I am not an ethnic minority native of the Central Highlands, but I was born and raised on the land of Gia Lai.
I grew up in the fresh, cool air of the highlands, surrounded by forests, mountains, and simple villages.
My childhood was filled with the sounds of gongs and chimes, with festivals, stories from village elders, and the sincere, generous, and rustic people of the Central Highlands.
I was raised in the love of the local people, deeply imbued with the unique cultural values of this land.
Above all, I was fortunate to grow up beside a father who devoted much of his affection and dedication to the ethnic communities of the Central Highlands.
From my father, I learned more about the arduous years of resistance, about the compassion of the people who sheltered, cared for, and protected revolutionary cadres; about steadfast, loyal figures like Bok Núp, Bok Đẳng, and countless other sons and daughters of the mountains and forests who helped shape history.
I remember my father's concerns about how to improve the lives of the people, ensure children could go to school, provide healthcare, raise intellectual standards, all while preserving their language, customs, and cultural identity.
That is not just the responsibility of someone working in management.
For me, it is also a matter of affection, gratitude, and a debt of honor to the land and the people who have nurtured my soul.
Some things, once lost, can never be recovered
The Central Highlands today is changing every day.
New roads are being built, electricity is reaching villages, schools and hospitals are receiving more investment. The material and spiritual lives of the people are gradually improving.
These are valuable achievements that we all hope for.
But amid these changes, some things are quietly disappearing.
Forests are shrinking. Streams are changing course or drying up. Traditional communal houses and stilt houses are gradually giving way to new constructions.
Village elders and artisans who understand the customs, rituals, epics, and traditional music are passing away, taking with them knowledge that we sometimes have not yet recorded, learned, or passed on.
There are ancient gong pieces that no one knows how to play anymore.
There are precious sets of gongs that no one knows how to tune.
There are rituals that are no longer practiced in their original cultural spaces.
There are stories, prayers, and knowledge about forests, water, crops, people, and the spiritual world that are gradually being forgotten.
Because when the last artisan passes away without a successor, we do not just lose someone who knows how to play the gongs.
We may lose an entire system of knowledge, a musical language, a part of the community's memory accumulated over hundreds of years.
And there are losses that cannot be restored with money, with new constructions, or with elaborately staged festivals.
The sound of the gongs is more than just music
I have heard the sounds of gongs and chimes since I was a child.
And the more I learn, the more I realize that the Central Highlands' gongs are not simply musical instruments.
Each set of gongs, each gong piece, each performance style is associated with a community, a ritual, a specific context in life.
The sound of the gongs in the new rice festival is not the same as in the grave-leaving ceremony.
The gongs played during community celebrations carry a different meaning from those played to bid farewell to the deceased.
The musical scales, the tuning methods, the coordination among artisans, the rhythms, and the performance spaces all embody musical knowledge that has been created, accumulated, and passed down through generations.
Yet today, we are witnessing some concerning changes.
Some sets of gongs are being modified and tuned to new scales and performance styles.
Some ancient gong pieces are being adapted to suit the stage and modern performances.
Some rituals are being reconstructed but lack knowledgeable practitioners, documentation, and genuine community participation.
In some places, elements from different cultural traditions are being combined and presented under the single label of "Central Highlands culture".
I do not oppose creativity.
On the contrary, I believe that culture only thrives when it can adapt, engage in dialogue, and develop alongside the times.
Gong music can absolutely meet contemporary music, step onto grand stages, and engage in dialogue with other musical traditions around the world.
We cannot use the name of innovation to erase ancient musical scales.
Nor can we use the name of preservation to stifle all creativity, trapping culture in the past.
What is needed is a clear distinction between original heritage, evolving traditional practices, reconstructed activities, and contemporary artistic creations inspired by heritage.
This is not only a matter of scientific honesty.
It is also about respecting those who have created and preserved the heritage over generations.
Preserving culture does not mean keeping every custom unchanged
I understand that this is a very difficult, sensitive issue that cannot be solved with simplistic thinking.
Since ancient times, many Central Highlands communities have held a worldview tied to animism, belief in the Yang, and a sacred relationship between people, nature, and the community.
Rituals such as the new rice festival, ear-blowing, grave-leaving, and traditional sacrificial rites once held specific roles and meanings in the cultural and spiritual life of these communities.
Over time, under the impact of economic, social, and environmental changes, cultural exchanges, and shifts in religious and spiritual life, many rituals have changed, been simplified, or are no longer practiced.
This is a reality that needs to be studied with objectivity, scientific rigor, and respect.
We must respect the right to freedom of belief, religion, and the right of each person to choose their cultural life.
At the same time, it is necessary to identify, record, and preserve traditional cultural knowledge and values that are at risk of disappearing.
Not every custom from the past needs to be restored in its original form.
Practices that are no longer compatible with the law, social ethics, living conditions, or the wishes of the community should be considered with caution and humanity.
Preserving culture does not mean forcing people to live as their ancestors did hundreds of years ago.
Preservation means helping communities understand their roots, cherish their identity, and have the right to choose how to continue the best values in today's life.
We must avoid both extremes: rigid preservation that ignores social change, and uninformed modernization that distorts precious cultural values.
Do not let the keepers of heritage become outsiders to their own heritage
I always ask myself:
We can organize grand gong festivals with impressive stages, modern sound and lighting.
But after the festival, how many artisans have new students?
How many ancient gong pieces have been recorded, notated, researched, and passed on?
How many ancient gong sets have been inventoried, preserved, and tuned according to community tradition?
How many young people truly understand the meaning of the gong pieces they are learning?
And more importantly, how many artisans and families who preserve the heritage have better lives thanks to the values they have spent their lives protecting?
Heritage cannot be preserved only on stage.
Heritage must live in the villages, in families, in community activities, and in the hearts of the younger generation.
Village elders, artisans, and the community must truly be the main actors in the preservation process.
Researchers, managers, artists, and businesses can accompany and support, but they cannot replace the voice and decision-making power of the community over their own heritage.
It is impossible to preserve Central Highlands culture without the people of the Central Highlands
Nor can we talk about promoting the value of heritage if those who are preserving it still face hardship, lack the means to teach, and have not been properly recognized.
I hope we can start with concrete actions
I hope that village elders, artisans, and those knowledgeable about customs and culture will continue to pass on their precious knowledge to the younger generations.
I hope that researchers, universities, and cultural workers will join hands in a very urgent task: Inventory, record, audio and video document, research, and digitize the heritage at risk of fading away, especially ancient gong pieces, old musical scales, gong tuning techniques, rituals, epics, and folk knowledge.
Let us do this while the cultural witnesses are still with us.
I hope that young artists and contemporary music creators will boldly bring gong music to new audiences, but always start from a place of understanding and respect for the original.
Let new creations enrich the heritage, not replace or erase it.
I hope that state management agencies will innovate their approach: shifting from organizing preservation activities to building an environment where culture can continue to be practiced and passed on; from supporting short-term events to making long-term investments in artisans, young generations, and communities.
I hope that businesses and those working in tourism will help build responsible cultural products, respect authenticity, avoid commercializing sacred rituals, and ensure that local people benefit fairly.
And I especially hope that young people of the Central Highlands will take pride in their language, attire, music, customs, and history.
You can study, work, create, and integrate with the world.
But please do not forget the gongs of your ancestors, the stories of the village elders, your mother's lullabies, and the values that shape your identity.
