Reflections on Viet Nam's National Parks: Former Minister

When people feel they belong to the forest

"Forests cannot be protected solely through prohibition signs and the efforts of forest rangers. Forests are protected when local people see themselves as part of the forest. A Jrai person or a Bahnar person living at the foot of Kon Ka Kinh, if provided with sustainable livelihoods through community-based tourism, ecosystem services, or non-timber forest products, will protect the forest out of their own interests."

These reflections are drawn from the writings of Mr. Le Minh Hoan, former Vice Chairman of the National Assembly and former Minister of Agriculture and Rural Development, on Kon Ka Kinh National Park in the newly launched anthology "Reflections on Viet Nam’s National Parks."

He writes that the more national parks he has visited, the more he has realized that forests in Viet Nam rarely stand alone. Beneath almost every forest canopy is a community that has lived there for generations. Local people know every stream, every season when the leaves change, and every trail frequented by wildlife. For many of them, the forest is not a concept that needs to be conserved; it is simply a part of their lives.

Some communities have protected forests through customary laws that existed long before the concept of modern conservation emerged. In some places, cutting trees at the headwaters is strictly prohibited. Elsewhere, no one may enter the village’s sacred forest without permission. There are streams where muddying the water is considered an offense against the ancestors. "Many of these customs may seem simple, yet they have preserved the forest’s green canopy for hundreds of years," Mr. Le Minh Hoan said.

He said he had visited 36 national parks, and what stayed with him most was not the name of a rare tree species or statistics on forest cover but the people. Forest rangers who spend more days in the forest than at home. Communities that quietly protect forests through traditions passed down from generation to generation. And the feeling that people living beneath the forest canopy seem to move at a slower pace and live closer to nature.

Perhaps for that reason, he gradually changed his views on national parks. In his view, a forest cannot be preserved solely through fences or prohibition signs. Forests can only be truly protected when the people living at the foot of forests have a reason to safeguard them. "Then they protect the forest out of their own interests rather than out of command," he said.

He then paused for a moment before returning to a realization that had grown deeper with every journey: "We often say that forests must be protected. But perhaps, before we can protect them, we need to understand that a forest is not just trees; it is water, soil, air, and livelihoods." (Excerpt from his reflections on Chu Yang Sin National Park.)

In the more than 100-page anthology, what emerges more vividly are the people living around the forests. There are villages surrounding Ben En National Park, living alongside the lake with simple daily routines and stories passed down through generations. A child in Bidoup–Nui Ba National Park grows up amid the sound of pine forests swaying in the wind, never seeing the forest as something to be "exploited to the fullest." And residents in Pu Mat National Park understand that losing the forest means losing water, fish, and even harvests.

He said nature provides humans not only with timber, water, and climate regulation. Forests also preserve people’s ability to slow down, to listen, and to recognize their own smallness in the face of nature. Perhaps for this reason, to him, national parks are not only conservation areas but also cultural spaces and part of the nation’s memory. "If only the trees remain but all people leave, the forest will feel lonely," he said.

And what troubles him most after journeys through these forests is not how to speak more about nature but how to ensure that young people still want to step into nature and still feel moved by the sound of birds, a headwater stream, or the smell of earth after a forest rain. Because if those emotions fade, it becomes very difficult to speak to a generation about love for forests.

The forest teaches humans how to exist

Former Deputy Minister of Agriculture and Rural Development Ha Cong Tuan commented that the book does not focus on describing landscapes but uses human stories to speak about forests and the way people interact with nature.

The book not only tells stories about forest trees but also encourages readers to see national parks as part of the nation’s memory, culture, and future.

He said that the more national parks he has visited, the more he sees forest ecosystems as a miniature society. Within the forest, no tree is meaningless. No species is considered inferior simply because it is smaller. There are towering ancient trees, lower vegetation under the canopy, vines, grass layers, decaying fungus, and insects. "All of them contribute to the survival of the forest," he said.

He offered a simple illustration: even an ancient tree, no matter how tall, would struggle to survive alone in storms. It needs lower vegetation to hold the soil, plant layers to retain water, and countless unseen organisms beneath the ground that humans rarely notice.

Perhaps for this reason, when speaking about his inspiration for writing about forests, he does not only talk about natural resources. He speaks more about connectivity. He noted that there are studies suggesting trees can communicate with one another. When one tree is attacked by insects, nearby trees may send warning signals. When a tree weakens, the forest’s root network can share water and nutrients to support it.

That inspiration accompanies him to Tram Chim National Park, where the land breathes with the seasons. "In the dry season, the soil cracks like ancient script. In the flood season, the land submerges, giving way to water. Water is not just water; it carries alluvium, seeds, and even memories of the distant Mekong River. Here, the boundary between land and water is indistinct, like the boundary between humans and nature that has never truly been meant to be separated."

At Lo Go-Xa Mat National Park, it is possible to see traces of multiple landscapes coexisting: the dryness of the southeastern region, the elevation of the southern Central Highlands, and the softness of the southern plains. It is like a symphony, where each landscape is a musical note, all jointly forming a complete melody. The Vam Co Dong River flows through the area unhurriedly, like someone who already knows their journey ahead.

Through such reflections, he realized that what people usually see is only the visible part of the forest: tree trunks, foliage, and valuable timber. Yet what truly sustains the forest often lies in the invisible layers beneath. "We often look at the tree but forget to look at the soul of the forest," he said.

For him, that “soul” is not only nature itself but also symbiosis, the way species rely on one another to survive. Perhaps for this reason, after many visits to national parks, he increasingly believed that protecting forests is not only about preserving trees but also about preserving a lesson for today’s society: a lesson in sharing, in supporting one another through hardship, and in recognizing that no one can exist in isolation from their community.

At an international ecological forum in Seoul last year, he stated a sentence that left the audience in prolonged silence: “Nature can survive without humans. But humans cannot survive without nature.”

He said this was not a warning but a way for humanity to relearn humility in the face of nature. The deeper one goes into the forest, the smaller one feels. And it becomes easier to understand why forests do not only need to be protected by law but also safeguarded by the love of future generations. “If children still want to step into nature and still feel moved by the sound of birds or the smell of earth after a forest rain, then we still have hope for tomorrow,” he said.

Director General of the Department of Forestry and Forest Protection Tran Quang Bao was particularly impressed by a message repeatedly emphasized in the book: the mindset of “protecting forests through love for forests.” Accordingly, if local people can earn a living from forests and benefit from ecotourism, non-timber forest products, or indigenous cultural values, they will become the most sustainable force in forest protection.

The book also suggests a new way of approaching national parks: not only viewing forests as natural resources to be protected, but also as a "flow of life" where humans relearn balance with nature. “The forest is a source of life, not only for today, but for next generations,” he shared.