Đan Thanh wrote this article in Vietnamese, published in Luat Khoa Magazine on July 9, 2025. Đàm Vĩnh Hằng translated it into English for The Vietnamese Magazine.
As the nation marks the passing of former General Secretary Nguyễn Phú Trọng, I find myself reflecting deeply on what it means to remember a leader, and to do so honestly.
When a head of state passes away, the phrase “nghĩa tử là nghĩa tận”—”in death, all debts are settled”—is often invoked as a kind of moral shield, a blanket absolution for everything the deceased did in life. This proverb suggests that their flaws should be laid to rest with them once someone is gone. But increasingly, this expression has been weaponized, used to silence those who dare to speak uncomfortable truths about a public figure, even in death.
The truth is, if we wish others to honor us when we are gone, we must first treat them with honor in life. No wrongdoing can truly be buried if its effects still echo through the lives of those forced to carry the burden.
The trauma inflicted by unjust governance does not vanish with a casket lid. I recall that last year, when news of the General Secretary’s death was announced, an entire spectacle seemed to unfold, one where national mourning was enforced, and those who did not display visible sorrow were publicly shamed. It was a coerced emotional performance in the name of “loyalty to leadership.”
Undeniably, the death of a national leader is a significant event. However, how a nation grieves is what truly reveals the maturity of its political culture. That culture is reflected in whether power is used to impose uniform grief, whether funerals become theaters of authority, and whether citizens respond with blind reverence or with thoughtful reflection. A national funeral should be a moment to honor the noble values a leader represents, but it must also allow space for honest voices that can speak of both accomplishments and failures.
Even if we accept that “in death, all debts are settled,” the societal consequences of a leader’s actions do not necessarily end with them. Some leaders, though deserving of the highest honors, have chosen in life to forgo them. The late British Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher is a case in point. Before her death, she famously requested no state funeral.
“Don’t waste money on my funeral,” she said, an expression of humility and public responsibility, even in death. It gives new weight to the poetic line:
“The soul in humble cloth soars far above, greater than statues lining worn-down paths.”
What lives on in the hearts of the people are not the funeral drums, but the everyday actions of leaders while they were still alive.
A national funeral for a polarizing, authoritarian leader presents an ethical test, not just for the government, but for all of society. A mature nation must be willing to confront the wrongdoings of those who also did great things.
Speaking the truth during a period of national mourning should not be seen as blasphemy, but as an act of courage that protects historical truth. Only when the people of a nation can commemorate a leader with dignity and discernment—grieving their passing while soberly reflecting on the legacy they leave behind—will they understand that history must be written with truth, not white lilies.