The Vietnam 1975 Symphony of Le Van Khoa
(presented in Orange County on April 22 and 23, 2005)
by Pham Phu Minh ( penname Pham Xuan Dai, editor of the monthly 21st Century)
A flier introducing the Vietnam 1975 Symphony states: “The pride of the Vietnamese people after 30 years in exile, the Vietnam 1975 Symphony has arrived.”
I think this is an appropriate way of describing an event that occurred in April 2005. I’m speaking not of a noisy street demonstration, a large gathering, or any of the typical ways in which our people have commemorated April 30, 1975, the day South Vietnam fell to the communists. In past years we have recalled that day with regret and sorrow, but this year, as the flier says, we can feel a sense of pride. True pride, one we all can share, for the deep feelings that all the Vietnamese refugees have held fast inside have been expressed fully through the medium of a serious art form, that of classical Western music, that is, the Vietnam 1975 Symphony by composer Le Van Khoa.
Thirty years have passed since that infamous date. Prior to that came 30 years of warfare. As we look back on those 60 years of war and peace since 1945, we might try to see if our people have produced any works of art—poetry, prose, music, or the visual arts—equal to the great historical events we have experienced. Works like Tolstoy’s epic novel War and Peace, which portrays the country and people of Russia in the early 19th century confronting Napoleon’s invasion, or Tchaikovsky’s 1812 Overture. Or Margaret Mitchell’s Gone with the Wind, which tells a story of the American Civil War, along with the cinematic works that sprang from that book. Or looking further back, the Three Kingdoms period of China’s history lingers in the memories of countless generations in part because of Lo Kuan-chung’s novel of that name. Or the story of Hsuan Tsang’s unique pilgrimage to India to collect the Buddhist scriptures which reverberates in subsequent generations through the epic Record of the Journey to the West by Wu Cheng-en.
In our own country, great works of art depicting critical stages in our history have been rare; if that was the case in the past, then so, too, in current times. The earth-shattering war that enveloped Vietnam for three decades and in every form has only been recorded in works of low or middling quality. After the war ended, when the communists took over, there occurred an event unprecedented in our history from the time of the nation’s founding: the wholesale flight by Vietnamese trying to escape the new system. Of this, too, no work of art speaks capably of the incredible suffering and the overwhelming will emanating from the thirst for freedom as manifested by the refugees. We have many representational forms recalling this event, in monuments, books, newspapers and periodicals, and ceremonies, but what we have lacked most is the voice of high art, for only this will endure for generations to come.
Finally, on this the 30th anniversary, we have good news! The Vietnam 1975 Symphony has arrived. It comes to us just at the time when we are again remembering the loss of our country and the separation of families since that ignominious April, with countless subsequent scenes of oppression and suffering and unending adversity. We have a genuine work of high art to speak on our behalf, expressing the feelings each of us Vietnamese holds inside but cannot express. Now, composer Le Van Khoa has brought this all out for us in his music.
Utilizing the form of a Western symphony, the richest means of expressing musically the various conditions of life, Le Van Khoa has brought back to life an entire stage in the history of Vietnam. Through traditional folk melodies, he shows us a peaceful time in our land, the tranquil gatherings and festivals, expressions of love, and the joy of life that permeated our people everywhere. But then comes war—we first hear the muffled footsteps of those who would make war approaching in hesitant, secretive notes. In the end we discover who these people are by the echoing notes of the international communist anthem coming from afar, followed by the (Song of the Vanguard) (the communist Vietnamese national anthem), then the (Xi Lai Quoc) of Communist China. Then war bursts forth with the resistance of the South Vietnamese people performed in mighty tones. But the war fades with the defeat of the South, which the composer expresses succinctly yet with all the emotions of one in its midst, such that Gary Smart, (Professor of Creative Music) of the University of Wyoming has said, (“The brief music sentence following the section on war in the movement ‘In the Depth of the Night’ truly stirs the heart.”)
But defeat in war was only the beginning of the tragedy. Indeed it may be said that the entire history of South Vietnam from 1975 on has been one huge tragedy—a country once able to provide for itself now poor and its people hungry, the people dispossessed, losing homes and property, the free becoming prisoners. We move from a free society to a military camp called socialism. The people cannot bear it; they must leave. Where do they go? Most escape by the sea, seeking a way to the outside world. Millions leave, shutting their eyes and trusting their destiny to the ocean, which can be kind but can also be cruel. The flight of so many people creates a unique, pathetic song in our history, telling humanity from ancient times onward that we can only live fully as human beings if we are free. In this great flight for freedom, we paid a price by no means small—half a million refugees went to the bottom of the sea before they could arrive at the port of freedom. You must listen to Movement Number 6, “On the High Seas,” to share those harrowing moments, to witness the pettiness of humanity in the face of adversity on the open sea. Yet at the same time the composer offers us a strange feeling in this movement, the flourishing of the will; even as we are crushed we become strong, we clearly hear the power that still simmers deep in our hearts. And that has been aroused, exciting us, giving us confidence in ourselves, in our compatriots, and in humanity. And we shed tears in that mysterious joy that suddenly appears in the scene of small boats bobbing on the unfeeling ocean. In this Movement Number 6, Le Van Khoa calls up that human pride, a humanity filled with strength to become masters of nature and society, though we must pass through many trials.
As refugees we are grateful to Le Van Khoa for giving us this work of art, one that praises the country and the people of Vietnam, and most importantly, brings to life our human dignity.