Article by Mr. Dinh Hong Ky published in VnExpress on June 21, 2026.
At Harvard University’s commencement ceremony earlier this June, one of the most widely shared speeches came from a young graduate named Noah Eckstein.
Noah spoke about his two grandfathers. One was a Pakistani Muslim who had lived through the painful upheavals of the 1947 Partition of India and Pakistan. The other was a Jewish survivor of the Holocaust.
They carried very different historical memories, religious beliefs, and worldviews. They disagreed on many issues. Yet, in Noah’s recollection, his grandfathers would often sit together over coffee, debating everything under the sun. They never succeeded in changing each other’s views, but they never stopped talking to one another.
From their relationship, Noah drew a powerful lesson: the opposite of division is not necessarily agreement—it is understanding.
That reminder from a Harvard podium resonates deeply with a reality that Vietnam also frequently encounters. Throughout the nation’s history—from the legend of the shared ancestry of the Vietnamese people, to village communities uniting against natural disasters, to the great wars of national defense—consensus has been the foundation of survival. When the country was poor, unity was its greatest strength. But as Vietnam enters a new stage of development, it faces a more complex challenge: the ability to manage differences.
In a society transforming at remarkable speed, differences are expanding every day.
Young people think differently from older generations. Urban and rural communities are growing further apart. Vietnamese living abroad often view life differently from those at home. An AI engineer operates in a world vastly different from that of a traditional manufacturing worker. The challenge of our era is no longer how to make everyone think alike, but how to ensure that people who think differently still want to sit down and talk to one another.
Nearly half a century after national reunification, Vietnamese people continue to carry very different memories of the same historical period. Some experienced war on the battlefield. Others experienced it through exile and migration. Some grew up during the years of economic hardship under the subsidy system. Others came of age in developed countries thousands of miles from their homeland.
These experiences have shaped diverse perspectives on history, success, freedom, happiness, and the future of the nation.
What matters most, however, is understanding the roots of these differences. When we understand where others are coming from, we become less quick to judge and more willing to accept that someone who disagrees with us is not necessarily wrong—they may simply be viewing life from a different vantage point.
The maturity of a society should not be measured by how similarly its people think, but by its ability to preserve respect and dialogue even when differences cannot be fully reconciled.
That is precisely what Noah Eckstein’s grandfathers achieved. They did not change each other’s beliefs. They did not abandon their identities. Yet they continued to care for and respect one another as members of the same family.
Understanding does more than help people accept differences. It creates the foundation for listening, making consensus possible, and inspiring meaningful action.
I recall a conversation with a business leader who sighed and said, “What exhausts me most right now is not market difficulties, but the feeling that no one is listening.”
Often, businesses do not need tax incentives or special support. What they need is a fair opportunity to tell their stories, to have their practical challenges heard and understood in all their complexity.
Looking back at Vietnam’s reform history, nearly every transformative policy change began when one side was willing to listen to the reasoning of another. Resolution 10 emerged from listening to farmers struggling under the cooperative system. The Enterprise Law was born from listening to citizens’ aspirations for economic freedom. Resolution 68 reflects a response to the concerns of the private sector following the pandemic. No major reform has ever arisen from imposition or enforced silence.
Yet the capacity to listen and understand appears to be becoming increasingly rare, particularly in the digital age.
In the past, to dislike someone, we usually had to meet them, interact with them, and experience a genuine conflict. Today, all it takes is a 30-second edited video clip, a sensational headline, or an accusatory social media post. Crowds immediately rush in, label people, and choose sides.
We live in an era where the speed of judgment far exceeds the speed of understanding. People are eager to ask, “Which side are you on?” but few are patient enough to ask, “What led you to think this way?”
Social media algorithms are designed to reinforce this tendency. They keep users engaged by continuously showing them content and people who share their views. Gradually, individuals lock themselves inside their own echo chambers—hearing only what they want to hear, believing only what they want to believe, and losing the ability to engage with those who think differently.
Most of us spend years learning how to speak, present ideas, debate, and defend our opinions in order to win. Yet very few of us are taught how to listen with humility and openness, recognizing that another person may be right in ways we have not yet seen.
In a world that is becoming increasingly diverse and complex, understanding does not make us weaker. Understanding is the very thing that allows people with profound differences to continue moving forward together.
Link to the article published on VnExpress: https://vnexpress.net/doi-thoai-voi-nguoi-khac-biet-5088077.html