The two letters CK, for me, were once very mysterious. As a professional, I heard that the Ministry of Higher Education had a CK department, like a bureau, but I didn't know what it did. Once, when I went to the Ministry on business, a friend took me to the CK department for a drink. The people there were very enthusiastic towards me, and I realized that this department specialized in helping the Ministries of Education of Laos (C) and Cambodia (K) train cadres. Then, as if by fate, for the entire following year I was involved in the CK activities of Hanoi University.In the fall of 1985, I was assigned to head the Vietnamese Language Department. This department was officially the Vietnamese language training department for foreigners in Hanoi. I eagerly anticipated the opportunity to promote the Vietnamese language to our friends with a preliminary plan for its development. One afternoon, I was summoned by the Ministry's Organization Department. A member of the university leadership was present, and unexpectedly, a Deputy Minister was also there. A Minister of Education was also in attendance. Very briefly, the Deputy Minister said to me: “The current foreign relations situation is very difficult; hostile forces are encircling and embargoing us everywhere, and very few students are coming to study here. The Ministry assigning you to be the Head of the Foreign Language Department is not yet to focus on matters concerning Europe, America, or Japan—though we will have to think about that day later—but for now, your department must focus on foreign affairs, dealing with them intensely and doing them well. We must help our friends no matter what. This is an official duty, an order.” I immediately understood the gravity of the matter. After the Khmer Rouge was driven out, several of my faculty members were quickly deployed to Phnom Penh to help train Vietnamese-speaking personnel for the bilateral cooperation between the two countries. The first classes there lived in wartime conditions, without salaries or benefits, enduring extremely harsh circumstances in a devastated country. My colleagues (I remember Ms. Do Thu, Ms. Ngoc, and Mr. Hien, Ms. Thi, Mr. Cu, etc.) worked diligently and wholeheartedly. Seeing them return, my heart ached. They were thin, pale, and gaunt. Some even carried the lingering effects of malaria from the battlefield years ago. But the need for teachers there grew. To strengthen the Vietnamese language teaching staff for Cambodian universities, two years prior, the Ministry had assigned 25 additional staff members (from the CK staff) to our Faculty. Thus, our Faculty now had a whole team of young, healthy teachers, formally trained in Literature, ready to undertake international duties. The young men and women were innocent and eager to go on their mission. In reality, it was very difficult and dangerous; no one dared to speak of it, but my heart was always worried about these young soldiers going to a country still full of risks: bombs, mines, lurking enemies, "not enough food, no medicine for coughs." Every time, at four o'clock in the cold morning, I would see a team off at the Ministry of Higher Education's gate, and I would watch them carrying their backpacks, climbing onto the old, cumbersome command cars to the airport, my heart aching. They were like going to the front lines, and the front lines are a place of "ancient warfare, countless battles," and the thought of that made me afraid to think any further. Then, for many years, the teachers from the Vietnamese Language Department took turns teaching at universities in Phnom Penh, including the University of Phnom Penh, the Teacher Training College, the University of Economics, the Polytechnic University, and the University of Agriculture and Forestry. Not only did they have to teach many classes and many hours, but they also had to write lectures and create their own curricula to suit the target groups. Although they were experts, life was very hard; they had to fend for themselves, "taking care of their own salt, oil, rice, and firewood." Some had to drain ponds to catch fish, others went to the city to collect firewood in abandoned gardens, and some even had to go to the market. Yet, life was still full of laughter. Some of our comrades even excelled in Khmer language and script, which they later demonstrated in their own research papers upon returning home. At the peak of the campaign, for a few years, due to the needs of our comrades, we in the rear had to recruit more volunteer teachers. Many teachers from the Faculty of Literature, including older ones like Nguyen Cao Dam, Le Khanh Soa, Tran Khuyen, etc., enthusiastically volunteered, and some staff members from the Institute of Linguistics also volunteered. Still short of teachers, the Ministry decided to deploy a large number of foreign language teachers to teach Vietnamese. They were very unfamiliar with the process. We had to open many intensive training classes on practical Vietnamese before they left. Fortunately, because they were foreign language teachers, they learned and adapted very quickly, and their work was effective. We did our best with the spirit of "adapting to changing circumstances while maintaining core principles," using enthusiasm as the foundation to cope with every situation. Those days at CK were filled with both joys and sorrows, now unforgettable memories. Even though our brothers and sisters were far from home and facing hardships, they still showed us, their supporters, such kindness. Every time they came home on leave or permanently, they would give me small gifts as souvenirs, but the meaning behind them was immense. I remember one friend giving me a small amount of snake oil because he saw I was thin and pale. I sliced it, tasted it, and found it sweet; it turned out to be a small amount of "authentic" malt syrup mixed with palm sugar and dyed to look exactly the same. Craving sugar, I added it to a pot of black bean sweet soup, which was incredibly delicious. But even sweeter was the kindness of my friend. Another time, Dang Quang Hung came home on leave by plane and brought back a mini car tire as a gift because he remembered I used to ride a Peugeot scooter with a worn-out front tire. I'm still touched by that. Another time, a friend of mine returned with a pair of pants as a gift. In that situation, where "I'm not well-fed either," I absolutely refused to accept them and even joked, "If I were to ask you for a pair of pants, I'd only dare ask for one leg!" My friend quietly left. Being an honest person, he thought I was serious, so he took the pants to the market to sell them, and a few days later brought the money and gave me exactly half. I hugged him, almost in tears. I also received the enthusiastic support of the school's leadership; without this support, things would certainly not have gone smoothly. Despite having many things to worry about, they still regularly cared about the work of the Faculty of Engineering, creating the most favorable conditions and even the smallest things for the department. Once, near Tet (Lunar New Year), Mr. Nguyen Van Buu asked me, "Have you guys prepared anything for the Faculty of Engineering who are away yet?" I replied, "Not yet, sir, we're still figuring things out." He immediately said, "Go to the school and I'll lend you some money. Go to the intershop and buy a hundred kilograms of MSG, put it on credit, and pay the school when the department has money." I was so happy; that Tet holiday was even more lively during difficult times. The following year, when a new principal was elected, he remembered the incident and called me: "The new principal hasn't taken office yet, I'm still in charge. Bring the promissory note here and I'll erase it." When he met me, he said, "We don't owe the CK team anything, so why would we call them debtors of the school? Give me the promissory note so I can see it." Then he wrote in the school's debt register: "The TV Department has paid in full," signed his name, and tore up the promissory note and threw it into the wastepaper bin. Another time, I was sitting in the department office when the deputy head of the organizational department came down with some documents on the principal's orders. I asked what was going on, and he said that the expert team from Korea had sent back some suggestions for the school to handle several cases of undisciplined staff members. Basically, there was a teacher who pried up the floorboards of a hotel to get firewood for cooking, a teacher who cast nets to catch fish in public places and then grilled them to eat with alcohol, and a female teacher who was far from home and had made a slight misstep… I hesitated. These were all truly human stories. And my colleagues were far from home. I leaned in and whispered a few words to him. He burst out laughing, shared his thoughts with me, and then returned to the school. I feared the principal would reprimand me. Unexpectedly, a few days later when I met him, he laughed and said, “I relayed your exact words to the Ministry and sent the file back to the Ministry. I'm sure the Ministry also relayed your words to the expert team.” The new principal was also very enthusiastic about the work of the K. (K.) team. He immediately called me to report on the work from Korea and asked me to consider doing some bolder things in my work to bring about change. I agreed with him, but I hesitated because there were things beyond my responsibilities. Realizing this, he calmly said to me, “Are you afraid? Working for CK, for the school’s international mission, there’s nothing to be afraid of. As for responsibility, no one will share it with you. In our four thousand years of history, only Le Lai has died in place of Le Loi; there hasn’t been a second person like him. If you think it’s right, then accept the responsibility and do it. I believe you can do it well.” To this day, I still think that was a heartfelt opinion from a capable leader. Twenty years have passed, and our country has become much more welcoming to friends than it was back then. The CK staff of that time now have gray hair; some of the older teachers have passed away, and most of the younger generation have become PhDs. When I meet them, they are still as enthusiastic and passionate as ever when they remember the time, the era of CK. However, I also feel a pang of sadness: despite their hard work, achievements, and contributions, to this day, the emulation agencies have never once remembered them, not a single medal or certificate of merit has been given to them. It's understandable that our people always prioritize the greater good and never calculate personal gain when the country needs them.
May 2003
