Today, I want to share my own journey of becoming a Vietnamese lawyer, along with the unforgettable experiences that came with it
Back then, after finishing high school, when pursuing a career in teaching was the dream of many – with its promise of a gentle image and a stable income – I chose a different path. I staked everything on a single university: Hanoi Law University, driven by a dream of becoming a lawyer who stood for justice and fairness (a bit lofty, perhaps?). Who said articles and clauses of law were dry? To me, they reflected the vivid realities of life hidden within words – and I longed to explore them.
Some advised me to apply for a college program as a backup. But I thought: if I failed, then I’d rather just “return to the fields” and work in a factory – no more exams. Fortunately, luck was on my side. The promising gates of university opened wide before me, and the four turbulent years of law school began.
Upon graduation, I moved south to build a career, studying while working. The Lawyer Training Program was held in the evenings. By day, we were busy grinding away at work; by night, we’d rush off, nibbling on a piece of bread while carrying our bags to the Judicial Academy on Dinh Tien Hoang Street. Sometimes after class, our group would hang out until late. That was one of the most beautiful chapters of my twenties. I often wonder how we had so much energy back then – perhaps it was simply youth.
At the time, the theoretical training lasted only six months; now it has been extended to twelve. Classes were taught by highly respected, experienced lawyers. I was especially inspired by two famous lawyers: Mrs. Trương Thị Hòa, who captivated us with stories of dramatic criminal cases and whose court defenses I avidly followed – she was, and still is, the woman I most admire in the legal field. Always graceful in her flowing áo dài (beautiful traditional long dress), she embodied gentleness, elegance, and poise.
The second was Mr. Nguyễn Ngọc Bích, a Harvard Law School graduate, whose teachings on the importance of legal reasoning, presentation skills, and drafting techniques reflected the Western legal education approach – an invaluable model for young law students in Vietnam.
After completing the training program, we were required to register for an internship at a law office – a mandatory 18 months of practice. It was a precious time for new graduates to learn from reality – something not to be wasted.
Once the internship ended, came the final examination. To pass, you needed to clear every subject. Ironically, even if you scored 10s across the board, one score below 5 meant failure. Many candidates, including older professionals from distant provinces, returned year after year, burdened with books, retaking the test simply because of one missed subject.
The exam had two parts: written and practical. The written exam covered (i) litigation and legal consulting skills, (ii) laws governing lawyers and the profession, and (iii) the Vietnamese Lawyers’ Code of Ethics. On exam day, everyone arrived laden with stacks of legal texts – statutes, decrees, circulars – piled so high they nearly covered the desks. Only the Ethics exam required pure memorization, word-for-word. Ironically, some of the most technically brilliant candidates failed that very subject.
Passing the exam allowed you to apply for a Law Practice Certificate, then receive a Lawyer’s Certificate, and finally join the Bar Association (with the duty to pay membership fees, of course – forgetting this meant expulsion).
All in all, the journey spanned 6–7 years: from a bachelor’s degree, to lawyer training, to internship, final exams, certification, and bar membership – before officially earning the title of “Lawyer.”
One of my most cherished memories was an unexpected phone call from the clerk of the Ho Chi Minh City Bar Association, asking if I would represent my peers by delivering the graduation speech at the solemn ceremony. Hesitant at first, I eventually agreed.
I still don’t know why she chose me – perhaps it was luck, or simply because I was among the youngest candidates to pass at that time. That night, I drafted my speech myself. On the day of the ceremony, dressed in a black pencil dress and a blue blouse, I stepped up to the podium, nervous at first. Yet after the first couple of sentences, the fear melted away. I realized I wasn’t speaking for myself alone – I was representing the dreams, ambitions, and sacrifices of all my fellow colleagues seated before me.
They had endured hardships, studied relentlessly, sacrificed time with family, and persevered until exhaustion. In their eyes shone pride, hope, and determination. Now, with the title “Lawyer,” they could meet clients and appear before courts with renewed dignity, proudly holding their Lawyer’s Certificate.
When I finished, I caught sight of a few friends at the back of the hall clapping enthusiastically. It seemed the audience was pleased. Later, we gathered to take photos with the then-Chairman of the Bar Association, Mr. Nguyễn Đăng Trừng.
Today, law fills my waking hours and even slips into my dreams. It has become not only a profession but also a way of life, an ideal. With every passing day, I feel more deeply the significance of law in every corner of society – and gratitude for the path I chose.
Cún’s journey of becoming a Vietnamese lawyer
Saigon 2016
