A Reflection from April 30, 2024
It is hard to believe that it has been 49 years since I left my country of birth. As we commemorated this day in San Jose, I am amazed at how far we have come as a community. The event was held at the Rotunda at San Jose City Hall, a stone’s throw away from SJSU, where I have spent the last 31 years teaching. It is also the epicenter of local politics where not too long ago the citizens of San Jose burned down Chinatown, enforced the removal of Japanese Americans, removed Pinoytown, and yet, in 2024, we are in that building listening to accolades from city, county, and state elected officials.
We remember a time, a place, an event that has shaped thousands of lives. We see the elders with their gray hair, tired bodies, callous hands, and wrinkled faces looking lovingly and proudly at the next generations of Vietnamese Americans and their command of the language, their superb skills in navigating the demands of this society. They bask in the wide range of success of their children and grandchildren in every field, ranging from education, arts and music, medicine, and engineering.
I wonder if they truly understand that it was only through their courage, resilience, and determination that we are able to be here and now.
Looking at and speaking to the older generation is the emerging generation of Vietnamese Americans who are publicly acknowledging and thanking these pioneers for the opportunities have an education, to pursue a professional career, and to build a life where there was none. While they are now speaking Viet-Glish, they ask for understanding and forgiveness as they try to communicate in their parents’ tongue, but cannot fully articulate the immense gratitude and appreciation for the solid foundation that they built with their blood, sweat, and tears.
“As usual, I have been interviewed by news outlets, spoken to the SJSU VSA students, taught my Vietnamese American Experience lecture, and retold my story again. Though it is my story, it is not unique to me.”
As usual, I am unsure about this day. On one hand, I am immensely grateful for the life that I have built here. I have been married for over 30 years, we have two beautiful, smart, thoughtful, and compassionate children. I have been a professor for 31 years with some success. My extended family is healthy and (they) have also managed to create a life for themselves under challenging circumstances. Yet at the same time, I wonder what the cost was to all this? How many lives were lost? How much pain did people suffer? What was the environmental damage resulting from these events? How many of us lost grandparents? Aunts and uncles? Brothers and sisters? Cousins and friends? Neighbors and fellow Vietnamese?
A Reflection from April 30, 2025
A year has gone by since this last reflection. Today seems different from all the other April 30s, though. Today feels a lot heavier, a lot more intense, a lot more painful, and a lot more uncertain.
As usual, I have been interviewed by news outlets, spoken to the SJSU VSA students, taught my Vietnamese American Experience lecture, and retold my story again. Though it is my story, it is not unique to me. It is a small story in the book of the Vietnamese refugee stories that are not revealed to the world yet we hold on to it with every ounce of our being. As someone in the public more in these times, I feel a sense of responsibility to tell these stories, to observe the different events that are presented around our city, state, and country.
I find myself in a darker space these days. My reflections are a book end to a story that began 50 years as a 14 years old boy left his country as a refugee and ends as a soon to retire Professor of Sociology and Asian American Studies at San Jose State University. I am always aware of my privilege position as someone who is part of a number of communities yet never quite a full member in any one of them. I find myself between and betwixt these spaces, not fully belonging to any of them, yet a part of all of them. As a refugee, I experienced the loss of a country, the confusion of a young boy who found himself without any clear direction or vision for his future. I became a stranger in a land where I did not speak the language, did not understand the culture, customs and traditions, had no knowledge of how the educational system operated, and had no idea of the road of life was going to offer me.
I was lucky to have received the mentorship, help, support, and love of many strangers along this journey. I was fortunate to be the son of a single mother who did not pressure me to become a doctor, lawyer, engineer, or anything else. She spent all of her life since (her) arrival to the US all those years ago to make sure that my sisters and I had some food to eat, lived in a one bedroom apartment that was much too small for the four of us, yet these are among my fondest memories of those early days. Her selflessness, her sacrifice, her resilience, and her determination left a powerful imprint on me. The Goetzs took me in for a year and treated me like their son, and for that, I am forever grateful for their love and generosity.
“There were people who did not want us here for a variety of reasons, including the war, economic recessions, diverting of resources to help refugees, as the “wrong” people, and so forth. We tend to have selective memories in these celebrations and I caution us to not fall into this narrative.”
In high school, I was again the recipient of two amazing teachers, Miss Purdy and Mr. Broughton who decided to provide educational guidance to me and helped me apply to college. Without them, I would not have had any idea about all the tests, letters of recommendation, application processes, how to pay for college, and the differences between colleges and universities. As I began my college career, I somehow found myself drawn to the social sciences yet unable to understand why someone like me could believe that it was something that I could pursue. Again, I encountered professors, specifically Professor Nee and Professor Flacks, who both saw something in me and invited me to take courses with them and literally made sure that I applied to graduate school.
As the show Hamilton (and I paraphrase here) “How does a teenage refugee from VN become a professor at a university? The answer is a bit more complex and complicated so I will reserve that for another time.
As a sociologist observing the 50th Anniversary, I wanted to write a few thoughts about what I see as our community embarks on the second 50 years. In my classes and in my workshop with SJSU VSA, I challenged them to not take for granted the freedoms, the opportunities, and all the wonderful things that the older generation have sacrificed as well as what the US has to offer us. I wanted them to pause during this time to challenge themselves about their vision of what our society trajectory should be. Although we currently still have all these, they are extremely fragile and can disappear instantaneously. I don’t want us to fall into the trap of believing that we are the “good” refugee and that others are the so-called “bad” or “undesirable” refugees/immigrants. Our community faced many of the same issues that our society is currently facing. We were seen, treated, and demonized early in our history. There were people who did not want us here for a variety of reasons, including the war, economic recessions, diverting of resources to help refugees, as the “wrong” people, and so forth. We tend to have selective memories in these celebrations and I caution us to not fall into this narrative.
As I conclude this year’s observation, I wanted to remind ourselves that the reason our community succeeded is not just because we put our heads down and worked hard, or that we sacrificed many things, rather, it is because we were fortunate enough that the American dream and the opportunities that were available at that time facilitated our success. We should be reminded that this country, now home to the next generations, has always benefited from the influx and contributions of all immigrants and refugees that came to these shores. Our strength is in the diversity of all Americans, the goal of achieving equity for all to prosper, and that this vision is inclusive of EVERYONE, not a selected few.
Hien Do is Professor of Interdisciplinary Social Science and Asian American Studies at San Jose State University and an ALF Senior Fellow from Class XXXVI.
About Making Waves | AAPI Voices
This article is part of the Making Waves – AAPI Voices project by ALF Silicon Valley’s AAPI Caucus. Through an ongoing series of letters and other forms of creative expression by ALF Senior Fellow guest contributors, we aim to share the experiences of Asian Americans & Pacific Islanders (AAPIs) with the broader ALF network. We are proud of AAPIs’ contributions to our multiracial society and believe we can help strengthen our community and democracy by sharing our stories to build understanding and solidarity.
View all current contributions to this series here.
The title of this project, Making Waves – AAPI Voices, is inspired by the book Making Waves, An Anthology of Writings By and About Asian American Women. We thank editor Dr. Elaine Kim and Asian Women United of California for their groundbreaking work and permission to use the title.
