Editor’s Note: This piece does not claim that state media reported incorrect numbers of flood-related deaths, nor is there
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Editor’s Note: This piece does not claim that state media reported incorrect numbers of flood-related deaths, nor is there an assertion that the information circulating on social media is accurate; independent evidence to conclude in either direction is unavailable.
Instead, the focus examines why a segment of the public no longer places full trust in information published by state media during events such as severe flooding. Furthermore, the text explores why the absence of an independent press allows these disputes to recur. Through this lens, the essential role of independent journalism in building and sustaining public trust is clarified.
Amid the distress of the floods in central Việt Nam, a loud controversy has emerged. Vietnamese social media has been roiling with disputes, not regarding relief efforts or future storm preparation, but over arguments over the actual number of lives lost.
On Nov. 23, domestic media reported that the Đắk Lắk provincial police had penalized 52 social media accounts for spreading what they deemed unverified or false information, including claims that “hundreds of people had died” in the floods. [1] While official statements asserted that casualty numbers were far lower, the narrative on social media has taken a different turn with many insisting that the real death toll is far higher than what authorities have announced.
One side insists that because the media reported it, the authorities must be telling the truth. The other points to online videos and asks who still trusts state media. Yet, almost no one possesses more information than anyone else; most are viewing the same images and reports, reacting primarily based on their instincts regarding the government and the press.
This moves the story beyond the veracity of a specific rumor. Instead, it touches on a much larger issue: why trust in the press in Việt Nam is so fragile.
The answer begins with a simple, fundamental fact: Việt Nam possesses no private press. The law mandates that all media outlets be owned by the state or by organizations within the political system.
Whether a publication is central or local, print or online, it must operate within the same regulatory framework, subject to identical licensing rules, editorial directives, and content controls.
The Vietnamese press, therefore, does not function under a market system where independent news organizations compete with and fact-check one another. Instead, it operates as a single-track system. While many different newspapers exist, the only meaningful difference among them is stylistic.
The phrase “bamboo diplomacy” is often used to describe the government’s flexible and adaptive foreign policy; media censorship in Việt Nam operates in much the same bamboo-like fashion.
While many assume censorship is merely the crude blocking of sensitive articles, the study “Kill One to Warn One Hundred” by scholar Geoffrey Cain reveals a more sophisticated reality. [2] The system functions through “soft” control, where the press is alternately restrained and released based on timing and political interests.
According to Cain, the government permits the media to expose low- or mid-level corruption, particularly at the local level. This helps the central government control lower-level officials and eases public frustration, creating the impression that the Party stands with the people.
However, this freedom has strict limits. Once investigative reporting probes too deeply into the power structure or threatens the legitimacy of the regime, the press is immediately halted.
A key finding in the study is that censorship operates largely through journalists’ own awareness of boundaries rather than explicit bans. In interviews with 19 Vietnamese journalists, editors, and media officials, Cain found that the limits of permissibility are intentionally kept vague.
Authorities rarely state explicitly where the line is drawn; no one explicitly says, “You may write up to this point, but beyond that is forbidden.” However, everyone in the profession understands the potential consequences of crossing it, which range from job loss and column closures to imprisonment.
This deliberate ambiguity fosters what Cain terms the “kill one to warn one hundred” effect. Mass punishment is unnecessary; a few exemplary cases are sufficient to compel the entire system to self-regulate.
Consequently, Vietnamese reporters work in an environment where they must constantly weigh every line: asking if a topic is allowed, if the moment is politically sensitive, and how far one can go while remaining safe.
The concept of “freedom within a framework” is frequently cited in Việt Nam. In practice, this manifests as a form of conditional liberty that emerges specifically when the ruling elite are embroiled in internal conflict.
The study indicates that the press gains maneuvering room primarily during periods of political disagreement. High-profile cases such as the land disputes in Tiên Lãng, the Vinashin scandal, or the Tây Nguyên bauxite project featured aggressive reporting not because the state embraced transparency, but because factions within the Party utilized the media as a weapon in their internal struggles.
Cain demonstrates that journalists effectively receive a “green light” to target specific officials or state-owned enterprises once those targets lose political protection. However, this freedom is strictly temporary; once the political conflict is resolved, the press is quickly forced back into its prescribed boundaries.
Ultimately, press freedom is granted to serve the political needs of those in power, rather than the public interest.
This dynamic explains why Vietnamese media often reports accurately, yet never fully. While wrongdoing is allowed to surface, it is usually framed as the fault of an “individual,” a “local issue,” or an isolated “incident.” The media almost never connects these pieces to question the broader system, institutions, or mechanisms of power oversight.
Cain defines this model as “repressive tolerance”: the strategy of allowing part of the truth to be told in order to control the overarching narrative. Consequently, the Vietnamese public has been conditioned to believe that the press only speaks fully when events can no longer be concealed, or becomes forceful only when granted silent permission from above.
However, Cain does not claim that Vietnamese journalism is wholly manipulated or devoid of independent actors. He emphasizes that many journalists genuinely desire to practice honest reporting. Yet, in a system where power dictates the boundaries of information, personal integrity alone is insufficient to ensure the full truth is told.
Regarding the initial debate over the flood death toll: if Việt Nam possessed an independent press, rumors might not vanish entirely, but the information landscape would look drastically different.
While independent journalism is often viewed through the lens of “freedom of expression,” its value extends much further. It is directly tied to the quality of governance and a society’s resilience in times of crisis.
Economist Amartya Sen famously articulated this, observing that no major famine has ever occurred in a country with a free press and competitive elections. [3] A free media makes early warning signs impossible to ignore; when information is public and widely disseminated, governments are forced to act before a situation spirals out of control.
Furthermore, the study “Measuring Political Trust: Recognising the Drivers of Trust in Public Institutions” by Mangion and Frendo concludes that people do not trust a government merely based on what it says, but based on what they can see and verify for themselves. [4]
This explains why the Vietnamese press struggles to earn full public trust, even when not fabricating information. Without an independent source for comparison, each crisis thickens the layer of public doubt. The debate over flood casualties is not merely about numbers; it reflects a society lacking confidence in the information it receives.
Independent journalism, therefore, does not exist to “oppose” the state, but to sustain social trust and ensure communities can make decisions grounded in reality. It can help the state regain public confidence and trust: if the government’s actions are truly right, it should be able to withstand open scrutiny.
Thúc Kháng wrote this article in Vietnamese and published it in Luật Khoa Magazine on Nov. 27, 2025. The Vietnamese Magazine has the copyrights for its English translation.
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