When the pen becomes the sword: What AI can’t see in truth-telling

I wasn’t scared. 

Not because it wasn’t scary, but because I didn’t yet know what to fear.

When I was a child, I didn’t realize how courageous my dad was.

I didn’t know that telling the truth could get you in trouble.

That speaking up could isolate you.

That writing an article could mean risking your safety—not just yours, but your family’s too.

But my dad knew... more than 20 years ago.

In the early 2000s, he wrote an article exposing how the Thanh Xuan District People’s Committee in Hanoi misled the higher government about a construction project. Officials claimed that residents had approved a high-rise building plan.

But the truth was, no one had.

The project violated zoning laws and would have taken away one of the last remaining communal spaces, leaving residents without room for greenery, recreation, or the simple enjoyment of everyday life. Despite petitions, public concern, and repeated demands for answers, the project continued on its own course—unshaken, as if no one had spoken at all.

So my dad used his words to make their voices louder. 

He held local power accountable and defended a community’s right to truth, transparency, and safety.

My dad knew every action comes with a consequence, 

and he tried to prepare me for it. 

At the time, I thought he was overthinking. Maybe even a bit paranoid.

I wasn’t fearless.

I was just… careless.

But now, I get it.

I’ll never forget him standing at our front door, warning me not to open it to a stranger, even if they claimed to know him.

He wasn't worried about himself.

He was worried that my brother and I—so young, so vulnerable—could become a target.

Especially since I wasn't always great at following the rules...

(me and my little brother on the playground in front of our old house, playing with the neighborhood kids)

And somehow, again, I’ve found myself in media and publishing, more than a decade in.

It’s easy to get swept up in our industry’s jargon and ad tech know-how, but this is the kind of memory that keeps me grounded. 

In fact, if you ask me to 'explain to me like I’m five' why premium news deserves premium CPM (rate), or why breaking news and quality publishers deserve fair value attribution and public attention, this is one of the stories I’d tell.

Because what AI chatbots and social media don’t see is a father worrying about his children’s safety.

What ad tech and algorithms don’t factor in is the weight behind a byline.

What many audiences might never get to understand is how much it takes to tell the truth—quietly, persistently, and at a potential cost.

My dad didn’t do it because it brought us easy money. He did it because it was the right thing to do, even when it was hard.

And he knew how to do it effectively.

Today marks the 100th anniversary of Vietnam Revolutionary Press Day (similar to a national press day, but with strong historical and political roots tied to the revolutionary struggle for independence and justice).

While its original purpose is to honor journalists, editors, and media workers in Vietnam—especially those who take on difficult stories, expose corruption, and uphold truth and justice—today, in a broader global context, it also reminds me to reflect on the deeper role of journalism in promoting accountability and social responsibility, honoring not just journalists, but the systems and values that support honest reporting. 

It reminds me that battlefields can be won without violence, when the pen becomes the sword.

Journalism doesn’t stand alone. It relies on editors who protect and sharpen stories, publishers who offer credibility and reach, and brave individuals who come forward to tell the truth when it would be safer to stay quiet.

I’ve never shared this story because, like many other stories, I feel like I’ve outgrown them. But the truth is that I grew up with that kind of integrity in my home, and whether I admit it or not, it shaped who I am today.

To Dad: Thank you. For teaching me courage and morality not by force, but by example ❤️

P.S. When you live far from home, gift giving often takes unconventional forms… so this is a little gift I made for my dad (and of course, I’ve shared it with him IRL too ☺️)

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📸 The photo on the top is an original proof of the article (as seen on the left-hand page) before publication. The photo at the bottom was taken decades later during one of my recent trips home—a peaceful space where truth once rang loud.