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Who will remember?
Thursday, May 05, 2005 By Ky-Phong Tran

April 30, 2005, marked the 30th anniversary of the end of the Việt Nam War. As expected, the media coverage on America’s most controversial war has been extensive.

The Orange County Register and the San Jose Mercury News, which cover regions with a high population of Vietnamese Americans, had special sections to commemorate the Fall of Sài Gòn and Black April, as called by some in the community.

In my reading, I have found tales of escape from refugee families, coverage by ex-GIs and former war reporters, stories of return trips and most of all, stories examining the successes of the Vietnamese American community: its diverse population of educated professionals, a world champion martial artist, CEOs, elected officials, and the rise of Little Saigons.

As a writer in an open society, I do not advocate censorship and would never ask for these stories to be subtracted. But, what should be added? A balanced perspective to both the occasion and the Vietnamese American community.

So, as the 30th anniversary neared, I asked: What would we do for the occasion? Would we seek to honor ourselves only? To pat ourselves on the back and move on?

My answer was this: We should create a new path for the memorial. Redefine it. Own it. Make it ours. And doing that, we not only celebrate our glories, but we remember our struggles — past and present. We look at ourselves honestly and in totality.

For me, this anniversary was not just a Feel Good Day. It also was a time to reflect and acknowledge the struggle in our communities today. Yes, we have doctors and lawyers and engineers and astronauts and a professional football player.

But we also have a large segment of our community living in poverty. We have those with limited access to affordable housing and adequate health care and proper schools. Those struggling with language access and in indecent working conditions. What of those on the margins? Would we sweep them under the rug for the occasion?

There is a part of our culture that hides our troubles and sorrows in order to not burden others. Đừng có làm phiền. How long can we bury our problems and hope they will just go away?

Politically, I am concerned that the intimidating, at-times McCarthy-like, anti-communist portion of the Vietnamese community is leading us astray, turning off potential leaders, and occupying too much space for discourse.

I am concerned when local and state Vietnamese American officials run solely on nationalist, anti-communist platforms. What are their stances on education, local business, senior and youth programs, health care, transportation, land use? What will they do for us today and in the future?

I am concerned that so many of us were so easily led to support the invasion of Iraq. That we could readily dismiss other people across the planet as if we knew nothing of war. That the bunker-buster bomb and the Patriot Act came from our ranks, like we had no previous experience with shrapnel and the curtailing of human rights.

Within ourselves, our tinh thaàn, I worry about us often. I see the domestic violence. The social isolation of our seniors. The faraway eyes and empty silences that hide so much sadness. Frankly, I am tired of hearing how completely happy and adjusted we are. It’s not true. We all know we smile when we are happy and sad, so smiles are no clue.

I know my mom misses her family in Việt Nam so much that she cries herself to sleep. That my neighbors and cousin fear homelessness and annual budget cuts to federally subsidized Section 8 housing. I see the lost youth and violence of gang life. I know that I am not over growing up without grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins.

I can feel the loneliness, the confusion of who we are and who we aren’t. The more we hide it in ourselves, in our private space or in our public space — our art, literature, media, policy — the more I feel the post-traumatic stress disorder, the high rates of mental illness eating at us, gnawing on our spirit.

I’m sad about that. It’s OK to be sad about it. And it’s OK to say it or write it. Paint it and share it. There is no shame in it.

Our sadness is our humanity singing.

Lastly, I asked: How would we measure our progress? By the first of us or the last of us? In our rich history, we as a people have demonstrated an intense unity in the face of invasion and colonization. We also have divided ourselves brutally, literally in half at times. What tradition will we cultivate here in the U.S.?

I hope for the former and believe our progress is measured by how the first of us treats the last of us. I hope that we leave no one behind. How long can we brag about cheap pedicures, while adult education is being cut for our foot massager? How long can we praise phở soup, and ignore the server who has no health insurance?

I am not a cheerleader. I am, however, a writer. One voice, one pen among billions. A community artist and a community builder. A fighter. A seer. A doer.

And on this important anniversary in the history of the Vietnamese Diaspora, I cannot rah-rah all the way through and pretend our problems don’t exist. I love my community with passion. When I look critically at it and the way it is presented, it is so that we can better ourselves. So that we can honor ourselves and face our challenges.

Teach ourselves.

Heal ourselves.

So we can know ourselves.

All of us. The well-to-do and the marginalized. The astronaut and the fish butcher. To see our smiles and our scars.

Kỳ-Phong Trần is a former legislative aide in Oakland, where he helped to pass the first municipal language access ordinance in the nation. Raised in Long Beach, California, he is now working on a novel, “Napalm’s Children,” and short story collection, “562.” He holds a B.A. in history and is completing his master’s in Asian American studies, both from UCLA. A founding member of the Vietnamese Artists Collective, he will be a graduate fellow in UC Riverside’s MFA program in creative writing this fall.

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