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I am currently in California for summer school. On a rare free afternoon, our group visited the Richard Nixon Presidential Library in Yorba Linda - his birthplace, where a small white frame house still stands on the manicured library grounds. As a Vietnamese visitor, an education policy researcher, I walked out of that archive with far more to think about than I ever expected.

The Yellow Pad: Thinking vs. Posturing

I have always been drawn to other people's handwritten notes in a way I can't entirely explain - their postcards, their marginalia, their discarded to-do lists. In the library, one specific archival note stopped me entirely. Dated December 6, 1970, and written in the Lincoln Room with a list of qualities Nixon needed to project or become:

Compassionate – humane – fatherly – warmth.Hope, Confidence in future, Optimism. Courage – willingness to stand alone for what is right. Candor – Honesty – openness – trustworthy.Vitality – Youth. Enjoyment – Zest. Purpose – goals for generation – vision. Dignity – respect – prestige – a man people can be proud of. Hard work – dedication. Open Mindedness – listen to opposing views. Unifier – fairness to opponents – and end bombast, hatred, division."

The list reads less like a record of private conviction and more like a corporate brand brief. a man writing down instructions on who he wants the public to believe he is. Compassionate. Noble. A unifier. These are the exact qualities that the historical record would most violently complicate. He wasn’t discovering these values in quiet meditation; he was engineering their projection.

Yet, the pads show another side of him. He used them for meticulous, long-range planning, drafting five-year and ten-year outlines (even down to notes reminding himself that regular church attendance should remain part of his public routine).

Source: Author's image from Nixon Library

Before his historic 1972 China trip, he worked through pages of intense diplomatic analysis, breaking down exactly what each side needed from the negotiation and identifying where mutual interests could align.

It was one of the first times I had seen someone use legal pads purely as an instrument of thought — not to draft, not to record, but to think. In the archives I had visited in Vietnam, handwritten notes always served a terminal purpose: finalizing an article, logging a reading, fixing something already half-formed. These yellow pads were different. They were a mind working in real time.

When the Record Turns Against You

Nixon didn't only write; he recorded. He had a secret, voice-activated taping system installed throughout the White House—the Oval Office, the Cabinet Room, his private office in the Executive Office Building, and the phone lines. It was a comprehensive net that captured thousands of hours of raw conversation without the knowledge of most people in the room.

While previous presidents had selectively recorded conversations, Nixon was the last to utilize such a totalizing system.

The very tapes meant to preserve his preferred version of events 
became the bulletproof evidence that destroyed his presidency.

The infamous "Smoking Gun" tape from June 23, 1972—recorded just six days after the Watergate break-in—captured Nixon explicitly directing the CIA to pressure the FBI into blocking its investigation. He had spent months telling the public he knew nothing. The tape proved otherwise. The Supreme Court eventually ruled 8–0 in United States v. Nixon (1974) that he had to surrender the recordings. He resigned sixteen days later.

I find myself sitting with a question that doesn't have a clean answer: Why does the habit of recording your own life so often backfire? There is a fundamental psychological difference between the mediums:

  • The Spoken Word: Spoken conversation is emotional, fluid, and often carried by transient anger or unfiltered impulses.

  • The Written Word: Writing forces you to observe your own thoughts. You think more deeply when you write because you must consciously choose what is worth preserving on paper.

Recording captures the unvarnished, uncritical self. If a person spends their life pretending, the tapes reveal exactly how long and how aggressively they had to act to maintain the illusion.

Therein lies the deeper irony: both the yellow pads and the taping system sprang from the exact same impulse. He wanted to control his legacy. He was meticulous about history in a way that suggests someone who was always performing for a future audience. Yet, that desperate desire to author his own historical image is what produced the exact evidence that made the image uncontrollable.

Policy: The Coexistence of Diplomacy and Destruction

War, Empire, and the Cost of "Honor"

Vietnam is the part of Nixon’s presidency that I feel most intimately. Nixon entered office in 1969 promising "peace with honor." His administration pursued Vietnamization—gradually withdrawing American ground troops while transferring the burden of combat to the South Vietnamese military. Yet, this withdrawal did not mean the war shrank. Instead, the conflict bled into Cambodia and Laos, and massive American bombing campaigns brought unprecedented destruction across Indochina.

What struck me most at the library’s casualty display was the staggering, unbridgeable gap between American military deaths and Vietnamese deaths (North and South combined). I found myself wondering:

  • How accurately were those millions of lives counted?

  • By whom were they counted?

  • Does this potrait certain political message of that framing at the time loss of the American lives. I would be curious of the same statistical reports published by the North Vietnam sides.

The expansion into Laos — the "Secret War" — was conducted entirely outside public knowledge, a direct consequence of Vietnamization's logic: withdraw American bodies, but deepen the violence elsewhere. The costs were borne by people who had no voice in the negotiation and no place in the eventual peace: lives lost, landscapes poisoned, health consequences that would pass down through generations across Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam.

"Peace with honor" was, in practice, symbolic honor for one nation — paid for in millions of lives across a fractured region.

The Environment as a Public Good

During his administration, the United States created the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) and adopted sweeping legislative frameworks like the National Environmental Policy Act (NEPA) and the Clean Air Act of 1970. These moves made environmental protection a permanent, institutionalized federal responsibility.

Was it a genuine conversion, or just a tit-for-tat political calculation to appease an angry public? The lesson is ambiguous: imperfect, calculating political actors can still produce lasting public institutions worth defending.

Criminal Justice, Race, and the Carceral State

In 2015, I gave a presentation on private prisons at Indiana University Bloomington. One of the key takeaways was that America's War on Drugs created the perfect economic conditions for the private prison industry to explode. In 1971, Nixon declared drug abuse "public enemy number one." While his administration initially funded treatment and rehabilitation alongside enforcement, it was the violent language of war that endured. Once drug use was framed as an enemy to be defeated rather than a public health crisis to be treated, the policy logic shifted permanently toward hyper-policing, aggressive prosecution, and mass imprisonment.

There was a crucial legal pivot that allowed this to happen. In Robinson v. California (1962), the Supreme Court ruled that a state could not criminalize the status of being an addict—treating addiction as a disease rather than a crime. The Nixon administration effectively bypassed this public health framework by heavily criminalizing the possession of even trace amounts of controlled substances. You couldn't jail someone for being an addict, but you could jail them for what was in their pocket.

The consequences were devastatingly unequal. Drug enforcement fell disproportionately on Black and Latino communities, while identical drug use in affluent white communities was treated as a private family matter. This highlights the perverse incentives of privatizing public goods. A private prison company's revenue relies directly on bed occupancy. While the theoretical purpose of criminal justice is public safety and rehabilitation, the business model of a private prison is maximum incarceration. When you hand public policy over to market logic, the institution begins working directly against the people it is meant to serve.

Education Policy & Nixon Administration

Gender: Access Granted, Care Denied

The legislative record of 1972 is staggering: Title IX banned sex discrimination in federally funded education, and the Basic Educational Opportunity Grants laid the foundation for the modern Pell Grant. Both opened the doors of higher education wider for women than ever before.

Yet, almost simultaneously, Nixon vetoed the Comprehensive Child Development Act of 1971. His veto message explicitly rejected what he called:

"...communal approaches to child rearing over against the family-centered approach."

With one hand, his administration expanded structural access to universities; with the other, it intentionally dismantled the childcare infrastructure that would have allowed women to actually utilize that access. Childcare costs remain one of the primary drivers of the wage ceiling for women today. Nixon happily signed off on the rhetoric of equality, but flatly refused to fund the public infrastructure required to realize it.

Race: Compliance as the Ceiling

On paper, Nixon's racial record in education looks substantial:

  • The desegregation of over 1,300 Southern school districts.

  • $1.5 billion channeled through the Emergency School Aid Act.

  • The Indian Education Act of 1972, giving tribes actual input over federal funds.

But this progress was deeply cynical. Nixon had won the presidency using the Southern Strategy, openly courting white voters by opposing mandatory school busing. He routinely instructed his subordinates to enforce desegregation only to the absolute minimum extent that the law required.

Leaving with Contradictions

The Nixon Library does exactly what presidential libraries are built to do. It lists milestones, highlights achievements, and contextualizes the ugly scandals. It isn't explicitly dishonest — the raw facts are technically there — but the selective emphasis forms a quiet defense, all the more effective for how neutral it looks. What you take away from an archive depends entirely on what you bring inside. I entered as a Vietnamese visitor, a policy researcher, and a keeper of yellow pads. I left thinking about the vast gap between who a person writes themselves into being and what history eventually proves them to be.

Sources & Further Reading

Primary Documents & Speeches

Legislation & Court Decisions

If you want to dig deeper into this era, the History Hit Podcast has excellent, multi-part audio deep dives on the Watergate break-in. You can also explore digitized archives directly via the official Richard Nixon Presidential Library Website.


 
 
 

This is an unexpectedly cold spring. I finished all my coursework and finally have room for a small collection. Here is what has been sitting with me lately.

Things I Watched

The Drama (2026, A24) caught me off guard — and I mean that in the best way. Directed by Kristoffer Borgli, who already proved with Dream Scenario that he is obsessed with how quickly we judge and cancel people, this one stars Zendaya and Robert Pattinson as an engaged couple whose wedding week unravels from a single unexpected event. Ari Aster produced it, which tells you something: the discomfort is intentional.


What stayed with me isn't the plot twist. It's the question underneath it: does one act undo everything that came before? The film doesn't give you a clean villain. Whoever made "the mistake" probably had reasons. And reasons don't erase consequences. What Borgli is quietly doing is showing how social performance makes private failures so much harder to navigate. A wedding is the most public declaration of a private feeling. When something breaks in that space, everyone has an opinion. The line I keep returning to: there is a difference between forgiving someone and trusting them again. The film lives in that gap. And sometimes, second chances are given not because the person deserves them, but because you need the closure.


I also watched Straight to Hell a Japanese film that stayed with me for different, darker reasons. It's feminist in the way that quietly unsettles: a portrait of women's lives in the aftermath of war, with stunning imagery and cinematography that made every frame feel deliberate. What disturbed me most was how honest it is about human nature under conditions of powerlessness. The film seems to say: given the right circumstances, anyone can become the one who inflicts harm — the person who was once on the receiving end can become the one dealing it out, once they are finally given a chance. I saw different faces across different men, and multiple faces folded into one woman. That multiplicity felt true to me in a way that more straightforward stories about good and evil never quite do.


And then Queen Maker, a Korean political drama I watched purely for the pleasure of it, and it delivered. Politics here is exactly what it looks like from the outside: full of tricks, scandals, and the people who manufacture them. It is not a show you watch to feel good about the world. But it is a show you watch to understand the machinery, and sometimes that understanding is its own kind of satisfaction.


One more, smaller: a YouTube video that I can't stop thinking about:



I grew up knowing Đạo Mẫu as something my grandmother practiced, a thread of folk belief running alongside official religion. Watching it now, as a documentary, made me wonder things I never thought to ask: whether my grandmother also had to hide something of herself, or whether the queer dimension of Đạo Mẫu lived mainly in the men who served as Cầu đồng. I still don't know the answer to that. I am not sure I ever will. Watching it, I felt that complicated mixture of sadness and pride that comes when you learn that a community you belong to has been carrying something for a long time without being able to name it openly. The Cầu đồng hold something sacred precisely because they exist at the margins.


Things I Listened To


This episode of Deep Questions with Cal Newport — featuring Brad Stulberg and his book The Way of Excellence — quietly challenged something I had been letting slide



The trap of hobbies. We treat them as rest, so we never build real skill — and then wonder why they stop feeling rewarding. That landed directly on me. I have a few things I do for pleasure that I have kept deliberately easy, because I told myself I needed the break. But the ease stopped being restful a long time ago. It just became stagnation with a nicer label. Stulberg's point is that discipline isn't only for work. A hobby practiced with intention grows into something meaningful; one practiced passively stays stuck at the same level forever. The other thing Newport points at is how abundance of choice — streaming, podcasts, feeds — is its own form of undiscipline. Consuming without committing. Browsing without arriving anywhere. I recognize that in myself more than I would like to admit. The question I left with: what hobby am I keeping comfortable when it could actually be stretching me?


Things I Just Learnt


At a conference this semester, I sat in on a presentation on Korean and Japanese linguistics that surprised me. Although the two languages look quite different, the presenter showed that their sounds and underlying structures often align closely—so closely that speakers of one language can sometimes predict the right word in the other from how it sounds. It made me think about how easily we infer distance from surface differences rather than shared roots. That’s probably why my husband’s follow-up felt so resonant: he sent me a video about translation and what gets lost between Japanese and other languages.



What struck me is how Mandarin and English sit differently inside Japanese - each carries its own cultural weight when used to depict modernity, and the gap between them reveals something about what any language can and cannot hold. Since I started learning Mandarin, I keep finding myself tracing the roots of Vietnamese back through the Sinosphere - noticing the architecture underneath the sounds. The more I understand, the larger the whole system becomes. Not intimidatingly larger. Excitingly larger.


Things I Used


Merlin Bird ID has quietly become one of my favorite little apps. It does something simple: it helps you identify birds by sound or photo. I’ve started learning bird names, and it’s unexpectedly changed the way I walk—now I look up, listen, and notice birds instead of just moving from place to place.


Song of the Post


A friend sent me a Lou Reed song a few weeks ago with no explanation. I fell back into him slowly, the way you fall back into something you forgot you needed. There is a particular quality to Lou Reed that I have trouble naming: it is not comfort exactly, but it is company. A voice that doesn't try to make you feel better, just sits beside you.



And then my sister suggested I finally watch the Waitress musical. I had listened to the songs many times before — Sara Bareilles's melodies have a way of sticking — but watching the full film was different. The songs landed differently when I saw what they were attached to: a woman finding her way out through small acts of creativity and stubborn hope. I think that is why my sister sent it. She knows me well. Two very different musical worlds this month. Both felt like being seen by someone who wasn't even looking at me.


 
 
 

There are things I keep learning, forgetting, and having to learn again. Note to Self is where I write them down — not as advice for anyone else, but as reminders to the version of me who will inevitably forget.

I am a PhD student, a teacher, and someone who is still figuring out what kind of scholar she wants to be. These notes are part of that figuring out. They are practical, personal, and sometimes embarrassingly specific. I'm sharing them here in case they're useful to someone else who is also in the middle of becoming.

This is note No.01

You used to leave conferences feeling like you had survived something. Drained, overstimulated, and vaguely guilty that you hadn't networked enough. Slowly, you've learned to think of conferences less as events to endure and more as things to design — around your own work, your own energy, your own goals. Here is what you know now. Don't forget it next time.

Before

  • Read the program before you arrive — not skim, actually read it. Mark the sessions that interest you. Write down the names of two or three people you want to meet and think ahead about who you might ask for coffee. Going in with a short list makes the whole thing feel less like a crowd and more like a series of intentional encounters.

  • Book accommodation right next to the venue. It sounds like a small thing, but being ten minutes from a nap is a completely different conference experience. You can step away, reset, and come back without losing half a day. Protect your energy as seriously as you protect your time.

  • Bring your business cards. They still come in handy, especially with people who prefer an instant exchange over pulling out their phones.

  • Writing a detailed script first helps enormously: once the words exist on the page, they find their way into your mouth more naturally when it counts. Word choice, sentence construction, anxiety in the moment — these are things I'm still working on. I'll update this note when I've figured them out more.

During

  • Develop a note-taking strategy before you sit down in the first session. I take fleeting notes and snapshots on my Remarkable during talks, then transfer anything that matters into a reflection note afterward. The transfer step is where the real thinking happens.

  • On asking questions: a good question is not a comment in disguise, and it is not a chance to prove you've read the literature. The best questions do three things — they show you were paying attention, they refer to something specific the speaker actually said, and they ground themselves in a shared framework so the speaker knows exactly where you're standing. A colleague of mine asks brilliant questions at every panel he attends. When I asked him how, he said: just make sure the speaker can tell you were listening. That's it. Refer to the exact line. Ask what it implies. Then let them think out loud. Let the speaker shine. One well-placed question will make people more curious about you than a hundred words of self-promotion. Ask well, then step back.

  • On compliments: if someone's work moved you or shifted how you think about something, say so specifically. Vague praise puts the burden back on the other person to guess what you meant. Specific praise — this line, this argument, this reframe — lands, and it stays.

After

Send a follow-up email, but only to the people who genuinely impressed you or whose work you want to stay close to. Keep it short: one sentence on what stayed with you from their talk, one sentence on why you're reaching out. That is enough. Most people don't do this, which means the ones who do are remembered.

Conferences don't have to cost you a week of recovery. They can leave you energized — if you go in with a plan, protect your rest, and treat each conversation as something worth showing up for properly.

You will get there!


 
 
 
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