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A thick fog of humidity hangs heavily on the shoulders of the people who fill the streets in Vietnam’s capital city, Hanoi. The sun is bright and burning through the clouds of smog that hover above the streets. Beads of sweat roll down tanned arms, disappearing into vapor as they hit the burning concrete. The centre of the city is a circus of activity. Old women wearing triangular straw hats walk slowly and methodically. Wooden bars sit across their shoulders with metal baskets hanging on either side. One woman presents an array of tropical fruit. The sweet aroma fills the warm air around her. Other women display goods on their swinging stores. White paper fans and brightly coloured toys are just some of the wares that are being offered to a crowd of tourists whose pale skin has a pink hue from hours in the burning heat. Taxi motorbikes drive round and round in circles yelling at the foreigners to hop on while the reluctant customers avert their eyes, hoping not to be seen.

Nestled in the middle of the chaos stands a towering archway made of heavy grey stone. The face of the structure is slightly stained from years of exposure to the typhoon rains and relentless sunlight. Asian scripture has been delicately etched onto the stone. This small pagoda is the entrance to the Temple of Literature. Tall brick walls fence the temple protecting it from the commotion of the modern world. The interior of the temple has been painted bright red with accents of gold leaf emphasizing the intricate details carved into the paneling – the same colours that are displayed proudly on the country’s flag.

Locals sit with their knees kissing the floor. They bow in front of a large statue of a man dressed in red and gold robes. At the base of the sculpture are a series of gifts; cans of Coca-Cola, packages of wafer cookies and wilting flowers are all offered to the god-like man. A series of candles flicker above the praying crowd filling the temple with the smell of matches and burning wax. Built in the 11th century, it’s widely known as the country’s first official university. Now, the Confucius temple is one of the top tourist attractions in the city. The Vietnamese come to offer their thanks to Confucius and his trusted disciples while foreigners come to admire the architecture and take selfies beside the famous pagoda.

The exterior of the Temple of Literature in Hanoi. It’s considered the country’s first university. 

It’s fitting that just steps away from the locals knelt in prayer, searching for knowledge and understanding, the employees at the Vietnam Assistance for the Handicapped (VNAH) are hard at work attempting to do the same. They want to change the minds of society, striving for acceptance and equality for people with disabilities across the country.

A short elevator ride up a grey business tower leads you directly to the organization’s glass office doors. The building is fully accessible; even the bathroom is equipped with low fixtures and solid metal bars fastened to the walls. Bui Van Toan sits quietly inside his office. The workday has barely begun but there’s no time to waste. His eyes are glued to his computer monitor that rests a top of his document covered desk. The morning sun creeps in through the window shining light onto the man’s face. Bui says he has a full day ahead of him which will keep him close to his desk. He calls in the organization’s eager intern, Truong Le Thu Huong, although for those who aren’t proficient in Vietnamese she also answers to her English name, Julia.

Truong is from Vietnam but went to university in West Virginia. She’s fluent in both Vietnamese and English, making her the perfect interpreter.

It’s time to leave for the first meeting of the day. She waves goodbye to her boss as we journey back through the glass doors, head back down the elevator and on to the street. Truong is wearing a charcoal pencil skirt with a button down shirt safely tucked beneath it. Her kitten heels softly clack as they hit the stone tiled sidewalk. She scurries past the Temple of Literature where the crowd has grown even larger as the day’s progressed. Truong talks freely about her time in the United States. While most Vietnamese people still hold a grudge against their former enemy, she says she would love to return to her second home.

She stops in the shadows of an immense iron gate. The black bars protect what looks like a French-colonial mansion behind it. Beside the entrance to the secret fortress is a narrow gap with just enough space for a guard to stand and keep watch. With no security to be seen, we glide through the space and walk towards the towering building. Truong disappears around the corner, searching for someone to point us in the right direction, before ushering me to follow along. We are guided around the back where a number of large transport trucks sit. Men file in and out of the back of the trucks carrying dark wooden desks, filing cabinets and a series of chairs – our visit coincides with moving day for some of the offices. As we move around the trucks, a smaller two-story building is revealed. It’s miniscule in comparison to the grand edifice in front of it. In the center of the foyer rests a 10-foot bronze statue. Ho Chi Minh is sitting patiently while three young girls surround him. The girls’ heads are all tilted upwards looking directly into the face of their protector.

A bronze statue of Vietnam’s former President, Ho Chi Minh, sits in the middle of the NCD office in Hanoi. 

On the opposite wall, resting above a door, hangs a dark oil painting. Sitting in a tiny wooden wheel chair is a boy with his mouth open wide eagerly awaiting a spoonful of food. Squatting on the grass beside him, an old man with a white cigarette resting between his lips, feeds the hungry child. The man’s thinning grey hair and matching long goatee closely resemble that of the nearby statue. Not surprisingly, the country’s former president is proudly displayed throughout the government building. Despite being dead for nearly 50 years, Ho Chi Minh is still very much alive in the lobby – watching and protecting children in need and surveying the work of his government.

To the right of the towering bronze monument is a dark and narrow hallway. The lights that flicker above are dim and admit a low buzz, as if the bulbs could give way at any moment. On one side of the hallway sit cluttered shelves and cabinets that are ready to be carried away by the moving crew. On the opposite side are small doorframes leading to offices or other shadowy pathways.

In a small conference room sits Dinh Thi Thuy at a long rectangular metal table. Surrounding the table are four wooden desks that are buried under thick piles of papers and books. To take a seat at the table you need to turn sideways and carefully tiptoe around the cluttered space so as not to topple over one of the meticulously balanced stacks. There are no windows in the concrete walls and the fluorescent lights cast a thin shadow on the side of the woman’s face. The table is the only place in the room that isn’t hidden under a blanket of documents. Instead, a porcelain teapot, matching cups, and a bowl of golf ball sized green apples with a saucer of granulated sugar have been placed as the centrepiece.

Dinh Thi Thuy sits in the NCD office in Hanoi. 

Dinh is the deputy chief of the National Committee for Vietnamese Persons with Disabilities (NCD). Dinh says the country’s former Prime Minister, Nguyen Tan Dung, formed the committee in 2015. Although the Prime Minister isn’t the highest ranked official in the country, he is the head of the central government and is responsible for overseeing all of the country’s internal policies. Dinh and her team report directly to his office.

Dinh wraps her fingers around the green apple sitting at the top of the heap. She drops it into the sugar, rolling it round and round, coating it completely in the white grains. She sinks her teeth into the sugary skin with an audible snap and loudly sucks the juice from the center of the fruit. In just one bite half of the apple has disappeared. Her dark eyes center on Truong. Her face is expressionless making it clear that she likes to keep her emotions close to her chest. “Before coming here, did she even look into our office,” Dinh asks, her eyes slowly moving towards me, glaring in disapproval. She drops the remainder of her apple back into the saucer of sugar, rolling it in circles like a spoon mixing milk into a mug of tea. Removing the apple from the plate she pops it in her mouth – the core bouncing back and forth between her cheeks. Her fingers find their way into her mouth, pulling the apple’s centre from the surface of her tongue with a slurp. She drops the remaining carcass on a white napkin that rests on the table in front of her before reaching her hand out to grab another.

Dinh says that her office’s main role is to uncover the facts and figures about the people with disabilities. Vietnam is not known for their record keeping and it is difficult to find any concrete information, especially statistics regarding the disabled. She says that before the council was formed, the government hadn’t analyzed or written a report about disabled people in the country. “Now we estimate that there’s still nearly eight million people with disabilities,” says Dinh as she mushes pieces of fruit between her molars.

Out of those eight million, she says that around 1.5 million people with disabilities are classified as severe or extremely severe. Roughly 900,000 of them receive financial support from the government. When asked about the 7.1 million disabled people who don’t receive any money, Dinh answers with a simple shrug – those people’s conditions are not severe and they have the ability, in some capacity, to work and take care of themselves.

Dinh continues to chomp on an apple but her chewing grows louder and more violent. Her brow drops into a deep V over her eyes. Her expression transforms from neutral to frustration. Her voice is growing louder and louder as she explains facts about the council’s history. She carefully avoids answering questions by ranting about legislation and legal documents. Dinh’s agenda appears to be slightly different from mine.

“How is the law being implemented in rural areas,” I ask, “where the economy isn’t as strong?”

Dinh eyes dart to the plate of apples before turning to face Truong. “She has to listen,” yells Dinh. “I will make her understand.” Truong is silent, unsure of how to properly translate Dinh’s sentiments into English. Despite the language barrier the message is clear – the time for questions is over. She has a speech prepared and she is determined to deliver it.

She explains that the council and the government are working to create documents that will lay out the groundwork in rural provinces – a guideline for the work that needs to be done in each area. “Locals will set up the plans to support the disabilities,” says Dinh, “to implement the programs of the government.” According to Dinh the policies range from health care to education to labour services. She says that each policy is supposed to be fully executed in each of the country’s 63 provinces. “Each province also needs [to] balance the budget by itself,” she adds, explaining that the national government does not provide extra support to the poorer provinces that do not have the money or human resources to put the disability legislations into effect.

“Implementation of support policy is very hard,” says Dinh, especially in rural areas. With low budgets, limited access to resources and information, and an engrained stigma, she explains that the government laws and legislations are difficult to put into action. She continues by explaining that some areas have physical barriers that prevent societal growth. “In mountainous areas it’s hard for people with disabilities to travel or access transportation,” she adds. Instead of investing in accessible transit options, Dinh says that the government completely eliminates transportation from the plans in these mountainous provinces. “In that region they mostly just receive social allowance and [a] health care card for free,” she adds. Every disabled person already has a right to these items according to the national law. She says that the government has attempted to provide additional financial support for the disabled population in rural provinces, but due to a lack of infrastructure, it’s impossible to ensure the policies are being properly implemented. Dinh says that the council works with locals and the government has formed provincial committees to develop legislation that meets the needs of people with disabilities in every corner of the expansive country.

Dinh describes a system where the government writes a rulebook then simply passes it down the chain of command until it has nowhere left to go. Instead of being put into action, with no resources and what appears to be little guidance, the law is unable to reach its full potential.

With Dinh’s monologue complete, our time is up and I am left with the question: whose right is it to decide what’s important and what’s not?

We are escorted down the dark narrow hallway, past the bronzed shrine to Ho Chi Minh and through the iron gates. Back on the busy street Truong’s heels begin to pound the pavement. With a safe distance between us and the ears of the government officials, the young intern begins to apologize profusely. After spending so much time in the U.S. she says she’s shocked by what she’s just heard. She laughs in disbelief and gently shakes her head, her long black hair shines in the sun as it flows back and forth. Her cheeks are rosy and flushed. She’s been working for VNAH for months but she says she still wasn’t prepared for the government’s response especially when comparing it to life in the U.S.

Vietnamese vendors walk in the streets of Hanoi carrying their goods. Photo courtesy of Andrew Savory. 

We climb into the narrow elevator upon our return to VNAH’s headquarters. As the metal door closes, Truong breathes a sigh of relief – we are back on safe ground. The elevator stops with a high-pitched ding, the door glides open, and we’ve returned to where we began. The door to Bui’s office rests slightly ajar. The gap is just wide enough to see a man sitting in front of the wooden desk, presumably having a conversation with the man behind it. He’s dressed in a light blue gingham shirt, which is tucked into his tan slacks. His dark hair swoops gently across his forehead. The gap in the door grows wider as the two men step outside the office door. Bui introduces his guest as Mr. Ngoc, a staffer with the Committee of Social Affairs. The committee is a branch of the country’s National Assembly which is Vietnam’s highest-level representative body. It’s responsible for appointing the country’s President and Prime Minister and implementing and crafting laws and policies.

We are led down the hall, past Bui’s office, and into a narrow conference room. The long table that sits at the heart of the room is nearly the size of the space itself. Windows line two of the four walls. Sunlight pours from one and the movement of the office can be seen through the other. Ngoc takes a seat and begins to pull a series of thick documents from his leather satchel. He says that he was assigned to analyze the Law for Persons with Disabilities and determine what improvements need to be made in order for its implementation to be successful.

With a quick glance at the bundle of paper sitting in Ngoc’s hand, it’s obvious that he has more than just a few suggestions. He begins to scan through the first page of the booklet as his capped pen scratches against the surface of the paper. Ngoc explains that passing a law of any kind is no easy feat. In fact, it’s a multilayered process that seems to be routed through the hands of every member of the government before it can finally be put into action. “After the government has given its opinion, it’s approved, then the government will assign the document to the Minister of Labor, Invalids and Social Affairs,” says Ngoc. But the process doesn’t end there. He says that the document will then be sent directly to the Prime Minister for his signature, after which it’s then given to the National Assembly for a more in-depth review. Next, a specific committee within the assembly will verify all of the elements of the legislation. Then the draft is passed to all of the committees for further cross-examination. Once every single set of eyes within every single committee have had a chance to peruse the law, it’s then sent to a number of different government departments – from health to labour to social justice. Finally, the fully critiqued document will return to the National Assembly where members from all of the ministries are invited to help complete the final draft.

According to Ngoc, this drafting process took nearly a decade. Unfortunately, once the law was finally ready and introduced into society in 2011, it didn’t take effect for another six months to a year. With government officials being appointed rather than elected, there is no outside pressure, and therefore, no one is holding them accountable for their actions, or in this case, inaction.

Ngoc says that one of the biggest limitations of the disability law, and the system in general, is implementation. Like most people that work closely with the law, he says that the budget is largely to blame for the limited nation-wide impact. “There is no real force to implement [the law],” explains Ngoc, and with a lack of funds in rural areas, there’s no real power on a local level. While the nation provides monetary support and healthcare to the severely disabled, Ngoc says that aid on a federal level stops there. Even in these areas that are regulated on a national level, he says that the implementation hasn’t been equal in each region of the country, especially when it comes to adequate health services.

“Rehabilitation is very important,” says Ngoc, “but according to our assessments, the regulations of rehabilitation are still limited.” He explains that outside of city centres like Hanoi or Saigon, there are a lack of three main resources: adequately trained healthcare professionals, facilities and hospitals, and modern equipment. Without these basic resources, it’s impossible for people with disabilities to receive adequate treatment regardless if it’s free. Ngoc explains that there’s no shortage in demand as Vietnam’s rural provinces have the highest disabled population. But with aging machines, and only a limited number of doctors and nurses that specialize in the treatment of disabilities, many people don’t have access to the healthcare they’ve been promised. He says that without financial support from the government, organizations like VNAH become essential in providing aid and medical treatments. One of VNAH’s many projects has been to train doctors and send them to the rural provinces of Tay Ninh and Binh Phuoc, says Ngoc. With the first class nearing graduation, the organization and the government hope that medical services will become far more accessible in these areas. But that’s only two provinces, and with many areas lacking both facilities and advocacy groups, it’s difficult to examine the positive changes on a grand scale.

Ngoc sets down his stack of notes. Unlike the previous government representative he’s bashful and soft spoken. His work is difficult – in order to carry out his job to the fullest he needs to actively critique the network he’s a part of. Yet, no fear or anger fill his dark eyes. Instead, there’s an unwavering sense of kindness and compassion that’s clearly visible when he talks about his work.

Nothing can change without more money, and he’s clear when he says that it’s the government’s job to provide it. He explains that the National Committee for Vietnamese Persons with Disabilities tried to establish public health records for the disabled population to better understand how many people across the country are living with disabilities and what type of medical care they need. He says that the committee was given financial support to ensure the accuracy of the research. “They were given advice, examined, cured and rehabilitated,” he says. The man who appears to be in his early 50’s slowly exhales, admitting a low sigh beneath his breath. “But in reality, through supervision of our committee, we recognized that they did not finish this regulation.”

He begins referring to the “second right” of people with disabilities, which in his opinion, hasn’t been implemented any better than the first. “The right to take an education is a right for the disabled,” he says. He explains that the country needs to do a better job implementing the two-school system for people with disabilities; exclusive schools for special education and inclusive integrated education. “There are 32 of 63 provinces that still don’t have centres for special schools for the disabled,” explains Ngoc, meaning that disabled people, in over half of the country, don’t have access to an education designed specifically for them. Ngoc says that if a disabled person wants to attend an inclusive school, the facilities need to be accessible and have a properly trained staff that is able to teach people with and without disabilities at the same time. “But nowadays the conditions for ensuring the integrated education of the disabled is still limited,” he adds. Ngoc says that despite not having exact calculations, statistics show that only a small percentage of disabled people graduate school and continue to receive a higher level of education. He explains that because of this lack of accessible schools at a lower level, it’s nearly impossible for a person with a disability to continue with their education and attend college or university.

Limited access to education, Ngoc says, also means limited access to work. “We recognize that the number of people with disabilities who are taught a trade is low,” he adds, “and they still have the ability.” Despite being physically and mentally able to work, there are few job prospects if they are not being taught any employable skills. The people with disabilities that have been deemed physically and mentally able to work are considered only moderately disabled. This means that the government doesn’t provide them with financial aid of any kind. According to Ngoc, the solution is to implement career training, especially in rural areas. “There are still not separated expenses for disabilities,” explains Ngoc. Meaning that although each province is supposed to have a specific amount in their budget dedicated to persons with disabilities, they are not told what services need to be implemented and Ngoc says, that in many cases, the money does not go towards building sustainable systems. Even if a disabled person receives proper training, he says that discrimination still prevents them from earning a steady income. In order to combat the stigma, Ngoc says the government implemented a new incentive system for local business owners. He explains that if 30 percent of a business’s employees are disabled, than the business will receive monetary support from the national government. Despite these benefits, Ngoc says that locals would prefer to hire young, non-disabled workers, rather than an equally qualified disabled person.

Ngoc states that these three main segments of the law are basic human rights that every person in the country should have access to, but it’s more than these necessities that determine a person’s quality of life. To live a balanced life a person also needs to be active and social. But Ngoc explains that in the rural provinces social activities for people with disabilities are non-existent.

But with barely enough money being allocated to the basic rights of people with disabilities, Ngoc continues, the social lives of the community are neglected in Vietnam’s poorest provinces. His eyes dart from one side of the page to the next before turning the piece of paper and moving on to the next, then the next. Transportation, internet, technology, accessible public buildings, and advanced medicine are all top priorities on Ngoc’s to-do list. From the man’s description, the Law for Persons with Disabilities is more like a fixer upper than a sturdy piece of legislation. The bones are all there but the walls inside need to be torn down and rebuilt. Each item on Ngoc’s document is represented plainly within the law. It’s clear the government knows what work needs to be done –it’s printed in black ink on the page – but it’s a matter of putting it into action.

“In order to create the environment that supports the rights of people with disabilities,” he explains, “we need to focus on several solutions.” For Ngoc, the answer is clear, and it’s that there’s no one right answer. It’s not just one thing that will fix all of the issues within the flawed system. He says that the solution has four tiers: finish the regulation process of the law by turning all the dusty stacks of pages into one concise document; fully adopting the UN convention and put it into practice; take advantage of international cooperation to help offset the country’s weak economy; and lastly, spread awareness about disabilities within society to eliminate the stigma and initiate change.

“The disabled are considered helpless people,” he says, explaining that it’s not charity that the population needs. “We need to change the way we think about the community,” he adds. Change doesn’t come from feeling sympathetic or throwing money at the cause, Ngoc explains. In his eyes, change comes through building a sustainable system and allowing the disabled community to live in a truly equal environment.

Ngoc places the thick packet of paper and the ballpoint pen back in to his satchel which he slings carefully over his shoulder. His feet shuffle cautiously on the tiled floor as he inches around the circumference of the boardroom table. As he makes his way towards shining steel elevator doors, he stops and shares a quick smile and a firm handshake with VNAH’s leader, Bui. Ngoc’s fingertips gently press onto the face of the office’s clean glass doors before stepping onto the elevator’s platform. He offers a slanted half smile before disappearing behind the silver metal doors.

His smile is full of hope. The answer, at least in Ngoc’s mind, is as easy as one, two, three, four. But if it’s that simple, then why has it taken so long to implement change and why are so many people with disabilities in rural areas still living without basic human rights?