Vietnamerica: A Family's Journey

“You can’t look at our family in a vacuum and apply your myopic contemporary Western filter to them.”

During the family’s visit to Huu Nghiep’s grave, GB compares the war memorial to Arlington Cemetery and wonders what role his grandfather played during the Vietnam War. In this quote, Tri Huu’s criticism points to how Western accounts of the Vietnam War silenced Vietnamese perspectives. As a product of an American education, GB doesn’t understand the personal story of Huu Nghiep, a Viet Minh adherent who believed in fighting for his country’s independence and forsook his role as father and husband to ensure a better future for his family and his compatriots. Tri Huu’s angry tone reveals his own struggle to reconcile his feelings of pain for the father who abandoned him and pride for the nationalist who fought for freedom.

““Plaques and medals chronicle Huu Nghiep’s lifetime of loyalty and service [...] First against the Japanese, then French, and finally American invaders […] Did he kill a foreign legionnaire for this one? Maybe a marine? Probably neither. A doctor, his purpose was to SAVE lives.”

GB ponders his grandfather’s experiences as a Viet Minh and provides a picture of a man who fought foreign aggressors and saved lives as a chief doctor. In the context of popular representations in the US of the Vietnam War and Vietnamese people, GB’s humanizing assessment of his grandfather’s role in the war is unique. Huu Nghiep isn’t the faceless enemy, a sadistic torturer, or a jungle savage. GB validates his grandfather’s participation in the war as worthwhile despite his designation as the “enemy” in the US imagination.

“There’s an old Vietnamese saying: Our parents care for us as our teeth sharpen […] So we care for them as theirs dull.”

GB ends Chapter 1 with a proverb that illustrates the custom of taking care of one’s parents in their old age. Instead of fulfilling this tradition, Dzung Chung was unable to remain in Vietnam and left her parents behind in 1975. Tri Huu refused to reconnect with his father after the war except for one visit. GB uses the proverb to demonstrate how the war disrupted family unity and in the process prevented families from practicing Vietnamese traditions. The proverb reminds GB to value his parents—and in doing so, he honors their stories by creating the memoir.

“Of course, no one thought life would improve just because one occupier was being replaced by another.”

Dzung Chung explains that after World War II, the end of the Japanese occupation merely resulted in the return of the French, eager to regain control over their Indochinese colonies. Dzung Chung describes how occupation and colonialism defined much of her nation’s identity during the past century. Vietnam’s desire for independence explains the success of the Viet Minh during the First Indochina War and provides a redemptive context for Huu Nghiep’s abandonment of his family. Many Vietnamese believed that their lives would improve once the nation gained independence.

“Langson’s [sic] isolation and ruggedness made it a perfect base of operations for the Vietminh. And no matter how much the French bombed, its beauty survived.”

Dzung Chung’s description of Lang Son emphasizes the region’s resilience as well as that of the Vietnamese people and nation. Vietnam has had to fight against Japanese, French, and American invaders for its right to be independent. Decades of war and violent conflicts have left both physical and emotional scars, but Dzung Chung expresses her national pride by asserting the nation’s beauty. Her comment ties into the common saying that “Vietnam is a country, not a war.” The beauty of Lang Son’s landscape is inseparable from the beauty of the nation’s devotion to independence.

“Individuals pick sides. Families don’t.”

Dzung Chung describes how her mother remained apolitical during the First Indochina War. She didn’t choose between helping Vietnamese or French patrons, instead prioritizing the community of Vung Tau as a whole. Her children both inherited this perspective, as Vinh was recruited to fight for the Southern army, but saw no difference between people in the North and South. When Dzung Chung’s adopted brother became allied with the French, his role as an informant was indirectly responsible for the death of Dzung Chung’s father. In her retelling of the event, she reasserts the importance of families not choosing sides. Throughout the memoir, the family is a metaphor for the nation in that goals for unity and loyalty, like family bonds, struggle against individual differences.

“When we were kids just trying not to get killed, who would have predicted this? Communism’s babies growing up to chase the Western capitalist get-rich-quick dream.”

In his reunion with Tri Huu, Do discusses the irony of the current state of Vietnam’s government and people. His tone is lighthearted and reflects his perspective as a Vietnamese national who acknowledges that his country participates in global capitalism, with a growing middle class engaged in consumerism like any other modern country. In contrast, Tri Huu is more embittered and believes that the corruption of the government’s leaders has only made the country worse. GB shares these two perspectives to illustrate the diversity of Vietnamese and Vietnamese American views. That Tri Huu and Do maintain their friendship despite their different perspectives indicates the transnational aspects of the Vietnamese diaspora, where globalization, mobility, and technology have transformed the relationship that overseas Vietnamese people have with the homeland.

“Ils n’oublient rien, et ils n’apprennent rien […] They forget nothing […] and they have learned nothing”

Tri Huu chastises the current Vietnamese government for failing to uphold its ideals and accuses the nation’s leaders of repeating or worsening the oppression of the previous colonial regime and American occupation. Tri Huu’s anti-communist perspective represents that of many early refugees who fled South Vietnam in the 1970s and 1980s. Facing retaliation from the new regime, a portion of those who fled constitute an anticommunist sector of the Vietnamese diasporic community who hold an antagonistic view of Vietnam. In GB’s family, Tri Huu is the most vocal in his anticommunist sentiments, though the memoir suggests that his resentment is to some extent rooted in personal disappointment because of his father’s abandoning his family.

“Mom and Dad fled Vietnam to keep the family together […] But in America, I doubt they imagined this fate for their kids: me and my siblings growing apart and scattered across the country. Getting us all together in one place is no small feat.”

GB begins to understand the importance of keeping in touch with his family and learning about his roots when he visits his dying grandmother in the hospital. The occasion is one of the few times the family has been in one place together, and the somber setting reminds him of how little time he has to understand what his parents sacrificed for their children. This quote appears as a caption on GB’s illustration of a map of the US, where he attributes the family’s lack of closeness to a combination of the “generational divide” and “cultural loss.” In emphasizing these distances, GB understands that to remedy a further sense of separation, he must learn about his parents and his heritage to bring the family together and strengthen their bonds.

“My family’s unwillingness to share the most basic facts was as much to blame as my decades of disinterest and insensitivity.”

As a youth, GB considers his ignorance about his family’s past as a condition of his immaturity and his parents’ silence. Born and raised in South Carolina, GB acknowledges that his assimilation to American culture perpetuated a disinterest in Vietnam. Considering the ways that mainstream America marginalizes Vietnamese and Vietnamese American voices—and the smaller population of Vietnamese immigrants in South Carolina than in places like Orange County or Houston—GB’s exposure to his heritage required more initiative on his part. In addition, GB begins to understand the reason for his parents’ silence: Their accounts are traumatic, painful reminders of what they suffered and sacrificed.

“No son of mine is growing up to be a poor and starving artist […] I sacrificed a lot and expect you to accomplish something with your life!”

Tri Huu’s lack of empathy for his son’s interest in an art career demonstrates how his deep resentment and inability to process his own disappointments have caused more strain in his filial relationships. Instead of sharing his son’s enthusiasm, Tri Huu restricts GB’s opportunities to develop his skills by not helping him pay his college tuition. However, Tri Huu’s rejection of GB’s art career also has roots in his pragmatic experience as a refugee: Uncertainty and financial hardship exacerbated the family’s transition to a new country. In Tri Huu’s eyes, for GB to choose a career with more financial stability would help him avoid suffering the way his parents did to adapt to life in America.

“You’re too young to remember, but Grandma had no patience for boys. Maybe because they reminded her of their fathers who left her. Or because she was an only child and spent months away from home in Catholic school.”

Lisa explains to GB the cycle of abuse in the family and how Tri Huu’s treatment of Manny stems from his own experience of abuse by Le Nhi. She then attempts to understand why Le Nhi used violence against her son but concludes that none of it justifies her hitting her child. Whether Le Nhi’s anger was a projection against the men who left her or a product of her isolation and corporal punishment at a Catholic boarding school, Lisa believes that physical violence traumatizes children and can continue a cycle of abuse. GB shares this assessment, as his illustration of Le Nhi being hit as a child mirrors the illustration of Dzung Chung’s implication that Tri Huu hits her. Both women are shown holding their arm with the accompanying action words, “RUB RUB RUB.” As part of GB’s exposure to his family’s past, he learns that while it includes customs worthy of upholding, it also has cycles that must be broken.

“How long could we juggle double lives defined by the walls of home? Vietnamese rules and responsibilities on one side and allure of American freedoms on the other.”

At the hospital where the Trans visit Le Nhi, Manny expresses the sense of duality in his identity. As a 1.5-generation Vietnamese American, Manny spent his formative years in Vietnam and his remaining years in the US. Both cultural contexts leave him feeling like he belongs in neither; he especially resists the level of strictness in his parents’ home. The scene is significant because it shows how generational conflicts in the Tran family are also cultural conflicts. Just as Manny and his siblings may feel trapped by “the walls of home,” the parents experience the changing dynamics within the home and feel further isolation. In addition to losing their homeland, they risk losing the continuation of traditions in the younger generation who are growing up in a different country and culture than their own.

“As soon as we turned 18, we moved out. Just like Dad did with Le Nhi when he turned the same age.

Now I kinda feel bad about it […] I’m sure he did his best.”

Lisa comments that her and Manny’s rebellion against their father’s authority was no different than Tri Huu’s own motivation for moving out of his mother’s home. Tri Huu was often physically abused by Le Nhi, and in turn, when he became a father, he abused Manny. The cycle of violence leaves Manny feeling both bitter and sympathetic, as he considers his father’s upbringing and struggles to support the family in a new country. Throughout the memoir, GB depicts the generational conflicts that he and his siblings experience with their parents as similar to those that their parents experienced with the generation before them. By paralleling the generational conflicts, GB demonstrates how much more the two parties have in common than they realize. Through empathy and communication, the family has a greater chance of rebuilding their bonds.

“After all, they lived half their lives in Vietnam. You should ask them about it sometime. There’s a lot about your parents you don’t know. And they won’t be alive forever to answer your questions.”

At the end of Chapter 5, GB juxtaposes a flashback of Le Nhi and her grandchildren playing Scrabble with the closing image of her on her deathbed and Tri Huu mourning at her side. Her advice to GB to interview his parents is a plea to retain their culture and history before traces of their past disappear. GB illustrates Le Nhi’s body on her deathbed with faded and diminished lines. She appears barely visible in the center of the page, while Tri Huu’s figure is filled in with more colors of contrast. Surrounding both are spiraling and crossing waves of various colors emanating from the center. The image evokes the multifaceted identity of Le Nhi that will remain a mystery for her family who never took the time to fully learn about her life. The scene is a lesson about the regret of neglecting one’s parents, and Le Nhi’s words are one of the things that compel GB to travel to Vietnam with his parents.

“Some of the Americans had a genuine love for Vietnam and its people, and grew to be more than just his students.”

Dzung Chung recounts the origins of Tri Huu’s friendship with Leonard, and their relationship uniquely represents Vietnamese and American interactions during the Vietnam War. Tri Huu was an established trilingual teacher who gave lessons to Leonard in Vietnamese and French. Leonard was a supportive student and friend who enjoyed Tri Huu’s art and used his influence to help the family escape. GB’s portrayal defies stereotypes of Vietnamese locals as wordless subordinates and Americans as insensitive defilers. In providing diverse perspectives, GB offers a more nuanced narrative of the Vietnam War than the ones depicted in American popular culture.

“Your brother didn’t think being punished was ‘cute.’ Kneeling was when your father was feeling merciful. If not, then […] He hit. I should have left him a long time ago.”

Dzung Chung implies that Tri Huu physically abused not only Manny but her as well. In the tiers, or rows of panels, that accompany the quote, Dzung Chung speaks to GB with her back turned to him. The next tier shows her rubbing her arm with her head cropped out of the frame, followed by a solid black panel, and ends in an image of GB frowning with a mixture of disappointment and anger. GB illustrates the scene without showing Dzung Chung’s face and punctuates her confession with a black panel. These illustrations represent the difficulty of narrating trauma and suggest that Dzung Chung is reluctant to reveal further detail. The solid black panel represents the part of the story that is never made explicit but is clearly understood. GB’s illustration technique respects his mother’s privacy and communicates her pain and resentment in the power of her silence.

“I tell you these things, but you’ll never understand. How could you? We left Vietnam so you would NEVER have to know what it’s like.”

While they sort through Tri Huu’s storage boxes, Dzung Chung expresses what appears to be exasperation at GB’s ignorance and disinterest in his family’s past in Vietnam. However, she qualifies her statement that GB will “never understand” by explaining that she never wants her children to suffer the same consequences of war and displacement that she and Tri Huu did. GB is at first glib, going through his father’s belongings and joking about his parents’ unhappy marriage. As he continues to ask Dzung Chung questions about the objects in each box, both hers and Tri Huu’s, he gradually learns about the hardships they faced before and after the war. His facial expressions become more forlorn and distressed as he learns about their sacrifices and the fate of those who remained behind. Most postwar depictions in the US focus on the experiences of American veterans. GB’s representation of postwar trauma offers a more diverse lens by focusing on Vietnamese experiences both within the country and abroad.

“The American politicians running that war wondered why they never won the Vietnamese hearts and minds. Did they expect boys caught in the draft to give their lives for corrupt Vietnamese commanders? Did they really think people like Vinh would kill their neighbors for a cause they didn’t believe in?”

Dzung Chung explains her theory of why Americans lost the war in Vietnam. She believes that the US-backed South Vietnamese government was corrupt and didn’t hold the interest of all Vietnamese. Some soldiers who were drafted, like her brother Vinh, had little conviction in the Southern government’s leaders. GB balances his representation of both sides of the war by pointing out how the anti-communist and communist regimes failed to uphold their respective ideals. His neutrality offers a mode of reconciliation between the diaspora and the homeland.

“I think in villages like Ca Mau, words like ‘communism’ and ‘reunification’ mean nothing to the people. Just propaganda politicians in Saigon like to toss around”

When the South Vietnamese army drafted Vinh, he held no ideological conviction to either faction in the war. He believed that common Vietnamese people didn’t want to kill each other and valued peace. Vinh shared Dzung Chung’s assessment that the men who fight and die in wars aren’t the ones who make the decisions. While in Ca Mau, Vinh was more interested in increasing the villagers’ literacy rate and teaching poor children. He found that most of the inhabitants simply wanted to ensure their quality of life. Both Vinh and Dzung Chung’s perspectives are a counterpoint to Tri Huu’s anti-communist sentiments. For Vinh, it was more important to view his countrymen as fellow Vietnamese than by their ideological leanings.

“You know why they’re winning? Because they’re fighting for something they believe in!”

Unlike Vinh, Do found the ideology of self-rule a powerful goal that led many Vietnamese to risk their lives and win the war. The Viet Minh recruited members under the aims of anti-colonialism, anti-imperialism, unification, and independence. Given Vietnam’s long history of foreign rule, the desire for sovereignty felt self-evident and didn’t go against long-held beliefs in the Western world. In his proclamation of Vietnam’s independence in 1945, Ho Chi Minh cited the US Declaration of Independence as inspiration for his nation’s goals. Do offers little criticism of the current government, despite being a survivor of the communist re-education camps. Dzung Chung tells GB that Do rarely talks about his time in the prison camps, and his reticence highlights the difficulty of narrating trauma for those who remained in the country.

“There’s nothing left for me there. Why would I go back to a country rotting from corruption? Ruled by man, not law? That Vietnam is not the home I left or the country young men devoted their lives fighting to reunite.”

For Le Nhi, returning to Vietnam holds no interest, and she’s even less willing than Tri Huu to reconcile her antagonism with the current government. Although Tri Huu is willing to visit Vietnam, he echoes her lines “Ruled by man, no law” when he discusses the government’s corruption with Do during his second visit. As part of the older generation, Le Nhi represents another perspective of Vietnamese refugee experiences. For her, the homeland is no longer a place of belonging. Throughout the memoir, GB provides a spectrum of differing views on the homeland that diversifies and highlights the complexity of the war’s politics and the diaspora’s imagining of the nation and Vietnamese identity.

“Our family wasn’t alone. We weren’t a special case. Everyone suffered.” 

During his narration of the family’s exodus from Vietnam, Tri Huu comments that the family’s experiences were no exception. Although GB focuses solely on the members of his family, his father’s comment reminds him of the scale of displacement and sacrifice that Vietnamese people both inside and outside its borders experienced. The memoir balances the narrative of one particular family and their specific experiences with the knowledge that more stories exist that remain to be heard.