Dare to Disagree: Coming Out Politically Shouldn’t Be Taboo
Đan Thanh wrote this article in Vietnamese and published it in Luat Khoa Magazine on July 23, 2025.
I write these words as someone who came of age with a generation raised in the glow of technological advancement and the promise of freedom. But the true limits of that so-called freedom can only be understood—deeply and painfully—by those whose views differ from the majority.
The younger generation in Việt Nam, those born after 2000, grew up under an increasingly suffocating regime of censorship. From the internet to the press, from the classroom to textbooks, propaganda and xenophobia were woven into our minds from childhood.
In a space saturated with ideological conformity, difference has become a rarity, and the witch hunts and public denunciations carried out by this new generation have become all the more ruthless.
The phrase “come out” originated within the LGBT community’s revolutionary struggle for equality. According to the Oxford Learner’s Dictionaries, its original meanings included “to appear, express an opinion, debut, or enter society.” It wasn’t until the 1940s that the phrase was first recorded in the Random House Historical Dictionary of American Slang to mean “to openly acknowledge one’s homosexual orientation.”
The term is rooted in the expression “a skeleton in the closet,” reflecting a time when homosexuality was seen as a shameful secret. Coming out in such a context could have devastating consequences—being disowned by family, losing relationships, and facing severe disadvantages in both personal and public life.
Today, I have had the privilege of witnessing the LGBT community gradually find its voice and live more openly. I once encouraged one of my students to come out to their family, and they succeeded. It is a profound joy to see.
And yet, there is another kind of coming out that has never truly happened in our country: the courage to come out about one’s political beliefs.
A short story from my life: a few years ago, when I was a sophomore in university, a school administrator gave me a “gentle reminder.” With caution, she said: “With your personality, one day the state will slap you in the face.”
At the time, I hadn't expressed any political views. All I had shown was a personality my teacher called “too strong,” one that clashed with the ceiling of an entrenched mindset within a traditional, state-run university—one that still carried the shadow of government ideology.
And then, that fateful day came. The state did, indeed, come down with a figurative slap—just as foretold—banishing that “strong personality” from the system. That moment burned into my memory, a searing reminder of the narrow confines of the “freedom” we live in—an invisible cage that chokes life out of individuality.
I write this under the pen name, Đan Thanh, with a fierce hope: that one day, this name will be replaced with my real one—a return to the person I have always been, someone who has never bowed their head to anyone.
From the moment we are born, our name becomes bound to our identity. If coming out as LGBTQ+ is a profound act of self-identification—a bold declaration of “This is who I truly am” that unifies the internal and social self—then coming out about one’s political beliefs should carry equal weight. These two acts of public declaration belong on the same stage, with the same gravity.
Political thought is deeply intertwined with human identity. It reflects not only personal beliefs but also a core part of one’s value system. I fight for this not only for myself, but so that one day, everyone will understand that recognizing political differences is not simply about respecting a choice between ideologies. At its core, it is about affirming a person’s existential legitimacy.
Only when an individual is free to express political beliefs that align with their lived experiences and values can they attain a sense of meaningful existence. To be acknowledged politically, therefore, is not merely a democratic right; it is a validation of one’s presence in the public sphere—where personal identity is affirmed and respected as a vital element of social pluralism.
The moment my real name replaces the name Đan Thanh will also be the moment the state breaks its habit of “slapping the face” of any citizen who dares to speak differently. It will mark a long journey toward the meaning of true equality, opening a revolutionary front in our collective consciousness: that the state and the people are two entities standing on equal footing.
Only then will citizens no longer have to live a life of feigned loyalty, and a truly honest society can begin to emerge.