On the 50th anniversary of the fall of Saigon during the Vietnam War, Kathy Nguyễn reflects on her family’s experiences moving to the United States.
In April 1975, the world as we knew it changed forever for me and my family, and for hundreds of thousands of South Vietnamese people who fled Vietnam at the end of a devastating war. At the time, my mother was working as a translator for the Defense Attaché Office. My father was a major in the South Vietnamese Army. On April 20th, U.S. military officials responsible for evacuating intelligence personnel gave my mother two hours to leave.
We left Saigon on a C-130 plane from Tan Son Nhut Airport. I was almost three, my sister six, and my brother 11 months old. My family was first taken to refugee camps in the Philippines and Guam. We later arrived at Camp Pendleton in California, where we learned on April 30th that Saigon had fallen to the Communists.
For months we stayed at Pendleton, until a family in Pleasanton sponsored us through a Catholic charity. We were one of few Vietnamese families in the Bay Area at the time and we experienced racism in the predominantly white community of Pleasanton. Unwanted reminders of America’s lost war, we received threats and were told to go back to Vietnam. I remember my mother crying and my father’s anger and sense of betrayal. Looking back now, I’m grateful for the experience—the good and the bad, because it’s what led me to writing. In the face of hate and hurt, we also found the kindness of strangers.
My family moved to San Francisco in 1976. On weekends, we attended Vietnamese mass and bought groceries in Chinatown. I learned English at school. My father enrolled in ESL courses at City College. When I first arrived in San Francisco as a child, standing in the heart of downtown and gazing up at the tall buildings, I asked my mother if we were back home. In San Francisco, I have found a home. With a Perspective, I’m Kathy Nguyễn.