By Mr. Đinh Hồng Kỳ, published on VnExpress, April 8, 2026
I was born in the winter of 1966 in Hanoi, at a time when American bombs were falling heavily on the city.
Just a few days after my birth, my mother had to carry me to the outskirts for evacuation. My remaining childhood memories are not vivid images, but rather sensations—a vague, lingering sense of unease shaped by the sound of air-raid sirens and loudspeakers echoing through the streets: “Attention citizens, enemy aircraft are 12 kilometers from Hanoi.” Each time, I would crawl under the staircase of our apartment block in Dốc Thọ Lão, or into public bomb shelters, pressing myself into the darkness and waiting.
In 1972, when I was six, the most devastating bombing campaigns took place. The Khâm Thiên neighborhood was flattened. It was when Hanoi endured intense B-52 air raids. U.S. President Nixon declared that he would bring North Vietnam “back to the Stone Age.”
In 1975, when news of national reunification arrived, children like us jumped with joy. It was the first time I truly felt the unfamiliar comfort of a peaceful life without bombs.
After the war, my family—like millions of Vietnamese families—entered a period that was no less difficult. There were no more bombs, but there were long days of food shortages and power outages. Yet what is remarkable about Vietnamese people is their ability to rise again—not through grand words, but through small, persistent actions: starting over, seizing every opportunity, and moving forward step by step.
In 1989, when the private sector was still a very new concept in Vietnam, my family started a business. We had no large capital, no modern management experience, but we had one very clear thing: the determination to escape poverty and move forward. From a small operation, we gradually expanded beyond Vietnam’s borders. Today, we operate in more than 60 countries.
Along that journey, there is one thing that, if I had told my childhood self, I would hardly have believed: our largest market is the United States. The country that once bombed the place where I was born has become our most important economic partner. I have traveled to the U.S. many times, worked with American partners, and gradually realized that history can be painful, but the future does not have to be bound by the past. Any resentment that once existed has faded, replaced by respect, cooperation, and shared growth.
According to the General Statistics Office, in the first half of 2025, the United States remained Vietnam’s largest export market, with tens of thousands of Vietnamese businesses engaged in trade with it.
Vietnam today is not only a nation that endured war; it has become a comprehensive strategic partner of the United States. The two economies are closely interconnected and complementary. Families like ours even have deeper ties: children studying abroad, building families, and becoming part of a broader world. My eldest daughter-in-law is a Vietnamese-American. From the perspective of our generation, this would have been almost unimaginable.
I once thought war belonged to the past. But recently, I have again heard chillingly familiar statements about pushing a nation “back to the Stone Age.”
The conflicts in the Middle East are complex historical and political issues. But I understand very clearly what it feels like to be a child living under bombs. It is not about geopolitics. It is the sound of sirens, loudspeakers, the fear of hiding in shelters, the anxiety of parents, and sleepless nights. Somewhere in Iran or the Middle East today, there are children like I once was. Stories from 50 or 60 years ago, which seemed long closed, are repeating themselves in another land.
Only many years later did I come to understand something I could not grasp as a child. The parents of that time—our fathers and mothers—were determined to see the war through, not only for grand ideals, but for a very simple and instinctive reason: to protect their children’s lives. They could not accept their children growing up amid bombs, constant fear, and the possibility of death at any moment. For them, victory was not just a political concept—it was a condition for their children to live.
When I put myself in their position, I understand that no parent wants their child to endure what we went through. And that is why, whenever a new war breaks out somewhere in the world, the first thing I think of is not maps or strategies, but families—parents carrying their children through the night, children shrinking in fear under the sound of explosions.
What troubles me is not who is right or wrong in a conflict, but the question: after so many lessons, why has the world still not learned how to avoid repeating old tragedies?
From Vietnam’s experience, I draw three conclusions.
First, there is no true victory if the cost is the devastation of a nation. War leaves behind not only physical destruction but wounds that last for generations. Vietnam took decades to rebuild, and many war memories remain even today. If humanity’s ultimate goal is development, then any action that pushes a nation backward is a contradiction.
Second, economics and cooperation are the most sustainable paths to resolving conflict. Vietnam and the United States are a clear example: from confrontation to cooperation, from war to trade, from suspicion to strategic partnership. When nations are economically interdependent, war becomes far less appealing. No one wants to destroy a market they are helping to build.
Third, we need a new approach to security—not just military security, but development security. A stable country with economic opportunities, a strong middle class, and global connectivity is less likely to become a conflict hotspot. Investing in development, education, and opportunity is often far more effective than investing in weapons.
Looking back on my life, one thing is clear: peace is not a natural state—it is a choice. And that choice must be nurtured through cooperation, understanding, and shared interests strong enough to keep nations from returning to old paths.
Our generation—from children born into war to entrepreneurs doing business with a former enemy—proves that such a journey is possible. If that is possible, then the world can choose a different path as well.
War is always possible.
But so is peace.
The question is whether humanity truly wants it.
Dinh Hong Ky
