The Return of Nhân Văn–Giai Phẩm: Veterans and the New Wave of Censorship in Việt Nam

Before the barrage of denunciations directed at writer Bảo Ninh’s novel “The Sorrow of War” had fully subsided, another volley of criticism emerged. [1] This time, the target was Nguyễn Thành Nam’s “Chuyện với Thanh” (Conversations with Thanh), a book centered on President Hồ Chí Minh. [2]

Behaviors such as informing on others, exposing individuals, and labeling them “hostile forces” are typically associated with the police. However, it is striking that both recent waves of fierce denunciation originated from the military, an institution generally regarded as being “closer to the people” and far more benevolent.

In a metaphorical sense, the triggers of these peacetime gunshots—demanding the destruction of writers and their works despite the creative effort invested—are being pulled by veterans. 

Ironically, these are the exact individuals who once fought on the battlefield in the name of bringing peace to the nation.

From “The Sorrow of War” to “Chuyện với Thanh”

Within just half a year, the veterans involved—most notably General Nguyễn Thanh Tuấn and Phan Trung Can—have launched consecutive denunciation campaigns against two literary works: “The Sorrow of War” and “Chuyện với Thanh.” [3][4]

While The Sorrow of War was condemned and figuratively burned for “touching” the idealized image of the wartime soldier, Chuyện với Thanh faces attacks for allegedly diminishing the symbolic stature of Hồ Chí Minh.

These veterans appear unable to recognize that their historical role is complete, or perhaps they are simply unwilling to let it go. Instead of leaving future generations with a genuinely peaceful atmosphere, they cling to the aura crafted by official histories and propagandistic literature. Ironically, they seem incapable of putting down their rifles, even while taking pride in the “peace” they claim to have secured for the victorious side.

The authors of both “The Sorrow of War” and “Chuyện với Thanh” stood on the exact same side as their current critics. Bảo Ninh is a combat veteran who spent years on the battlefield in the Vietnam War, and Nguyễn Thành Nam is a lecturer in Hồ Chí Minh Thoughts as well as a lifelong admirer of President Hồ.

Consequently, these literary works are not being denounced for rejecting the “achievements of the revolution” or opposing “our Party.” They are criticized simply for using different perspectives and modes of expression. Two authors who were ostensibly “on the same side” now face hostility simply because they refuse to recount the war or praise President Hồ using the specific tone demanded by a faction of military personnel.

These denunciations stem from a desire to keep the image of the soldier magnificent and entirely untouched by ordinary psychological trauma or painful emotional wounds. [5] The critics condemn these books because they prefer President Hồ to remain an abstract political symbol adorned with grand honorifics. They refuse to allow him to be returned to reality as a historical figure whose life contained mysteries, internal conflicts, and mistakes. [6] [7]

The actions of these veterans in these campaigns do more than just diminish social diversity. They strip history of its fundamental nature as a discipline shaped by the collision of countless viewpoints.

The Rebirth of the Nhân Văn–Giai Phẩm Era

Few would willingly revisit the era of the Nhân Văn–Giai Phẩm affair, a dark period in Vietnamese history. What began as a movement advocating for academic and creative freedom was transformed into a major political criminal case, driven entirely by suspicions of anti-Party sentiment.

During China’s Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution, a widely circulated saying attributed to Mao Zedong declared: “Intellectuals are worth less than manure” (知识分子不如粪). This implied that intellectuals were less useful than actual fertilizer, which at least nourished rice crops. 

General Secretary Lê Duẩn once echoed this exact sentiment, stating: “Political power is a poisonous weed, and we must turn it into fertilizer to improve our rice fields.” [8] [9]

These historical remarks from two authoritarian leaders reveal the precarious status of intellectuals under such regimes. Fundamentally, authoritarian states fear intellectuals because they represent a competing source of political authority and a potential weapon against those in power. 

To neutralize this threat, authorities frequently employ a strategy of controlling social knowledge—the raw material that shapes intellectuals. By carefully filtering all public information, the state attempts to convert intellectuals into ideological “fertilizer to improve rice fields.”

This dynamic was a common feature of revolutionary states throughout the 20th century. When political unity was prioritized above all else, intellectuals were treated as a social group requiring ideological reform and strict control. 

This mindset drove Mao’s second famous statement: “Intellectuals who have not been reformed cannot be trusted,” an argument he used to justify forced manual labor campaigns during the Cultural Revolution.

In Việt Nam, a similar fear of intellectuals has long been entrenched. Following the reunification of the country in 1975, one of the first actions taken by the communist authorities was to destroy Southern knowledge through extensive book-burning campaigns and the widespread imprisonment of intellectuals. [10]

These actions mirror the strategies employed by Mao Zedong’s government during the Great Proletarian Cultural Revolution (1966–1976). While that campaign was publicly framed as an effort to destroy the “Four Olds”—old customs, old culture, old habits, and old ideas—historical evidence suggests its true objective was the elimination of political rivals. 

The authorities were willing to punish the innocent rather than risk allowing independent power to flourish, and scholars were viewed as the foremost representatives of that power. [11]

Yet the true brutality of this era lay not in the closure of schools or the burning of books but in the public denunciation sessions. [12] Professors were dragged onto stages, forced to wear paper hats labeling them “bourgeois revisionists,” and hung with heavy wooden placards. They were compelled to hold the grueling “jet plane” physical stress position for hours, had half their heads shaved, and were paraded through campuses with ink-smeared faces. 

Many were detained in makeshift prisons called “cow sheds,” where they were subjected to forced labor and forced to write daily self-criticisms under the supervision of the very students they once taught.

The above photograph was taken in Harbin during the early stages of the Cultural Revolution. It depicts a public denunciation session targeting senior leaders of Heilongjiang Province. Standing on a chair in the foreground is Wang Yilun (王一伦), then vice chairman of the provincial People’s Committee and secretary of the Provincial Party Secretariat. In the distance stands Ren Zhongyi (任仲夷), secretary of the Heilongjiang Provincial Party Committee and Wang’s direct superior. The image is regarded as a rare visual record of the political purges carried out during the early years of the movement. 

In his memoir The Cowshed, Peking University professor and Indologist Ji Xianlin recounted how students dragged him from his home, forced him to kneel on gravel, spat in his face, and made him broadcast that he was a “bourgeois beast.” He wrote: 

“In that hell, death was not frightening; humiliation was what destroyed a person minute by minute.” [13] [14] 

Because honor and intellect are central to a scholar’s identity, such extreme public humiliation was unbearable. Between 1966 and 1968, countless professors and university administrators committed suicide, while others faced imprisonment or total career destruction. [15]

Today, a wave of denunciations targeting intellectuals appears to be resurfacing in Việt Nam. The consequences of these recent campaigns mirror the historical objectives of their predecessors: eliminating dissenting voices, suppressing knowledge, and curtailing freedom of expression, all disguised as the defense of Party ideology.

The Parallel Destinies of Việt Nam and China

Beyond sharing a political system and a common border, Việt Nam and China share a dark history of persecuting knowledge and intellectuals.

Both nations exhibit a striking historical paradox. Mao Zedong and Hồ Chí Minh are closely associated with what many consider the most devastating mass denunciation campaigns in their respective histories: the Cultural Revolution in China and Land Reform in Việt Nam. 

Despite these contradictions, both leaders have become the focus of official ideological instruction. [16] Today, Mao Zedong Thought and Hồ Chí Minh Thoughts are mandatory subjects for anyone pursuing higher education in these countries.

A contemporary paradox is also evident in both nations. While both states previously executed fierce campaigns against intellectuals, they now invest considerable effort into attracting talented individuals back to their homelands. 

During his report to the 20th National Congress of the Chinese Communist Party in 2022, Xi Jinping declared: “Science and technology are the primary productive force, talent is the primary resource, and innovation is the primary driver of growth.” [17]

Vietnamese leaders similarly broadcast the need to value and attract intellectual talent. [18]

Despite such progressive rhetoric, the rigid institutional framework continues to prioritize absolute political loyalty over professional expertise. At their core, those in power still expect intellectuals to function merely as obedient instruments.

The recent denunciation campaigns spearheaded by veterans highlight a grim reality. Whether or not these campaigns are covertly directed by the authorities, intellectuals who refuse to conform face severe risks, including public shaming, punishment, and the systematic destruction of their reputations and careers.

From this perspective, it is possible to observe the rise of a new Nhân Văn–Giai Phẩm affair—a phenomenon that could aptly be titled “Nhân Văn–Giai Phẩm 2.0.”

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Đan Thanh wrote this article in Vietnamese and published it in Luật Khoa Magazine on June 12, 2026. Đàm Vĩnh Hằng translated it into English for The Vietnamese Magazine.