Walk through central Ho Chi Minh City today, and you’ll find cafés hidden inside aging apartment blocks, up narrow staircases, past shared corridors, behind doors that once led to family living rooms.
But long before these buildings became Instagrammable landmarks, they were cư xá - one of Vietnam’s earliest experiments in collective urban living, and a housing form that explained how Saigon learned to live together.
Cư xá was established in Saigon’s urbanization process
Cư xá was not in the “Hán-Việt” (Sino-Vietnamese) dictionary, it originated from a French word “cité” - meaning a social housing project, groups of apartment buildings. The earliest cư xá in Vietnam emerged in the mid-20th century, largely during the French colonial period and accelerating in the 1950s–1960s in Saigon, later in the 1960s in Hanoi. These structures, often referred to as "chung cư" (apartment blocks) or "khu tập thể" (collective housing), were designed to address rapid urbanization and housing shortages.
A cư xá typically refers to a cluster of low to mid-rise apartment blocks, usually ranging from two to four storeys. These housing complexes were built for specific social groups such as civil servants, military officers, bank employees, or immigrants from nearby provinces, with shared corridors, staircases, courtyards, and ground-floor commercial spaces. Colonial authorities sought not only to accommodate the growing population, but also to manage and control it.
In 1927, the first housing project for workers was launched - the Cité Aristide Briand or locally called Cư xá Đô Thành. Before the emergence of cư xá, most Saigon residents lived in individual townhouses or informal settlements. Outside the urban core, residential areas remained largely rural. These early projects were limited in scale, but they introduced a new idea: housing as an organized urban system, rather than an extension of rural village life.
A response to Saigon’s 1950s housing crisis
The true golden age of cư xá in Saigon arrived in the 1950s–1970s, under the Republic of Vietnam. Between 1950 and 1970, Saigon’s population grew from roughly 0.8 million to 1.3 million, an increase of more than 60% over two decades, as rural migration, war displacement, and administrative expansion pushed more people into the city.
Large-scale projects were built to house thousands. Among the most notable was Nguyen Thien Thuat Housing Complex (1968), comprising 11 blocks and nearly 1,400 apartments. During the Vietnam War, parts of the complex were associated with US-backed military infrastructure, before later accommodating displaced residents and migrants.
Architecturally, these cư xá favored reinforced concrete, repetitive block layouts, narrow corridors, and minimal ornamentation. This was marked when Saigon learnt to live vertically and a distinct form of urban community emerged, where daily life unfolded in corridors, courtyards, and ground-floor shops.
After 1975: life was adapted
Following reunification in 1975, many cư xá were transferred to state management. Apartments were redistributed, population density increased, and maintenance became minimal. Over time, residents adapted. Balconies were enclosed with metal cages, called chuồng cọp, to create extra space. Living rooms turned into shops. Bedrooms became storage units. The original architectural intent slowly gave way to lived necessity.
As a number of original residents left the country, apartments that had once housed civil servants, military officers, or employees of specific institutions were redistributed to workers, low-income families, and households displaced by war. Over time, it became something more enduring than a housing solution, a place where post-war life was rebuilt, families settled down, raised children, and formed new rhythms of collective living.
Tran Van Luom (76 years old), who has lived in Cư xá Đô Thành for most of his life, told VOV Giao Thông:
“I was born here, I got married here, raised my children here. My wife, my kids - they all still live and work here. These are memories. Things change every year. Such as the old woman selling mung bean sweet soup at night, or the old man selling rice cakes or stir-fried pork noodles. But for now, none of that memory is there anymore.”
Today, Cư xá Đô Thành looks cleaner, more modern than it once was. Yet beneath this surface, the social ecosystem that once defined cư xá life has changed. Younger residents often come and go, while long-time inhabitants remain deeply attached to a place that has become inseparable from their personal histories.
From homes to home-based business
By the 2010s, a curious transformation took place. Buildings like 42 Nguyen Hue - once home to officers and civil servants, began attracting cafés, studios, and creative businesses. Located in the heart of the city, combined with relatively flexible rents and adaptable interiors, made them appealing to a new generation of tenants. People started searching back to what was once considered outdated.
Elsewhere, cư xá such as Thanh Đa became popular backdrops for photography, particularly during Lunar New Year, when young people donned áo dài to capture images among weathered staircases and bougainvillea-covered balconies.
The appeal was not the structure itself, but the atmosphere: narrow staircases, peeling walls, layered histories. These were examples of invented traditions, recreated from the old values.
Urban renewal of home culture face contrasts with living memory
Ho Chi Minh city is now home for more than 474 apartment buildings/housing complexes which were built before 1975. Many of them are now facing dilapidation which threaten residential life and worsen the city landscapes.
The decline of cư xá today stems from two forces. First, economics. Many of these housing complexes occupy prime inner-city land. Redeveloping them into modern high-rise complexes promises far greater profitability. Second, deterioration. Decades without proper renovation have left many cư xá structurally compromised, making demolition seem like the simplest solution.
City authorities have announced plans to renovate, rebuild, or replace aging apartment blocks by 2035, citing safety concerns and urban renewal goals. While necessary, these efforts also raise difficult questions: what happens to the social fabric embedded in these spaces?
For many Saigoneers born in the 1970s and 1980s, growing up in a cư xá meant growing up without clear boundaries between private and public life. Leaving a cư xá is not simply a matter of relocation, it is the loss of an entire living memory.
At Thanh Da housing complex, generations of residents still resist relocation despite deteriorating infrastructure. “Even if the government offered gold, I wouldn’t leave,” one elderly resident told Thanh Niên news, echoing a sentiment widely shared among long-term cư xá dwellers.
This emotional attachment has become one of the greatest challenges to urban renewal. While authorities cite safety concerns and redevelopment needs, residents fear that relocation would dismantle the social fabric that has sustained the communities for decades.
