Việt Nam’s Fine Disparity: Governing by Capacity, Punishing by Need

An administrative fine costs us much more than just money; it strips away our time, our opportunities, and our future earning potential.

Amid all the rallying cries heralding an “era of national rise,” a bitter undertone remains: many aspects of our lives have failed to “rise” fast enough to keep pace with these new penalties.

Poor Country Incomes, Rich Country Fines

“If we want the country to develop, we need discipline. Look at Singapore and Taiwan. The moment you slip up, you get fined. If we want to be as rich as other countries, why don’t we learn from them?”

Whenever people complain about Việt Nam’s increasingly steep fines, this refrain from pro-government commentators is all too familiar.

During my first visit to Singapore, I was overwhelmed by its development and prosperity, wondering how long it would take Việt Nam to reach that level. Reflecting on those commentators’ defenses, I suddenly recognized the cruelty Vietnamese citizens are forced to swallow: the general population is not yet wealthy, but they are expected to live by the penal standards of a rich society.

A fundamental principle of law and economics is that administrative fines must remain proportionate to a society’s ability to pay.

In Singapore, for instance, a 1,000 Singapore dollar fine—more than 20 million đồng (about $760)—for littering or smoking in public represents only 15-20% of their average monthly income. [1] 

Similarly, the maximum fine for a car running a red light in Japan is about 12,000 yen (nearly 2 million đồng). Based on Japan’s annual GDP per capita of $36,400.00, this is just 2.64% of the average Japanese monthly income. [2] [3] 

In Germany, the maximum monetary penalty caps at 388.50 euros (nearly 12 million đồng), or 8.36% of the average monthly income, based on a GDP per capita of $63,600.00. [4]

In contrast, Việt Nam’s current GDP per capita is $5,026.00 a year. This is roughly 125 million đồng annually, breaking down to just over 10 million đồng a month. [5]

Keep that 10 million đồng monthly average in mind, and compare it against these recent administrative fines:

• 50 million đồng for “spreading fake news” or “false information.” [6]
• 10 million đồng for traffic violations by motorbike riders, and 40 million đồng for car drivers, under Decree 168. [7]
• 50-70 million đồng for failing to protect one’s own personal data. [8]
• 30 million đồng for “providing or sharing journalistic works on social media.” [9]

These figures reveal that a single violation in Việt Nam can drain an entire month’s salary—or wipe out half a year’s wages entirely. And this reality assumes that the person is actually earning 10 million đồng a month to begin with.

The Principle of Proportionality

The overarching function of administrative law is to regulate state intervention in social life. By establishing penalties, the state aims to maintain public order and deter violations.

However, “maintaining public order” is only justified when that order fosters a stable and safe community. When fines are so high that they financially ruin people—pushing them into hardship, debt, or bankruptcy—they fail their purpose and instead become a societal burden.

Consider this scenario: for a minor violation, a citizen in another country might forfeit a day’s wages or the cost of a meal. A Vietnamese citizen, however, could lose a month’s rent or be forced into a year of debt.

This imbalance is exactly why modern legal systems rely on the principle of proportionality. This principle dictates that penalties must match the severity of the offense, the harm caused, and the regulatory goal, all while avoiding excessive burdens on the individual.

This is why Switzerland and Nordic countries like Finland use a day-fine system based on an offender’s daily income. Under this system, a rich person and a poor person pay different amounts for the exact same offense, ensuring that the penalty serves as an equal deterrent for both. [10]

But the financial blow is just the beginning. The true weight of these penalties lies in the time and opportunity costs that follow. An administrative fine does more than empty our wallets; it robs us of our time, our opportunities, and our future earning potential.

In Việt Nam, someone forced to take out a high-interest loan to cover a fine is trapped paying interest for months. A person who sells their motorbike to pay the state may lose their only way to make a living. The punishment does not end when the fine is paid—it drags on through endless extra shifts, lost jobs, and delayed dreams of education, healthcare, or starting a family.

The fine is merely the catalyst for a devastating chain of opportunity costs. It consumes the finite time a person has to build their life. It seems that in Việt Nam, citizens are not allowed to make mistakes—even minor administrative ones—because a single error can derail an entire life.

Give the Vietnamese people back the right to make mistakes at a proportionate cost!

The People’s Standard and the Institutional Standard

The deepest bitterness surrounding this so-called “era of national rise” is that only the expectations have risen; the foundation needed to support them still lags far behind.

We have essentially imported the “top” of developed nations—their strict penalty standards—and forced them onto the Vietnamese people. However, the “roots” required to make such penalties functional and fair—namely institutional standards, social welfare, and governance quality, which are all government responsibilities—remain inadequate.

This raises a simple question: does an administrative fine merely dent an individual’s wallet, or does it possess the power to push an entire family onto the street?

In many developed countries, a robust social safety net softens the fallout of an individual’s mistake. Even if adults lose their jobs or face steep fines, their children can still attend school, access healthcare, and receive baseline state protection without bearing the full consequences of a family’s financial crisis. [11]

Contrast that with Việt Nam, where an average monthly income of 10 million đồng often means one person is carrying an entire family on their shoulders. A 10 million đồng administrative fine does not just erase a month’s wages. It steals a child’s milk money, a student’s tuition, an elderly relative’s medicine, and the family’s rent—basic expenses that governments in developed nations actually help subsidize.

So, it is hardly an exaggeration to say that in this “era of national rise,” the only thing expected to “rise” is the financial punishment inflicted on the people, while institutional standards are apparently exempt from rising at all, right?

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Đan Thanh wrote this article in Vietnamese and published it in Luật Khoa Magazine on July 29, 2026. The Vietnamese Magazine has the copyrights to the English translation.