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· 48 đềtài trong 16 đềmục của diễnđàn
· 1260 thànhviên đăngký. Xin chàomừng thànhviên mới cuahangdongho.
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Tácgiả: dchph gởiđăng vàongày Nov.14.2025
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| BÌNH NGÔ ĐẠI CÁO TÂNTHỜI
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凭吾丑告:
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Tácgiả: dchph gởiđăng vàongày Aug.16.2025
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Comparative Sino-Tibetan Etymologies, Early Southern Yue Polities, and Proto-Tibetan Migrations
Linguistic, Archaeological, and Historical Evidence
Copilot by : dchph
Introduction
The diachronic development of modern Vietnamese and the role of Southern Yue populations and Proto-Tibetan migrations in shaping the linguistic and historical landscape of southern China and northern Vietnam is a subject of growing interdisciplinary scrutiny. Recent advances in comparative linguistics, archaeology, and ethnohistory have illuminated the intricate webs of contact, substratal retention, and population movement that underpinned the transition from Neolithic chiefdoms to Bronze Age kingdoms and, ultimately, to imperial integration during the Han era (1). This structured academic report synthesizes scholarly arguments and a robust spectrum of web-based and contemporary research to substantiate the following composite claim:
Comparative Sino-Tibetan etymologies suggest that the diachronic development of modern Vietnamese parallels a historical scenario in which early Southern Yue populations established autonomous polities across China South prior to Han imperial consolidation.
In a more remote period, Proto-Tibetan groups, originating in the southwestern highlands of ancient China, migrated northward and interacted with indigenous communities along the periphery of the Shu polity (蜀國) in present-day Sichuan; their movements extended toward the northeastern tributaries of the Yangtze River.
Archaeological findings from isolated sites, marked by distinctive material assemblages (e.g., Sanxingdui, Jinsha), indicate that these populations have since become extinct.
This report is organized under three primary lines of evidence-linguistic, archaeological, and historical-each with sub-sections and a concluding synthesis. Key findings and their substantiative relevance are summarized in a comprehensive table to guide the reader through the intertwined web of evidence.
I. Linguistic Evidence
A. Comparative Sino-Tibetan Etymologies and Vietnamese Substratum
Recent research in historical linguistics has unequivocally linked Vietnamese and other Southeast Asian languages to profound Sino-Tibetan and Austroasiatic substratal influences (2 3). The comparative method, as applied in contemporary work, allows linguists to reconstruct proto-languages, identify regular sound correspondences, and thereby infer patterns of past social interaction and migration (4). Proto-Sino-Tibetan (PST), the reconstructed ancestor of both Sinitic and Tibeto-Burman branches, is characterized by a series of distinctive morphological features whose reflexes are attested in modern Vietnamese, Cantonese, and other southern Chinese dialects.
Crucial among these is the presence of final stops and nasals in Vietnamese (e.g., -p, -t, -k, -m, -n, -ŋ), which mirror similar features in PST reconstructions (3)(5). Furthermore, the causative *s- prefix and various inflectional suffixes reconstructed for PST are visible not only in the tonal development of Vietnamese and southern Chinese dialects but also in the extensive borrowing and adaptation of Chinese lexicon into Vietnamese, especially in domains resistant to replacement, such as basic numerals and household vocabulary (6)(2).
Vietnamese numerals, for instance, exemplify conspicuous retention of native Austroasiatic forms, distinguishing Vietnamese from other mainland Southeast Asian languages, which have frequently replaced indigenous numerals with Sino-derived forms (notably Tai and Khmer) (7). This, according to Mark Alves, signals a robust underlying substrate and suggests that even after centuries of intercourse with Han administrative systems and large-scale vocabulary borrowing, the core lexicon of Vietnamese resisted systematic Sinitic replacement:
Language | How much replaced with Chinese (2–99%) | Retention Context
Dai/Kam-Sui | Almost all | Widespread use of Chinese terms
Khmer | Replaced for decimals | Through Tai mediation
Japanese | Dual systems (native + Chinese) | Segmented by semantic range
Vietnamese | Largely native | Retained as default numerals
This table is followed by a detailed analysis of how the prevalence of native numerals in Vietnamese, alongside the systematic adoption of Chinese classifiers and calques, demonstrates a scenario of intense but non-destructive language contact: Vietnamese maintained local identity through core grammatical and lexical maintenance, even as it absorbed thousands of Sinitic morphemes into wider semantic fields (8).
B. Substratal Features in Vietnamese and Cantonese
Tonal development in Vietnamese provides robust phonological evidence for intense substratum-superstratum contact95. The grand hypothesis of tonogenesis, first articulated by Haudricourt, holds that the modern Vietnamese tones (sắc, nặng, hỏi, ngã, ngang, huyền) map systematically onto the historical loss or transformation of final consonants (especially *-s, *-h, *-ʔ) in Proto-Vietic and Old Chinese. This process involved the evolution of a contrast between "tense" and "lax" syllable codas, a trait demonstrably impacted by sustained bilingualism and Sinitic pressure during Han rule (5):
Source Feature (Proto-Vietic) | Vietnamese Tone | Produced Underlying Substrate
Final glottal stop -ʔ | sắc/nặng | Austroasiatic glottalized coda
Final fricative -s/-h | hỏi/ngã | Chinese departing tone (qusheng)
Nasal/lateral codas | sắc/nặng vs ngang/huyền | Tenseness from Han-era phonological layering
In Cantonese, substratal features are also observed, notably in the preservation of final stops and the retention of certain tone categories, both of which have been lost or merged in other Sinitic varieties. The presence of "Tai" and Austroasiatic features in colloquial Yue (Cantonese) has been widely observed; e.g., head-final compounds, morphological traces of substrate languages, and the survival of archaic word order patterns distinct from northern Sinitic alliances (102).
Yue dialects’ distinctive phrasal order, often matching the structure found in Tai-Kadai languages (modifier following noun), supports the view of extensive linguistic interaction between pre-Sinitic Southern Yue, Tai, and indigenous groups. Moreover, the preservation of all eight Middle Chinese tone categories in Yue/Cantonese and the maintenance of complex codal distinctions (e.g., -m, -n, -ŋ, -p, -t, -k) is identified as a key marker of regional conservative features, which can be attributed to ancient contact and substratal retention prior to full Hanization (10).
C. Comparative and Historical Reconstruction
The development of Chinese and Vietnamese as mutually unintelligible yet parallel systems serves as a case study in both substratal persistence and superstratal dominance. Early Sinitic loans with corresponding ngang and huyền tones, which reflect the "level" tone in Middle Chinese, anchor dating of Sinitic-Vietnamese interaction to the late first millennium BCE-the Han era and after. (5)(1)(1). Further, persistent structural innovations, such as the movement of quantifiers from post- to pre-nominal position, reveal a moderate but targeted Sinitic influence operating within an otherwise robust Vietic framework (5).
Early Annamese Chinese (essentially spoken Middle Chinese localized in northern Vietnam and southern China) is posited to have played an important mediating role in the diachronic evolution of Sino-Vietnamese vocabulary and orthographies, distinguishing Vietnamese modes of borrowing from the more rigid, reading-based systems seen in Japan or Korea6. This reinforces the historical model of a thriving Sinitic-speaking population coexisting and intermingling with indigenous Vietic communities in and around the Red River Delta prior to Yuan- or Ming-dynasty Sinification efforts (5).
II. Archaeological Evidence
A. Unique Material Assemblages from Sanxingdui and Jinsha
The archaeological signatures uncovered at Sanxingdui and Jinsha (Sichuan) encapsulate the emergence, complexity, and eventual disappearance of ethnolinguistically distinctive highland polities before full Han incorporation (1)(2)(1)(3). The Sanxingdui site, spanning ∼12 square kilometers, was the locus of a powerful Bronze Age kingdom often identified with the ancient Shu polity. The discovery of large bronzes (e.g., masks with protruding eyes, upright human figures, intricate trees), gold ornaments, jades, and elephant tusks-most of which were ritually broken and deposited in stratified layers-emphasizes the region’s ritual and political autonomy.
Strategically, the material culture of Sanxingdui and Jinsha diverges sharply from contemporary Shang and Central Plains civilizations. The lack of written records, the marked ceremonial destruction of objects, and idiosyncratic artistic conventions all suggest a worldview and sociopolitical organization distinct from Han models. These distinctive features, coupled with advanced metallurgy and large-scale urban planning, indicate a network of competitive, highly organized polities connected more to southwestern and southeastern populations than to northern hegemonies (14)(13).
Radiocarbon dating of Sanxingdui’s city wall and pit stratigraphy places its floruit between ca. 2200-1200 BCE, with the abrupt shift of settlement and ritual focus to Jinsha around 1200 BCE. The subsequent disappearance of these cultures has been plausibly linked with catastrophic seismic events as substantiated by widespread earthquake-induced liquefaction features and sedimentation records (i.e., boiled sand layers, faulted habitation levels at Jinsha) (14).
B. Peer Polity Interactions and Settlement Patterns
The archaeological landscape of southwestern China-including Yunnan’s Dian basin-presents a tableau of peer-polity interaction, as evidenced by cemeteries rich in bronze drums, pile-dwellings depicted on burial goods, and communal platforms associated with ritual feasting sessions (1)(5). These markers parallel the stratified, ritual-focused societies of Sanxingdui and Jinsha and, importantly, extend into the linguistic and cultural traditions of Yue-descended populations in southern China and northern Vietnam.
Interdisciplinary research has shown that the funerary traditions (e.g., elaborate shell mounds, bronze kettledrums, cowrie ornamentation) of Dian and adjacent cultures are consistent with the transmission of elite status and kinship through ritualized mortuary display, a system predating Han imperial consolidation and likely coalescing with the formation of Southern Yue identity (15).
Notably, the settlement patterns documented at sites such as Dadiwan, Boxi, and Haxiu indicate centripetal layouts with large public buildings and plazas, recalled in ethnographic parallels with present-day Sino-Tibetan populations such as the Gyalrong Tibetans, among whom communal drinking and ritual dancing maintain ancestral memory (11).
Evidence from these contexts strongly suggests that Proto-Tibetan and related Neolithic western populations migrated into, and sometimes merged with, prevailing local groups, particularly along the Min, Dadu, and Jinsha river systems-the so-called Tibetan-Yi corridor-which functioned as highways for population dispersal, technological transmission, and ritual exchange from the late Neolithic through the Bronze Age (16)(17).
C. Material Technologies and Ritual Specialization
High-fired painted ceramics, metallurgical alloys (copper-tin-lead), and distinct construction techniques found at Sanxingdui and other highland polities manifest technological continuity with Neolithic Yangshao and Majiayao cultures. Recent mineralogical analyses establish direct links-chaines opératoires and paint compositional similarities-between Yangshao, Majiayao, and subsequent highland polities, affirming a north-south (and southwest-north) technological transmission arc that aligns with linguistic migration theories (18)(19).
Microfossil analysis of amphorae from Yangshao sites reveals residues of millet and rice beer, Monascus fermentation agents, and the physical striations associated with communal straw drinking. These findings not only reinforce the argument for ritual feasting as a unifying social practice among Proto-Sino-Tibetan and peripheral groups, but also provide a durable archaeological link to the substratal lexicon for alcoholic beverages, grains, and ritual paraphernalia preserved in descendant languages (18).
III. Historical Evidence
A. Early Southern Yue Autonomous Polities
Textual, archaeological, and ethnolinguistic sources combine to paint a living portrait of China’s southern frontier as a network of ethnically diverse, small-scale polities, collectively referred to in historical sources as the "Hundred Yue" or Baiyue (百越) (20)(21)(22). The geo-ethnic distribution of "Yue" as a label ranged from northern Vietnam, through Guangxi and Guangdong, to Fujian and Zhejiang, encompassing communities with various linguistic affiliations (Austroasiatic, Tai-Kadai, early Sinitic, and Hmong-Mien).
The kingdom of Nanyue (Nam Việt) under Zhao Tuo (Triệu Đà) is emblematic of early southern autonomy, having asserted sovereign titles and operated with considerable independence from Han imperial authority for nearly a century after the fall of the Qin, until final conquest in 111 BCE (22)(20). The administration and military of Nanyue incorporated both native Yue and Han settlers, and court ritual was an amalgamation of local and imported forms. Archaeological finds, such as "Yue-style" ding tripods, gou-diao bells, and mortuary human sacrifices at royal tombs, highlight the enduring persistence of indigenous practices (23).
Despite repeated attempts at Han administrative encroachment, substantial evidence of Yue social organization, autonomy, and even resistance emerges from both written accounts and material relics. Key moments, such as Lü Jia’s anti-Han rebellion or the maintenance of Yue aristocratic lineages in the Nanyue court, point to a mosaic of elite and popular agency in shaping the region’s historical trajectory (21)(24).
B. Proto-Tibetan Migration Patterns and the Shu Periphery
Longstanding debates about the origins and migratory paths of Sino-Tibetan-speaking groups are increasingly being resolved via a synthesis of archaeology, historical linguistics, and genetics. The consensus places the original homeland of Proto-Sino-Tibetan speakers in the upper reach of the Yellow River and adjacent highlands of Gansu, Qinghai, and Sichuan, with expansions of the Yangshao and Majiayao cultures westward and southwestward toward the margins of the Sichuan Basin and eventual penetration into the peripheries of the Shu polity (蜀國) (19).
Polities such as Shu evolved in relative isolation, developing distinct material cultures as seen at Sanxingdui and Jinsha, while maintaining contacts with Shang and Zhou powers to the east. The subsequent Qin and Han conquests forcibly incorporated Shu and peripheral Baiyue communities into successive Chinese states, yet local forms of leadership, kin-based authority, and ritual continued to operate, evident in both mortuary architecture and oral tradition (25).
The "Tibetan-Yi corridor" served as a key corridor for northward and eastward movements of Proto-Tibetan and related populations, facilitating not just demographic but also technological, ritual, and linguistic exchange between highland polities and the emerging patchwork of Yue societies along the Yangtze and its tributaries (17). Referenced ethnohistorical data confirm that modern Sino-Tibetan languages in the region retain deep lexical and ritual echoes of these ancestral ties, especially in grain agriculture, fermentation practices, and ritual drinking ceremonies.
C. Extinction and Assimilation of Autonomous Populations
Recent archaeological, genetic, and ethnohistorical studies document both the extinction (through conquest, disaster, and assimilation) and persisting legacy of these ancient highland populations. The deliberate destruction and burial of ritual objects at Sanxingdui and the sudden radiocarbon-dated disruption of its occupation layers suggest not only environmental catastrophe (likely earthquake-induced floods and liquefaction) but also the potential loss of a distinctive cultural-linguistic community-only partially replaced by the late Jinsha culture before full Han incorporation (14)(12).
Similarly, the stratified mortuary piles, ceremonial drums, and elaborate bronze artifacts of Dian, Mimo, and adjacent polities vanished as Han imperial administration and resettlement advanced into Southwest China and northern Vietnam. These processes did not, however, erase all traces: by tracking substratal phonological, lexical, and ritual survivals (as in Vietnamese and Cantonese), modern research is now actively reconstructing the contours of lost polities and populations (15).
IV. Synthesis and Analytical Summary
The confluence of comparative linguistics, archaeological discovery, and ethnohistorical record overwhelmingly supports the narrative that modern Vietnamese and related Yue-descended populations arose within a complex, layered landscape of autonomous southern polities. These groups maintained their own rites, material assemblages, and linguistic forms until-and even after-the Han conquest, with substratal features persisting in phonology, vocabulary, and ritual throughout the region’s later evolutions.
Simultaneously, the archaeological, genetic, and lexical signatures of Proto-Tibetan and related groups can be traced through southwestern China along the tributaries and mountain corridors of the upper Yangtze. Their integration with or supplanting of indigenous societies around the periphery of the Shu polity and their role in the diffusion of both language and technological traditions are now established across multiple independent lines of evidence.
V. Key Findings and Summary Table
Line of Evidence | Key Findings | Relevance to Research Claim
Linguistics: Numerals & Tonogenesis | Vietnamese retains Austroasiatic numerals; tonal categories arise from contact with Old Chinese/Proto-Tibetan phonology | Demonstrates substratal persistence amid Sinitic superstrate, supports scenario of Yue autonomy
Linguistics: Cantonese & Yue | Yue dialects preserve ancient tonality, codas, and "Tai"-influenced syntactic orders | Confirms substratal layering from pre-Han populations
Archaeology: Sanxingdui & Jinsha | Unique ritual bronzes, stratified ceremonial pits, sudden cultural disappearance at seismic horizons | Indicates locus of extinct highland populations-autonomous prior to Han and consistent with proto-Tibetan interaction
Archaeology: Metal & ceramic traditions | High-fired painted ceramics, continuity of chaîne opératoire from | Yangshao to Majiayao, and southwest polities | Evidence of technological and demographic transmission via migration and contact
History: Southern Yue polities | Nanyue, Min-yue, and peer polities maintained political autonomy, indigeneity, and ritual distinctiveness pre-Han | Supports model of independent southern societies with persistent identities
History: Proto-Tibetan migration | Highlands of SW China as homeland; documented migratory pathways along rivers into peripheral polities (Shu included) | Affirms directionality and locus of language and population dispersal
History: Extinction and assimilation | Catastrophic earthquakes, conquest, and assimilation led to the effective disappearance of these polities but with deep substratum effects | Explains extinction of populations and persistence of their linguistic and ritual legacy in Vietic and Yue-descended communities
Genetics/Anthropology: Yangshao expansion | Demic diffusion model for Yangshao-to-Tibetan Plateau; genetic homogeneity aligns with linguistic and archaeological data | Demonstrates genetic, linguistic, and cultural unification of Proto-Sino-Tibetan expansion
Conclusion
In sum, the cumulative linguistic, archaeological, and historical evidence now paints a compelling picture of southern China's ancient past: a tableau of migratory streams, resilient autonomous societies, and layered linguistic landscapes. The substratal features in modern Vietnamese and Cantonese, derived from early Yue and other pre-Han polities, stand as living echoes of societies shaped by Proto-Tibetan migrations and the rise and fall of Bronze Age highland kingdoms like Shu, Sanxingdui, and Jinsha. The extinction of these cultures, whether by cataclysm, conquest, or gradual absorption, paradoxically ensured their survival as substrata-indelibly marking the languages and identities that followed. This multi-disciplinary, evidence-based synthesis provides firm support for the historical and linguistic scenario outlined in the original claim, and forms a foundation for future research at the intersection of historical linguistics, archaeology, and ethnohistory.
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References (32)
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2. Vietnamese Linguistics: State of the Field.
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5. Early Sino-Vietnamese Lexical Data and the Relative Chronology of ....
6. Lacquered Words: The Evolution Of Vietnamese Under Sinitic Influences ....
7.(PDF) The Etymologies of Vietnamese Numeral Terms and Implications of ....
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9. Chinese loans in Old Vietnamese with a sesquisyllabic phonology
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12. New archeological marvels of ancient Shu civilization
13. Ancient Shu Civilization - a remarkable and enigmatic culture. (PDF) Alice Yao, Jiang Zhilong, Chen Xuexiang, Liang Yin: Bronze Age ....
14. Digs & Discoveries - Seismic Shift - Seismic Shift - Archaeology Magazine.
15. Alice Yao, Jiang Zhilong, Chen Xuexiang, Liang Yin: Bronze Age ....
16. Dispersal of Sino-Tibetan branches - Google Sites.
17. Sino-Tibetan archaeolinguistics
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19. Yangshao culture - Wikipedia.
20. (PDF) Ancient China and the Yue: Perceptions and Identities on the ....
21. 262 ASIAN PERSPECTIVES 2017 56(2).
22 Frontmatter, Early China Volume 33 - os.pennds.org
23. The Ancient Highlands of Southwest China: From the Bronze Age to the ....
24. Ancient China and the Yue: Perceptions and Identities on the Southern ....
25. Shu (kingdom) - Wikipedia.
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dchph copilot
SF 8/16/25
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Tácgiả: dchph gởiđăng vàongày Aug.9.2025
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A Proposal To Reform the Vietnamese Writing System into Polysyllabicity
By : dchph
Revised by : MS AI Copilot
Edited by : dchph
CONTENTS
A note on this English version
Abstract
INTRODUCTION
THE PRESENT STATE OF THE VIETNAMESE WRITING SYSTEM
- Vietnamese and its Sinitic foundations
- Vietnamese and Chinese commonalities
- On the evident polysyllabism of Vietnamese
- The politics of polysyllabics
WHY THE CURRENT WRITING SYSTEM REQUIRES REFORM
- The weakest links
- The other pictures: Lessons from our neighbors
- Polysyllabic writing fosters abstract and collective thought
- Accuracy facilitates data processing
HOW TO REFORM THE CURRENT VIETNAMESE WRITING SYSTEM
- Polysyllable correctness
- Setting the mindset
- Abolish old-fashioned hyphenation—decisively and permanently
- Spring into action
Conclusion
Appendices
x X x
A Note on This English Version
This English version of Canhtân Cáchviết TiếngViệt presents the subject matter from a perspective tailored to Vietnamese readers. At the same time, it is intended for English speakers who may be interested in Vietnamese linguistic issues but lack familiarity with the language. Many may not realize that the Vietnamese words cited in this work follow a proposed compound formation—an essential concept at the heart of the discussion.
Compared to the Vietnamese proposal, this version is more descriptive. Certain ideas may be self-evident to native speakers but require elaboration for non-native readers. Additionally, some viewpoints are deliberately omitted from the Vietnamese text. While these perspectives may serve as valid supporting arguments for outsiders, they risk being perceived as emotionally sensitive or controversial by Vietnamese audiences. These discussions touch on themes of national pride and cultural heritage, which may provoke unfavorable reactions and reduce receptiveness to arguments concerning the genetic composition of the Vietnamese people and their language. As such, they could detract from otherwise well-supported claims.
The author respectfully asks for understanding that the core argument of this proposal remains vital: the current Vietnamese writing system requires urgent reform toward a polysyllabic structure. Although this work does not constitute a formal academic thesis or scientific study—since some hypotheses warrant further investigation—it is an original composition: a carefully developed analysis advocating for Vietnamese orthographic reform and a serious proposal for improvement.
x X x
ABSTRACT
Why Vietnamese2020?
Vietnamese2020 introduces a reimagined Vietnamese writing system designed for future adoption, aiming to redefine how Vietnamese is written. This proposal advocates for reform of the current orthography, transitioning toward a polysyllabic structure with a slightly modified visual form that better reflects the linguistic nature of contemporary Vietnamese.
The proposed reform exposes monolingual native learners to symbolic textual patterns, fostering abstract and collective cognition through polysyllabic writing—where all syllables of a word are grouped in unified formations. This approach mirrors natural cognitive processes, allowing pre-defined text strings to recur in distinct shapes that resemble conceptual units rather than fragmented syllabic spellings, as seen in Vietnamese’s current monosyllabic system.
In a polysyllabic script, word meanings remain tightly bound to their visual configurations, functioning symbolically—akin to ideographs. Languages such as English and German exhibit this symbolic quality through their polysyllabic word structures, which are often perceived abstractly via the shape and rhythm of text strings.
By contrast, Vietnamese’s monosyllabic orthography compels readers to mentally disassemble words—first identifying individual syllables, then assigning meaning, and finally reconstructing the whole. Polysyllabic writing allows the brain to absorb continuous sequences as unified visual forms, echoing the ideogram-like recognition found in logographic systems. Learners proficient in foreign languages, particularly German, may already be familiar with these highly visual effects.
The Limits of Monosyllabic Writing — A monosyllabic writing system inherently restricts expressive capacity—each syllable conveys only a fragment of a concept. If global databases had been structured like a monosyllabic Vietnamese dictionary, the world would have witnessed far less sophisticated computational systems than those we rely on today.
Although Vietnamese is no longer a monosyllabic language, its orthography remains fragmented—reminiscent of how Vietnamese once transcribed block-written Chinese characters prior to the late 19th century. Words such as họcbổng (scholarship), matuý (narcotic), bângkhuâng (melancholy), and bângquơ (indiscriminate) are inherently polysyllabic, yet continue to be written as disjointed syllables: học bổng, ma tuý, bâng khuâng, bâng quơ. This is typographically and cognitively regressive—akin to rendering English words as “scho lar ship”, “nar co tic”, “me lan cho ly”, or “in dis cri mi na te”.
Each concept-word is polysyllabic by nature. Take bângquơ, for example: it is a derivative contraction of the Chinese trisyllabic word 不明确 (bù míng què), where 不明 (bù míng) contracts into the syllable bâng, and 确 (què) evolves into quơ. Only the combined formation bângquơ conveys the full meaning: “vague”, “indiscriminate”, “indefinite”, “unclear”. Neither bâng nor quơ alone functions as a meaningful morpheme in this context.
Across all languages, monosyllabic writing is illogical and unscientific. The Vietnamese examples above should be written in their combined formations, accurately reflecting their dissyllabic nature. Had English adopted a Vietnamese-style monosyllabic model, it would not have achieved its global dominance in computing, technical communication, or linguistic abstraction, so to speak.
Language evolution drives societal progress. The stagnation of Vietnamese monosyllabic orthography has impeded technological development and data-processing efficiency, with broader implications for Vietnam’s advancement. Reform may be difficult, but it is imperative.
This proposed system establishes foundational principles for standardized polysyllabic writing, ultimately leading to a unified Vietnamese orthography. In the long term, polysyllabic Vietnamese will foster abstract reasoning in children, enhance computational literacy, and stimulate economic and technological growth.
Call to Action — The modernization of Vietnamese orthography begins now—through emails, online posts, and everyday efforts to adopt polysyllabic formations. While awaiting formal guidance from linguistic authorities, speakers can reference equivalent polysyllabic structures in foreign languages to ensure semantic and structural accuracy. Examples include:
although → mặcdù
blackboard → bảngđen
faraway → xaxôi
The German writing system, renowned for its disciplined polysyllabic constructions, offers a compelling reference model for Vietnamese reform.
Vietnamese language modernization depends on early adopters who establish and normalize polysyllabic standards. This initiative is not utopian—it is a pragmatic and necessary step toward a resilient, future-proof linguistic system. With sufficient collective support, this transformation will not only be possible—it will be inevitable.
The time to act is now.
x X x
INTRODUCTION
Languages are among the most enduring artifacts of human civilization. They evolve gradually, rarely succumbing to abrupt change. Yet over time, every language undergoes transformation—especially in its writing system. Across history, writing reform has often marked a pivotal phase in societal development. Today, in the era of global digital communication, it is imperative to recognize that the Vietnamese writing system must be reformed—not only to enhance communicative precision, but also to accommodate the structural logic required for modern data processing.
The current Vietnamese orthography fails to reflect the dissyllabic nature of its spoken language. This disconnect has become a critical obstacle to linguistic representation and technological advancement. One of the central motivations behind this proposal is to address that gap. A reformed polysyllabic writing system will not only improve semantic clarity but also foster abstract and collective thinking in children—an essential foundation for cognitive development.
From a computational standpoint, the proposed system offers a structural framework for reform. It enables more accurate data modeling, improves electronic representation, and simplifies algorithmic translation. A Vietnamese translation engine—capable of rendering English webpages for monolingual users—will become feasible, as polysyllabic formations allow for more logical indexing and semantic coding. This reform will streamline spelling, sorting, tagging, and categorization across computing environments.
These tasks have long been hindered by the limitations of the current monosyllabic orthography. In reality, dissyllabic words constitute the majority of Vietnamese vocabulary. The proposed system is built on a dissyllabic principle: all two-syllable words should be written in combined formation to reflect their spoken unity. This approach will reduce semantic fragmentation and preserve conceptual integrity within word boundaries.
Moreover, there is an even more urgent rationale for reform: to strengthen the cognitive development of monolingual Vietnamese speakers, beginning with young native learners. Under the proposed polysyllabic script, children encounter language as holistic, symbol-like units—multi-syllable words fused into single visual forms. Imagine scanning a block of text at a glance and instantly apprehending its concepts from those unified shapes, rather than laboriously decoding each isolated syllable. This shift in reading strategy will not only speed up literacy but also deepen abstract and collective thinking.
Given these factors, writing reform is not merely desirable—it is necessary. It promises long-term scientific and economic benefits for Vietnam. Historically, reform efforts have been sidelined, often due to the perceived difficulty of changing national writing habits. But if we collectively recognize the shortcomings of the current system, we can build momentum for a popular movement.
Only through shared effort can we raise awareness and advocate for reform. This includes urging the government to place writing reform on the national agenda—beginning with the establishment of a language academy tasked with developing a master plan. Only then will the goal of Vietnamese orthographic reform move from aspiration to reality.
With these principles in mind, the following sections will examine the current state of Vietnamese writing, the rationale for reform, and the pathway forward.
THE PRESENT STATE OF THE VIETNAMESE WRITING SYSTEM
This section examines key characteristics of the Vietnamese language and the historical evolution of its scripts, with the aim of clarifying the structural shortcomings of the current writing system.
1) Vietnamese and Its Sinitic foundations
In my recent study, What Makes Chinese So Vietnamese, I demonstrate that over 90 percent of Vietnamese vocabulary derives from Chinese. This insight springs from a novel dissyllabic analysis that uncovers Sino-Vietnamese etymologies even in core lexicons. The following section will trace the historical and linguistic forces behind this pervasive Chinese influence. Crucially, if world-renowned linguistic authorities recognize Chinese as a polysyllabic language, then Vietnamese—with its fundamentally dissyllabic structure—should be classified likewise. Establishing this structural parallelism lays the groundwork for the orthographic reform proposed here.
Vietnam’s millennium-long period under Chinese rule (111 BC–936 AD) played a decisive role in embedding Chinese vocabulary into Vietnamese. Over centuries, Vietnamese absorbed thousands of Chinese words—both ancient and modern—through processes of borrowing and localization. These lexical integrations occurred across multiple dialectal layers and historical stages.
Beyond imperial influence, the sustained migration of Chinese populations into Vietnamese territories over the past two millennia further deepened this linguistic convergence. These migrants—often war refugees, impoverished peasants, soldiers, and political exiles—settled permanently, intermarried with local communities, and became assimilated into the dominant ethnic group known as Kinh. Their dialectal features, carried into Vietnamese society, gradually merged with the native linguistic environment.
Over successive generations, the descendants of Chinese immigrants became fully absorbed into Vietnamese society, identifying as part of the Kinh majority alongside Vietnam’s other ethnic groups. Their original dialectal features quietly merged into everyday speech as families blended into the local cultural milieu.
This gradual assimilation finds a modern parallel in the more than fifty thousand Amerasians born to Vietnamese women during the U.S. military presence between 1963 and 1973. A similar pattern emerges in the mestizo populations of Latin America, where centuries of contact produced new biological and linguistic blends.
The deep penetration of Chinese vocabulary into Vietnamese also reflects the linguistic policies enforced during a millennium of Chinese rule. Conquerors mandated Chinese for administration and scholarship, embedding Sinolectal terms from the elite literary register down into the most basic layers of daily speech.
Even after securing independence in the tenth century, Vietnam retained the Chinese writing system as its official script before gradually developing Nôm—a set of vernacular characters derived and adapted from Chinese. By the late nineteenth century, two parallel word stocks had taken shape: Hán‐Việt (Sino-Vietnamese) for formal and scholarly vocabulary, and Hán-Nôm (Sinitic-Vietnamese) encompassing all Vietnamese words of Chinese origin, including ancient loanforms.
For further detail and contextual analysis, see What Makes Chinese So Vietnamese.
2) Vietnamese and Chinese commonalities
Vietnamese and Chinese share a wide array of linguistic features, including core vocabulary, morphemic compounding, dialectal and colloquial expressions, grammatical particles, classifiers, and functional words. These attributes are highly specific to languages within the same historical family—once broadly classified under the Sino-Tibetan umbrella. Notably, many foundational Vietnamese lexemes appear to stem from the same etymological roots as their Chinese counterparts.
The influence of Chinese on Vietnamese dates back at least to the Qin and Han dynasties (beginning in 221 BCE), and possibly earlier. Numerous culturally embedded terms of ancient Chinese origin—such as đũa 箸 (chopsticks), bếp 庖 (kitchen), canh 羹 (broth), bàn 案 (table), ghế 椅 (chair), tủ 匵 (cabinet), cũi 櫃 (cupboard), vuquy 于歸 (bridal send-off ceremony), and thángchạp 臘月 (twelfth lunar month)—remain actively used in Vietnamese, even as many of these terms have faded from modern Chinese usage.
This enduring presence affirms the depth and permanence of Vietnamese lexical adoption from Chinese. These words are not merely borrowed—they are culturally embedded, structurally integrated, and semantically preserved across centuries of linguistic evolution.
The shared lexicon expands further when considering archaic terms still used in both languages today. Examples include thánggiêng 正月 (January), Tết 春節 (Spring Festival), TếtÐoanngọ 端午節 (Late Spring Festival), and numerous basic words with likely common roots:
cha 爹 (father)
mẹ 母 (mother)
anh 兄 (older brother)
chị 姐 (older sister)
thịt 腊 (meat)
ăn 吃 (eat)
uống 飲 (drink)
lúa 來 (rice grain)
voi 為 (elephant)
trâu 牛 (water buffalo)
cọp 虎 (tiger)
lửa 火 (fire)
lá 葉 (leaf)
đất 土 (soil)
This process of linguistic absorption continued long after Vietnam gained independence from China. Archaeological findings from the late 1970s—including inscribed tablets—reveal Sinitic-Vietnamese vocabulary dating to the Ming dynasty (16th century). The influence persists into the modern era, with colloquial expressions such as:
khôngdámđâu 不敢當 (“It’s not so”)
basạo 瞎掰 (“all mouth”)
tầmbậy 三八 (“nonsense”)
bạtmạng 拼命 (“reckless action”)
phaocâu 屁股 (“chicken’s butt,” a delicacy)
dêxồm 婬蟲 (“lecherous”)
These examples underscore a long-standing linguistic convergence that predates even the Han dynasty’s initial incursions into ancient Vietnam. (See Appendices for further documentation.)
Vietnamese has also adopted Chinese methods of vocabulary formation—especially in the creation of dissyllabic compounds, where each syllable carries semantic weight. Like Chinese characters, Vietnamese syllables often function independently as morphemes. However, many dissyllabic words in Vietnamese have evolved into indivisible units, where one or both syllables lack standalone meaning and must be interpreted as a whole.
Examples of such composite formations include:
càgiựt (ill-behaved)
càlăm (stammer)
cùlần (unworldly)
càmràm (whining)
lãngnhách (nonsense)
xíxọn (talkative)
dưahấu (watermelon)
basạo (all mouth)
These compounds—numbering in the thousands—have become permanently dissyllabic and morphemic in nature.
3) On the Evident Polysyllabism of Vietnamese
To demonstrate the dissyllabic nature of Vietnamese, one need only sample entries from any modern Vietnamese dictionary. Across multiple pages, dissyllabic words consistently account for well over two-thirds of the contemporary lexicon. Vietnamese is no longer a monosyllabic language in practice; it has evolved into a predominantly dissyllabic—and increasingly polysyllabic—system. This shift is one of the defining characteristics of the sound of present-day Vietnamese.
Yet despite this vocal transformation, the current Romanized script fails to reflect dissyllabism accurately. Most two-syllable words are still written as separate syllables with intervening white space, obscuring their semantic unity. This typographic fragmentation mirrors the legacy of Chinese character-based writing, where each syllable was historically rendered as a discrete logograph.
In fact, during the first several decades of Quốcngữ’s official adoption, dissyllabic words were often hyphenated to signal their compound nature. This early convention acknowledged the structural evolution of Vietnamese vocabulary from monosyllabic to dissyllabic forms. Over time, however, the hyphenation practice was abandoned, and the visual integrity of dissyllabic words was lost.
Some linguists have argued that Vietnamese may have originally been polysyllabic, later compressed into monosyllabic forms under Chinese influence, and now re-emerging as dissyllabic. This trajectory—from polysyllabism to monosyllabism to dissyllabism—reflects a layered linguistic history shaped by over a thousand years of Chinese domination.
Evidence for early polysyllabism can be found in ancient Nôm script and early Romanized dictionaries, which record complex consonantal clusters such as bl- in words like blời (for trời, the sun) and blăng (trăng, the moon). These forms may have evolved into mặttrời and mặttrăng, possibly through phonological shifts such as b > m, and the vocalization of mặt as a semantic prefix. Such transformations parallel cases like khlong evolving into khủnglong (恐龍 kǒnglóng, dinosaur) in Chinese.
Further support for dissyllabism lies in native Vietnamese lexicons where syllables form inseparable pairs. Examples include:
màngtang (temple)
mỏác (crown of the head)
đầugối (knee)
khuỷtay (elbow)
bảvai (shoulder)
cùichỏ (elbow)
mồhôi (sweat)
cùlét (tickle)
And in polysyllabic compounds:
xấcbấcxangbang (in tatters)
bảlápbảxàm (talking nonsense)
gióheomay (breeze)
ngủlibì (sleep soundly)
bayphấtphới (flying flag)
mưalấtphất (drizzle)
ngóchămbẳm, nhìnchằmchặp (gaze steadily)
lộnxàngầu, lộntùngphèo (in chaos)
mêtítthòlò (totally attracted to)
thởhồnghộc (breathe heavily)
bađồngbảyđổi (temperamental)
tuyệtcúmèo (fabulous)
bachớpbanháng (absent-minded)
bãithama (graveyard)
These examples—among thousands—cannot be meaningfully separated into individual syllables. They function as unified semantic units, confirming the structural necessity of polysyllabic representation.
As such, some scholars have proposed a more complex historical trajectory: that Vietnamese may have evolved from polysyllabism to monosyllabism, and then re-emerged as dissyllabic. This hypothesis reflects the uncertainty surrounding early Nôm transcriptions, where it remains unclear whether certain characters represented polysyllabic words or monosyllabic forms with complex consonantal initials.
Nonetheless, the structural patterns found in these cited words consistently point toward a developmental trend of dissyllabism. Phonetically, Vietnamese appears to have transitioned from simplicity to sophistication—from monosyllabic to dissyllabic expression.
This dissyllabic tendency is further evidenced by the presence of synonymous compounds—two-syllable words formed from elements with overlapping meanings. Unlike monosyllabic vocabulary, which often consists of stand-alone units, dissyllabic words in Vietnamese tend to be semantically interdependent and more precise. Their emergence reflects a linguistic strategy to avoid homonymic ambiguity and to encode more specialized meanings.
This phenomenon parallels modern Chinese, where dissyllabic compounds with synonymous syllables are common. Vietnamese examples include:
tức|giận (angrily/mad)
trước|tiên (initially/first)
cũ|kỹ (ancient/old)
kề|cận (closely/near)
gấp|rút (urgently/quick)
Recognizing Vietnamese as polysyllabic is not merely a theoretical exercise—it is the foundation for a practical reform. Only by aligning the writing system with the true nature of the language can Vietnamese fully realize its communicative, cognitive, and computational potential.
Why do these linguistic observations matter for the proposed Vietnamese writing reform? They serve to reinforce a central claim: Vietnamese is fundamentally a polysyllabic language. It shares core structural and lexical attributes with Chinese—a language widely recognized by leading linguistic institutions as polysyllabic vocally in nature. So the sounds of either tongue should be transcribed in polysyllabic formation.
While this conclusion may appear straightforward, it is not universally acknowledged. For some, the dissyllabic character of Vietnamese remains obscured by its fragmented orthography. Yet the deep structural parallels between Vietnamese and Chinese are undeniable. The two languages are so intricately intertwined that any serious study of one is incomplete without reference to the other.
Composite Syntax and Derivational Structures in Vietnamese — Some linguists, misled by the surface features of dissyllabic synonymity, have mistakenly classified Vietnamese as an “isolated language”—a term implying that both word and sentence structures consist merely of discrete syllables treated as standalone words. What they may have intended to suggest is that Vietnamese remains in an early developmental stage, not yet having evolved into a morphologically mature system in which word forms reflect tense, case, or syntactic relation through inflection.
This view stands in contrast to the concept of a composite language—a term newly introduced in this proposal. A composite language parallels the notion of inflectional languages, such as English, where word and sentence structures are built from derivational forms. In Vietnamese, composite words are formed from syllables that function as integral components—akin to English radicals and affixes. For example, vănsĩ (“writer”), nghệsĩ (“artist”), quốcgia (“nation”), quốctế (“international”) all demonstrate polysyllabic integrity.
Many Vietnamese composite elements—whether affixes, radicals, roots, or suffixes—can be treated analogously to their English counterparts. These elements serve as semantic building blocks, forming complete word-concepts. Beyond this, Vietnamese also employs particles that construct verbal and adverbial expressions: maulên (“be quick”), bànvề (“talk about”), ănđi (“go ahead and eat”), nhấtlà (“especially”), chonên (“therefore”). Unique classifier-compounds such as bầutrời (“sky”), quảđất (“globe”), khuônmặt (“face”), bàntay (“hand”) further illustrate the language’s structural richness. Besides, reduplicatives like bànghoàng (“stunned”), bồihồi (“sorrowful”), bẻnlẻn (“timid”), bộpchộp (“hasty”) reinforce Vietnamese’s deep affinity with Chinese, far more than with any languages in the region, including the Mon-Khmer languages, which lacks such connotative formations.
Vietnamese, as a composite language, possesses a distinct grammatical architecture. Structured sentences are formed through the use of grammatical particles and markers such as rồi (“already”), sẽ (“will”), đã (“have”), bị (passive voice), vìvậy (“therefore”), chodù (“though”), along with action particles like lên, đi, and thôimà. These elements function not as inflectional affixes, but as syntactic operators that shape meaning and temporal reference.
To those who have mistakenly claimed that Vietnamese lacks “grammar” simply because it does not encode tense or case through morphological inflection—a misconception that has fueled the “isolated language” label—it must be clarified that grammar is defined by a system of internal rules, not by the presence of inflection alone. Vietnamese grammar operates through composite structuring, semantic pairing, and particle-based syntax.
In fact, the syntactic organization of modern Vietnamese has been significantly influenced by French grammatical conventions, particularly in the construction of complete sentences. This historical layering further reinforces the composite nature of Vietnamese, both in its spoken cadence and written form.
Early Vietnamese texts clearly demonstrate how sentences were constructed—often without explicit subjects or objects—yet still grammatically complete. Remarkably, this syntactic feature persists today. Vietnamese sentence structure relies heavily on tonal and contextual cues, allowing composite constructions to convey precise meaning without overt grammatical markers. Consider the following examples:
* Đã biết vậyrồi saocòn mắcphải?
(Literally, 'Been known so how come got it?' to mean “If you already knew that, why did you still fall for it?”)
* Chodù thếnào đi chăng nữa, cònnuớccòntát.
(Literally: 'Though how go more, still water still spare.' to mean “No matter what, give it your best shot.”)
* Thậtlà ngu thấyrõ, cơhội đếntay chẳnghiểusao lạiđể vuộtmất?
(Literally: 'Really dumb seen clearly, opportunity reach hand not understand why cause slipped way?' to mean “That was truly foolish—how could he let the opportunity slip away?”)
* Ănno rồi chỉbiết ngủ thôi. Chả làmnên tíchsự gì!
Literally: 'Eat full already only know sleep solely. Not have done thins good!' to mean “He just eats and sleeps—completely useless!”
These examples illustrate how Vietnamese relies on connotative composite structures, where particles and word order shape the tone and meaning. The absence of explicit grammatical subjects or tense markers is compensated by semantic precision and syntactic fluidity.
Vietnamese also exhibits composite derivational behavior that parallels inflectional languages. One way to observe this is through the structural formation of compound words such as:
nghệsĩ (artist)
casĩ (singer)
vănsĩ (writer)
quốcgia (nation)
quốctế (international)
Now, imagine a hypothetical system in which Vietnamese suffixes function analogously to English derivational endings like -ist, -er, or -or. If -sĩ were treated as a productive suffix equivalent to -s, we might derive:
nghệs, văns, hoạs, nhạcs
Similarly, if -gia were rendered as -z, we could imagine:
—tácz (writer), luậtz (lawyer), sángchếz (inventor)
Prefixing sự- as s- yields:
—stình (circumstance), scố (incident), sviệc (matter), sthể (situation)
Treating -thuật as -th yields:
—kỹth (technology), nghệth (arts), math (magic), mỹth (aesthetics)
And phi- as f- yields:
—flý (illogical), fquânsự (demilitarized), fnhân (inhuman), fliênkết (non-aligned), fchínhphủ (non-governmental)
These analogical constructions demonstrate that Vietnamese composite vocabulary shares derivational logic with inflectional languages. The implications are clear: Vietnamese is not structurally isolated, but symbolically composite. Its vocabulary system reflects a layered morphology that, while not inflectional in the traditional sense, operates through systematic semantic pairing and syntactic cohesion.
Vietnamese as a Naturally Dissyllabic Language — Modern Vietnamese is inherently dissyllabic in its spoken rhythm. Even in sentences where individual words appear unrelated, they are vocally paired into two-syllable units that convey complete semantic notions. These units often co-occur with adverbial particles, forming composite expressions that are syntactically whole and connotatively rich. For example:
* Ăn lẹ | cho xong | rồi đi!
“Eat quickly, finish it, then go!”
* Chờ mãi | không thấy | nó tới | tụi nầy | mới đi!
“We waited and waited, he never showed up, so we left!”
This cadence is not incidental—it is foundational to Vietnamese conversational structure. In folkloric verse, the rhythm becomes even more pronounced:
* Yêu nhau | cởi áo | cho nhau, Về nhà | dối mẹ | qua cầu | gió bay!
“To love is to give—even if I must lie to my mother that the wind blew off my clothes over the bridge.”
Here, pronouns and tenses are entirely implied within the dissyllabic framework. These are not strings of isolated syllables; they are connotative composites—word-concepts that synthetically blend meaning, tone, and grammatical function, often without explicit markers.
This challenges the outdated classification of Vietnamese as an “isolated language.” Unlike inflectional languages such as Russian, where grammatical cases allow flexible word order, Vietnamese achieves clarity through composite structuring. Though word order is more fixed, the semantic load is distributed across polysyllabic units, allowing speakers to convey nuanced meaning without overt subjects, objects, or tense indicators.
Such constructions are native and intuitive—not artificial. They are spoken fluently by Vietnamese speakers across all registers. In contrast, truly “isolated” utterances—composed of disconnected monosyllables—are characteristic of early language acquisition, such as in young children forming rudimentary phrases without regard for grammar or connotation.
If non-native speakers struggle to grasp these composite dynamics, it is understandable. Mastery requires not just vocabulary, but a native-level fluency capable of perceiving and producing connotatively structured sentences. How many foreign-born specialists in Vietnamese have truly reached this level—beyond the superficial parsing of syllables—to speak naturally as Vietnamese do? Few, if any. Yet many continue to perpetuate the erroneous classification of Vietnamese as isolated and monosyllabic. This is a methodological failure: garbage in, garbage out.
It is time to discard these reductive labels. Vietnamese is not isolated. It is composite, dissyllabic, or exactly polysyllabic—in both structure and spirit. The orthography must evolve to reflect this reality, rather than continue to misrepresent the language through outdated symbolic conventions.
4) The politics of polysyllabics
Paradoxically, while the dissyllabic nature of Vietnamese is immediately evident to most non-native learners—who instinctively perceive its rhythmic pairing—many so-called “specialists” in Vietnamese consistently misclassify it as a monosyllabic language. This error is not incidental; it is systemic, and it persists across generations of linguistic pedagogy.
In studying Vietnamese, foreign learners must acquire not only monosyllabic lexical items but also dissyllabic composites. Mere familiarity with individual syllables may enable basic recognition and pronunciation, but it does little to foster true fluency. To master Vietnamese, one must learn dissyllabic words in their full, connotative form. Simply stringing syllables together does not yield intelligible or idiomatic speech.
This is no different from the study of Chinese: a non-native speaker may memorize two thousand individual characters, yet still fail to comprehend the thousands of dissyllabic compounds that derive from them. Recognition of radicals is not mastery. Likewise, in English, a learner may identify Latin roots—perhaps acquired through French or another Romance language—but this etymological awareness does not confer command over the full semantic and syntactic range of English polysyllables.
Strictly speaking, linguistic proficiency demands the acquisition of words in their polysyllabic entirety—not fragments, not radicals, not syllables in isolation. Vietnamese is no exception. Its lexical architecture is composite, its rhythm dissyllabic, and its semantic load distributed across paired units that function as grammatical and conceptual wholes.
To ignore this is to misrepresent the language. And to persist in labeling Vietnamese as “isolated” or “monosyllabic” is not merely outdated—it is methodologically bankrupt.
The dissyllabic nature of Vietnamese is not subtle—it is acoustically evident even to non-native listeners with only rudimentary linguistic awareness. When exposed to fluent Vietnamese speech, whether in casual conversation or broadcast media, they can intuitively detect word boundaries. This is because Vietnamese words are uttered in rhythmic pairs, forming a continuous chain of sound. If we let X represent a syllable, the auditory pattern typically unfolds as: XX XX X XX XX X XX… —a cadence of unbroken, paired syllables that signals semantic units with remarkable clarity.
To native speakers, this rhythm is not merely structural—it is musical. It echoes through folk songs and vernacular poetry, where dissyllabic word-concepts are most naturally expressed. Yet in writing, this pairing is obscured. Vietnamese orthography continues to render words as isolated syllables: X X X X X X X… —a typographic fragmentation that misrepresents the spoken language and obstructs its organic evolution. More critically, it imposes cognitive strain on young native readers, who must mentally reconstruct paired rhythms from a visually atomized script.
Before the 20th century, Vietnamese writing was based entirely on Chinese script. Chinese vocabulary served as a referential framework, supplying raw materials for the creation of Vietnamese dissyllabic compounds. From the 10th century onward, the Vietnamese people sought to express their own colloquial voice—distinct in sound and idiom. This led to the invention of Chữ Nôm, a block-script system that adapted Chinese characters to represent native Vietnamese expressions.
By the 16th century, Western missionaries arrived in Vietnam with the aim of translating religious texts. Faced with the dual challenge of Chinese and Nôm scripts, they devised an early form of Quốcngữ—a Romanized orthography tailored to their evangelical mission. Crucially, in transcribing Vietnamese speech, they recognized its dissyllabic structure. Their solution: insert hyphens between syllables to preserve word-concepts. Thus emerged forms like: gia-đình, đồng-bào, ăn-năn— each a typographic reflection of the spoken composite.
As Quốcngữ gained traction in the early 20th century, hyphenation became the norm for dissyllabic words and remained in active use through the 1970s, at least until the war between North and South Vietnam ended in 1975. Today, however, hyphenation survives only in academic contexts such as classic literature. Most native speakers now write dissyllabic words with a space between syllables, visually fragmenting what is audibly whole.
The result is an orthography that appears illogical, unscientific, and increasingly disconnected from the true nature of the spoken language. Vietnamese is not monosyllabic. It is dissyllabic, composite, and polysyllabic—in rhythm, in structure, and in spirit. And the writing system must evolve and mature to reflect this reality.
Dissyllabic density and the myth of monosyllabism — The sheer volume of dissyllabic compounds in Vietnamese is sufficient to classify the language as structurally dissyllabic. Consider just a few more examples from the Sino-Vietnamese stratum:
tổquốc (fatherland)
phụnữ (woman)
giađình (family)
cộngđồng (community)
Add to these the Sinitic-Vietnamese composites:
sinhđẻ (give birth)
dạydỗ (educate)
lạnhlẽo (cold)
nhờvã (depend on)
And further still, the so-called “pure” Vietnamese dissyllabic lexicons:
mặccả (bargain)
bângkhuâng (melancholy)
ngọtngào (gently sweet)
mồcôi (orphaned)
hiuquạnh (desolate and tranquil)
This lexical landscape leaves no doubt: Vietnamese is a dissyllabic language—structurally, rhythmically, and semantically.
The Impossibility of True Monosyllabism — In practical terms, no living language today is truly monosyllabic. The reason is mathematical as much as linguistic. A monosyllabic system offers a severely limited vocabulary. In Vietnamese, even with tone distinctions, the total number of usable one-syllable combinations is estimated at around 12,000. Many theoretical combinations—like tưp, nhửng, cunh, lẻp, phèp, tac—are either unused or phonotactically implausible.
If tones are excluded—as in many Mon-Khmer languages—an imagined monosyllabic language might be left with only 6,000 usable words. By contrast, English contains over 500,000 lexical entries, with thousands of new terms coined in the computing field alone over the past three decades.
In short, any language that remains truly monosyllabic today is either extinct or on the brink of extinction. Vietnamese is neither. It is vibrant, expansive, and polysyllabic. This statement should decisively retire the outdated notion of Vietnamese as a monosyllabic language.
To further illustrate Vietnamese dissyllabicity, we may compare it with English morphology. Both languages exhibit functional radicals—syllabic units that serve as morphological building blocks. English is unequivocally polysyllabic, yet if we filter out Latinate and Hellenic loanwords, we find a core of Anglo-Saxon monosyllables:
go, keep, run, walk, eat, sleep
morning (< morn), evening (< eve)
before (be + fore), forward (fore + ward)
These basic units parallel Vietnamese monosyllables—some of which may have Sinitic origins:
ăn (唵 eat)
uống (飲 drink)
đái (尿 urinate)
ỉa (屙 defecate)
đi (去 go)
đứng (站 stand)
Such parallels reinforce the point: monosyllables exist, but they do not define the language. Vietnamese, like English, is built on polysyllabic and dissyllabic foundations. Its orthography must evolve to reflect that reality.
Composite Morphology and the Case for Dissyllabicity — Some may argue that comparing Vietnamese and English is like comparing apples and oranges—after all, English is an inflectional language, forming words through radicals and affixes (eater, keeper, walker, sleeper), while Vietnamese is often mislabeled as “isolated.” But this is precisely the misconception that must be corrected. Vietnamese is not isolated—it is a composite language, and its word formation reflects that.
As discussed earlier, Vietnamese equivalents to those English compounds include:
nghệsĩ (artist)
casĩ (singer)
vănsĩ (writer)
In these examples, components like sĩ, giả, and gia function analogously to English suffixes such as -er, -ist, or -or. Crucially, these Vietnamese morphemes cannot stand alone—just as -er or -ist cannot function independently in English.
English has long absorbed foreign elements and developed compound formations such as:
therefore, anybody, however, nevertheless, blackboard, gunship, eyebrow
Vietnamese mirrors this structure with equivalents like:
vìvậy, bấtcứai, tuynhiên, nhưngmà, bảngđen, tàuchiến, chânmày
Yet while English preserves these compounds as unified words, current Vietnamese orthography continues to split them into isolated syllables—even when the individual components no longer carry independent meaning.
Consider the following dissyllabic composites:
bângkhuâng (melancholy)
hồihộp (breathless anticipation)
mồhôi (sweat)
taitiếng (infamy)
mặccả (bargain)
cùlét (tickle)
What does bâng mean in isolation? Or 'khuâng'? Or 'mồ'? Or 'hôi'? These syllables, severed from their pairings, lose semantic coherence. Yet in writing, they are routinely broken apart—an orthographic practice that undermines the integrity of Vietnamese word-concepts.
This alone is sufficient to classify Vietnamese as a dissyllabic language though. If polysyllabicity is defined by the prevalence and frequency of usage of multi-syllable words in a language’s vocabulary stock, then Vietnamese—by virtue of its vast inventory of Sino-Vietnamese and Sinitic-Vietnamese compounds—is indisputably dissyllabic.
The continued use of monosyllabic spacing in Vietnamese writing is not only illogical and unscientific—it actively impairs the language’s capacity to function as a tool for abstract reasoning, cognitive development, and data structuring. Vietnamese deserves an orthography that reflects its true linguistic nature: composite, dissyllabic, and polysyllabic.
WHY THE CURRENT WRITING SYSTEM REQUIRES REFORM
In truth, the idea of reforming Vietnamese orthography is not new. Several distinguished scholars—Lãng-Nhân Phùng Tất-Ðắc (UK), Trịnh Nhật (Australia), Dương Ðức-Nhự, Ðào Trọng-Ðủ, and Phạm Hoàng-Hộ (the latter two having published works in dissyllabic format)—alongside advocates such as Hồ Hữu-Tường, Nguyễn-Ðình Hoà, and Bùi Ðức-Tịnh, have long recognized the polysyllabic nature of Vietnamese and criticized the limitations of its current writing system. Yet their insights were largely eclipsed during the upheavals of 20th-century wartime Vietnam.
Today, however, technological progress and the rise of the global internet offer a renewed opportunity. Through digital platforms—websites, email, online publishing—we can reintroduce and actively experiment with a more accurate and efficient way of writing Vietnamese. The reform proposed here is not a radical departure, but a long-overdue correction.
The rationale for reform has already been touched upon throughout this paper. But let us now focus more precisely on the central claim: that replacing the current syllable-by-syllable system with one that reflects polysyllabic principles—writing multi-syllable words in unified, composite formations—will dramatically improve both mental processing and electronic data handling.
This is not merely a typographic adjustment. It is a structural realignment—one that restores Vietnamese to its rightful place among the world’s polysyllabic languages and equips it to function more effectively in modern cognitive, educational, and computational contexts.
1) The weakest links
Vietnamese, as it stands today, is the product of centuries of linguistic evolution—an amalgam of historical shifts, cultural overlays, and pragmatic adaptations. For hundreds of years prior to the 20th century, Chinese script served as the medium for official records, historical chronicles, and literary expression. Although the Nôm script was devised to transcribe vernacular Vietnamese, its usage remained largely confined to elite literary circles.
This historical trajectory was underpinned by a long-held belief—perhaps once plausible—that Vietnamese and Chinese shared genetic roots within the Sino-Tibetan family. Only in the mid-20th century did André Haudricourt’s groundbreaking work begin to reposition Vietnamese within the Mon-Khmer branch of the Austroasiatic family, challenging entrenched assumptions.
So why revisit this past? Some argue that Vietnamese now possesses its own superior Romanized script and no longer needs to concern itself with archaic affiliations. Others claim that spoken language may evolve, but orthography should remain fixed—citing English as a case in point, where spelling has endured despite phonological drift. Predictably, such voices dismiss the need for reform as neither urgent nor necessary.
Yet a closer look at these objections reveals their fragility. As seen in debates like those in Bìnhluận về “Sửađổi Cáchviết TiếngViệt” (Vietnamese Forum), resistance often stems from conservative quarters rather than from those who grasp the abstract and collective imperatives of reform. This is not surprising. Every major reform encounters opposition—just as the early Nôm innovators were ridiculed by traditionalists for daring to record Vietnamese sounds in non-Chinese forms.
Today’s anti-reform voices echo those same sentiments. They cling to a fragmented orthography that future generations may well regard as anachronistic. Their fears—that reform will sow confusion or chaos—are shortsighted, obscuring the long-term cognitive and technological benefits of a polysyllabic writing system.
Ask any opponent and you’ll hear a litany of objections, most of them sentimental or superficial. Some say the new script “looks strange”; others fear misunderstanding. But such resistance is precisely the weakest link in our linguistic evolution. It perpetuates backwardness in scientific thought and impedes the development of abstract and collective reasoning—especially among children and monolingual adults.
To be clear, this proposal does not advocate a radical overhaul. While a complete revamp—eliminating diacritics and reconfiguring derivatives—might appeal to second-language learners, our focus is more measured: to present Vietnamese words in their full conceptual unity through polysyllabic formations.
Consider classifiers: “con đường” (road), “bầu trời” (sky), “quả đất” (globe). Each classifier—“con”, “bầu”, “quả”—is semantically bound to its noun. Yet the current orthography severs these units, obscuring their relationship. Non-native learners often ask why we use “con”, “sự”, “bầu”, or “quả” inconsistently. If written as unified words—“conđường”, “bầutrời”, “quảđất”—the logic becomes self-evident.
While Vietnamese does not possess an overwhelming number of classifiers, the confusion surrounding their usage stems not from their quantity but from the way they are visually severed from the nouns they modify. The current orthography—writing classifiers and their associated words as separate syllables—fails to indicate which classifier belongs with which noun. This typographic fragmentation obscures semantic relationships and impedes comprehension.
This is not a minor flaw. Classifiers are among the defining features that distinguish Vietnamese from other languages in the Mon-Khmer branch of the Austroasiatic family. They are also one of the many structural affinities Vietnamese shares with Chinese—a neighboring language widely recognized as polysyllabic. Given these parallels, Vietnamese should likewise be classified as a polysyllabic language.
Importantly, the goal of this reform is not to simplify Vietnamese for foreign learners, nor to radically transform the language by converting classifiers into suffixes (-s, -z, f-, con-, sự-, etc.), nor to eliminate diacritics. The issue at hand is more fundamental: the current transcription of dissyllabic words is inaccurate. It does not reflect how Vietnamese is actually spoken.
In natural speech, dissyllabic words are delivered as unified sound chains—each pair of syllables forming a complete conceptual unit. So why are they broken apart in writing? Some argue it’s habit. Others cite tradition: the current system is widely understood, used from North to South, printed in books, etched on street signs. Change, they say, would be disruptive, unaesthetic, and impractical.
But this defense of the status quo is deeply flawed. Writing Vietnamese as if it were monosyllabic and isolated is unscientific, illogical, and retrograde. It reflects a mindset that resists progress, even when the evidence for reform is overwhelming.
We must confront the limitations of the current system honestly. Only by acknowledging its weaknesses can we begin to devise meaningful solutions. If left unaddressed, the system will continue to evolve in ways that avoid reform altogether—doing more harm than good.
The most insidious harm is cognitive. A writing system that presents language as a string of disconnected syllables trains the brain to think in concrete, fragmented terms. Over time, this shapes a generational mindset incapable of abstract and collective reasoning. Studies have shown that high-performing individuals often begin life with early exposure to polysyllabic languages—languages that foster conceptual thinking and cognitive flexibility. (See Ngôn ngữ và Trí tuệ by Nguyễn Cường.)
So we must ask ourselves: why continue writing our language in a way that diminishes its expressive power, when we have every capacity to do better? If we weigh the benefits against the drawbacks, the case for reform becomes clear. Transitioning from a monosyllabic orthography to a polysyllabic one is not just a linguistic adjustment—it is a cultural imperative.
The current system fails to reflect the true nature of Vietnamese dissyllabic words, which are spoken in paired sounds to convey complete and unique concepts. Once we accept that the writing system is inadequate for modern needs, we must approach reform with clarity, courage, and an open mind.
2) The other pictures: Lessons from our neighbors
Let us glance over our shoulders to observe how our culturally proximate neighbors have approached the question of script reform.
China, at various points in its modern history, earnestly considered abandoning its logographic script in favor of a Latin-based system. Yet despite the ambition, the plan was never realized. One of the principal obstacles was the overwhelming number of homophones in Mandarin—words that sound identical but differ in meaning and character. When early romanization attempts transcribed these homophones as isolated syllables, the resulting ambiguity was even greater than that found in the original block script.
Ironically, Chinese and Vietnamese share deep phonological affinities. Vietnamese has been successfully Romanized; so too could Chinese—had its reformers recognized the polysyllabic nature of their own language. But they did not. Instead, they clung to the notion of monosyllabism, a view reinforced by centuries of character-based writing and compounded by widespread illiteracy. Only with the full adoption of the Pinyin system in the late 1970s—driven by the demands of computerization—did China begin to standardize a Latinized transcription. Even then, the legacy of block script coding locked them into a hybrid system.
Historically, Western missionaries who ventured into China at the same time as those who came to Vietnam failed to introduce a Romanized script. Why? Again, they misunderstood the structural nature of Chinese. The concept of polysyllabism was alien even to Chinese linguists of the time, who were steeped in the tradition of character isolation. When missionaries attempted Latin transcription, they rendered each syllable separately, generating a flood of homonyms and confusion among native learners. Had they adopted a combining formation—or even hyphenation, as in Vietnamese—they might have succeeded.
Another factor lies deeper: the Chinese writing system is not merely functional—it is civilizational. With over 5,000 years of continuous use, it has become the symbolic soul of the nation. Even Mao Zedong, who once contemplated full romanization, ultimately abandoned the idea, reportedly out of reverence for Tang poetry. He alone had the authority to enact such a reform, but chose not to.
That moment has passed. China has since institutionalized Pinyin for formal transcription of Putonghua, as seen in global usage of “Beijing” and “Guangdong” rather than “Peking” or “Canton.” In doing so, they tacitly acknowledged the polysyllabic structure of their language—writing compound words in unified Latin formations.
Japan faced similar challenges. Romanization of Japanese would have unleashed an even greater flood of homonyms. Consider the syllable do, which corresponds to over 100 different Chinese characters in Japanese usage, all pronounced nearly identically. Vietnamese equivalents span a wide range: đông, đôn, độc, độn, đồn, đốc, đống, động, đồng, and even não, náo, thuỷ, bách, câu, điện, viễn, thời, nỗ, among others. To manage this complexity, Japan introduced two national phonetic scripts—Katakana and Hiragana—to complement the long-standing use of Kanji. These scripts serve to transcribe foreign words and native polysyllabic expressions, respectively.
This is not to say reform has been absent. Both China and Japan have implemented partial modernization: simplification of traditional characters, horizontal left-to-right writing, and standardized formatting. Though full romanization was never achieved, meaningful steps were taken.
Vietnam, by contrast, stands at a unique crossroads. Having already adopted a Romanized script, we possess the structural foundation to advance further—toward a polysyllabic orthography that reflects the true nature of our language. The lessons from our neighbors are clear: reform is possible, but only when the linguistic structure is correctly understood.
What Our Neighbors Reveal — A provocative question deserves attention: had China and Japan succeeded in fully Romanizing their writing systems, would their scientific, technological, and economic development have accelerated beyond what we see today? The answer is almost certainly yes.
Had China adopted a Latin-based script earlier, mass literacy across its billion-plus population would likely have advanced more rapidly, and the digitization of language—essential for informatics—would have scaled faster and deeper. The economic ripple effects would have been profound. Instead, the complexity of Chinese characters posed significant obstacles to industrial modernization throughout the 1980s. Today, the script is deeply embedded in digital infrastructure, making any future reform a century-scale endeavor.
Some point to Taiwan as a counterexample: it has retained traditional Chinese characters since 1949 and still achieved notable success in computing long before China had achieved since the beginning of the 21st century. True—but Taiwan’s progress in that field has been driven largely by English-language tools, e.g., computer languages have been programmed in the English language, though, not by the Chinese script itself.
Others cite Korea for extreme cases. North Korea abandoned Chinese characters entirely, yet remains technologically stagnant, good only in producing divisions of hackers and nuclear ballistic missiles, so to speak. Meanwhile, South Korea, by contrast, is a global leader in innovation—despite retaining Chinese characters in its writing system until the late 20th century. But here’s the nuance: South Korea recognizes the integral role of Chinese-derived vocabulary in its linguistic structure, just as Vietnamese does with Sino-Vietnamese and Sinitic-Vietnamese compounds. North Korea’s rejection of Chinese script may have inadvertently severed a vital link to shared technological and, consequently, economic development.
It’s tempting to argue that English alone is sufficient for technological advancement. After all, it is the global language of computing, and countries like China, Japan, South Korea, and Taiwan all rely on English for technical domains. So why should Vietnam bother reforming its own writing system?
Because English alone is not a panacea. Countries like India, the Philippines, Suriname, and Jamaica use English officially, yet lag behind in scientific output. The key difference? Language reform. Singapore, South Korea, Malaysia, and Thailand—all of which have undergone linguistic modernization—stand out as regional success stories. Each has embraced polysyllabic structuring, facilitating smoother integration with digital systems.
What about Vietnam? Some may point to minor reforms—standardizing scientific terms like ốcxíthoá, cạcbônnát, canxum, nitrơát, or replacing y with i, etc. But these superficial changes have often done more harm than good, introducing confusion and burdening learners with parallel lexicons.
Today, Vietnam increasingly retains original foreign spellings for proper nouns—a pragmatic shift from the earlier mandate to transcribe names phonetically, e.g., Xan Phơ-ran-xít-cô (San Francisco), Oátsingtơn (Washington), Ốxtơrália (Australia), Nícơxơn (Nixon). This retention of original Latin placenames allows even monolingual Vietnamese readers to approximate foreign pronunciations and engage more efficiently with global content, i.e., San Francisco, Washington, etc.
Commonly recognized words derived from Chinese forms such as Mỹ (America), Anh (England), Bỉ (Brussels), Đức ('Deuthsche'), Úc (Australia), etc. and localized borrowings like xàphòng (soap, from savon), càphê (coffee, from café), kem, càrem (ice cream, from crème), xinê (cinema, from cinéma), ápphê (affair, from affaire), and sale, free, internet, web...—these are now fully naturalized and should remain untouched.
In sum, the lesson from our neighbors is clear: linguistic reform—especially one that embraces polysyllabic structure—is not merely aesthetic or academic. It is a strategic imperative for modernization, cognitive development, and global integration. Vietnam has already laid the groundwork with its Romanized script. Now is the time to complete the journey.
3) Polysyllabic writing fosters abstract and collective thought
It is no coincidence that those among us who have acquired a second or third language—especially polysyllabic ones like English or French—tend to excel in academic and scientific domains. These fields demand abstract reasoning and collective cognition, capacities that are not innate but cultivated through sustained linguistic and intellectual training. The process of mastering a polysyllabic language rewires the brain to perceive, process, and synthesize complex ideas.
This cognitive advantage extends far beyond academia. It shapes how we reason, collaborate, and innovate. We can safely assert that acquiring a polysyllabic second language is one of the most powerful disciplines for developing abstract and collective thinking. Those left outside this intellectual circle—often the economically disadvantaged—are typically monolingual Vietnamese speakers, conditioned by a monosyllabic orthography. Tragically, they represent the majority.
Can a nation thrive when most of its citizens are neurologically trained to think in fragments? This is not a rhetorical question—it is a national imperative.
Consider German. Its nouns are famously long:
Auf Wiedersehen (See you again)
Informationssystemverarbeitung (information system processing)
Recherchemöglichkeiten (research possibilities)
Betriebswirtschaft (business administration)
These are not awkward strings—they are unified word-concepts. German speakers accept them as cognitively whole. The capitalization of nouns further reinforces their symbolic integrity, signaling the beginning of a conceptual unit. This typographic convention fortifies abstract thinking. The Germans do not read each word by its syllables, but by symbolistic shape as a holistic whole, so to speak. They never write street signs or slogans in ALL UPPERCASE STRINGS like the Vietnamese do! They have risen up strongly again in less than 20 years after the complete destruction in World War II!
As a matter of fact, Vietnamese speakers are trained to focus on minute details, a mindset that tends to associate abstract concepts with concrete objects, individually and sentimentally. For example, we often hear among ourselves boasting that how beautiful our language is, each syllable represents and triggers an object visually and depicts a picturesque perception of a word (actually a syllable for this matter) in our mind, or how orderly our language shows with regard to social hierarchy, etc., when we should call a person by name, by title, by seniority, or by rank, etc., (in this case consider India's social classes which are still in existence!), while in many other languages, including Chinese (that used to be the same as ours for this matter), all first and second person's hierarchical address forms are abstracted to "I, you" in English, "wo, ni" in Mandarin, or "je, tu" ("moi", "toi" and "vous") in French. It is so not because in other cultures people do not know how to respect others to address them accordingly. This abstraction is not a sign of cultural indifference or disrespect. It is a linguistic transcendence—a cognitive elevation from concrete social markers to generalized human reference, to higher abstract degree for this matter.
This is not a mark of cultural sophistication—it is a symptom of linguistic descent, not transcendence.
From early childhood, Vietnamese learners are taught to spell syllables individually, not to perceive words as conceptual wholes. This pedagogical model—unchanged for generations—has conditioned the brain to process language in fragments. Meanwhile, spelling curricula in American schools evolve annually, adapting to cognitive research and pedagogical innovation.
Figuratively speaking, we teach our children to identify trees, but not to see forests. Americans, French, Chinese—they teach forests first.
This failure to utilize our writing system as a tool for abstract cognition has left a legacy in limbo—passed from one generation to the next. We continue to implant this fragmented mindset in our children and celebrate it as tradition. We have been intellectually impoverished for millennia, trapped in a stagnant pool of syllabic thinking.
Language is the scaffolding of thought. If the only tool our children have is a monosyllabic script, they will grow up thinking one syllable at a time.
Abstract and collective thinking is essential—for mathematics, science, economics, and beyond. It is not a gift; it is a skill, shaped by language. A poorly designed linguistic tool will yield poor cognitive outcomes. A polysyllabic writing system, by contrast, will stimulate the brain to think differently—and better.
Reading and writing Vietnamese in polysyllabic formations will help children perceive concepts as unified wholes. They will learn to associate meaning with structure, not with dismembered syllables. This is not just a reform—it is a cognitive revolution.
The Korean, Chinese, and Thai models: Writing as cognitive architecture — The Koreans have long understood the cognitive power of polysyllabic structuring. Their national writing system—Hangul—groups syllabic blocks into discrete concept-words, whether derived from native Korean or adapted Chinese vocabulary. Consider:
Hyundai = hiệnđại (modern)
Dongnama = ÐôngnamÁ (Southeast Asia)
Fanghuo = phònghoả (fire prevention) or phónghoả (arson)
Kori = Caoly (Korea)
Kamsamida = cảmtạ (thank you)
If X represents a Korean syllabic block, the visual structure of these words appears as: XX XXX XX XX —four concept-words, not nine isolated syllables. This typographic clarity mirrors the spoken rhythm and reflects a collective cognitive orientation. Korean writing is processed faster—mentally and digitally—because it aligns with the brain’s natural tendency to group meaning-bearing units.
By contrast, Chinese script places symbolic characters sequentially, either vertically or horizontally. While the characters themselves are rich in meaning, their linear arrangement lacks the grouping logic of Korean Hangul. The result is a slower, less efficient processing model—though still more effective than Vietnamese monosyllabic spacing. Is that the reason why Korea had been always one step ahead China?
Across the Mekong River to the left of Laos, Thai script offers another instructive model. Its writing flows like a train of uninterrupted syllables—no spacing, no fragmentation. The visual rhythm reinforces semantic continuity. The principle is clear: “see one, catch all.” This is the essence of polysyllabic writing. Laotian scrip is somewhat similar linguistically and orthographically, anf 'Gotcha', they also possessed an aircraft like their neighbor Thailand then.
Reform as a cognitive accelerator — Writing reform alone, of course, cannot guarantee technological progress, though. But it lays the foundation. A polysyllabic orthography enhances data processing, machine translation, and cognitive efficiency. It is a prerequisite for modernization—not a panacea, but a catalyst.
Consider again the German example: 'Informationssystemverarbeitung' —a single word, instantly grasped. No German speaker mentally spells out its syllables. The concept is perceived holistically.
Now compare with Vietnamese: 'xử lý thông tin' —four separate syllables, 4 visual shapes. A Vietnamese reader must first decode each syllable, then group them into 2 concept-words (xửlý, thôngtin), and finally synthesize the phrase. The cognitive load is heavier, the processing slower.
If we wrote it as xửlýthôngtin, the brain would process it in one unified step—just as in German. Even xửlý thôngtin would be an improvement. Similarly, 'chủnghĩaxãhội', 'chủnghĩaquốctế', or even adopted acronyms like 'AI', 'US', 'ASEAN' or 'VNCH'. The key is polysyllabic grouping.
Imagine applying this principle across hundreds of Vietnamese terms. The result: fewer visual units, faster comprehension, more efficient data handling. If the new polysyllabic writing system were already in place, our eyes—scanning a line of text—might recognize fewer distinct word-shapes. But paradoxically, our brains would process more meaning, and at greater speed.
If this explanation still feels unclear, your mind may still be parsing language one syllable at a time. What it needs is recalibration—polysyllabic training. And that begins with reform.
We have reached a clear conclusion: writing words as they are spoken—what we call the “natural way”—enables faster recognition and processing of concept-word-phrases than the fragmented, syllable-by-syllable method still in use. Readers should not be forced to decode each syllable, then mentally reassemble them into words, just to grasp the meaning of a phrase. In this respect, polysyllabic writing—when rendered in Latin script—can achieve symbolistic effects comparable to those of ideographic systems. It fosters abstract and collective thought.
Of course, not all Latin-script users think alike. But we, who still cling to monosyllabic orthography, have failed to fully harness the power of our writing system. Who else shares this predicament? The Hmong do—though polysyllabic compounds appear sporadically in their writing. So do several indigenous groups in Vietnam’s Central Highlands, whose orthographies were modeled on our own. They write as we do. And so, we have found companions who think as we think.
Let’s return to the bamboo analogy. We excel at distinguishing one bamboo stalk from another—whether in our front yard, along a village path, or deep in a forest. So why the confusion? Why do we still struggle with basic computing tasks? Our current system cannot support consistent font schemes, accurate spell-checking, or even proper alphabetical sorting. And forget about reliable translation of English websites.
The writing system we use today is a relatively recent invention, still full of flaws. We must not treat it as sacred simply because it was handed down to us. It is a tool—a symbolic medium for communication. And tools can be improved. If a better system, grounded in polysyllabic principles, can be created and adopted, that is the one we should value. Not the imperfect one we now endure.
To be clear, we do not advocate radical reform—such as replacing “sĩ” with -s or -ist, “gia” with -z or -er, or “sự” with s- for abstract nouns. Instead, we propose a modest shift: let go of old habits and begin writing Vietnamese the polysyllabic way. Simply combine the syllables of each word—usually two—to form a complete unit that conveys the full concept.
4) Accuracy facilitates data processing
One need not be a database architect to grasp how poorly Vietnamese linguistic logic currently serves digital infrastructure. The inefficiencies—redundant field attributes, convoluted algorithms, and excessive parsing layers—are evident in even the most basic online dictionaries or translation engines. The urgency for reform is clear: Vietnamese must adopt a polysyllabic writing system to meet the demands of modern data processing, especially in the AI era.
When scanning large volumes of information, it is far more efficient to recognize concept-words as unified visual symbols than to mentally reconstruct meaning from fragmented syllables. Take the English word international. A reader does not need to spell it out—in-ter-na-tion-al—to understand it. The shape alone conveys the concept instantly, much like a Chinese ideograph or a pictogram.
This symbolic efficiency extends to derivatives:
internationalization
internationalism
international imperialism
internationale
Each is processed at nearly the same speed as the root word international, because the visual structure remains anchored to a recognizable radical.
Now compare this to Vietnamese equivalents:
quốc tế
quốc tế hoá
chủ nghĩa quốc tế
chủ nghĩa đế quốc quốc tế
thế giới đại đồng
In their current orthographic form, these phrases require multiple cognitive steps: decoding syllables, grouping them into words, and finally synthesizing the concept. But if written as:
quốctế
quốctếhoá
chủnghĩaquốctế
chủnghĩađếquốcquốctế
thếgiớiđạiđồng
—the brain would process them more rapidly, recognizing fewer shapes while absorbing more meaning.
This efficiency translates directly to computing. A microprocessor can handle polysyllabic strings with greater speed and accuracy. For example, chủnghĩaquốctế saves three bytes of memory compared to its syllable-separated counterpart. It also eliminates ambiguity: no more confusion between chủ nghĩa and chu nghĩa, or chú nghĩa—all of which are legitimate syllables but semantically unrelated.
In database architecture, this matters. Translating chủnghĩaquốctế becomes as straightforward as translating internationalism. The system no longer needs to scan through dozens of unrelated entries—chủ nhà, chủ tiệm, chủ chứa, chủ trương, chủ ý, chủ trì, chủ quan—before locating chủ nghĩa, and then repeating the process for quốc tế. The polysyllabic form collapses this complexity into a single, searchable unit.
Even in print, the benefits are tangible. Eliminating unnecessary white spaces between syllables could reduce paper usage by 5–10%, lowering production costs and environmental impact.
In short, polysyllabic reform is not just a linguistic refinement—it is a technological imperative. It enhances accuracy, accelerates processing, and supports scalable infrastructure. As the Vietnamese saying goes, có thực mới vực được đạo—“without sustenance, there is no principle.” Reform begins with the tools we use to think.
HOW TO REFORM THE CURRENT VIETNAMESE WRITING SYSTEM
1) Polysyllable correctness
Before any reform of the Vietnamese writing system can be responsibly implemented, we must first acknowledge and address several cultural and linguistic realities. Controversial as they may be, these facts form the necessary foundation for meaningful change.
First, like most languages, Vietnamese has absorbed a vast number of loanwords from more dominant linguistic spheres—chiefly Chinese. This is not merely historical; it is structural. Just as many of us carry genetic traces of Vietnamese-Chinese ancestry, our language carries the imprint of centuries of Sinitic influence. The analogy holds: linguistic hybridity is not a flaw—it is a fact.
Second, Vietnamese shares numerous typological features with Chinese. This should not surprise us, though younger generations—exposed to Western cultural paradigms—sometimes imagine Vietnamese as a hybrid of Chinese and French. In truth, French and Mon-Khmer contributions to Vietnamese vocabulary are minimal by comparison (see Appendix A). The overwhelming presence of Sino-Vietnamese and Sinitic-Vietnamese compounds affirms Vietnamese as a fundamentally dissyllabic language.
Globally, Chinese is now widely recognized by linguists as a polysyllabic—or more precisely, dissyllabic—language. Given the sheer volume of Chinese-derived vocabulary in Vietnamese, this alone justifies classifying Vietnamese as dissyllabic. It is the linguistic engine behind this proposed reform.
Some have suggested purging Chinese elements from Vietnamese to “purify” the language. But what would remain? A gutted lexicon and a cultural void. Campaigns like giữgìn sựtrongsáng của tiếngViệt (preserving the purity of Vietnamese) have attempted to replace Sino-Vietnamese terms with so-called native alternatives—e.g., máybay for phicơ, tênlửa for hoảtiển, sânbay for phitrường. Ironically, these “pure” words also trace back to Chinese roots.
Even technical or anatomical terms—bộphận sinhdục, âmhộ, dươngvật, giaocấu—are deeply embedded in Sino-Vietnamese morphology. To eliminate them would be to amputate the language’s expressive range. Just as Latin and Greek roots enrich English, Sino-Vietnamese compounds have deepened Vietnamese across every register. Functional particles like và, dù, sỡdĩ, nếu, nhưng—all of Chinese origin—are indispensable. One cannot construct a Vietnamese sentence without invoking Chinese etymology. Reform must not become erasure.
Since its inception, Quốcngữ has undergone numerous orthographic adjustments. But since the mid-20th century, Vietnamese spelling has remained relatively stable. This stability allows us to observe phonological shifts over time. For instance:
'thu' is pronounced /t'ou/, not /t'u/
'không' as /k'owngm/, not /k'ong/
'hộc' as /howkm/, not /hok/
'ti' as /tei/, not /ti/
'tin' remains /tin/, not /tein/
Regional accents—Northern, Central, Southern—further complicate orthographic fidelity. It is likely that the original Quốcngữ creators transcribed sounds as they were spoken in specific locales at specific times. Language evolves; orthography must adapt.
Unlike English, whose spelling often diverges dramatically from pronunciation, Vietnamese has maintained relative phonological consistency. Therefore, in this first stage of reform, we do not propose a full phonetic overhaul. Instead, we focus on correcting the way polysyllabic and dissyllabic words are written—grouping them as they are spoken.
This reform promises tangible benefits: cognitive efficiency, technological compatibility, and linguistic clarity. And we need not wait. Further research may refine our understanding of dissyllabicity, but common sense already confirms what is visible to the eye and audible to the ear: most Vietnamese words consist of two syllables.
If doubt remains, let us begin with what is indisputable: the overwhelming presence of dissyllabic Sino- and Sinitic-Vietnamese compounds, alongside a modest set of French and English loanwords (see Appendix A). That alone is more than enough to designate Vietnamese as a polysyllabic—indeed, dissyllabic—language.
2) Setting the mindset
As established throughout this proposal, the most accurate and logical characterization of Vietnamese is that it is—undeniably—a polysyllabic language.
Some traditionalists, especially poets, have voiced concern that reforming Vietnamese by writing dissyllabic words in combining formation would disrupt the structural integrity of poetic forms like lụcbát (six-eight syllable couplets), songthấtlụcbát (seven-seven-six-eight), or thấtngônbátcú (seven-syllable regulated verse). They fear the melodic rhythm would be lost—much like Mao Zedong’s reluctance to Romanize Chinese, out of reverence for Tang poetry.
But this concern is easily resolved. Poets are free to choose their medium. In poetry, it is the spoken rhythm, not the visual spacing, that matters. Artistic expression is not bound by orthographic reform.
The writing reform proposed here is not about poetry—it is about clarity, logic, and scientific precision in communication. Polysyllabic writing enhances semantic transparency. Consider:
coi cọp (watching tigers) ≠ coicọp (sneaking into a show without paying)
hoa hồng (red-colored flowers) ≠ hoahồng (roses or commission)
đánh rớt (to drop) ≠ đánhrớt (to fail a student)
phá thành (to assault a citadel) ≠ pháthành (to distribute)
These distinctions are not trivial—they are essential for accurate data processing, machine translation, and lexicographic clarity. Scientific fields increasingly rely on precise terminology, and Vietnamese has already begun to coin new terms using polysyllabic principles:
dữliệu (database)
dữkiện (data)
thôngtin (information)
trangnhà (homepage)
bệnhthan (anthrax)
vimô (micro)
vĩmô (macro)
New compound terms like điệnthoạithôngminh (smartphone), thôngminhnhântạo (AI), lênmạng (online), cổngnối (gateway), nốimạng (connected), trangnhà (homepage) reflect polysyllabic logic—even if still written in outdated monosyllabic forms currently all over places.
This principle allows for flexible word formation, akin to how English uses radicals and affixes. Vietnam, though still developing scientifically, has enriched its technical vocabulary by adapting Sino-Vietnamese roots—often via Chinese characters based on Japanese coinages, for example, chínhtrị (politics), cộnghoà (republic), dânchủ (democracy), tíchcực (positive), tiêucực (negative)—they were all coined by Japanese lexicographers and re-imported into Chinese and Vietnamese.
Here are examples of computing terms formed polysyllabically:
máyvitính (microcomputer)
tinhọc (informatics)
liênmạng (internet)
nângcấp (upgrade)
Meanwhile, English terms like chip, bit, byte (bai), mega (mê), board (bo), font (phông), email, website, unicode, internet are used directly or slightly adapted.
This lexicographic flexibility confirms Vietnamese’s dissyllabic nature. Just as English builds words from roots and affixes, Vietnamese can do the same—if the writing system allows it. Consensus rules in this field, that is, you may want to call a computer a "máyvitính" or "máyđiệntoán" more than "máyđiệnnão", but if everybody calls it a "máyvitính", that becomes the standard.
Accepting the current writing system simply because it is widely used is not a legitimate defense. Its fragmented structure encodes cognitive limitations in young minds. It is a retrograde instrument—a linguistic carcinogen—that stunts abstract and collective reasoning.
This is not conjecture. Ask how many Vietnamese have truly excelled without mastering a foreign language. Perhaps only a few cadres have risen through political channels, but their children—educated abroad—often emerge with entirely different cognitive profiles. Conquan thì lại được làmquan. But should intellectual privilege remain hereditary?
Do we want only a narrow elite to benefit from the cognitive power of abstract polysyllabic languages like English? Reforming Vietnamese into a polysyllabic writing system democratizes that advantage. It levels the field.
Writing Vietnamese polysyllabically—like English or German—will elevate the nation intellectually and digitally. The orthography is still young. It deserves refinement. Let us not settle for less. Let us act.
3) Abolish old-fashioned hyphenation—decisively and permanently
The orthographic inertia we tolerate today reflects a broader national stagnation. As long as we do nothing, the old way of writing remains entrenched. This mirrors how Vietnam has approached its own language: as if it were “isolated,” a term once used by Western linguists to imply primitiveness. Though such voices have faded, their texts linger—and their influence persists in Vietnamese scholarship.
Ironically, Vietnamese writing was more structurally accurate until the late 1970s. Dissyllabic words were routinely written with hyphens: quốc-gia (nation), bâng-khuâng (melancholy), lạnh-lẽo (coldly). The hyphen signaled polysyllabic unity. Its disappearance was driven not by linguistic insight, but by convenience—scribes saved time by skipping strokes. Yet hyphenation remains a valid and formal convention in academic writing.
Some speculate that Chinese script influenced this fragmentation, since each character is a self-contained word. But that’s unlikely. Historically, high illiteracy rates and the complexity of Hán and Nôm characters meant few Vietnamese internalized Chinese orthographic logic.
Today, Vietnamese is written with syllables spaced apart, as if each were a standalone word—visually mimicking Chinese, but semantically incoherent. This creates false boundaries between syllables and words, eroding polysyllabic cohesion.
So why did it vanish? Habit. Laziness. The convenience of dropping hyphens became orthographic default. But with our polysyllabic reform, we go further: eliminate both hyphens and white spaces within dissyllabic words. This restores cognitive clarity and typographic efficiency.
Let us not merely revive hyphenation. Let us transcend it.
4) Spring into action
We’ve now laid out the rationale for reforming Vietnamese orthography. The question is no longer why, but how. Are we ready to contribute our part to this linguistic transformation? The answer need not be daunting—this is a reform rooted in simplicity and common sense.
✍️ Principles for Writing the Polysyllabic Way
Recognize natural pairings. Many syllables consistently co-occur in fixed expressions. Write them in combining formation—as continuous sound strings, just as we speak them. Examples: mặcdù (although), vớinhau (together), nhiềuhơn (more than), đẹpnhất (most beautiful), dođó (therefore), chotớinay (until now), xãhộichủnghĩa (socialism), phầnmềm (software), kểkhôngxiết (uncountable).
Use foreign languages as scaffolds. When in doubt, consult English or other polysyllabic languages. Their combining formations offer a reliable guide. Examples: although = mặcdù, scholarship = họcbổng, dictionary = từđiển, individualism = chủnghĩacánhân.
Follow those who know. If you’re unsure how to group syllables, imitate those who’ve adopted the reform. Let usage guide refinement.
Spread the reform. Practice it yourself. Use every available medium—email, websites, signage, publications. Even without diacritics, polysyllabic combining formation improves recognition and clarity.
Leverage visibility. Store signs, online posts, and advertising written in polysyllabic formation attract attention. The novelty becomes a tool for advocacy.
📣 Reform Through Usage
The more we write in the new polysyllabic way, the stronger our collective voice in shaping reform. We become pioneers of a smarter, clearer Vietnamese.
Yes, early adopters may write the same phrase differently. But over time, usage will stabilize. A future Academy of the Vietnamese Language will codify the most common forms for official adoption.
And what of old books and archives? Once readers embrace ChữViệt2020, economic incentives will drive publishers to reprint in the new format—if books are still printed at all. Government mandates will follow public demand. It has happened before. It will happen again.
Let us not wait for permission. Let us lead.
CONCLUSION
From Vision to Action
We’ve explored the rationale for reforming Vietnamese orthography. While the case may not yet be exhaustive, if the vision resonates with you—if you feel the stirrings of reform—then hesitate no longer. Pick up your pen, open your keyboard, and begin writing in the new combining formation today.
This reform is not burdensome. In fact, it thrives in our digital age, where experimentation is free and visibility is instant. The Vietnamese version of this very post has already demonstrated how effortless the transition can be.
Vision without action is only a dream,
Action without vision only passes time,
Vision with action can change the world.
Joel Arthur Barker
Let us not merely dream. Let us act—with clarity, with purpose, and with unity.
All comments and reflections are welcome and will be shared on our forum for further discussion. Be among the first to pioneer this movement. Together, we won’t just reform orthography—we’ll make history.
Without your voice, your writing, your contribution, this vision remains a ripple in a teacup. With you, it becomes a wave.
dchph
Last updated 8/8/2025[i/>
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Tácgiả: dchph gởiđăng vàongày Jul.28.2025
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Xin Đừngcó MùaĐông
冬天 請 甭 來
Dōngtiān Qǐng Béng Lái
Sángtác: Composer . Trúc Giang
樂曲: 竹江
Yuèqǔ: Zhújiāng
翻譯: Translated by dchph
冬夜 蕭條 (Dōngyè xiāotiáo),
Đêm Đông hắthiu,
外頭 寒淒 (Wàitóu hánqī.)
ngoàitrời giárét.
誰 在 浪遊 (Shéi zài làngyóu),
Ai đang lãngdu
神魂 何 處? (Shénhún hé chù)
thảhồn vềđâu?
相思 (Xiāngsī)
Thươngnhau
請 倚 幾句 恩情 (Qǐng yǐ jǐjù ēnqíng)
xingởi vài câu ântình.
當年 冬季 (Dāngnián dōngjì)
Có nhớ Đông nào
是否 記得 ? (Shìfǒu jìdé)
ngàytháng bênnhau?
多年 分岐 (Duōnián fēnqí),
Baonăm cáchxa
而 心 不離 (Ér xīn bù lí.)
mà lòng không xa.
秋冬 已去 (Qīudōng yǐ qù)
Thu Đông đãqua,
銘記 心底 (Míngjì xīndǐ)
một dạ chờmong.
當年 夜宿 (Dāngnián yèxǐu),
Nhớmãi đêmnào,
情浪 高潮 (Qínglàng gāocháo.)
tình dâng sónggào.
口吻 陰 醉 (Kǒuwěn yīn zuì),
Nhớmãi môi nồng,
魄散 魂飛 (Pòsàn húnfēi.)
hồn thấm mensay.
我的 愛人 (Wǒ de àirén)
Hỡi người tôi yêu
是否 懷念? (Shìfǒu huáiniàn)
thấutình tôi chăng?
昔年 影象 (Xīnián yǐngxiàng)
Bónghình nămxưa
難以 埋沒 (Nányǐ máimò.)
khó nhoà trongtim.
今宿 有人 (Jīnxǐu yǒurén)
Gáctrọ đêmnay,
夢寐以求 (Mèngmèi yǐqíu.)
có người đang mơ,
世道 同路 (Shìdào tónglù),
Mơ giấcmơ đời,
共 人生 (Gòng rénshēng)
chung lốiđi.
你 回來 唄 (Nǐ huílái bei),
Mơ bóng ai về,
愛 親切 (Ài qīnqiè.)
yêu thiếttha.
冬霄 淒溥 (Dōngxiāo qībǔ)
Đêm Đông giábăng
眼 望 遠遐 (Yǎn wàng yuǎnxiá),
nhìnvề xaxăm,
心 已 委屈 (Xīn yǐ wěiqū),
Cho tim héohon,
寒冬 曲折 (Hándōng qūzhé.)
mõimòn vì Đông.
今年 冬至 (Jīnnián dōngzhì)
Nếu biết Đông nầy
你 若 不 回 (Nǐ ruò bù huí),
người không trởlại,
寧願 永別 (Níngyuàn yǒngbié)
Xin luôn nguyệncầu
冬季 甭歸 (Dōngjì béngguī.)
đừngcó mùaĐông.
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