In London, Churchill’s likeness appears in bronze and stone — the cigar, the bulldog stance, the defiant tilt of the head. In Vietnam, you’ll find a similar frequency of homage to Hồ Chí Minh — though instead of cigars, it’s his distinctive beard and cigarette that signals his singular presence. One a statesman of empire, the other a master of resistance. I can’t help thinking of Ho as the Churchill of the East — not for how he looked, but for what he stood for: an unbreakable defence of sovereignty, and the ability to turn a nation’s will into history.

While the West reminisces about glory days long gone, Vietnam has been quietly constructing the next chapter. Fifty years since the end of the "American War," they're done being the world’s factory. Vietnam’s making more than products. They're making their own brands, their own future — and soon, it’ll be our turn to follow. They’ve been invincible for millennia, and now, they're putting it to work.

Vinfast is one of the world’s fastest-growing electric car brands you’ve never heard of. Only founded in Hanoi in 2017, Vinfast sold more cars in Vietnam in 2024 than the likes of Toyota, Hyundai, Mazda, and Ford. They delivered 97,399 EVs globally last year, up 192% from 2023. This year, they intend to at least double their deliveries.

The question isn’t whether they’ll lead. It’s how fast they’ll leave us behind.

It’s strange to find yourself in a country you first met through the pages of a novel.

Years ago, I read The Quiet American by Graham Greene — and was captivated by its layers: the innocence and arrogance of foreigners; the dignity and quiet resilience of the Vietnamese; the realisation that history here runs deeper than any foreign ambition could imagine.

Working at the whiteboard in Vietnam’s cement industry , I found those layers still very much alive —and this time, a new chapter about to be written.

This month, Vietnam marks 50 years since the end of the American War and the reunification of the country — a stunning milestone for a nation that has made reinvention an art form. But to understand where Vietnam is going next, you have to understand where it has been.

The Vietnamese have always been famously difficult to keep under control — a fact that history’s larger empires learned the hard way.

Invaded from the north by the Chinese, from the west by the French, and from the east — somewhat accidentally — by the Americans, the people of Vietnam developed a strong sense of independence that is less about slogans and more about muscle memory. Resistance and renewal are woven into the national character, much like rice into the paddy fields.

Long before modern ideologies were invented, Vietnam was perfecting the art of outlasting larger, better-equipped invaders. One of the earliest lessons came courtesy of Ngo Quyen, the Vietnamese general who, in 1288, decisively rid his country of Chinese domination. His method was refreshingly direct: sharpened stakes hidden beneath the tides of the Bach Dang River, perfectly timed to pierce the hulls of an unsuspecting fleet. When the ships floundered, as the tide receded, Quyen’s forces closed in, and history turned another corner. He promptly declared himself King — a title few could reasonably contest.

It was the beginning of a long and complicated conversation between Vietnam and its neighbours — a conversation mostly conducted at spearpoint. From the Trung Sisters’, Warrior Queens who led armies from armoured elephants in uprisings against Han rule, to the defeat of successive Chinese dynasties and the Qing, the Vietnamese kept offering the same succinct reply to external interference:

"Thanks, but no thanks."

All of which explains why, when the Americans arrived in the 20th century — imagining they were facing a communist uprising rather than a two-thousand-year habit of turfing out unwanted visitors — things did not proceed exactly as planned.

Today, Vietnam’s battleground is not foreign armies, but foreign economies. And once again, Vietnam is quietly preparing to turn another corner in its history.

For decades, the country was seen as the workshop of the world — nimble fingers stitching the logos of other nations’ dreams, onto shirts, shoes, and gadgets. But Vietnam has other ideas.

Today, a new frontier is emerging: not just making things, but making meaning. Not just producing for others, but building brands of their own.

It’s the beginning of a shift from factory floor to brand frontier — and Vietnam stands right on its threshold. But here is the real opportunity: Vietnam should not simply mimic the West’s ideas of branding. Its greatest strength lies in its own provenance — in its stories of resilience, ingenuity, and survival.

It lies in the agricultural genius of the Mekong; in the engineering skill now flowing through its universities and start-ups; in a deep, intuitive understanding of sustainability as something necessary, not fashionable.

And critically, it lies in the remarkable contribution of Vietnamese women — who have always been central to the nation’s story, often leading from the front, raising families and yes rifles also when called upon, and shaping the fabric of Vietnamese society with formidable grace and force. Any nation with such a backbone should be thinking beyond workrooms and workshop floors.

Vietnam: Design or be left behind…no longer the factory

This is not a warning. It’s an invitation. If Vietnam can develop and fiercely protect its intellectual property, tell its own stories, and build brands that travel beyond its borders, it will do more than join the global economy. It will shape it.

The next fifty years will not belong to the countries with the cheapest labour or the biggest factories. They will belong to those who own their own meaning — and dare to stitch their own names, proudly and permanently, onto the fabric of the world.

Vietnam stands at that frontier now. And if the West blinks, it will find itself left behind in the slow lane — watching Vietnam speed past, smiling politely in the rear-view mirror.