I'm in communist Vietnam — sometimes it feels more functional than America

The Hill

5 days ago

HANOI — Vietnam is, officially, a communist country. The hammer and sickle hang from balconies and streetlamps.
The face of Ho Chi Minh — or 'Uncle Ho,' as he is reverently known — appears on every denomination of the local currency. The ruling Communist Party tolerates no opposition, no free press, and no real public dissent.
Yet daily life in Hanoi feels unexpectedly open, improvisational, and relaxed — and strangely functional. This isn't the gray, paranoid authoritarianism of Cold War caricature. It's something different: A one-party state that governs tightly but intrudes lightly.
After several weeks in Hanoi, I keep returning to the same paradox: How can a place with no civil liberties feel, in some ways, freer and more orderly than American cities like San Francisco or Washington?
The streets of Hanoi are alive. Vendors hawk snacks. Families eat dinner on the sidewalk. Men kick shuttlecocks over makeshift nets. Sidewalks double as barbershops, scooter parking, and cafés. There are rules, but enforcement seems lax. You can park on the curb, start a business with minimal red tape, and leave your phone on a café table without much fear that it will be stolen.
Public safety is perhaps the starkest contrast. Young children toddle unattended down busy streets. Elderly women walk alone at night. There are no homeless encampments, no open drug use, few boarded-up shops. I have been routinely walking home late at night without feeling on edge the way I might in much of D.C. The chaos and grittiness of the city are real, but so is the safety.
Government authority in Vietnam is ambient but understood. Don't criticize the Communist Party, and you will mostly be left alone. When I asked a friend what would happen if she stood in front of the Ho Chi Minh Mausoleum with a mocking sign, she said 'nothing — but I would never do that.' Then, with complete sincerity, she added: 'I love him.'
From childhood, Vietnamese are taught to revere their founding father much as American children once revered Washington and Jefferson.
Even health care felt refreshingly efficient. When I needed treatment for a minor issue, I got a same-day appointment at a public hospital. A friendly translator met me at the door. I waited 20 minutes before being seen by four competent medical professionals. I left just over an hour later with a prescription and a voucher for a free meal at the hospital canteen. Total cost: under $60. No insurance, no paperwork.
Vietnam's COVID response was similarly pragmatic. The state imposed quarantines and deployed soldiers to deliver food. But unlike its neighbor, frenemy and ideological sibling China, Vietnam knew when to ease the grip. As vaccines arrived, restrictions softened. There was surveillance, but there was also adaptation.
I would never want to trade the American system for Vietnam's. For behind the calm and competence lies a hard truth, and ultimately, it's the only truth that matters: Vietnam remains one of the most repressive countries in Asia.
The Communist Party tolerates no serious dissent. Independent journalism is virtually nonexistent. Elections are performative. Critics are jailed, monitored, or quietly disappeared. The Economist was recently pulled from newsstands for putting Vietnam's new leader on its cover. As I write this, I wonder whether my visa might be revoked before my planned departure.
Freedom House scores Vietnam just 19 out of 100 on its freedom index — on par with Saudi Arabia. Hundreds of political prisoners are locked up, including bloggers, environmentalists, and religious advocates. Engineering students are required to take courses in Marxism-Leninism and Ho Chi Minh Thought. There are no protest permits, no competitive elections, no independent judiciary. The internet is monitored. You can criticize the state — but don't do it too loudly or on the wrong topics.
The trade-off here is clear: Social stability and economic growth are offered in exchange for silence. That may appeal to some. It's not a deal I would ever take.
For all America's dysfunction — its red tape, disorder, and political polarization — we still get the most important things right. We can speak, publish, protest, practice, and organize. Our institutions are flawed, but they are open to reform. Our courts are independent. Our leaders are replaceable. Our media is free. We do not need to whisper. We do not need to pretend.
In Hanoi, I could walk at night without fear. In Washington, I can speak my mind without fear. A truly functioning society should have both, but the latter is more important.
There's nothing inherently authoritarian about safe streets or functioning services. A competent democracy should be able to deliver both liberty and order. That the U.S. increasingly doesn't is a failure not of freedom but of governance.
Fifty years ago, America fled a war-torn Vietnam. Today, Vietnam is booming — prosperous, orderly and in some ways more functional than the country that once destroyed and tried to remake it.
But functionality isn't freedom. Vietnamese communism may be more competent than Cuba's and less authoritarian than China's, but it shows what's lost when speech, dissent, and choice are stripped away. You may get order and you may even get peace. But you live on terms you didn't choose, and that's not a bargain I'd ever make.
Daniel Allott is the former opinion editor at The Hill and the author of 'On the Road in Trump's America: A Journey into the Heart of a Divided Country.'