In a small kiosk overlooking the crowded Nguyễn Trọng Tuyển Street in Phú Nhuận, Nguyễn Thị Tâm routinely checks the clock and reviews the day’s train schedule meticulously. She’s repeated these tasks countless times, a crucial component of a job that she’s done for two decades as a train crossing attendant.
Since 1976, when the Renunification Express started to connect the Northern, Central, and Southern regions of Vietnam, the country’s railway department has witnessed numerous changes. Tâm and her many colleagues stationed at crossings across the national track have also been there with every passing locomotive, safeguarding them from street traffic and protecting vehicles and pedestrians from incoming trains.
A level crossing on Nguyễn Trọng Tuyển, Saigon.
I grew up in a neighborhood bordering a train track and a busy arterial road, and have seen many times that, when the train alarm goes off, people often take it as a sign to speed up, not slow down. The flashing red alert seems to instill a sense of rush in commuters instead of stoppage.
Every time this happens, crossing guards act as the final layer of shield. In Vietnam, they not only lift and lower the gate arms, but also keep a close eye on nearby civilians to intervene when there are troubles, in order to ensure that trains get to their stations on time without pausing road traffic too long.
As precise as an alarm clock
Having been in the position since she was 25, Tâm knows more than anybody else the high levels of discipline and accuracy that her career calls for.
Nguyễn Thị Tâm has been a railway staff for two decades.
“You can’t miscalculate when you do this job. Each level crossing has very clear gate closure times,” she explains. For crossings of level 1 and 2, like where she works, the gate arms can’t be down for over 3 minutes.
If they’re down too soon, especially in densely populated districts or during peak hours, that could cause serious congestion. If you’re down too late, that’s a major collision risk. As every action is high-stakes, each step must be technically correct and precise in timing.
Attendants use a logbook to record the train schedule, gate openings and closures, in addition to any other incidents.
Nowadays, each crossing kiosk comes with CCTVs to monitor staff operations. After receiving the signal from the shift operator, Tâm would turn on the alert light in the room to notify shift supervisors, and then step out to observe both ends of the track. Everything happens just minutes before the train comes, so the atmosphere is always tense. The attendant has to heed the system’s signals while overseeing nearby traffic to detect barrier bypass violations.
Tâm tells me that this is the hardest part of her job: “Sometimes people just don’t understand and complain when I close the crossing early, like ‘the train is not here, why are you closing now?’ or ‘if you close, the traffic will jam up.’ But actually, these things are part of the safety guidelines.”
During unexpected incidents such as a vehicle being stuck on the track or other extended accidents, the crossing guard must break the seal and press the alarm button in the control kiosk.
Beside lighting and flag signalling systems, they also have detonator signals in their arsenal. Detonators can be strapped to the rail and will explode when the train passes over them. In cases where visibility is limited or the lights malfunction, they will emit loud, audible alerts to warn approaching trains from afar to slow down. This is the last resort in the playbook, and is only used when all signals fail.
“When the alert seal is broken, all lights along the track will turn red and trains must stop during the emergency,” Tâm shares. This is the reason why attendants have to always be on guard, learn by heart every signal, and cannot leave their position during a shift.
Tâm remembers like it was yesterday a shift she did one afternoon in 2008 at the Nguyễn Kiệm Crossing. A motorbike suddenly toppled over and got stuck on the track when a train was just a few dozen meters away. Not thinking too much, she rushed in to pull the driver away from the track.
“At the time, I reacted on instinct to pull them out. Luckily, there were a few xe ôm drivers around who helped drag us away from the brush with death. The train made an emergency stop too, but the line between safety and tragedy was so thin that I will never forget it.”
A youth spent alongside trains
Each of Tâm’s shifts always commences a lot earlier than business hours. She lives in a faraway suburb but works in central Hồ Chí Minh City, so before work, she wakes up at 4am so she can be present for a 6am shift. For shifts later during the day, she also starts getting ready over an hour before to commute and carry out the handover procedures.
Crossing guard’s uniform hat and light signals.
During any given shift, she will handle from nine to over 20 trains, depending on the time of the day and time of the year. Once stationed, the attendant is not allowed to leave the kiosk, even if the day is New Year’s Eve or the first day of Tết.
“You need to follow every shift through. Bring your lunchbox and eat fast, because the operator gives the signal, you need to carry out the warning procedure,” Tâm says. It’s rather repetitive work that can look simple at a glance, but just a moment of neglect can have catastrophic consequences.
Tâm takes care of plants on the track as part of the Railway Department’s “Flowers on the Track” initiative.
The work is intense, but it is even tougher for female staff. Some female attendants need to return just six months after giving birth; the baby is left at home with the grandparents or enrolled in public nurseries. Crossings at major avenues like Hoàng Văn Thụ or Nguyễn Văn Trỗi have giant heavy barriers that could give one a bruise if lifted improperly.
On days when the weather is stormy, everybody at the kiosk must also double as a cleaning crew to remove branches, debris, and rubbish that the water drags into the track. It’s not uncommon for Tâm and her colleagues to regulate traffic, operate the barriers, and watch out for signals while their uniform is soaking wet and the gale lashes their faces.
In the past years, the railway department has implemented upgrades to make the work of attendants less arduous. Some crossings were converted from manual to electric, reducing the weight of gate arms and the time of operation. A digital monitoring system can assist staff in overseeing traffic, detecting accidents, and providing clarity when there are disputes with civilians. Besides, staff benefits have improved when it comes to yearly trips, help for struggling employees, and working conditions for female workers with young children.
While the welfare policies don’t really lighten their actual technical work, Tâm feels validated. “It’s less tiring these days, I’m happy that the authority cares more about us,” she shares. Her daily schedule is not just filled with hardships; there are wholesome moments with passersby, too.
Sometimes, commuters nod their heads in gratitude when she just finishes a shift. Another time, on March 8, she was in the middle of the night shift when a group of students dropped by to give her a small bouquet in honor of Vietnamese Women’s Day. She never forgets those flowers, because they made her feel appreciated, and that her work is seen and meaningful to somebody.
Chatting to Tâm reminds me of ‘Hai Đứa Trẻ,’ Thạch Lam’s famous short story. In the text, the night train piercing across town was once seen as the symbol of light, of hope, of a bigger world out there for tiny humans in the rural area. Perhaps, in her 20 years guarding crossings, Tâm and her colleagues were the people hard at work keeping that light ever burning.
