Meeting My Grandfather

This recent trip to Vietnam gave me a lot of memories.  I got to see the city, its people and the new generation that will represent Vietnamese youth to the globe.  I'll save my comment on that for later.  The most enlightening experience from this trip came from the opportunity I had to speak with my grandfather.  Although I have met him before once (that I actually remember), I actually got the chance to sit down and talk to him.  Recovering from his recent stroke, he lies in bed most of the time.  His memory comes and goes and we often laugh at how he would forget who my dad is.  I was really glad that my dad had the opportunity to see his father again and spend some time with him.  Since my mom died, I really want to be there for my own dad and so I was glad the two got a chance to reunite.  I didn't actually talk to my grandfather until 2 weeks into our trip.  We were always surrounded by family members and I mainly just asked him if he knew who I was. So one day, when my dad was out, I walked down the stairs to grab a snack.  I passed by my grandfather's room and I see him sitting up instead of his usual lying down.  He was just sitting there, not really doing much.  So I decided to come in and talk to him.
I asked him if he knew who i was again.  He nodded and said I was a granddaughter; my dad's daughter, more specifically.  He asked me about my mom.  He still doesn't know that she passed away almost 5 years ago.  We didn't want to shock him so we had just kept the news from him.  So I responded that she had to work and couldn't come on vacation with us.  I don't know if he believed me but somewhere along the way, I remember all the tales my mom used to tell me about this grandfather.  She had said that he was a hard-headed, conservative man who opposed my parents' marriage.  He went out of his way to prevent their union and he was almost nonexistent in my childhood.  She often spoke of him with dislike and resentment.  But with her passing, and his current health, I realized that nothing really matters anymore.  I used to dislike my dad's side of the family because of what had happened to my own mother.  But there is really no point in holding onto the resentment and I felt happy to keep him company.  I even felt happy when I tried to cheer him up. I then changed the subject and talked about how my dad wanted to visit the small town where he grew up.  My grandfather smirks and asks why he would want to go back there.  Everyone they once knew is gone, either dead or moved away.  I said I wanted to see the house where my dad grew up in and wanted to see how big it was.  My grandfather's face suddenly changes and he had tears in his eyes.  "They took everything.  All my sweat and tears, I worked for everything I owned.  I didn't steal or tricked people.  My wealth came from my own hands." My grandfather was referring to the Communist regime that took away his wealth.  Called "Hitting the Bourgeoisie" (my loose translation), the regime took away my grandfather's 10+ houses, land and monetary wealth after winning the Vietnam War.  I later asked my dad what exactly went on during this time.  According to him, the Communists came into the south and leveled the entire playing field by taking away any wealth it could.  Any family that was considered bourgeois and had more wealth than the government designated level had everything taken away.  They sent people to guard outside my grandfather's house to make sure no one could transport anything away.  Meanwhile, a cadre inside would go through and calculate what could be taken away.  My grandfather tried to bribe him by giving him a large house of his own so that they could reduce my grandfather's actual estate on paper and so have less taken away.  Although this worked initially, the regime decided that if they couldn't "take the cow, then they would take the pig." If that didin't work, they would "take the chicken." What this meant was they would continually lower the designated level so that they could take away any wealth that was available in the south.  So finally, they took pretty much everything and left my grandfather with a tiny fraction of what he originally worked hard for.   Soon thereafter, the regime created something called the "Popular Court" (again, my loose translation).  The Popular Court had the civilians decide who had become rich by harassing and stealing from the poor.  The cadres oversaw the proceedings and immediately sent the people condemned by civilians to be shot within a few minutes of the decision.  It was then my grandfather's turn.  The regime had taken most of his wealth and wanted to put him to death.  He stood still as he heard his crimes.  He was #5 in the top 10 richest merchants of the district.  He had a son who was working for the old government and was then a prisoner of war (my dad).  The cadres asked the civilians present how my grandfather made his wealth.  Hands shot up into the air and everyone exclaimed that "while everyone was sleeping, he was working.  He worked all the time and that was how he created his wealth."  Embarrassed, the cadres couldn't kill my grandfather and labeled him a part of the "dynastic wealth" (l.t.). This meant that my grandfather had used his wealth to help the cadres win the war and so, he could keep his estate.  However, there was really nothing left.  It was a way the cadres saved face.  But my grandfather survived.  When the other bourgeois heads of family hung themselves after the devastation, my grandfather lived.  And now, he's 84.
Despite his tears, he cheered up immediately when I told him about how well everyone in our family is doing.  We then spoke about other, more cheerful things.  After a while, he became tired and took a nap.
This old man had once been such a great man.  My dad told me about how generous my grandfather was.  He would help out people.  Rather than befriending other wealthy people, my grandfather considered the common working man the more honest comrade.  The communist ideology seems quite similar to my grandfather's beliefs.  Ironically, rather than creating a happy family, they only exemplified the inhumane nature of thieves.  They leveled society by taking away wealth.  But presently, they are the richest of Vietnam.  Cadres own hotels and drive BMWs.  Meanwhile, civilians remain poor and live in crowded and dusty alleys.  The streets experience heavy traffic.  Construction work is never completed and become a factor that pollutes the city.  Amongst all this, there is one truth. Lies and propaganda can only go so far.  Their tails have shown through their disguise.
Even now, I see my grandfather's dignity and honor.  Although we aren't rich now, we've inherited very valuable things from him.  And to this day, they remain in all of us.