Asian Studies Review June 2004, Vol. 28, pp. 115– 131

State Subject-making and Womanhoods in the Red River Delta of Vietnam1

JAYNE WERNER Long Island University and Columbia University

Introduction This paper explores how governance works in doi moi Vietnam through an examination of state subject-making and the ways in which it might be changing. More specifically, it discusses the two socially and culturally salient womanhoods of me chong [husband’s mother] and con dau [daughter-in-law], focusing on a popular film made by a state film company, Me chong toi (My Husband’s Mother), and the ways in which the film was received by women in a rural xa [commune] in the Red River Delta. In Vietnam, as elsewhere, women have long carried the heavy burden of signifying the nation. Since its inception, the Vietnamese state has considered “the family” to be the bedrock of society, the basic “cell” upon which the nation is built. Women as wives and especially as mothers have been central to this formulation. Throughout the anticolonial wartime years (1945 –75), reunification (1976 – 86) and the doi moi period (1986 – present), womanhoods have been imagined and promoted to serve both revolutionary and national development goals. The Communist revolution in Vietnam promoted new gendered meanings, which spanned the public and private spheres, while also appropriating many of the patriarchal functions of the family. The goal of “gender equality” [binh dang nam nu] was a key component in the political agenda of the Indochinese Communist Party. “Equality” was defined in terms of incorporating women along with men as citizens in a new political community. Women were to participate equally in the building of a new nation through revolutionary action, and then, with the achievement of independence, their “equality” was defined in terms of working in the new collective economy and participating in public affairs. Gender differences as a whole were de-emphasised and reordered along more androgynous lines. Women worked alongside men in wartime and in public service and collective labour. They served essential public functions during 30 years of wartime mobilisation (Werner, 1993). Throughout the socialist and wartime periods, however, the household remained important to women’s lives, and womanhoods centred in the private sphere were crucial to the state. Although their labour in the private sphere was officially “invisible” to the public sphere, women were seen as responsible for sustaining the household by themselves and on their own, while also working for the state. Revolutionary heroism involved sacrifice and service to family and country, 

Corresponding address: E-mail: [email protected].

ISSN 1035-7823 print; ISSN 1467-8403 online /04/020115-17 # 2004 Taylor & Francis Ltd DOI: 10.1080/1035782042000226675

116 Jayne Werner while “bourgeois” or urban indulgence was frowned upon. However, the family came to be seen as an emotional and material support system for wartime mobilisation purposes. In the private sphere, women were hailed by the revolution for their reproductive roles and for nurturing the family. As mothers, they played an essential political role in socialising children. It was their political responsibility to make sure that the household adhered to the policies of the Party, the revolution and the state. The ideal of “gender equality” in Vietnam has continued into the doi moi era, but new, family-defined models of feminine behaviour are also emerging. At the same time, new images of femininity, some driven by the market and others by a reassertion of “traditional” values, have appeared under doi moi. The main political slogan of the doi moi era is “rich population, strong country, equitable and civilised society” [dan giau, nuoc manh, xa hoi cong bang, van minh]. This is to be accomplished, first of all, by permitting households to reassert their authority in the market economy, encouraging them to engage in entrepreneurial activities, and allowing them new options and choices about labour allocation, private accumulation and inheritance. Social subjects are now defined primarily as members of households. The state/public sphere that provided citizens with jobs, public benefits and political influence during the socialist era has noticeably shrunk.2 The doi moi state promotes the goal of the “small happy family” in order to limit the number of children per family. Linked to the reproductive policy and development goals of the state, the “small happy family” is one of the key subject groupings of the doi moi era. Women bear primary responsibility for implementing the “small happy family” policy as well as the new vision of the social and economic community. As sustainers of households, they not only need to carry out the reproduction policies of the state but are also being called upon to produce for the market. These new responsibilities have increased pressures on the household and heightened tensions among women in the household. Tensions may be especially acute in co-residing households, where mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law are mainly responsible for the work in the family. Consequently, the state and state media organs have shown an interest in how to manage household conflicts and maintain “harmony” in the family. For instance, the media has taken a keen interest in affairs in the family, especially in terms of conflict and tensions in the domestic unit. Women’s publications and the press in general, as well as state television, have attempted to publicise sources of family conflicts that threaten to destabilise the household, and have prompted discussions about how to resolve them. In doing so, the public arena – the state and the state-controlled media organs – have focused on women, because conflicts between daughters-in-law and mothers-in-law are seen as the chief reason for tensions in the family, and because women are deemed responsible for maintaining “harmony” in the family.3 Given the importance of the household to the political agenda of doi moi and the expansion of the market to the doi moi economy, how exactly is the state mediating its relationship with its subject-citizens? Is the nature of state subject-making starting to change in any way? What function do state-derived subjecthoods, and in particular womanhoods, have in the governance of doi moi Vietnam? To what extent do state-derived subjecthoods actually influence subjectivities? How do subjects respond to official messages about their “appropriate” roles? Do different groups of subjects respond to state subject-making in varying ways? Under doi moi, how exactly does the state interact with the “private” sphere? A substantial literature suggests that state-derived social subjectivities are intrinsic to “modern” modes of governance. This literature takes its inspiration from Althusser, Foucault and Bourdieu (Althusser, 1971; Dreyfus and Rabinow, 1993; Burchell, Gordon and Miller, 1991; Barry, Osborne and Rose, 1996; Sawicki, 1991; Bourdieu, 1980; Butler, 1990; Butler, 1997). All agree that social subjectification is characteristic

State Subject-making and Womanhoods in the Red River Delta of Vietnam 117 of modern modes of governance. But there is a basic division in the literature between Althusser and Foucault in terms of the formation of subjecthood. Althusser focuses on subjects’ performance of concrete, institutionalised rituals and practices that prompt them to imagine who they are in relation to others. Althusser allows little space for subjects to contest their construction by what he calls “state ideological apparatuses” (including the Church, the family, the legal system, the educational system, mass media and popular culture). In his formulation, subject positions are already formed and precede the subject. Subjects are “hailed” by subject positions and respond to the call through a process of “interpellation”, which is a way of staging and responding to the call. And when hailed, subjects can only respond or mis-recognise [meconnaissance] the call (Althusser, 1971). Social consciousness then follows social practice and performance. Foucault also broadly examined state institutions that he viewed in terms of disciplining bodies, which were completely “imprinted by history”. But Judith Butler, following Foucault, posits that subjects have the option of “negotiating” their subject categories (such as gender) through contestation, subversion or even parodies of performance. Interpellation is thus incomplete, and subjecthood is always in motion, and attempts to fix it can backfire (Butler, 1990). I suggest that both Althusser and Butler clarify the processes of state subject-making in doi moi Vietnam but, as I show below, neither approach gives full credit to the complexities and subtleties of how subjects relate to state-constructed subject positions and categories. Methodology To address these issues, I focus on the subjectivities of “me chong” [husband’s mother] and “con dau” [daughter-in-law]. These provide a useful case study to explore interpellation and subject-making, for several reasons. As outlined, womanhoods have always been a key component of state governance and an essential element in defining the nation in Vietnam. Gender is a marker of the Party/state’s disciplinary power, which relies on idealised and exemplary models to hail subjects. Gender inscriptions thus reveal the operations of the state deployment of power. Gender designations or womanhoods can be seen as operating as signs, relaying a message about subjects’ recognition and acceptance of the moral imperative of the Party/state and its right to govern. As Anagnost notes for China, they also serve as agents to affirm and re-affirm the Party’s “self-referential” authority.4 At a time of “opening the door” and privatisation of the economy, the doi moi state has an interest in preserving its role as a source of moral legitimation and in regulating the nexus between public and private spheres. The subjectivities of me chong and con dau provide a useful case study with which to explore subject-making, for two further reasons. “Mother-in-law” and “daughter-in-law” are gendered identities, which go to the core of both individual and collective subjectivity in Vietnam. They span both the public and private spheres. In northern Vietnam virtually all women become “daughters-in-law” at the time of their marriage and refer to themselves as such, even if they do not reside with their husband’s parents. When a woman’s son marries and brings home a daughter-in-law, she assumes the identity of a “mother-in-law”. She then truly becomes a “wife” [vo], having reached a kind of social parity with her husband. Second, the gendered subjectivities of mother-in-law and daughter-in-law in northern Vietnam can be rather neatly divided into two quite different generational cohorts. The present generation of mothers-in-law came of age during the struggle for national liberation from 1945 to 1960, in a period of socialist revolution and state campaigns for gender equality. They were the first group of young women to be “emancipated” [duoc giai phong]. Their adult years coincided with the American War, 1960 to 1975. Today’s

118 Jayne Werner generation of daughters-in-law has come of age under a completely different set of social and political experiences – reunification, the return to peace-time, and the drive for national economic development under doi moi. Because they have reached maturity since the American War, their life experiences have been mainly oriented to achieving economic stability for their families. For all these reasons, plus the concerns of the doi moi state to maintain harmony in the family, state management of womanhoods in the domestic sphere is a particularly compelling way to examine how state interpellation functions in doi moi Vietnam. Given the fact that the two current generations of mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law fit rather neatly into two different historical periods, I decided to juxtapose the life experiences and time-frames of specific individuals in order to draw out their attitudes regarding the two womanhoods of me chong and con dau, and the relationship between them. Methodologically, I found that juxtaposing two successive generational cohorts provided a useful way to examine the ways in which subjects respond to public norms and statehailing functions. One of my concerns was with the question: if the “interpellation” function on the part of the state differs in the cases of two identifiably discrete but successive generations, what might account for this? My research was conducted in 1996 in a rural xa [commune] south of Hanoi. In the families in this xa, young brides typically move into their husband’s family upon their marriage. Daughters-in-law are bound by family norms to serve and defer to their parents-in-law. Mother and daughter-in-law relations are marked by parent/child terms of address. The mother is the “parent”, not a lateral relative as implied in the English “in-law” terminology. This gives the mother higher status and seniority, while conferring a junior status on the new addition to the family. Although the daughter-in-law is not exactly a “child bride”, she is a “child/daughter-in-law” [con dau] or in the case of a four-generation extended family, a grandchild/daughter-in-law [chau dau]. The primary couple in multi-generational households is the husband’s parents. The relationship between the mother-in-law and her daughter-in-law is demonstrably hierarchical. A good [ngoan] daughter-in-law is evaluated by how well she treats her husband’s family [doi xu voi gia dinh chong], her ability to contribute economically to the household, and her fertility. She spends more working hours with her mother-in-law than with any other member of the household. I found evidence that mothers-in-law still try to exert their authority and hesitate to share all the domestic duties with their daughters-in-law. The relationship continues to be characterised by difficulties and a certain amount of tension, with an ambiguous status for the son/husband in between. Mothers-in-laws’ stance and attitudes towards their daughters-in-law are a factor in the achievement of “equality” within the family. The interests of the mother-in-law often work against gender equality among the younger generation, especially between her son and her daughter-in-law. As long as the mother has power in the family, she may hinder efforts on the part of the younger generation to achieve an equitable balance in their relationship. Daughters-in-laws’ attitudes and behaviour also play a role in intergenerational relationships. They often need to make a substantial effort to get along with their parents-in-law. In order to explore the social subjectivities of mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law, I decided to use a popular film, Me chong toi (My Husband’s Mother). My plan was to use this film as a foil to draw out respondents’ views about mothers-in-law and daughters-inlaw and the relationship between the two. Me chong toi was made by a state film company in 1994 and has been shown frequently on state television, including on women’s holidays such as International Women’s Day. The film is clearly approved by the state and mass organisations such as the Women’s Union. Popular interest in the film indicates an acceptance of, and compliance with, the modern family model promoted by the state.

State Subject-making and Womanhoods in the Red River Delta of Vietnam 119 Me chong toi is a drama set during the American War. It depicts two women, a widowed mother-in-law, Ba Hoa, and her daughter-in-law, Thuan, who live together in a rural commune in the north. The son/husband has left for the battlefield. The film deals with the relations between the two women in light of the heavy burdens borne by women in the rear areas. Thuan and her mother-in-law have a close emotional bond [rat tinh cam], but events lead to a possible rupture of that bond when Thuan commits adultery.5 The film concerns women’s behaviour in the family, and draws attention to the need to try to resolve conflicts and tensions in the family. Ba Hoa is portrayed as the pure embodiment of virtue, and as such both mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law can and should learn from her. She teaches Thuan how to behave correctly and how to deal properly with her transgression. Thuan comes to the realisation, under her mother-in-law’s wise counsel, that the death of her lover, Luc, is more important than her personal agony, and that she needs to honour his sacrifice to the country. He is the father of her child. At the end of the film, Thuan does the right thing by agreeing to pay her respects to him at the public ceremony commemorating his death. Thus, the message conveyed in the film is the need to pay heed to parental authority and the wisdom of the older generation. Similarly, family relationships are bound by duties and obligations that need to be observed by all women in the family for filial as well as practical reasons. The film reinforces the stereotypical virtues of Vietnamese womanhood: their valour, endurance and indomitable spirit. Ba Hoa’s endless sacrifice, her unyielding love even in the face of unbearable loss, and her devotion to her family are a paean to motherly love, family values and all that is noble in the Vietnamese tradition. However, Ba Hoa also has the function of facilitating the strengthening of a redefined family and its relationship to the state during the era of doi moi. It is through Ba Hoa’s mediation that her daughter-in-law, Thuan, achieves her balance and her subjecthood as a full citizen in both public and private terms. The state appears as the source of redemption and, together with the family, becomes the foundation and vessel of private emotions. Wayward emotions and acts can be understood, redeemed and transcended through a regulated flow between the public and private spheres. The redemption for both Thuan and Luc in the film occurs through their service to the state, which is one and the same as their service to those close to them. The state thus deploys its intervention into the private lives and structures of feelings in the family, claiming the nexus between the private and the public, and thereby making them one and the same. Me chong toi resonates powerfully among Vietnamese women. It touches upon their deep-felt needs, the extent to which they will sacrifice themselves to achieve their most heartfelt desires, and their sometimes difficult relations with other women. One of the DL respondents said, “I think that the mother-in-law in the film exemplifies an affection [mot tinh cam] which is highly worthy, and which is very characteristic of Vietnamese women. They are capable of great self-sacrifice, so that their children can carry out their work for society [cong tac xa hoi] well.” The film portrays the plight of lonely women who endure hardship at the expense of their own emotional fulfilment. It also elicits strong feelings because the mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship continues to be a tense one. Me chong and con dau in co-residential households have difficulty achieving a warm and mutually supportive relationship, and it is very easy for small, petty matters to escalate into major conflicts. Both parties usually desire a mutually sympathetic and affectionate relationship, but they must work at it. In order to elicit attitudes about the me chong/con dau relationship, I assembled two groups of women in the research xa to watch the film and to respond to a set of structured questions about it. The first was a group of mothers-in-law (MLs) and the second a group of daughters-in-law (DLs). The two groups watched the film separately, and on different

120 Jayne Werner days. Conditions for selection included a primary or middle school education [trinh do van hoa], a range of family residential types and occupations, and ordinary villager status. The first group of ten MLs ranged in age from 50 to 68 years (b. 1924 to 1946). Most of these women still lived with their children, although the majority of them ate separately (seven out of ten). Half of the women were widows. Five of the women identified themselves as native residents of the xa. One was born in the former province of Ha Nam Ninh and married a man from the xa. The number of their children ranged from one to seven. Most of the women had some elementary school education, with two having finished Cap I (elementary school). Only one had finished Cap II (middle school).6 The group of nine DLs ranged from 21 to 34 years of age (b. 1962 to 1974). In general, they had more education than the MLs. Almost all had finished Cap II (seven years) and one had finished Cap III (12th grade). Almost all worked as farmers and had been born and married in the xa. Eight identified themselves as natives of the xa. One was from Nam Dinh. Four of the women in this group were related to the MLs in the first group. Eight DLs lived with their husband’s parents, but five of them ate separately. Four had two children. One had three children. One had one child, and two were childless. After watching the film, in some cases for the second or third time (previous viewings were on home TVs), both the ML and DL respondents immediately said that the film touches on “the deepest feelings of women” [len rat nhien tam tu nguyen vong cua nguoi phu nu]. Both groups talked about the degree to which Ba Hoa’s treatment of Thuan, her daughter-in-law, conformed to “real life”. MLs liked the way Ba Hoa “educated” her daughter, admonished her, loved her and forgave her despite her extramarital affair. DLs also liked Ba Hoa the most in the film and were moved by the way she refused to “stand on ceremony” and keep herself aloof, her unusual solicitousness and eagerness to please Thuan. Both groups were drawn to the scenes of Ba Hoa’s sorrowful plight and those in which she treated Thuan with love and affection. Both groups proffered that the women in the film, particularly Ba Hoa, embodied the “deepest values and traditions of Vietnamese women”. Both groups explored whether Thuan or Luc, the male lead, was to “blame” for their illicit relationship, and they both also responded to the issue of the conflicting demands of women’s work in the family and work outside the family. Three sets of questions were introduced to the ML and DL groups. The first set concerned the nature of the relationship between Thuan and her mother-in-law in terms of whether mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relations could be similar to the relationship between a mother and her own daughter. A corollary question was whether the ideal behaviour of the mother-in-law depicted in the film reflected real life. Question two focused on the absolute quality of the values of “loyalty”, faithfulness and adultery, and when and where these values might be suspended. Question three explored attitudes towards women’s work in the home and work outside the home, comparing times of war to times of peace. Discussion Despite some common reactions, there were significant differences between the two groups’ overall reactions to the film. One general difference was initially quite surprising. The MLs were far more positive than the DLs about Ba Hoa’s unusually solicitous and gentle behaviour. When asked whether the film reflected reality, almost all of the MLs said yes, indeed it did; they would have acted like Ba Hoa if faced with a similar situation. The DLs said bluntly that the film did not reflect reality – no mother-in-law would act as Ba Hoa had. It soon became apparent that the ML respondents were giving an “official” response to the film in terms of comparing their behaviour to the model behaviour

State Subject-making and Womanhoods in the Red River Delta of Vietnam 121 presented in the movie. They couched their opinions in terms of what could be called a “normative response”. When asked directly whether reality matched the film, the ML respondents continually sidestepped the question and shifted to an exposition of what constitutes exemplary behaviour. Chief among their comments was that today’s relations cannot and should not be “backward” [lac hau]. This question was explored more deeply when the ML respondents compared their relationships with their daughters-in-law in terms of how they treated their own daughters. At first, the ML respondents claimed that daughters-in-law should be treated like one’s own daughter. This was the normative response. But on further questioning, the MLs acknowledged that, in fact, whereas a mother/daughter relationship is one of spontaneity and give and take, the mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship is a “contingent” relationship. Only if the daughter-in-law shows deference and respect will the mother-in-law treat her well. What underlies a good ML/DL relationship is initiative on the part of the daughter-in-law and, after that, reciprocity. Reciprocity needs to be continually cultivated and maintained on the part of the daughter-in-law. One respondent said that the daughterin-law in the film treated her mother very well (“anticipated her needs”), which was why mother treated Thuan as if she were her own daughter. Another said, “Mother respects and loves her and she (Thuan) loves mother like her birth mother”. Later, the same respondent said that Thuan was a well-behaved person [ngoan] (towards her mother-in-law). Q: What is your opinion? Do exemplary cases like this exist in real life or haven’t you seen any? ML 2 A: They exist. There are daughters-in-law who are very attached to their mothersin-law . . . They respect and love (quy: this implies a hierarchical relationship) the other (i.e. one’s mother-in-law), who returns the respect.

However, it is also the responsibility of the mother-in-law to educate a new daughter-inlaw “from the beginning (from the first day she joins her family). Society today doesn’t allow the children to treat their parents or their husbands badly. You have to tell the children so they know. Husband talks, wife listens. Father and mother talk, daughter-inlaw listens, and we never shout at each other. Otherwise everyone in the neighbourhood hears it and laughs at us and thinks there are a lot of conflicts and confusion in that family” (ML l). ML respondents characterised the relationship between Thuan and Luc as adultery, and on the whole claimed that it was only fleeting, and could not be true love. On the question of who was the instigator of the relationship, virtually all of the ML respondents said that Thuan was to blame. Thuan was seen as responsible for letting the situation with Luc get out of hand, and for not stopping it at the critical juncture. Luc was seen as the victim in the relationship. The MLs in their comments tried to protect Luc and deflect criticism of his behaviour. However, criticism of Thuan was veiled. Rather than condemn her outright, the MLs attributed blame by suggesting “it was because of Thuan that . . .” On the question of loyalty [chung thuy] to one’s husband, ML respondents said that friendships with other men and loyalty to one’s husband were not compatible. However, if a temporary error was made and marital fidelity breeched, MLs said that they would agree to forgive their daughter-in-law. But that forgiveness would be contingent upon their daughter-in-law’s behaviour. If the daughter-in-law treated her husband’s family well, she would be forgiven just once. If a transgression occurred a second time she would not be forgiven. For instance, ML 10 said: Nowadays, if the daughter-in-law treats her husband or her husband’s family well, then the family has to take this into account and forgive her. But if she does not treat her husband’s family well then it amounts to adultery and in that case, no one would forgive her.

122 Jayne Werner As to Thuan’s leaving her domestic responsibilities to work outside the home, both MLs and DLs approved of this behaviour. In the film, work outside the family was justified in terms of fulfilling a duty and contributing to a noble cause. Mother lets Thuan go up to the District because her social work [cong viec xa hoi] constitutes an honour for the household – Thuan is “working on a mission” [di cong tac]. Mother agrees that Thuan can abandon her domestic responsibilities only because duty calls, and once the public works project is finished, she will have to return home. ML respondents approved of daughters-in-law working outside the home in this type of work, saying it brings the family social prestige. One said, for example, “I think mother acted correctly. She took care of all the work at home and did all the fieldwork so that her daughter could do public work [tham gia cong tac] and this was very good”. However, according to the MLs, if there is a conflict between outside work and work at home, women’s principal responsibility lies at home. Some of this depends on the husband’s attitude. If the husband resents his wife working outside the home, the ML respondents agreed, there will be problems. It is hard for women to do two jobs well. For a woman to perform social work well, her husband has to be willing to share domestic duties. If the family is not “harmonious” this is the woman’s fault. If she is working outside the home, then she should cut back and return to her family duties. One ML respondent said, “If women participate in outside work [di cong tac], they have to manage their work at home well, so that the husband is satisfied and happy [vui ve]”. The MLs’ discussion of Me chong toi thus reveals the existence of a social hierarchy in the family and the ambiguous position of the daughter-in-law in her husband’s family. The MLs expressed the view that it is the duty of a daughter-in-law to serve and be deferential to her husband’s parents. If there is a conflict between the mother and daughter-in-law, the daughter-in-law has to defer to her parent. Mothers must “educate” their daughters-in-law, advise them, and correct their mistakes. The daughter-in-law’s principal responsibilities lie within the home taking care of the family. Working outside the family is acceptable when it is seen to be serving the wider community, but working to further career ambitions, personal development or private income is not justifiable, especially when it conflicts with domestic responsibilities. A young mother’s primary duty is taking care of her children and her husband’s parents. The ML respondents expressed strong approval for the model behaviour of the motherin-law in the film, Ba Hoa, and claimed that they would behave in the same way. This was a “noble model” mothers-in-law could learn from. The ML respondents had no difficulty in accepting this powerful message and the representations of the legitimacy of state intervention in the film. Of course, it is not difficult to identify oneself with a paragon of virtue. But today’s generation of mothers-in-law seems habituated to the educational/ethical functions of the state. This generation of women has lived through two major wars and experienced mobilisation campaigns, emulation contests and state exhortations, all of which involved state-driven normative models of behaviour. The ML respondents did not seem to question this type of state intervention, and appeared eager to absorb the lessons entailed. In response to the question, “Why did mother (Ba Hoa) decide to hide the truth about this situation (Thuan’s pregnancy) from her son?”, ML 1 said: I think that mother decided to hide it from her son because she had only one daughter-in-law and was completely wrapped up in her, so she forgave her in order to teach her daughter-inlaw how to become a better person, so that the two could depend on one another [de cho doi ben cung dua nho lan nhau].

This is the lesson of the film. Viewers would assume that no mother-in-law would forgive such a betrayal from a daughter-in-law like Thuan or, if she did, that the daughter-in-law

State Subject-making and Womanhoods in the Red River Delta of Vietnam 123 would be so touched by this act of kindness and love that she would strive to the utmost to be a better person. Many ML respondents said that old backward behaviour had to change, as the state instructed. They also said that mothers-in-law needed to listen to their daughters-in-law and not just issue instructions and expect automatic compliance. One ML respondent noted that daughters-in-law have to be given more slack and be able to make some of their own decisions. It is acceptable for daughters-in-law to work outside the home. The old model of the narrow-minded, bossy and accusatory mother-in-law is no longer appropriate. Mothers-in-law should not act in this way any longer. In stating their reactions to the film in this fashion, the ML respondents were voicing their compliance with, and acceptance of, state discourses about what constitutes “proper” (i.e. enlightened) mother-in-law behaviour. At the same time, the ML respondents seemed to hang on to certain aspects of the old ways, adhering to certain formal standards for the way things should be done. A mother-inlaw might be modern and show solicitous behaviour towards her daughter-in-law but she would not lower herself by yielding too much, or by being seen in the position of “serving” her daughter-in-law. However, ML interviewees claimed mothers-in-law were less strict and imperious than they had been in their day, and today’s mothers-in-law treated their daughters-in-law with respect [quy]. Today’s mothers-in-law should try to discuss issues with their daughters-in-law and “advise” them in a maternal way. The ML interviewees did not seem to bemoan the shift in the relationship; they took it more or less for granted. The ML respondents were thus pulled in two ways. They were hesitant to voice their real opinions and seemed to try to cover up their own actual behaviour. They were reluctant to admit that their own behaviour deviated from that of Ba Hoa, the ideal mother-inlaw. Was this a conscious effort on their part because “outsiders” were present in the room, or would they have voiced the same opinions regardless of who led the structured group interviews (viz, male cadres, or representatives of the Women’s Union)? At any rate, they reacted instinctively to “model” behaviour, to changing one’s consciousness through official exhortations and political/moral awakening [giac ngo]. This is what appears to account for their approval of Ba Hoa’s behaviour in the film. Q: If you were in Ba Hoa’s place, would you forgive her (Thuan)? ML 8A: You are asking this at a time when in general all of Vietnam was like that, women all had consciousness [giac ngo] and in this case any one would have forgiven her without exception. That is the truth.

Their quick alignment with the ideal behaviour displayed by Ba Hoa is probably linked to the unique circumstances of this particular generation. Many of today’s mothers-in-law came of age when their fathers, brothers and husbands went away to war. As such, they shouldered the household work and farm labour alone. The hardships they had to endure seem almost superhuman in retrospect. They were the first generation to be mobilised into public service, either on the local level or beyond. They sacrificed their families in order to contribute to the war effort and the national cause. Having assumed many weighty responsibilities and having managed them well, this generation of women became self-reliant in a way without precedent in Vietnam’s recent history. Many of these women became heads of their households, unthinkable 30 years earlier. In some cases, husbands were absent for 20 or 30 years. They returned home to patterns of domestic life that had changed to new routines. Some husbands of course never returned. This generation of women views its achievements and hard-won self-sufficiency with pride.

124 Jayne Werner ML 3: I think the following: We used to be young, and now we have gotten old. But during the war time in the wars against France and the US we served in the rear and we were very proud if we were called to do social work [cong tac xa hoi] . . . Our xa has had two women as chu tich – that’s a fact. It is only recently that men have been chu tich. The women who participated in social work were very good. They got their housework done and then they worked for the xa.

As a result, today’s mothers-in-law are caught between two tendencies. On the one hand, they are pulled in the direction of behaving more generously towards their daughters-inlaw than they themselves were treated in the past. Their own life courses resemble that of Ba Hoa in the film. They soldiered on alone for a very long time. Many of them are widows. They understand “the deepest longings of Vietnamese women” with regard to family life and what it is like to work from dawn to night with little help and small recompense. When their sons marry and bring home a daughter-in-law, however, they find themselves in the position of mother-in-law. If their husband is still present, they may be tempted to be critical of their daughter-in-law. But if they alone represent the older generation, they may have to be more careful in their dealings with their son’s wife. They may have to take a more active role in managing the tension between themselves and their daughters-in-law. Otherwise, the children might be offended. DL respondents, for their part, also responded to the ideal behaviour in the film. Although they are part of a different generation, they accept the normative functions of the state. However, unlike the MLs, they made no bones about differences between model behaviour and real life. Many stated unequivocally that mothers-in-law like Ba Hoa do not exist, and they stated this quite matter-of-factly and truthfully with little regard to who the interlocutors were. One DL respondent was categorical: Q: Do good mothers like this (Ba Hoa) exist in real life? DL 2A: I have never seen a case with a good Mother like this.

Today’s daughters-in-law have fewer illusions than their mothers-in-law, and are not as tied to model-think as the latter. On the other hand, the function of the state in promoting models does not seem to worry them unduly. Today’s daughters-in-law came of age after 1975. They are less moved by appeals to raise their consciousness [giac ngo]. They have accepted that the major burden of work in the family falls squarely on their shoulders and they cannot expect their mothers-in-law to behave like Ba Hoa. One DL respondent said that women’s principal work should be in the family and if they had to choose between outside work [cong viec xa hoi] and family work, they would choose family work. She did not seem to resent this – it was just a fact of life. Q: Where do you think women’s main role lies? With the family or in society? Is women’s principal affinity with the family or with society? DL 4A: I think women lean more towards the family. As for society, they are drawn to that in part but their main role is in the family.

However, the DLs’ reactions to the ideals represented in the film vs “real life” were framed in terms of practical and utilitarian considerations rather than state discourses or normative principles. DLs said Mother forgave Thuan because she wanted a grandchild, not because “mothers-in-law should not act as their forebears had”. The MLs, in contrast, used the discourse of progress and modernity to explain the characters’ behaviour – they kept saying that it is no longer right to treat daughters-in-law as before. Compare the following: Q: If you were in her shoes, would you forgive your daughter-in-law? ML 4A: Yes, nowadays, I would forgive her, of course. In the past it would have been hard to forgive her. She would have had her head shaved and had lime put on it. Now it is different.

State Subject-making and Womanhoods in the Red River Delta of Vietnam 125 DL 6: Mother forgave her because although she was very hurt, she wanted a grandchild to continue the line of descent. DL 8: She agreed because she didn’t have any grandchildren.

Both MLs and DLs agreed that women can do both domestic work and work outside the home, but their reasons differed. For the MLs, work outside the home brings the family social prestige. For the DLs, work outside the home brings more money into the household. Both agreed that if a daughter-in-law works outside the home, then her mother-inlaw should help out with the housework: cooking, babysitting, and washing the clothes. Working outside the home, however, does not appear to be a primary goal of this generation of daughters-in-law. The image of the socialist woman who combined both private and public roles during the wars is unappealing to them. They do not seem to set their sights on public service and do not want to be “superwomen”. They are not unmoved by Thuan’s husband’s mother – as a modern mother-in-law she is the very quintessence of “kindness” since she does not expect her daughter-in-law to do everything. But daughters-in-law know that such kindness is rare. The DL respondents said forthrightly that the burden of work in the family falls directly on their shoulders. Yet they accepted the lack of equality in the family. They were not cynical about it; nor did they verbally rebel against it. There was some difference of opinion between the MLs and DLs about what constituted “adultery” [ngoai tinh] and who was responsible for it. DL respondents were less likely than the MLs to assign the blame to Thuan for her one-time adulterous relationship with Luc. In fact most of them saw Luc as the initiator. One DL respondent expressed the view that Thuan could not control herself and that she fell in love with Luc without intending to. Along the same lines, when asked whether the relationship constituted adultery, MLs said that it did but DL respondents consistently said that Thuan had made a mistake and she was not adulterous. DLs generally voiced the view that married women could have friendships with other men and remain loyal to their husbands. As mentioned, MLs said that if their daughter-in-law made a temporary error and breeched marital fidelity once they would agree to forgive her, provided she treated her husband’s family well. DL respondents said, however, that real mothers-in-law would never forgive such behaviour. Both DLs and MLs agreed that a second incident outside marriage would constitute adultery, and as such could not be accepted. Conclusions The doi moi state clearly has not relinquished its attempt to manage womanhoods in the family. Further, the subjectivity of family-defined womanhoods in the rural north is still substantially and substantively influenced by the state. Subjectivity continues to be inscribed on women’s bodies by means of politically constructed womanhoods. This occurs through subjects’ unabashed receptivity to depictions of idealised behaviour that they recognise as relevant to their own behaviour, which they can emulate or not. They can respond to the call of the model or they can turn away from it. The normative standards of mother-in-law behaviour, the discourse of “equality”, the notion that women can perform “outside work” just as well as men, and the recognition of a conflict between household and outside work are all “modern” and “public” (statist) ways of thinking about gendered subjectivity. The Communist revolution and socialist state have put a public face on women’s relationships in the household. The ML respondents had great difficulty in turning away from the call of the state. They fell into its power to speak to them, and for them, because it meant so much – more than it appeared at first. For them, the power of the idealisations presented in Me chong toi lay in

126 Jayne Werner their ability to connect the social subject to the past, the present and the future. The past was remembered through pain, suffering and memories of self-sacrifice. The emotional power of the film drew the viewers into an identification with the founding myth of the nation and the defence of the nation by the Party. The film relies on womanhoods and sentimentality as effective tools in making these connections. It not only idealises women as social subjects, but validates their suffering and pain. By touching on “the deepest feelings of women” it achieves a sense of shared suffering among the audience as common national subjects. As Lauren Berlant argues, subaltern gendered subjectivities are often underpinned by structures of feeling and sentiment that involve stories of suffering on the part of women (Berlant, 2000). This kind of subaltern pain is intelligible to all national subjects regardless of their gender or personal circumstances. It forms part of a national narrative that roots citizens in a political collectivity. In doing so, it not only helps women gain legitimacy as social subjects, but promotes a sense of national cohesion conducive to state governance. Me chong toi connects viewers to the present and the future by reaffirming the moral guiding mission of the Party/state. By submitting to and identifying with the film’s message, the ML respondents accepted the function of the Party/state to voice their own feelings and to speak for them. The past was revalidated by an outpouring of emotion and personal sorrow. The power of the film lay in its ability to re-make this connection and hail the subjectivity of the receptive viewer. It behoved the ML and DL viewers to acknowledge the “authenticity” of the idealised behaviour in the film and the exhortation to follow the model. To reject the message would have been cold-hearted and a refusal to sympathise with the deep emotion [tinh cam] displayed in the film. Particularly for the MLs, to accept the offering was to once again incorporate themselves into the collective family of the nation. In turning away from the call, they would have in effect excluded themselves from the collectivity, putting themselves in a position of extreme moral, social and political ambiguity (Berlant, 2000). As Anagnost notes for China, through their bodily identification with the idealisations portrayed in the film, the MLs connected themselves to larger historical forces. The past was rematerialised through the narrative force of the film. Through it, the Party/state made itself “visible” to the audience.7 In doing so, it spoke the “truth” of past suffering, although in point of fact this “truth” is a myth, a representation of reality. The mechanism of state hailing is teleological – positing an ideal to be achieved that is concurrently always in the state of being achieved. Political subjects are put in the position of always striving to achieve the behaviour in the model, rather than analysing their existing behaviour. Teleological models also function to persuade both the Party/state and its subjects that it has a legitimate and moral mission in the exercise of power. Thus, in responding to the model of exemplary behaviour in the film, the ML interviewees returned to the source – the Party/state – of their formation for a reiteration of their political subjectification, as Althusser would say. They thereby re-constituted themselves as political subjects.8 Were the ML interviewees conscious of their public face as gendered subjects? They certainly accepted state hailing as legitimate and did not question the right of the state to intervene in family affairs. And they rapidly aligned themselves with the ideal behaviour represented in the film. As Anagnost points out, the power to name and confer moral prestige on subjects by the Party/state is not the impersonal, silent technology of Foucauldian power, but it is a disciplinary power with a human face, felicitous and “visible”, which embraces the subject with an outward display of warmth (Anagnost, 1994). The DLs were less impressed by “consciousness-raising” and the state’s discourse on womanhoods than their elders were. They recognised that there was a conflict for women between work in the family and work outside the home. Work outside the

State Subject-making and Womanhoods in the Red River Delta of Vietnam 127 home, and any further education that it may require, was permissible if money could be earned. Individual needs and self-expression were not legitimate reasons to work outside the family, however. DLs concurred with the MLs that young mothers’ principal duty was at home taking care of the family. ML interviewees and DL interviewees appeared to “negotiate” their social subjectivities in different ways in response to state hailing. MLs confused the “normative” with the “actual” aspects of their behaviour. Possibly before doi moi there was little scope to differentiate the normative from the actual. DL responses, however, clearly differentiated the normative from what they could realistically expect from their mothers-in-law. Therefore, while the gender regime of the state has had an impact on the way women think about themselves, DLs seemed to compartmentalise more aspects of their subjectivity than the MLs. What do their different reactions to the idealisations and motivations of the characters presented in the film reveal about the MLs’ and DLs’ responses to state subject-making? Does it mean that the subject-making function of the state differs on the part of the two generations? Or is it the same, but the state-hailing function has lost its power to influence the generation of daughters-in-law who have come of age under doi moi? If either is the case, can this be attributed to competing sources of ideological functioning coming from “the market”, the relative decline of state campaigns due to the end of the war, or new types of experiences or stresses stemming from doi moi that have had a differing impact on the DLs? Has the hailing function of the state significantly changed with the advent of doi moi? With regard to Althusser’s and Butler’s perspectives on state subject-making, the MLs and DLs clearly responded to state hailing in different ways. Therefore, neither Althusser nor Butler is universally valid with respect to all types of subject-making. The rapid alignment of the MLs with the ideal behaviour depicted in the film, however, suggests an almost automatic response to the hailing function of the state, more closely approximating Althusser’s approach. Did the MLs have a choice in negotiating their subjectivity, and/or did they pause to “negotiate” their subject category? Does the “public face” of the social subject mask the true dimensions of the “inner” self? If subjectivity can be compartmentalised, how, when, where and why does one aspect of subjectivity prevail over another? The “public” norm of the ideal mother-in-law has undoubtedly become a part of women’s subjectivities in the northern Vietnamese countryside. But it may be just a facet of their subjectivity. Gal and Kligman argue that public norms and gendered subject-positions in postsocialist countries can be invoked in any interaction or instance of use, depending on the position and perspective of the subject.9 Therefore, state hailing of “ideal behaviour” may have its limits. It is easy to pay lip service to ideals and then go one’s own way. People’s actual behaviour may be affected to some degree, but remains resistant to further change. Complete change in fact may be inhibited by this type of dynamic. The MLs may have chosen to align themselves with the ideal behaviour depicted in the film, but I would argue that this is not a real choice. Rather, the more important question seems to be not whether subjects have a choice or not, but in what situations and contexts a subject demonstrates automatic compliance with a projection of beneficent and generative state power. State subject-making, as far as this group of MLs was concerned, validates and completes their subjecthood, and that would not be a difficult “choice” to make under normal circumstances. It is along this axis that change may be taking place. The “hook” of the beneficent effect of power did not play with the DLs. But, pace Butler on state hailing in terms of the performativity and subversion of subject categories, the DLs did not show any tendency to try to subvert the subject categories represented in the film. Even when they depicted the ideal

128 Jayne Werner behaviour of Ba Hoa in the film as not relevant to real life, they did so in utilitarian, temporal terms. They said that such behaviour may have occurred during the war, but nowadays such behaviour did not exist. They did not state this in cynical or ironical terms. It was just the new reality. Therefore, the DLs set aside the state discourses in the film. They then used their own non-state rationales for interpreting the characters’ behaviour and motivations in the film. They did not explain mother’s motivations in terms of “modernity” or “progress”; nor did they refer to past generations of mothersin-law as exemplifying “backward behaviour”. They merely interpreted mother’s treatment of Thuan in utilitarian terms – she wanted to have a grandchild, and this was why she was so solicitous and kind. In this sense, the DLs do not appear to subvert or reject state subject-making as such, but they use other discourses to interpret the characters in the film. The DLs appear to be grappling with the models and values of the generation of their MLs (as well as their own parents), in terms of the changing environment of doi moi. In doing so, they may be more conscious of the contradictions in their own situation. Their responses suggest that a space exists between state hailing and social subjectivity that doi moi subjects are normalising in terms of their own conceptions of and reactions to official messages. This supports Butler’s argument that state interpellation is incomplete. The fact that the MLs and DLs used different discourses to explain the film and their own lives thus not only elucidates theory about state subject-making, but also reveals the workings of doi moi state power at this particular historical juncture. With regard to theory, my research signals a need to reconsider how subjects become interpellated. While some subjects appear to be interpellated completely into a subjectivity, others are not. It depends on the time and circumstances of their life experiences, which provide the context for their subject-making. As for doi moi Vietnam, it is remarkable that the doi moi state chooses to interpellate subjects through women characters. Perhaps this is because of the way women are used to mark the nation, and also because of the anxieties stemming from the market. The doi moi state may rely on feminised images to relay its message because such images convey a universal symbol for all its subject-citizens (i.e. “woman” as tradition signifies the nation) and/or due to anxieties about losing women because they are feared to be more willing or more tempted to stray from the path and embrace the new. In any case, its projection of sentimentalised and feminised images reveals the workings of the state in maintaining its role as gatekeeper to the private emotions of its citizens through the publicisation of their structures of feelings, and its political agenda in laying claim to doing so. Acknowledgments I would like to thank Tamara Jacka and the workshop participants for their comments on this paper. In addition I am grateful to Nguyen-Vo Thu-Huong’s careful reading of the transcripts and the film discussed here, and her valuable suggestions. Notes 1 2

3

This paper is part of a full-length study on gender and power in the northern Vietnamese countryside. An earlier version of the paper appeared in Drummond and Rydstrom, 2004. For an overview of the importance of the household to the economic agenda of doi moi, see Jayne Werner, ‘Gender, household, and state: Renovation (Doi Moi) as a social process in Viet Nam’, in Werner and Belanger, 2002. See, for instance, Ngo Thi Ngan Binh, 2000.

State Subject-making and Womanhoods in the Red River Delta of Vietnam 129 4

5

6

7 8

9

As in China, the socialist state in Vietnam always presumes to “speak for the people”. In doing so, the Party/ state constitutes itself as a “self-referential” reality – it creates reality in reference to itself. This is necessary to the Party’s own self-identification, and is not just a manipulative stratagem. See Anagnost, 1994. Me chong toi, produced and directed by Khai Hung, was immensely popular when it came out and won Second Prize at the 1994 Vietnam Film Festival. It prompted debate in families, the media, and even in the Women’s Union. It continues to air on national TV. Part of its appeal is due to the performances of well-known actors. Thu An played the mother-in-law, with Chieu Xuan as Thuan, and Tran Luc as Luc. It was filmed in Dong Anh district and Co Loa xa. The film is based on the short story by Nguyen Minh Chinh first published in Van Nghe magazine in January 1994. It was later included in the anthology Truyen Ngan Hay 1993 (NXB Van Hoc, Ha Noi, 1994). The film differs from the short story in significant respects and does not capture the narrative voice of Thuan, who tells the story in the first person in the short story. Running time of the film is two-and-a-half hours. The two groups of ML and DL were chosen by the xa authorities according to my criteria: distribution of age, number of children, marital status and residential circumstances. All respondents were paid, as is normally the case when they attend a meeting in the xa (if rural women attend Women’s Union or Fatherland Front activities, they are usually given a small sum of money). The two group discussions were held on 24 and 25 May 1996 in the second-floor room in the administrative offices of the xa. We sat around a rectangular table, with myself at one end and the facilitator at the other. We watched the film and had prepared the questions ahead of time. We both re-watched the film with each group. Both groups of respondents were asked to respond freely, which they did. The respondents appeared flattered to have been selected, and the discussions achieved a good rolling effect. Some of the respondents knew each other; others did not. No one person dominated either of the proceedings. None of the respondents was particularly timid. If someone didn’t speak, they were asked to do so. Both sessions lasted about two hours. The tapes from the sessions were transcribed and translated by myself. I concluded that my presence as a foreigner probably did not affect the proceedings any more than the facilitator’s. Both of us were “outsiders”, in contrast to the country women respondents. There was no difficulty in establishing rapport with the respondents. The xa authorities probably helped in this regard, having advised them of the “scientific” nature of the study. Anagnost, 1994. Her analysis is in reference to a “Law-Abiding Household” plaque awarded to a former local diviner in China. Part of the power of the film Me chong toi lies in the cultural appeal of its characterisations of Vietnamese womanhoods and femininity. However, this does not belie the political meanings, both on an interpretive level and as part of a project of state power, embodied in the film. This argument is developed by Susan Gal and Gail Kligman for the former socialist countries of Eastern Europe. See Gal and Kligman, 2000.

References Althusser, Louis (1971) Ideology and ideological state apparatuses, in Ben Brewster (trans) Notes towards an investigation: Lenin and philosophy and other essays, pp. 165–83 (New York: Monthly Review Press). Anagnost, Ann (1994) The politicized body, in Angela Zito and Tani E. Barlow (eds) Body, subject, power in China, pp. 131 –57 (Chicago: Chicago University Press). Barry, Andrew, Osborne, Thomas and Rose, Nikolas (eds) (1996) Foucault and political reason (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Berlant, Lauren (2000) The subject of true feeling: Pain, privacy, and politics, in Sara Ahmed et al. (eds) Transformation: Thinking through feminisms, pp. 33–48 (New York: Routledge). Bourdieu, Pierre (1980) The logic of practice (Stanford: Stanford University Press). Burchell, Graham, Gordon, Colin and Miller, Peter (eds) (1991) The Foucault effect: Studies in governmentality (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Butler, Judith (1990) Gender trouble (New York: Routledge). Butler, Judith (1997) The psychic life of power (Palo Alto: Stanford University Press). Dreyfus, Herbert L. and Rabinow, Paul (eds) (1993) Michel Foucault: Beyond structuralism and hermeneutics (Chicago: University of Chicago Press). Drummond, Lisa and Rydstrom, Helle (eds) (2004) Gender in practice in contemporary Vietnam (Singapore: University of Singapore Press). Gal, Susan and Kligman, Gail (2000) The politics of gender after socialism (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press). Ngo Thi Ngan Binh (2000) Socio-cultural aspects of the mother- and daughter-in-law tension in the Southern Vietnamese family. Masters thesis, The National University of Singapore. Sawicki, Jana (1991) Disciplining Foucault (New York: Routledge).

130 Jayne Werner Werner, Jayne (1993) Cooperativization, the family economy, and the new family in wartime Vietnam, 1960– 1975, in Jayne Werner and David Hunt (eds) The American War in Vietnam, pp. 77–92 (Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program Publications, Cornell University). Werner, Jayne and Belanger, Daniele (eds) (2002) Gender, household, state: Doi moi in Viet Nam (Ithaca, NY: Southeast Asia Program Publications, Cornell University).

Appendix: Synopsis of the Film, Me chong toi (My Husband’s Mother) Me chong toi concerns an older woman, Ba Hoa, who has just married her only son (Hoa) to Thuan at the beginning of the American War. Soon after the marriage, Ba Hoa’s son leaves for military training. In the first scenes in the film, the two women are shown working together, both in the fields and at home in the courtyard. They appear to have a close and intimate affection for one another [rat tinh cam]. Thuan is strong, works hard, and is cheerful and good-natured. Her husband’s mother has many of the same qualities. She puts in more than her share of heavy work. What’s more, she is shown as being unusually solicitous and kind toward her daughter-in-law. When Thuan returns from the fields, Mother rushes out to greet her, fans away the heat from her body, and draws water for her to wash. Dinner has been prepared, and the two talk animatedly. Mother’s greatest hope is that Thuan is pregnant. Her own husband was killed during the French War and she had to raise her son alone. Her son has just paid one last visit home before leaving for the front. But hopes for a grandchild are dashed when she sees Thuan’s menstrual cloths on the clothesline. As the two women work together to bring in the harvest, Thuan’s crystalline singing animates the fields. Ba Hoa’s younger brother, a cadre, stops by and suggests that Thuan be sent up to the District to help on a public works construction project. Mother agrees, although she will have to do all the work at home alone, which under ordinary circumstances would be too much for a woman of her age to handle. Thuan is assigned to the Information Office in the District. She is in charge of the broadcasts on the loudspeaker system at the work site and sings over the public address system to motivate the workers. She performs well, but dearly misses and worries about her mother-in-law. She lives in a room with Ms Huong. Huong has a crush on Luc, the radio technician in the office. Luc has ambitions to be a mathematician, but he is also dreamy and artistic. Huong catches him drawing a female portrait, and hopes it is of her. But Luc has set his sights on Thuan, and tells her as much. One night, there are technical difficulties with the radio, as lightning, thunder and a driving rain pound the small office. Thuan returns to the office to go to the backroom she shares with Huong, who has left for the weekend. She discovers Luc’s drawing, which is of her. The music soars and a strong attraction overpowers them both, and they spend the stormy night together alone in the back office. Several weeks later, Thuan returns home to visit her mother-in-law. As she fans away the heat from Thuan’s body, Mother discovers Thuan is pregnant. Mother collapses in front of her husband’s altar, anguished and torn by her love for Thuan. Thuan beseeches her to try to understand what happened and to forgive her. Mother tells Thuan that she will keep her mistake secret, including from her son, but that Thuan must cut off all ties with Luc. Thuan returns to the District and avoids Luc. Luc is thrown into emotional turmoil. He has an opportunity to attend university in the city, and takes it in part to try to forget Thuan. Thuan returns home to give birth to a daughter. Mother accepts and loves and takes care of the child as her own. For months on end, there is no word of her son. When the child reaches six years of age, Luc returns home, having graduated first in his class. Thuan, meanwhile, has been promoted to Deputy chu tich of the District, a position of responsibility and prestige higher than that of Luc, who is now a district cadre in charge of military

State Subject-making and Womanhoods in the Red River Delta of Vietnam 131 labour. She is warm and friendly with Luc, but won’t tell him he is the father of her child. Mother has in essence raised the child alone, so Thuan could serve the District. When Luc comes home, Mother suspects that Luc is the father, but neither woman discloses this. Luc is still in love with Thuan. One day she receives a letter from her husband at the front, after several years of not hearing from him. Everyone in the district office reads it. Meanwhile, Luc’s job requires him to get ready to leave for the front, although he is the only living son left in his family (two older brothers have already died in the war). Before he leaves, Luc makes one last visit to Thuan at her new place in the District. The sleeping child lies nearby. He bends over and kisses the child. Thuan tries to control herself and but is deeply perturbed. Although she has told Luc that she loves her husband, and that a “husband is a husband, and a friend is a friend”, in reality she loves both men. But she cannot sever her relationship with her husband and she cannot reveal the secret of who is the father of her child. Not long after this, the xa receives word that Luc has been killed on the way to the front. The authorities organise a public funeral proclaiming his heroism. Thuan does not want to attend, but Mother chastises her that as Deputy chu tich, it would look very odd if she didn’t attend and make a speech. And, she owes a filial obligation to the father of her child. As the ceremony ends, Mother takes her grandchild up to the flower-decked dais and tells the child to offer incense to the fallen hero. My Husband’s Mother focuses on the plight of lonely women. Mother has sacrificed her whole life to raise her only son. She chose not to remarry and honours her dead husband’s memory by worshipping his ancestors and dutifully finding a wife for their son. Now that she is elderly, her heartfelt desire is to have a grandchild to continue her husband’s line. Thuan is embarking on the same life course. Bereft of a husband, she is young and pretty, just like Mother in her day. Thuan longs to have a child, both for herself and for her beloved Mother. Given her emotional state, she is vulnerable to the attentions of another man when she has to work far away from home. Mother sympathises with Thuan because their situations are so similar. The central dilemma in the film, however, is whether Mother can live with a daughterin-law who has betrayed her son. Her son is a soldier away at war and Thuan’s behaviour is tantamount to a betrayal of the revolution. But Mother has become completely wrapped up in Thuan, projecting her own loss onto her and pinning all her hopes on her. Thuan’s own loneliness and emotional turmoil mirror Mother’s. But it is Mother’s heartbreaking dilemma that moves Vietnamese viewers. Mother has every right to reject Thuan. Thuan has betrayed her and her son, and has compromised the fulfilment of her duty to the ancestors. But if Mother throws Thuan out, she will not only lose another child (Thuan) but will lose her only possibility of emotional and spiritual fulfilment (a grandchild, although not of her husband’s line). Therefore she advises Thuan that they will hide her secret, but Thuan must fulfil her duties [nghia] and her filial obligations, as the ancestors have taught.