We lingered for quite a while in front of the row of four houses belonging to Ms. Le Thi Hong An (born in 1966). The striking purple against the twilight sky was understated, yet captivating. Ms. An explained that she chose purple not only for its beauty but also because it symbolizes loyalty and serves as a reminder for her children to cherish each other, remain united, and stay rooted in this land. In the windswept border region, a woman silently raises her children, saving every penny to build a life, and on the day she receives her new house, she is still tearful like a child… all of this reflects her simplest wish: a warm family, a secure place to return to.
A few hundred meters further is the house of Mr. Huynh Phuc Bao, still under construction. The floor still smells of cement, the walls haven't been painted yet, but the national flag and a new television are neatly placed in the living room, waiting to be proudly displayed. Having lived for many years in a dilapidated temporary house, each rainy season a time of anxiety, Mr. Bao now only hopes to finish the house so his wife and children have a sturdy place to shelter from the rain and wind. But what moves him even more is the feeling of peace. He says that this border area is very different now: the roads are paved, the population is dense, and every night you can see the uniforms of soldiers patrolling. "With the soldiers and militia, and living near the outpost, I'm never afraid," he said with a gentle smile.
That afternoon, I met Mr. Pham Ngoc Sinh, Commander of the Military Command of My Quy Commune. His face was tanned from being on duty year-round, but his voice was soft and warm. He explained that to be present at the handover ceremony, he had to assign his men to be on duty early, because border soldiers don't have a single day of real rest. Each new house is like an "extension" of the forces, because a stable population provides a support base for the soldiers, police, and border guards. The lights from the houses along the road give those on night patrols more peace of mind, because "each house is a peaceful outpost."
Three characters, three small stories, but one thing in common: all are striving to cling to their land, preserve their villages, and build peaceful lives right on this borderland. This border region was once sparsely populated, lacking electricity and water. The remaining people mainly relied on livestock farming and agriculture, with unstable incomes; sometimes a good harvest meant low prices, and other times high prices meant a poor harvest. But in just the last few years, the area has changed dramatically: residential areas adjacent to militia posts and border guard stations have been built; patrol roads have been widened; and the electricity and water systems have been more comprehensively invested in. New flags hanging in front of each house serve as silent markers of peace and stability.
The soldier in Sinh's story aptly illustrates this point: when the population is stable, the border is protected not only by fences and markers but also by the "hearts of the people." Patrol forces gain more eyes and ears; local authorities gain more people willing to report and assist when there are signs of anything unusual. And most importantly, people feel attached to the place where they live, not only because they have a new home, but also because they see a future there.
We walked along small paths where the flags, recently presented, fluttered in the wind. Each flag, each house, each smoldering fire... was a piece of the peacefulness that not every border region possesses. Along the 768km border of Military Region 7, these "markers of the people's hearts" are contributing to safeguarding the border in the gentlest yet most effective way: through the light of their own peaceful and joyful daily lives.
Source: https://www.sggp.org.vn/anh-den-bien-gioi-post827599.html
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