TINA HA GIANG
Whispers of May, echoes of mom
What if the most powerful acts of resistance aren’t always found in grand battles but in the quiet lessons whispered from a mother to her child? This Mother’s Day, my heart keeps returning to my own mother and the almost-forgotten strength of Vietnamese women who stood tall against a thousand years of Chinese rule, one hushed story at a time.
And this year, that sense of longing for her, for that connection to the past, feels even deeper.
“Mother is a gentle stream,
Mother is a fairy tale song,
A cool shade above,
Eyes bright as the moon and stars,
A torch in the night when lost.
Mother is a sweet sugarcane stalk,
Mother is a bunch of bananas and betel nuts,
The sound of crickets through the night,
The warm sun on the mulberry field,
The precious love for life…”
(A Rose for your lapel – Musician Phạm Thế Mỹ)
It’s been nearly three decades since I last heard my mother’s voice, yet the echo of her wisdom still guides me.
She was an enigma, my mother: a woman who could conjure magic in the kitchen while simultaneously possessing the unwavering will to navigate our family of eight through the storms of life. Gentle with my father, yes, but within her lay fierce independence, a decisive spirit that emerged when it mattered most.
The memory of her split-second decision to send my brother and me, just the two of us, onto that crowded Navy ship leaving Saigon in ’75, while my father desperately sought news amidst the chaos, still sends shivers down my spine – a testament to her quiet courage.
My mother’s quiet feminism
Growing up in the shadow of war, formal schooling was a luxury my mother rarely knew. Yet, her mind, sharpened by a voracious appetite for reading and a deep well of contemplation, held perspectives that now, years later, I recognize as profoundly feminist.
And that word – “feminist!”
“Feminist” is a term that, along with nữ quyền (women’s rights) and người tranh đấu cho nữ quyền (feminist), has somehow gathered a cloud of negativity.
In casual chats, when the inevitable question arises – “So, are you a feminist?” – I still hesitate.
A “no” feels like a betrayal of my beliefs, yet a simple “yes” never quite captures the nuance. The firebrand image often attached to the word just doesn’t fit.
Instead, I often find myself stammering some awkward reply, much to the amusement of my friends: “Honestly, shouldn’t we be asking if men feel they have equal rights these days?”
It was during a recent commemoration of the Trung Sisters that a quiet revelation settled upon me: my mother, in her own unassuming way, embodied the truest essence of a feminist.
With my father often away, our small home hummed with my mother’s tireless energy. She sewed, she cooked, and she experimented with the alchemy of rice wine and tea. As her shadow, I’d linger nearby, pretending to wait for chores, but really, I was there to soak in her stories, her quiet pronouncements on life.
I am sure she was very lonely when my father was away. She’d hum softly as she worked, but with me, her con gái cả (oldest daughter), beside her, the stories would unfold.
“Never rely solely on a man, Tina,” she’d tell me, her voice low and steady. “Your education, your own work – that is your true freedom.”
At the time, it sounded like practical advice. But looking back, I realize it was a profound act of defiance, a quiet rebellion against the very societal structures that sought to confine women.
In a world where women were often relegated to the hearth, and in a historical context where Vietnamese identity itself was under siege, my mother was teaching me the most fundamental feminist lesson: self-reliance is power.
It was wisdom born not in a classroom but in the crucible of survival.
“Besides,” she’d add, her pragmatism honed by hardship, “if your husband were to leave this world early, you’d still have your own two feet to stand on, your own mind to guide your children.” This wasn’t just about practicality; it was about a woman ensuring her daughter’s agency in a world that often sought to strip it away.
She nurtured in me a deep sense of self-worth, the understanding that knowing who you are and pursuing what ignites your soul are the cornerstones of happiness that, like ripples in water, extends to family and community.
These, I realize now, are the very tenets of female empowerment that modern feminism champions.
Unearthing a hidden history: A mother’s inquiry
One sweltering afternoon, as we prepared a feast for my father’s return, she posed a question that forever shifted my understanding of our past:
“Do you know why, after a thousand years and countless generations under the thumb of Chinese rule, our country still managed to break free?”
“Because Vietnamese people are an indomitable nation,” I repeated, a lesson straight from my school books.
“True,” she nodded, her eyes holding a deeper understanding, “but who truly kept that indomitable spirit alive?”
Caught off guard, I offered the names etched in our national consciousness: “The Trung Sisters and Lady Triệu, right, mom?”
A gentle smile touched her lips. “They are our glorious heroines, yes. But think about this: for a thousand long years, under Chinese domination, they implemented a brutal strategy – ‘sát phu hiếp phụ’ (‘killing husbands and raping wives’) – to assimilate us, to erase our very Vietnameseness.”
“‘Assimilate’? ‘Killing husbands and raping wives’?” My young mind struggled with the harshness of the words.
“Assimilation meant turning us into them, erasing our language, our customs. ‘Killing husbands’ was a deliberate act to eliminate the men, the protectors. And ‘raping wives’… that was to force them to bear children who would only know Chinese fathers, children loyal to the invaders, ignorant of their Vietnamese heritage.” Her voice, usually so soft, held a rare edge of steel.
A chill ran down my spine. “That’s… monstrous, mom!”
“Three times they invaded our country, a thousand years they ruled, and this cruelty persisted. Yet, we weren’t swallowed whole. We endured. We eventually drove them out. So, tell me, what did those Vietnamese women, their husbands gone, had done all of those years?”
“They had to raise their children by themselves?”
“Exactly. With so many men lost, these women became the keepers of our spirits. They not only had to feed and clothe their children, but they had to teach them – even those born of unimaginable violence – that they were Vietnamese, that our land was occupied, and that resistance, in whatever form, was our only hope for independence.”
“But their children had Chinese blood… were they still taught they were Vietnamese?”
“Yes. I’ve heard the old stories whispered among the elders – how, generation after generation, Vietnamese mothers under China’s rule instilled in their children, regardless of their bloodline, a fierce pride in being Vietnamese, a burning desire to reclaim our sovereignty. I believe it. Without that unwavering transmission of identity, how could we have ever broken free?”
These were the stories my school books left silent.
When I pointed this out, my mother simply said, “Many don’t know, con. History often forgets the quiet strength of women. We celebrate the Trung Sisters, Bà Triệu, but every Vietnamese woman, in her own way, carried that same defiant spirit.”
Looking back, I realize those afternoon talks weren’t just a mother sharing stories with her daughter. They were a vital lesson in resilience, in the quiet power of women, in the enduring spirit of a nation.
“Every Vietnamese woman was a Trung Sister, a Lady Triệu!” Her words, spoken with such conviction, echo in my mind.
It had been too long since I’d truly pondered that profound statement.
The silence in the archives
This week, a fierce curiosity drove me to verify my mother’s account of the “killing husbands and raping wives” policy and the role of these unsung mothers.
The digital archives yielded a shocking silence.
Among millions of online documents, only one article, Dr. Vũ Cao Phan’s “Vietnam—China: ‘Untold Stories’” from 2012, explicitly mentioned this brutal policy. (1) Even in its critique of biased Chinese history, the author’s cautious tone hinted at a reluctance to fully confront this painful past—a silence that begs the question: What other crucial narratives have been quietly erased?
Here is a portion of what Dr. Vũ Cao Phan wrote:
The written history of Vietnam – meaning what is recorded on paper – appeared quite late, thousands of years after A.D. (Anno Domini). The two main reasons are: writing appeared late, and an entire millennium of lost independence called the ‘period of Northern domination’ (a thousand years of Northern domination). The history of Vietnam during these years is also part of Chinese history, something that must be acknowledged whether we like it or not. And whether we like it or not, for Vietnam, that thousand years was a thousand years of unrest, to put it mildly.
Is it necessary to recall the stories of ‘killing husbands and raping wives,’ ‘leaving corpses for hungry tigers to go into the forest to catch birds and chop elephant tusks; enduring being eaten by dragons to go down to the sea to find pearls and hawksbill shells’ to supply the governing officials? Then, after a thousand years of independence, what did the invasions from the North leave behind that only requires mentioning a line from the 15th-century poet Nguyễn Trãi, ‘Burning the common people on fierce flames / Burying the young in pits of disaster,’ written in the “Proclamation of victory over the Ngo”
Seeking answers in the age of AI
Regarding my mother’s unwavering belief in the role of these mothers in preserving Vietnamese identity, my searches offered no definitive historical documents.
Turning to a modern oracle, ChatGPT, I posed the question:
Question: Did Vietnamese women who were victims of the Chinese policy of “killing husbands and raping wives” to assimilate the Vietnamese during the Northern domination teach their children that they were Vietnamese or Chinese?
ChatGPT: During the period of Northern domination, the policy of “killing husbands and raping wives” was implemented by the invaders to assimilate the Vietnamese, including the forced marriage and childbearing of Vietnamese women with Han Chinese men. Although there are no specific historical documents detailing how Vietnamese women in this situation raised their children, it can be inferred that in that challenging and harsh context, many Vietnamese people, including women, made efforts to preserve and transmit cultural identity and patriotism to the next generation.
Despite being imposed upon and oppressed by the Han Chinese, the Vietnamese found ways to maintain and preserve their language, customs, and traditions and educate their children about their national history and culture. This is reflected in the fact that, regardless of the circumstances, the Vietnamese always sought to affirm and uphold their national identity.
Furthermore, through numerous uprisings and resistance movements against Han Chinese domination, the spirit of patriotism and national consciousness was strongly preserved and nurtured in the hearts of the Vietnamese people, both male and female. This is further reinforced by the fact that female heroes such as the Trung Sisters and Lady Triệu became symbols of resistance and unwavering spirit against the enemy, serving as an inspiration for both women and men in protecting and preserving their cultural identity and national independence.
Although there are no specific documents on this question, based on the historical context and national spirit, it can be inferred that the Vietnamese, including women affected by the “killing husbands and raping wives” policy, tried to educate their children according to the spirit and identity of the Vietnamese people.
The enduring legacy of unsung mothers
Even in the cautious, AI-generated response, the underlying truth of my mother’s intuition resonates.
While my father instilled in me a deep love for our homeland and a sense of social responsibility, it was my mother who illuminated the quiet, often unseen strength of Vietnamese women – a strength forged in the fires of oppression and passed down through whispered stories and unwavering determination.
Mom, in my heart, you were more than just a mother. You were a keeper of our history, a silent warrior, and a feminist long before I knew the word. Your life and the untold stories of countless Vietnamese women like you remind us that true resilience often lies not in grand narratives but in the quiet whispers of defiance passed from one generation to the next.
Let us never forget to listen.
(1) https://vietnamnet.vn/viet-trung-nhung-dieu-khong-the-khong-noi-103648.html
From the same author: https://www.toiyeutiengnuoctoi.com/category/tac-gia/a-to-h/ha-giang/
