A Salute to the Women of Hanoi

Vietnam is in an exciting phase of progressive development. Already, one can see computer-gaming shops sprouting across select neighbourhoods. Wireless internet connectivity is freely available at many many places. More than what is available in Singapore. Despite these familiar signs of modernity, Hanoi still retains a unique charm, which I am not sure will linger very much longer. Yellow walls, Tudor-style architecture, everything seeming to be in tones of sepia, Hanoi is so reminiscent of the photos from a History textbook. It has a soul that is difficult to describe.

 No where is this soul more alive than in the Old Quarters. The Old Quarters is a wire mesh of shops, so fine, walking the streets left me with a fear of not being able to navigate my way out. The weather was hot, and very humid, but diligent workers continued to sell bargain wares in shops ventilated by little more than basic fans.

Women plied the streets with the traditional don ganh (yoke) on their shoulder. I tried carrying one of these, and even with a few fruits on the baskets, I would not consider it light at all. Weaving in and out of the streets, they dodged honking scooters, and moved away from cyclos, gently urging commuters to buy their goodies and Vietnamese wares. I would see them shouldering the don ganh from morning to night, with stoic resilience and quietness. Even into the late hours of the evening, the level of service they provided seemed to be consistent, and they, unwavering.

I had asked our guide the reason why only the women appeared to be working on the streets. His reply was that most of these women were not from Hanoi. They were from the surrounding villages. The men were likely to remain in the village to tend to the fields while the women would come out to the city to work. It was for the good of the family that the women ventured out, he said. There was this danger that the man might find another wife in the city and never return. When the women came out, they usually brought their young children with them. It was not uncommon to see them playing nearby. It seemed quite clear that the working woman was still expected to care for her children.

We visited a pottery village one Saturday morning. Once again, noticing the relatively much fewer men working, I asked the owner where the men were. He said that it was a holiday and the men were out drinking. Ironically, the art of pottery at this village is so exclusive that it can only be inherited by a son to keep the art within the family. The owner inherited the business from his father. He has a few sons, each of whom takes care of a specific function that had been handed down by the father. A father can teach his art ONLY to his son, and not the daughter. Without a son, his art will die with him.

At the markets, a painting depicting the images of three women was a common sight. Apparently, the three women represented the Three Obediences of women: As a daughter, she was to obey her father, as a wife, her husband; and as a widow, her son. Reading on a little more (1), I learnt of the four virtues that women were expected to practise: “gentle in speech, pleasing in appearance, demure in behaviour, and skilled in the domestic arts of homemaking.” All these seem to point to a certain expectation of women that was more defined, explicit, almost as if being a woman required the fulfilment of more duties. In short, it seemed more difficult to be a woman. There is a lot for us— both men and women — to learn from the women of Hanoi in the way they go about their tasks, and yet fulfil their duties to their family.

Of course, I would have to say that my analysis rests heavily on anecdotal evidence. However, as Chua Mui Hong of the Straits Times reminds us in "Real Income Divide" published on 6 November 2011, "anecdote can be the basis for insight".

The issue of gender in Hanoi is indeed an interesting one, considering how two women made it into the history books. The Trung sisters led a band of women warriors in an attempt to overthrow the Chinese. They lost, but their act of courage, is forever etched into the history books. If you see a statue of two women riding on elephants, these two are the Trung sisters. This was between A.D 40 and A.D 43.

Some of the women I have spoken to in Singapore seem to think that the glass ceiling exists here. I have been thinking hard about this. Yes, child-bearing does pose some challenges for women. I mean, if I were to put myself in their shoes, I would certainly find it absolutely challenging. But, I have seen female colleagues rise up the ranks despite being away for significant periods of time. Some women choose to stay at home to care for their children, or to be extra cautious when pregnant despite being informed of all the options available for them - half-load, three-quarter load, no-pay leave, etc. I guess they have a right to exercise that choice, provided that firstly, it is an informed one, and secondly, it is not forced upon them.

              

(1) Cultures of the World: Vietnam By Audrey Seah, Times Book International, 1994

The Hierarchy

 

People close to me know of my keen interest in, and fondness for animals. As a child, I always had an additional family member in the form of a friendly, and sometimes not so friendly, mutt. And till now, I am able to recognise most breeds of dogs. I might even be able to rattle off the temperament and history of certain breeds of dogs. My family is currently "Friends of the Zoo". We make full use of the membership by making regular trips to the zoo. There is a lovely water playground there. But more importantly, at the visits, we expose our girls to the different species of animals. We don't just educate them on the name of an animal, but teach them to recognise its specific breed. For example, they should say “Proboscis monkey” instead of just “monkey”. Likewise, it's preferably “Jack Russell” and not simply “dog”.

               

I have to state at this point that I am not one of those who humanise animals. The hierarchy is crystal clear to me. It's animal below Man. Man above animal. There is absolutely no room for the equality debate. Our dog used to eat our leftovers, and it wasn't allowed in the house. We looked at it in ways probably similar to the way early man had looked at wild dogs and wolves in the process of domestication.

                    

Armed with such an interest in animals, visiting the national zoo when overseas with the family is a priority.

              

Thus, when we visited ChiangMai, it had only been natural that some time be set aside from our 8-day trip to visit the so-called 'Animal Attractions'. What a thought-provoking experience it turned up to be!

               

The Snake Farm

                             

We visited a snake farm, and had been expecting to see how Thai farmers reared snakes for their skin, medicinal value or just meat. Instead, we were 'treated' to a show. It was a show, which featured the infamous 'Snake Man' taking on a King Cobra. Apparently this wiry gentleman had starred in one of the Rambo movies when he was a much younger man.

                              

The front row seats we were offered certainly gave us a better than expected view of the cobra's sinister-looking eyes. Leanne had been sitting on my lap, her eyes firmly fixed on both Snake and Man.

                   

At certain points, I wasn't sure if I was hugging Leanne to protect her, or to comfort myself. While I'll brag that there are very very few things that intimidate me, the King Cobra is one creature that I fear with an immensity that would immobilise me should I ever be confronted with one. Ever since young, many of my nightmares have revolved around this evil-looking creature. And yet, it's not its appearance that makes me shudder the most, but my knowledge of its behaviour in a confrontation.

            

If the cobra appears to slither backwards, don't be fooled. It's merely feigning retreat to deceive its predator. Watch its head and you'll find it growing bigger, thanks to its expanding hood. It does this to intimidate its predator. Watch its head, and you'll find it rising, growing in height not just to intimidate its enemy, but to gather momentum. For the greater the height it rises, the more it is able to take advantage of gravity, and land a strike down at its enemy faster. And when it strikes, it does so with a sickening "HISS" sound.

                   

The Snake Man was certainly no novice. Not only was he was able to dodge the strikes with lightning fast reaction, he was confident enough to tap the back of the cobra's hood in mock, and then skip away in childlike glee when the resultantly belittled, but understandably aggravated creature hissed and tried to whip back.

               

I was definitely not enjoying the show at all. At certain points, I even had to remind myself to breathe. There were times when the thick black rope spun around and darted for us. Of course, you can imagine how I must have squashed Leanne. This was not a show for the weak-hearted. If Snake Man had been a split second slower in grabbing onto its tail, I don't think I would be here writing this note now. Not many people are aware of the amount of venom the bite of a King Cobra packs.

                   

Interestingly, despite my fear of the snake, I did not loathe it or bear any sort of resentment towards it. I knew that it was merely functioning in defence mode. There were many times, when I could sense that all the King Cobra had wanted throughout its ordeal was to just scramble away. Only to be stopped by the Snake Man, and provoked into yet another confrontation. All this, for our entertainment? Therefore, with a sigh, I'll have to say that I felt sorry for the creature. It was really unnecessary, and I dare say cruel, to put it through such stress.

                   

The Monkey School

                         

Next stop was the Monkey School. I had thought this was a school where they trained monkeys to pluck coconuts from towering trees. I was half-right. They did train monkeys to do that. However, they also trained monkeys to act silly by clapping, dancing and doing flips. While much admiration must be accorded to the Macaque for its intelligence and gymnastic prowess, I am not sure if it was once again necessary to subject the creature to being restrained by a chain and whipped by a cane. To those who are unaware, the trainer yanks at the chain, and at times so hard that the monkey is airborne for a moment. This is done to show the monkey who's the boss and therefore forcing it into humble submission. The trainer whips the monkey with the cane when it bares its teeth or tries to bite. Throughout the show, we were told not to look at the monkey in the eye, and to not smile at it. "The monkey don't like it," we were told. Both seemingly friendly gestures are seen as acts of aggression, which would provoke the monkey to switch to attack mode. So of course, when we were invited to snap photos with the monkey, we politely declined. There was no way I was going to smile at a camera with a stressed-out monkey on my lap. I'll just stick to Leanne, thank you very much.

                

The Elephant Camp

           
The final stop was the Elephant Camp. Finally, I thought we were on to something more educational. Elephant dung is used to make paper. What a clever way to save the trees! We were educated on that at the camp. While women chased after huge balls of elephant poo in the river, we were told that this would be sent to a factory of some sort where elephant is dung is somehow converted into paper.

               

I have read about, and heard about the relationship between an elephant and its mahout. About how this relationship sometimes spans decades. But here, as I peered closely at the stick that was used to control the elephant, I noticed that it had a sharp hook attached to it. This was the mahout's way of getting the elephant to follow his bidding. Every time an elephant appeared to not heed the call of the mahout, it was rewarded with a hard stab behind one of its front legs. I'm sorry, I know a fair bit about dogs but not as much as I would like to about elephants. Was the use of the hook an attempt to mimic the tusk of the elephant? Does an adult Asian elephant use its tusks to control its young? I am not so sure about this. But what I am sure of is that elephants are not meant to play soccer, not meant to give massages, and not meant to stand on one leg just for us to laugh, clap and croon, "So cute!". If these were ways to show the strength and intelligence of the elephant, then in my opinion, there could have been better ways.

                   

It may appear that the purpose of my writing this note is to put pressure for a stop to the ill-treatment of animals. Yes, animals should definitely not be ill-treated. However, a really critical reader might be able to tell that I am sort of tentative about whether much of what I have described really amounts to ill-treatment. Yes, it is obvious that I am not comfortable with some of the things I had witnessed. Yes, in my own personal opinion, one or two things simply appear deplorably wrong. But I am not qualified to proclaim such conclusions. Not with a less than adequate knowledge, and so limited expertise.

               

In short, it is simply not my place to say.

                 

What I do know is that these people from ChiangMai have been doing this for generations. If such schools, such farms, such camps were to be shut down, or even be tightly regulated, you can imagine the impact this would have on tourism and hence the lives of these people.

                  

The hierarchy is clear to me.