Modern Colonization

Since arriving in northern Vietnam, I’ve sensed a quiet resistance, not directed at me personally, but at what I represent: a tourist. From colonization up until now, many locals seem to view visitors as extractors rather than appreciators. As a long-term traveler, I’ve come to see tourism for what it often becomes: a softer kind of colonization. One that wraps itself in curiosity and comfort while still asking the land to serve it. People come here for the landscapes, the low prices, the idea of freedom without the cost. Some even try to move here and build businesses, believing in the allure of cheap prices and the potential to cater to foreigners who can pay more. This often creates competition that is hard for locals to match, considering the disparity in resources. It’s unfortunate to see locals feeling compelled to westernize to earn a better living but simultaneously holding resentment for what they see as forced adaptation.

That discomfort is palpable, from interactions that feel purely transactional, in eyes that no longer hold welcome but weariness. One day, I approached a woman selling tofu and coconut shreds. I greeted her in Vietnamese and asked for the price, with my very poor intonations. She didn’t understand. I pointed to the food, then to myself, miming the act of eating. She didn’t look at me. She waved me away and shouted. I smiled, not in defiance but in the quiet hope that she might feel I meant no harm. That I came not to impose, but to learn. But I was reminded that personal intentions, no matter how well-meaning, does not automatically translate into positivity as we still hold perspectives.  Engaging in environments where historical, social, and cultural dynamics influence interactions.

A few days later, I reached Sapa. There, I passed a group of children. They flipped me off. I smiled again, because I had nothing else to give but gentleness, hoping that these little gestures could eventually allow them to see I do not want to be their enemy. I wasn’t offended. I could feel the tension wasn’t new. It had been passed down, a learned mistrust. A justified one. We are unfortunately not seen as part of the same world, we are seen as the world that takes from them and leave before facing the consequences we have caused.

At a corner shop, I stood in line for the cash. When my turn came, a woman behind me pushed forward to go ahead. I gently bowed, signaling that I had been waiting. She rolled her eyes and stepped back. I could see she was tired of how oblivious tourists can be. I could feel from her a desire for us to disappear.

I cannot pretend I stand apart from this. The prices I accept without question help justify the rising cost of daily life. The desire I carry for something “real” turns lived culture into something to be packaged, performed, and sold.

This awareness doesn’t diminish my reverence for Vietnam. It deepens it. I carry a quiet gratitude for every moment I am allowed to witness, every moment locals show compassion and care towards me. And in return, I carry a responsibility, one to move with humility, to support without distortion, to leave as lightly as I can. Because respect is not in what I say, but in what I choose not to demand.