We Love You Stanford MBAs!

Andy Drexler

This is a story about a day on our trip to Vietnam that our classmate Kien Pham organized in 2016.

I chose this one particular day – it happens to be November 17 – because it stood out in a trip full of incredible sites and events, and it highlights, to me, some of what makes Kien’s story simultaneously legendary and all too human. Trust me, when you visit Vietnam with Kien, all red tape (Communist Party pun intended) disappears.

Our group (twenty-four GSB classmates and spouses) had been in Vietnam for just a few days before our bus headed into the remote countryside. I recall we were concerned that the dirt streets in the town we reached were not wide enough for the bus to pass through, so we parked some distance from our destination, and walked in. We were told we were going to visit a school, and the story that led us to this school is one of many pieces of Kien’s personal history that would defy believability.

In the late 1990s, our government asked Kien to return secretly to Vietnam to try to negotiate the release of political prisoners still incarcerated from the “American War” (what we would call the “Vietnam War.”) His objective was to secure the release of people who had been in “re-education” facilities for at least two decades. This was undertaken like a spy mission, complete with dark alleys, bugged rooms, and high security. Kien’s counterpart in this effort was a general of Vietnam’s secret police – a high-ranking member of the Communist Party. Ultimately, over 650 prisoners were released, including (somewhat incredibly) at least one of Kien’s relatives. Kien and the general became friends. Several years later, the general became seriously ill, requiring extensive hospitalization. When he recovered, Kien asked if he could make a contribution to the hospital in honor for its efforts. The general suggested that, instead, Kien contribute to the school in the small village where the general had grown up. (In Vietnam, funding for primary schools is done locally.) This school was our destination.

As we walked through the village, it felt like there was one main street maybe five blocks long, a few stores, a few of the ubiquitous motorcycles, and not many people. We turned down a nondescript street, walked another block, and turned into the courtyard of the school, where we were greeted by a surreal scene. Over the entrance was suspended a large banner reading, “Welcome Stanford MBAs to Xuan Son School.” In the large central courtyard, the entire school population–I would guess 250 to 300 children from first through fifth grade – was waiting for us, immaculately dressed in white and blue, waving small Vietnamese and American flags.

We were treated to a show by the kids (and teachers), which took place on a stage under another huge banner, this one reading, “We love you, Stanford MBAs!” Any parent would recognize the show they presented for us – songs, group dances, a little gymnastics. (One number was a bit out of place – a fairly racy ballroom dance routine that might have been at home on Dancing With The Stars, undertaken by much too young dancers.) Kien, clearly revered by the school’s faculty and staff, made a little speech to great applause. We were then swarmed by the kids, who treated us like rock stars, complete with cheering and autograph requests.

There are a few key takeaways from this event. First, for a blind man, Kien has a well-refined sense of spectacle. Second, the arc of this story – literally from the wreckage of the war, through the reconciliation of enemies, ending in massively increased opportunities for its hundreds of rural children. I don’t know what condition the school was in prior to Kien’s involvement, but we saw opportunity in the bud where I am pretty sure it had not existed. The Vietnam we saw in 2016 was an accelerating economic engine, and there were clear differences between the hyperactive cities and the agrarian rural areas. Kien personally had succeeded through education, and through his efforts these rural children would have that chance.

The next stop was but a ten-minute walk away, through the narrow dusty streets. This time, we were going to the home of the general himself. Behind a high wall, we seemingly entered a different world. In contrast to the fairly drab town, the general’s compound was a stunning collection of highly ornate wooden buildings, with reflecting pools and artwork and a collection of exotic birds. It felt like walking into a pristine Buddhist temple on a green oasis. You would have no idea it existed from the street. We could not look behind every wall in town, but this opulent estate hidden in the middle of a dusty rural town was exceptional.

The irony of a man who escaped from Vietnam by boat under cover of darkness while outrunning Communist patrols, hosting a lovely lunch at the home of senior Party official forty years later is exquisite, and exemplifies the qualities that make Kien special – perseverance, creativity, generosity, and that indefinable quality that just gets things done.