172, 176, 178, 182, 183, 189, 198, 202, 209, 210, 212, 214 Adjacent, 6, 93–99, 104, 105, 116, 118, 124, 147, 150, 156, 158, 188, 193, 200, 201, 203, 211 Agreement, 31, 78, 111, 114, 126, 210 Agriculture, agricultural, 26, 28, 176 Alatas, S.F., 9 Althusser, L., 144, 145, 149, 201, 202 American, 29, 78, 114, 170, 187, 212

Anti-authoritarian, 20, 118, 146, 154, 203, 210, 212 Anti-China, 14, 73, 79, 81, 87, 98, 109–114, 116, 118, 195 Anti-colonial, 6, 111, 163, 166, 194, 196, 197 Anti-communism, anti-communist, 2, 12–14, 20, 77, 98, 100, 106, 107, 143, 165–167, 170, 171, 188, 197–201, 203, 211, 213, 214 Authorities, authoritarian, 2, 11, 16–19, 24–26, 34, 36, 59, 64, 74, 85, 87, 104, 105, 111, 116, 125, 134, 141, 142, 145, 147, 148, 166, 183, 199, 201 Autonomous, 45, 58, 89, 145 B BBC, 17, 39, 77, 110 Beresford, M., 27, 32, 35, 36, 148 Bloc 8406, 53, 75–77, 128 Blogger, 39, 43–45, 47, 51, 53, 81, 82, 88, 99, 109, 110, 115, 135

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Singapore Pte Ltd. 2023 S. Pham, Vietnam’s Dissidents, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-981-99-4606-8

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Buckley, J., 31, 34, 125, 126, 128 Buddhism, Buddhist, 13, 18, 106, 166, 167, 170, 171, 178, 198 Business, 23, 26–28, 45, 100, 102, 110, 153, 158, 181, 208

C Cao Ðài, 18, 184 Capital, 3, 4, 7, 20, 25, 27–30, 34, 35, 49, 62, 63, 117, 123, 145, 151, 174, 181, 186, 198, 199, 202, 208, 209, 212, 213 Capitalism, 7, 11, 20, 27, 75, 93, 103, 145, 156, 171, 186, 202, 208, 211, 213 Catholic Church, 18, 50, 53, 89, 164–167, 171–173, 177, 178, 187, 193, 202 Catholic elite, 106, 198 Cerimele, M., 26, 29, 30 China, 23, 24, 40, 49, 52, 74, 76, 79–81, 109–112, 118, 123, 166, 195 Chinese, 23, 50, 51, 78–81, 109, 110, 112, 113, 165, 176, 177 Christian, Christianity, 8, 164, 168, 170, 172, 180, 186, 187, 191, 192, 198, 201 Chu, L.T., 165–167, 171, 173, 198, 199 Citizen journalism, 75, 79, 178, 179 Civil society, 12, 32, 33, 36, 41, 44, 46, 52, 53, 75, 85–88, 91, 99–103, 105, 116, 118, 123, 127, 154, 173, 174, 177, 178 Civil Society Forum, 52, 81, 86 Collective action, 3, 8, 24, 35, 36, 45, 53, 116, 117, 127, 144, 173, 177, 182, 195, 202 Colonialism, 10, 24, 146, 163, 164, 194

Coloniality, 7, 8, 10, 20, 91, 118, 144–146, 186, 197, 213 Communist Party, Communist Party of Vietnam, 2, 6, 10, 12, 13, 19, 25, 27, 34, 39, 41, 45, 51, 55, 64, 74, 91, 103, 107, 109, 112, 116, 134, 142, 143, 155, 157, 168, 171, 188, 202, 211, 214 Complaints, 125, 134, 148 Comprehensive and Progressive Trans-Pacific Partnership (CPTPP), 31 Connell, R., 6, 8, 9 Consent, 16, 136 Conservatism, 12, 59, 96 Conspiracy, 38, 81 Constitution, 28, 41, 75, 76, 79, 84, 106–108, 124, 135, 148, 149, 151, 153, 155, 192, 194 Constraint, 37, 56–58, 64, 106, 117, 157, 211, 214 Core concept, 93, 95–99, 105, 109, 118, 124, 146, 147, 158, 188, 189, 203 Corruption, 2, 25–28, 32, 52, 53, 84, 89, 139, 140, 148, 202, 208 Council democratic, 212 CPV members, CPV, 13, 24, 32, 34–36, 51, 64, 78, 79, 81, 86, 87, 100, 103, 109, 112, 116, 118, 171, 173, 190, 199, 215 Cramped space, 58, 59, 64 Criminalization, 19, 37, 46, 49, 52, 58, 84, 128, 132, 147, 182–184 Culture, cultural, 1, 8, 9, 36, 46, 51, 77, 94, 97, 109, 117, 118, 186, 214 Cyber security, 24, 40, 41, 45, 82, 91, 110, 188 Cyber troops, 39

INDEX

D Decision, 23, 45, 102, 136, 182, 207 Decolonial, decoloniality, 2, 7–9, 18, 91, 92, 98, 99, 145, 158, 186, 187, 197, 210 Democracy activists (list of names), 47–50, 77, 87, 105, 123 Anh Ba Sàm, 47, 81 Anh Chí, 82, 83, 99, 100, 107 Bách, 54, 60, 61, 172, 184 Chinh, 85, 86 Ðào, 47–50, 77, 87, 105, 123 Hà My, 60, 81, 82, 105, 106, 111 Hu`ynh Thu.c Vy, 43, 117 Lê Công Ðinh, 48 Mai Khôi, 88 Ngai, 83, 84 ´ 90 Nguy˜ên Anh Tuân, Nguy˜ên Ngo.c Nhu Qu`ynh, 43, 81, 115 Nguy˜ên Quang A, 47, 51, 52, 63, 86–88, 102, 103, 112–114, 123 Nguy˜ên Trang Nhung, 88 Nguy˜ên V˘an Ðài, 77, 85 Nguy˜ên Xuân Die.n, 81 Pha.m Ðoan Trang (Trang), 42, 47, 63, 74, 90, 102, 104, 107, 123, 185 Thiên, 47, 53, 63, 64, 88, 89, 100, 101, 107, 112, 177, 179, 197 ` Hu`ynh Duy Th´u,c, 47, 137, Trân 183 Tri.nh H˜u,u Long, 90 Democracy, democratic, 3, 14, 15, 19, 20, 37, 41, 43–45, 47, 48, 52, 53, 59, 60, 62, 73–77, 80–82, 85, 87, 90–93, 98–100, 102–105, 108, 109, 112, 114, 115, 117, 118, 123, 133, 145, 150, 176–178, 184, 185, 209–213

221

Discourse, 2, 37, 38, 59, 62, 92, 97, 117, 210 Dissidents, 1–3, 10, 12, 20, 23, 37, 41, 45, 51, 57, 58, 61, 64, 73, 80, 96, 109, 110, 113, 157, 172, 173, 208, 209, 214, 215 Dissonance, 1, 3, 57, 199, 200, 207, 208, 210, 211, 214

E Embodied, embodied cognition, 54, 56, 58, 60, 64, 92–95 Emotional, 48, 49, 53, 58, 84, 98, 118, 153, 157, 184, 201, 214 Environment, 1, 19, 24, 32, 36, 43, 56, 88, 91, 93, 96, 97, 99, 106, 109, 115, 129, 154, 155, 179, 185, 191, 192, 201, 212 Environmental activists (list of names) Father Lý, 53 Hoàng дu,c Bình, 43, 127, 172, 183, 185 Kim, 46, 114, 178, 192 Lê Ðình Lu,o.,ng, 183, 185 Nguy˜ên Nam Phong, 43 Nguy˜ên N˘ang T˜ınh, 183, 185 Nguy˜ên Thái Ho.,p, 176 Nguy˜ên V˘an Hoá, 43, 183, 185 Ngu.y Thi. Khanh, 44 Priest Phúc, 53, 172, 178, 180, 182, 183, 185, 189, 190, 192, 195, 196 Priest Sáng, 53, 172, 173, 176, 177, 179–183, 185, 189, 193, 195, 196, 200 Environmental pollution, 3, 23, 174, 175, 186, 209 Epistemology, 7, 11, 212 Ethnography, 10, 11 Europe, 11, 110, 115

222

INDEX

EU-Vietnam trade and investment agreements (EVFTA), 31, 126, 127 Evangelist, 13 Everyday resistance, 12, 133 Exploitation, 11, 25, 26, 49, 62, 63, 124, 139, 152, 158, 186, 202, 213

F Facebook, 17, 38–40, 42, 45, 74, 81–84, 87–90, 111, 115, 116, 130, 135, 177, 178, 183 Factory, 23, 34, 40, 43, 53, 112, 123, 126, 130, 131, 169, 175, 180 Farmer, 56, 117, 149, 152, 153 Farmers Union, 100 Female, 19, 47, 51, 54–56, 60, 74, 117, 123, 133, 135, 142, 157, 169, 202, 214 Feminist, feminism, 19, 43 Fforde, A., 25–27, 33, 34 Foreign Direct Investment (FDI), 29, 30, 32, 53, 175, 186, 213 Formosa, 23, 40, 43, 48, 53, 74, 88, 89, 101, 112, 172, 175, 176, 182, 183, 199, 202, 213 Foucault, M., 3, 37, 38, 89, 90, 107, 118, 130, 144, 156, 210 Freeden, M., 93–97, 211 Freedom, 2, 3, 24, 27, 32, 41, 43, 44, 52, 73, 76, 82, 84, 99, 103, 108, 117, 128, 148, 152, 155, 166, 172, 174, 181, 183, 185, 211 Free Viet Labor Federation, 128

G Gender, 11, 19, 33, 51, 55–57, 157, 214

General Confederation of Labour Government, 100 Grassroots trade unions, 34, 126 Greenfield, G., 25, 27, 32, 35 Green ID, 44 Green Trees, 114, 123, 176, 178, 180, 192 Grosfoguel, R., 8 Güven, F., 91, 92, 98, 104, 114, 118 H Hà T˜ınh, 13, 40, 43, 53, 123, 174–176, 178, 180, 182 Hòa Hao, 18, 184 Hô` Chí Minh, 25, 38, 42, 55, 64, 80, 103, 108, 139, 165, 166, 169 Ho Chi Minh Communist Youth Union, 100 Hostage, 142 Human rights, 14, 15, 19, 23, 32, 35, 37, 43–45, 47–49, 53, 60, 73–76, 78, 80–82, 84, 87, 88, 91, 102, 112, 114, 116, 117, 150, 152, 176, 178, 192, 210 ij

I Ideas, 1, 3, 5–12, 14, 20, 40, 60–62, 64, 65, 75, 78–80, 85, 86, 90, 91, 93, 106, 107, 109, 113, 116, 129, 146, 163, 172, 187, 188, 197, 198, 208, 212, 213 Ideational, 91, 94, 98, 119, 124, 125, 144, 158, 201, 203, 211–213 Identity, refusal of identity, 19, 37, 50, 57–62, 64, 184, 208 Ideology, 2, 5, 10, 29, 37, 42, 59, 61, 63, 64, 78, 93, 95, 96, 126, 145, 201, 202, 213 Illegal/illegality, 31, 34, 39, 46, 50, 86, 139, 156, 158, 175, 212 Imperialism, 10, 99, 166

INDEX

Imprisonment, 16, 34, 36, 46, 50, 52, 56, 143, 166, 184, 186 Inequality, 9, 19, 26, 33, 56, 57, 84, 151, 213 Injustice, 2, 3, 11, 55, 64, 83, 84, 88, 93, 128, 132, 156, 157, 171, 180, 187, 189–191, 193, 200, 212 International, 18, 30, 31, 48, 49, 52, 62, 74, 78, 81, 83, 88, 92, 102, 114, 130, 178, 209 International Labor Organization (ILO), 31, 35, 126

J Justice, 20, 35, 46, 106, 168, 169, 173, 179, 181, 184, 185, 188–190, 192, 200, 203, 213

Labor activists (list of names) Ðoàn Huy Chu,o,ng, 128, 130 ˜ Thi. Minh Ha.nh, 128, 130, 131 Ðô Hoài, 127 Hoàng дu,c Bình (Bình), 43, 127, 172, 183, 185 Huy, 52, 53, 106, 126 Mai, 60 Nam, 53, 54, 62 ´ Hùng, 52, Nguy˜ên Hoàng Quôc 128, 130 ` Thi. Nga, 43, 52, 81, 117 Trân Land, 3, 15, 25, 28, 50, 64, 78, 108, 139, 147, 151, 153, 164, 172 Land activism, land activists, 124, 125, 144 Land activists (list of names) ´ Thi. Thêu (Thêu), 56, 133, Cân 135, 157 Ðình, 155, 156 Hai, 142, 152, 176 ` 55, 56, 73, 74, 103–105, Kiêu, 123, 133 Lê Ðình Ch´u,c, 143 Lê Ðình Công, 143 Lê Ðình Kình (Kình), 139, 141–143, 157 Nguy˜ên Thi. Tâm (Tâm), 135, 138, 157 Tri.nh Bá Khiêm, 137, 153 Tri.nh Bá Phu,o,ng, 138, 157 Tri.nh Bá Tu,, 138, 157 Land grabbing, 28, 52, 53, 55, 74, 137, 148 Law, lawyer, legal, 23, 34, 46, 47, 49, 50, 76, 83, 85, 87, 110, 125, 125, 130, 131, 135, 139, 144, 145, 178, 192, 214 Leader, 4, 18, 25, 39, 41, 44, 77, 81, 86, 107, 110, 165, 200 Liberation theology, 173, 187, 189, 203, 213 ij

K Keith, C., 163–166, 168, 194 Kerkvliet, B.J.T., 23, 33, 36, 44, 74–76, 79, 81, 128, 130, 133, 134 Kinh, 113 Knowledges, disqualified knowledges, silences knowledges, subjugated knowledges, 5, 8, 9, 19, 37, 38, 91, 107, 124, 128, 130, 133, 135, 137, 143, 156, 157, 174, 202, 210–213 Kurfürst, S., 73, 76, 79, 81

L Labor, 8, 14, 15, 19, 23, 29–32, 35, 43, 56, 62, 73, 101, 104, 117, 124, 125, 127, 129, 132, 133, 156, 172, 185, 194, 210, 213 Labor activism, labor activists, 34, 53, 125, 127–129, 132, 154, 168

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INDEX

Logical, 105 London, J., 26, 27, 75 Love for one’s country, 188, 193–197, 199, 201, 203 Luong, D.N.A., 39, 45, 64, 75, 109, 111, 112 M Marine pollution, 43, 89, 176, 177, 213 Marr, D.G., 165, 194, 198 Marx, Marxism, 2, 4, 6, 8, 12, 35, 42, 58, 61, 62, 64, 98, 103, 131, 151, 163, 168, 187, 208, 213 Masina, P.P., 27, 29, 30 Mass organization, 19, 24, 33–36, 87, 101, 175, 179 Mentan, T., 92, 98, 99, 104, 114, 145 Mignolo, W.D., 7, 8 Mobilization, mass mobilization, 33, 40, 41, 129, 165 Morris-Jung, J., 76, 78, 79 Multiparty system, 104, 105, 108, 109, 116, 118 Multitude, 12, 57, 59, 61, 64 N Nationalism, 3, 20, 98, 109, 111–114, 116, 118, 194–197, 201, 202 Negotiation, 31, 34, 92, 126, 127, 141, 142, 157, 180 Neo-colonialism, 112, 114, 195 Network, networked social movement, 11, 13, 14, 16, 20, 35, 41, 47, 49, 63, 73, 75, 82, 89–91, 116, 123, 127, 167, 172, 208, 209 Ngô Ðình Diê.m, 166, 167, 198 Non-governmental organizations, 87 Normative, 132, 145, 146, 158

O O’Brien and Li, 124, 125, 134, 147 Online petition, 17, 40, 75, 76, 78, 79, 82 Opinion, 15, 37, 40, 41, 148 Opportunity, 26, 28, 39, 53, 105, 111, 112, 125, 202, 212 Opposition, 36, 62, 112, 156, 167, 188, 199, 214 P Papadopoulos, D., 49, 58, 63, 214 Paradox, 6, 14, 208 Parish, 167, 169, 173, 174, 177, 178, 185, 188 Party participation, 32, 35, 48, 79 Peasants, 19, 20, 25–28, 32, 33, 35, 46, 55, 74, 76, 84, 87, 100, 123, 124, 133–137, 152, 153, 156, 157, 200 Periphery, peripheral concept, 93–98, 109, 116, 118, 124, 147, 154, 188, 197, 198, 201, 203 Petition, 17, 40, 41, 43, 48, 52, 76, 79, 82, 115, 125, 128, 131, 133, 134, 137, 182, 202 Police, 15, 18, 19, 28, 42, 44, 48, 51, 53, 54, 63, 76, 80, 88, 89, 113, 134, 136, 137, 141, 143, 155, 157, 179 Political minority, 3, 57 Political movement, 181 Political practice, 3, 5, 6, 9, 10, 12–14, 19, 20, 57, 62, 64, 91, 92, 97, 101, 102, 123, 124, 135, 144, 154, 159, 172, 174, 180, 181, 186, 188, 189, 200, 208–211, 213–215 Political prisoner, 13, 15, 17, 20, 43–45, 47, 50, 60, 73, 77, 80, 82, 87, 88, 115, 137, 170, 174, 184, 187, 192, 213

INDEX

Political subjectivity, 37, 50, 57, 58, 61–64 Politics from below, 186, 213 Poor, 20, 63, 104, 128, 138, 167, 169, 174, 177, 186, 195, 213 Priest, 41, 46, 48, 53, 76, 165, 167–172, 174, 176–178, 183, 184, 189, 190, 195, 196, 199, 201, 210 Prison, 14, 15, 43–45, 48–50, 52, 53, 55, 56, 80, 81, 127, 138, 170, 183 Propaganda, 35, 39, 41, 60, 76, 78, 109, 190 Protected space, 174, 177, 178, 181, 202 Psychological, 40, 46, 184, 198 Public opinion, 16, 39, 42, 47, 89, 111 Public security, 39, 142

R Racism, 92, 96, 119 Racist, 12, 112, 113, 164 Radio Free Asia (RFA), 35, 174 Reactionary, 39, 42, 59–61, 106, 171 Refusal, 57–60, 62, 63 Regime, 25, 26, 30, 33, 34, 36, 37, 75, 88, 103, 104, 125, 166, 167, 170 Regime of discourse, 37, 38, 89, 107, 118, 156, 210 Representation, 2, 10, 19, 98, 105, 118, 126, 148, 158, 202, 212 Representative, 18, 33, 75, 104, 105, 107, 110, 118, 136, 141 Repressive, 5, 8, 24, 36, 56, 58, 144, 145, 149, 154, 158, 213 Retired (officials), 46, 51 Rightful-resistance, 124, 125, 134, 147

225

Rights, 2, 14, 15, 19, 23, 27, 28, 31, 32, 37, 47, 49, 55, 74, 76, 78, 81, 84, 88, 102, 112, 117, 123–125, 139, 143, 146, 148, 152, 156, 158, 178, 187, 192, 207, 212 Rights-based resistance, 20, 123–125, 132, 134–136, 142–144, 146, 148, 149, 156, 158, 209, 212 Rule of law, 3, 20, 76, 108, 123, 124, 146–148, 153, 155, 158, 169 S Saeed, R., 145, 146, 151 Sidel, M., 33, 44, 108, 194 Silenced Sinophobia, 112 Socialism, 3, 26, 27, 32, 64, 76, 93, 96, 169, 199 Social media, 38–41, 44, 45, 75, 77, 79, 80, 83, 88–90, 98, 115, 135, 178, 183 South China Sea, 50, 74, 79, 80, 110, 169 Southern epistemology, 6, 9 Southern social movement, 6, 9 Special Economic Zones (SEZ), 45, 110 State-party-business-alliance, 208 State responsibility, 154, 155 Stigmatization, 33, 37, 49, 56, 58, 63, 84, 132, 184 Strike, 31–36, 56, 62, 82, 88, 125, 127, 129–131, 184 Struggle, 3, 6, 10, 11, 14, 15, 19, 32, 36–38, 47, 49, 53, 58, 63, 73–75, 78, 80, 89, 90, 101, 107, 108, 111, 116, 117, 123, 128, 131, 132, 138, 146, 148, 150, 156, 158, 165, 170, 185, 187, 189, 194, 196, 209, 214 Subjugated, 19, 37, 38, 63, 124, 130, 135, 156, 174, 210, 213

226

INDEX

Support group, 132

T Thayer, C.A., 33, 73, 75, 76 Thoburn, N., 49, 57–59 Trade agreement, 31, 114, 126, 209 Trade union, 20, 31, 33–36, 78, 101, 105, 126–128, 131, 132, 168, 212 Tran, A.N., 23, 31, 34, 35, 125, 134 ` Quôc ´ Bu,u, 169 Trân Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP), 31, 88 Trump, Donald, 31, 114 ` 169 Tru,o,ng Bá Cân, Truth, 12, 20, 38, 54, 139, 173, 188–191, 200, 201, 203, 213 ij

U Underground, 15, 16, 34, 48, 53, 60, 83, 131, 157, 168 United Workers-Farmers Organization, 128 U.S.A, 115

V Vasavakul, T., 25, 33, 37, 148, 175, 176 Veterans Association, 100 Victims of Injustice (Dân Oan), 128

Viet Labor movement (and Free Viet Labor Federation), 128 Viê.t Minh, 25, 165, 166, 170 Vietnam General Confederation of Labor (VGCL), 31, 34, 35, 126 Vietnam Union of Science and Technology Associations (VUSTA), 100 Viê.t Tân, 14, 39, 85, 115 Violence, violent, 12, 33, 34, 39, 40, 46, 54, 56, 60, 92, 99, 110, 114, 143, 149, 157, 167, 171, 182, 196 VOA, 17, 39 VTV1, 39 W Wells-Dang, A., 33, 148 West, 18, 110, 116, 211, 212 Western-centric, 6–10, 118 Wischermann, J., 33, 37, 101 Women’s Union, 33, 36, 100, 117 Worker representative organizations (WRO), 31, 126 Workers, 19, 20, 25, 26, 31, 32, 34, 35, 46, 53, 76, 100–103, 106, 110, 112, 117, 123, 124, 126, 128–130, 132, 148, 151, 154, 156, 158, 167, 170, 185, 212 Working conditions, 29, 106, 124, 125, 128, 169, 174 World trade organization (WTO), 29–31