![[ptdunght_The_watercolor_painting_is_an_image_of_a_beautiful_Vie_96e58e3b-d9de-4b8e-b0c2-6a093df822d3.png]] On the outskirts of Hanoi, at the Vietnam National University of Agriculture, Lê Thị Dung teaches political science and history, moving between two public roles that often overlap: a credentialed academic and a leader within the university’s youth organization. Inside the social-science scaffolding that supports a campus largely devoted to practical agricultural disciplines, she has taken ownership of courses that carry the country’s intellectual DNA—Party History, Ho Chi Minh Thought, the Revolutionary Line, and the Foundations of Vietnamese Culture—helping to anchor the university’s identity in a shared historical narrative. In a faculty structure where doctorates are still relatively few, she serves as a full-time lecturer with a master’s degree, and the job description is bigger than a classroom. She is not just a conveyor of information but a living hinge between what the state asks of political education and what the university demands of student formation. The linkage is visible in her weekly routines: lectures built for clarity and continuity; office hours that push students from summary to synthesis; and committee rooms where curriculum and campus life meet. Her teaching spills past the lecture hall into the university’s Youth Union. As a deputy secretary, she is not merely an administrator of student events; she is a mentor who helps rural and agriculture-rooted students translate national ideals into community values. In class, she walks them through the currents of Party history in a steady, unhurried voice. Outside the gates, under the Youth Union banner, she helps organize cultural programs and service projects that make those abstractions tangible. The boundary between these domains blurs by design: education folds into organization; research travels with action. University notices and public write-ups sketch a record that is steady rather than flashy. Over more than a decade, she has led or joined upward of five research projects, placed more than ten papers in domestic and international venues, contributed to reference books and teaching materials, and supervised at least three student research initiatives. Vietnam’s higher-education system asks for both teaching and scholarship, often with limited resources. She has kept the two in balance, and that balance—more than the tally—has made colleagues in Hanoi’s education community take note. Recognition followed. In 2023 she was named one of Hanoi’s Outstanding Young Teachers, and in 2024 one of the Capital’s Outstanding Young Party Members. Those citations do more than decorate a CV; they signal a dual identity the institution values—an educator who can model civic commitment for the cohort she teaches. Coverage of the awards returns to the same refrain: a dozen years of constancy across teaching, student work, research, and volunteer service. There is another layer to her presence on campus. In an agriculture-rooted university, the social sciences and the political-science unit are not peripheral; they function as a forward outpost linking national ideology to the everyday life of farmers and villages. At that outpost’s front line, Lê Thị Dung teaches the long arc of Party history while pressing a second message: students in an agricultural college are not spectators to development; they are its young agents. You can frame that as the reproduction of a state narrative, and some will. You can also see it as practical identity-building for rural youth who want a path into national service. Her position as a woman scholar matters, too. Political history and civics education have tended to be coded as male domains. She leads in that space with a firm, unshowy style, the kind of soft authority that is less about command than about steady presence. As deputy secretary of the Youth Union she moves with students—through cultural festivals, even martial-arts club celebrations—and the effect is to make political education less a course to pass than an experience to live. That is why her story resists a single authoritative frame. It reads instead as a set of tensions—between system and person, institution and field. The modules she teaches—Party History, the Revolutionary Line, Ho Chi Minh Thought—are standardized. But her students at an agricultural institute absorb them through the lens of work and life. At that junction, she becomes less a repeater of doctrine than a translator who turns institutional language into something students can use. Follow the contour of Lê Thị Dung’s life and you see how one woman holds together a triangle of responsibilities: the state’s education system, the university’s needs, and a rising generation’s hunger for purpose. In the classroom, there is the calm voice explaining Party history and Ho Chi Minh’s ideas. In the research office, there are pages that become projects and papers. In the Youth Union meeting room, there is the lift of leadership. On the awards stage, there is a smile that marks social recognition. She does not stop at transmitting standardized content; she braids it into dialogue with students and into the pulse of community life. The journey is unfinished, and her story will keep unfolding in the lecture halls and corridors of the Vietnam National University of Agriculture, in the circles where students gather, and at the small ceremonies and quiet labors that give a campus its shape. > [!info] language > * [[중레, 호치민의 길을 학생들의 발자취 속에 새기다]] > * [[Lê Thị Dung, khắc ghi con đường Hồ Chí Minh trong dấu chân của sinh viên]]