Every year, as Vietnam marks April 30 – a date it calls the “Day of the Liberation of the South and National Reunification” – the Communist Party of Vietnam (CPV) renews its familiar campaign of propaganda. Official speeches, public events, and state-run media all echo the same triumphant narrative: that the Party not only won a righteous war, but has since followed a consistent policy of reconciliation toward its former enemies in the South.
A recent article in The Diplomat offered a good example of this carefully constructed narrative. The article, by Khang Vu, attempts to portray the CPV’s actions during and after the Vietnam War as magnanimous and inclusive, claiming that Hanoi sought to reconcile with opponents for the greater good and in the interests of national unity.
Yet this narrative collapses under the weight of historical facts and moral scrutiny. In truth, what the CPV calls “reconciliation” is nothing more than a cynical, self-serving policy designed to neutralize dissent, whitewash its violent past, and demand submission in exchange for limited tolerance. This article aims to expose the dishonesty and political motivations behind the CPV’s so-called reconciliation efforts.
The article begins by claiming that the CPV’s reconciliation policy dates back to 1946, when Ho Chi Minh accepted Emperor Bao Dai’s abdication and kept him on as a “supreme advisor.” While this move may seem generous on paper, it was, in fact, a tactical decision. Bao Dai was stripped of all real power shortly after, and reduced to a symbolic figure until his usefulness expired.
Similarly, the article cites the temporary inclusion of bourgeois and landlord elements in North Vietnam during the land reform campaigns of the 1950s. But this was not an act of tolerance; it was a calculated measure driven by necessity. The CPV needed their resources and administrative skills to maintain the country’s wartime economy. When those needs diminished, these same groups were ruthlessly purged.
Even Ho Chi Minh’s so-called self-criticism in 1956, after the disastrous land reform resulted in tens of thousands of wrongful executions, was not a sign of reconciliation. It was a strategic concession to defuse public outrage and avoid rebellion. These actions were always about preserving Communist Party dominance, not genuine acceptance of political or social diversity.
Then there is the brutal reality of the communist reeducation camps. After the fall of Saigon in 1975, the CPV claimed that it was offering defeated South Vietnamese officials a chance to “reform” themselves through reeducation. In reality, what followed was one of the largest acts of political vengeance in modern Vietnamese history.
Between 300,000 to 1 million former Republic of Vietnam (RVN) military personnel, civil servants, intellectuals, and religious leaders were sent to reeducation camps without trial. Many were held for years under brutal conditions, subjected to forced labor, malnutrition, and relentless ideological indoctrination. Families of former RVN officials faced systemic discrimination; they were barred from higher education, state jobs, and even internal travel.
Khang Vu’s article defends these actions by citing fears of exiled RVN officers raising guerrilla armies in Thailand and Laos. This excuse conveniently ignores the fact that most of those imprisoned had no connection to such activities. The mass incarceration was a calculated act of collective punishment designed to crush any potential resistance and consolidate one-party rule.
One of the most brazen claims in the CPV’s reconciliation narrative is that it “did not erase” the legacy of the Republic of Vietnam. In reality, from 1975 onward, the Party worked aggressively to suppress any memory of the South’s independent identity. The RVN’s flag, national anthem, and historical symbols were outlawed. School textbooks depicted RVN leaders as traitors, war criminals, and “puppets” of the Americans. Literature, art, and films reflecting the South’s history or culture were censored or banned.
The essay points to token gestures, such as the civilianization of Bien Hoa Cemetery and the commemoration of the 1974 naval battle against China, as evidence of Hanoi’s respect for the RVN’s legacy. But these acts were driven by political necessity, not goodwill. The Bien Hoa Cemetery was only opened partially to the public starting in 2006 in a bid to improve ties with the Vietnamese diaspora, while commemorating the naval battle served Vietnam’s strategic interests in territorial disputes with China.
Even today, public gatherings to mourn April 30 as a day of exile and loss are strictly forbidden inside Vietnam. The CPV’s approach has never been about reconciliation through historical honesty, but about controlling the narrative and selectively resurrecting the RVN’s memory only when it suits Party interests.
Perhaps the most revealing aspect of the Party’s narrative is its definition of reconciliation: it demands that former enemies “respect Vietnam’s territorial integrity and political system.” This is a coded language for absolute loyalty to CPV rule.
In other words, reconciliation is permissible only on the Party’s terms. Former RVN officials and sympathizers are welcome to return and invest money, but only if they remain silent about human rights, political freedoms, or the legitimacy of the one-party state. Criticism, protest, or calls for democratic reform are met with surveillance, harassment, or imprisonment.
The article frames the CPV as having “goodwill” toward its former enemies, blaming lingering divisions on exiled RVN sympathizers who continue to oppose communist rule. But this ignores the basic principle that true reconciliation cannot be based on submission. It must begin with mutual recognition of past suffering and political differences – something the CPV has never allowed.
The CPV’s reconciliation narrative serves one primary purpose: to cement its political dominance while allowing it to reap the economic benefits of engagement with overseas Vietnamese communities. Since the early 1990s, the Party has aggressively courted the diaspora, not to heal old wounds, but to attract remittances and investment.
Between 1993 and 2023, overseas Vietnamese sent over $160 billion in remittances to Vietnam, becoming a vital source of economic growth. Figures like former RVN Vice President Nguyen Cao Ky were welcomed back not because the CPV suddenly respected their past, but because their presence helped legitimize the regime’s call for economic cooperation while discouraging political dissent.
This transactional approach to reconciliation is deeply cynical. The Party tolerates exiles’ money but not their voices. It demands silence about the Party’s crimes in exchange for the privilege of visiting ancestral graves or investing in the homeland. Such conditional reconciliation is neither ethical nor sincere.
If Vietnam is ever to truly reconcile its painful past, it must start by abandoning the Communist Party’s monopoly over historical truth. The nation must recognize the full, complex story of the Vietnam War – one that honors the sacrifices of both North and South, acknowledges atrocities committed by all sides, and respects the political beliefs of those who fled the country rather than live under totalitarian rule.
Real reconciliation means restoring the dignity of those who were persecuted, allowing free expression of diverse political views, and openly confronting the darkest chapters of the nation’s history. It requires more than one-sided declarations from Party officials; it demands a national conversation unhindered by censorship, fear, or coercion.
Until that happens, the Communist Party’s reconciliation narrative will remain what it has always been: a tool of propaganda and a barrier to genuine peace.