Hearts with Two Homes

by David L. Hughes

Fleeing war’s turmoil, these refugees have become modern pioneers.

For 14-year-old Tien Pham and his four young traveling companions—none of whom could swim—this was not your average back pack and river outing. Tien, his scratched and aching arms draped over a gallon plastic bottle, was trying to cross the Mekong River in Laos, far upstream from his Vietnam homeland. He was literally holding on for dear life.

Tien’s Vietnamese family was living in Laos, where his father had been a diplomat. When the South Vietnamese government fell from power, so did Tien’s father. And the government in Laos was unfriendly to the South Vietnamese now, too.

Life became very difficult very fast. Tien’s family had lived in a large home with many maids. His father had a private helicopter and many business connections in foreign countries. Their home was taken over by the new government, and the family was forcibly moved. Suddenly poor and without employment, they walked to another part of Laos.

Tien’s father knew that there was no future for Tien in Laos. Tien would not be allowed to go to school after the eighth grade without government approval. There would be no approval because of his father’s position with the previous government. In addition, he would not be able to find employment because the government was the only employer. For these and other reasons, Tien and his companions decided to take a hike, so to speak, to freedom in Thailand.

The group of boys packed no food or provisions. They did not wish to raise the suspicions of officials as they left town. The journey to the Thai border could have been made in a day under normal circumstances but it took three days for Tien and his friends. They traveled only by night to avoid detection by military patrols. In the daytime, they slept in trees and remained quiet. They lived on bananas and wild fruits as they meandered through a jungle shared with occasional snakes and panthers and a constant supply of insects. The boys, all between 10 and 14 years of age, had already zigzagged through 30 miles of Laotian jungles when they reached their biggest obstacle: the Mekong River.

The Mekong River is the Mississippi of Southeast Asia. It flows for over 2,000 miles through China, Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam before it nourishes the Mekong Delta near Saigon and empties into the South China Sea. On the other side of the Mekong, about a half-mile wide at this spot, Tien and his companions could at least see Thailand through the moonlight. It was almost morning. The boys, although afraid to cross, reasoned that they would be killed anyway if they were found by patrols in the morning, and they decided to make the attempt.

While walking along the river, they found the help they needed. Tien and a friend found a pair of plastic bottles discarded near the river. The other boys found plastic sacks. With the floating aids, they thought they had a chance for a successful crossing. Tien and his friend hugged their bottles and waded into the water. With similar hopes, the other boys paddled out into the swift current clutching inflated plastic garbage bags. The water level was high from late summer rains.

As two of the makeshift floats snagged on branches and debris in the river, the plastic easily split and the bags deflated. Without floating aids, Tien’s nonswimming friends first struggled and finally drowned in the murky Mekong water. Tien and the others, unable to come to their aid, could only look on with horror and helplessness. Due to the swift current and their lack of swimming skills, it took Tien and the others three long, exhausting hours to reach the other side. Widely separated during that time, the boys managed to find each other. They had reached the western bank sobered but not shattered; after resting, they pressed on.

Such was life for many South Vietnamese who fled after Saigon surrendered on April 30, 1975. There were thousands of Vietnamese who refused to live under the new government. They risked everything, even their lives, to escape. Some were only children. Some were LDS. Some would become LDS.

We have much to learn from the stories of Latter-day Saint Vietnamese youth who came to America. Each has his or her own story of a war-altered childhood filled with trials and testimony interwoven with strands of tenacious faith.

Nine-year-old Seiko Tran and his six-year-old sister, Lili, were happy in their comfortable Saigon home. Their father, Loc, not only controlled considerable land but owned two homes and operated a family business. He was an attorney before being drafted into the military. He was trained as a jet-fighter pilot and was stationed at Tan San Nhut Air Base in Saigon. Young Seiko had often dreamed of flying in his father’s jet.

His father worked closely with some LDS servicemen stationed in Vietnam and became very interested in the Church before the Americans were gradually withdrawn from Vietnam, mainly in 1972 and 1973. Seiko and Lili attended private schools. They were being groomed to follow in the footsteps of their parents, who were well educated and spoke several languages. Their father, in fact, spoke Chinese, Japanese, Italian, Cambodian, English, French, and Vietnamese.

When the South Vietnamese government surrendered to North Vietnam, Seiko and Lili were hurriedly taken by their parents to the air base and, along with their mother, Van, were stuffed into the back seat of the fully-armed jet fighter assigned to their father. Suitcases containing family valuables had been exchanged for their safe entry to the base, but they didn’t have enough to satisfy everyone.

When the engines were started, there was a massive effort to stop the Tran family. With guns firing at them from all sides, Seiko and Lili huddled close to their mother. Their father’s jet shook violently under full power as it roared down the battered runway and then, as it seemed to them, leaped into the air. Their father dropped all armaments to gain speed and altitude. They were soon safe.

Seiko and Lili were too young to understand that they would not be coming back. Unlike their parents, they were more frightened than sad. Through the clouds and the mist, they took one last look at the green hills and rice fields of Vietnam as their father set a course for Thailand. All the family had now were the clothes on their backs and each other. Seiko’s first airplane ride was not turning out quite the way he had imagined.

Sixteen-year-old Mai-Anh Doan, her older sister, and two young brothers were separated from their family during the confusion and chaos of the Saigon airlift in April 1975. The entire Saigon Branch of the Church, some 250 men, women, and children, was on the approved evacuation list, but the airlift came to a sudden halt when shelling of the airport damaged the runway so heavily that transport planes could no longer use it. Helicopters were sent in to evacuate as many as they could hold until even they could not safely enter or leave the area.

Mai-Anh and her sister, members of the Saigon Vietnam Branch, waited at the airport for three days to be evacuated. They sat together praying and crying and hoping for the best as incoming shells whistled overhead and exploded on and near the runway. The war had never been so close to them.

Like most others in the Saigon Branch, Mai-Anh was happy with her life in Vietnam. She loved the Church and her country. She did not want to leave but could not and dared not stay. As she took her place on one of the helicopters to be evacuated to safety, her thoughts were of her parents and family who were still on the ground waiting for their turn to board one of the helicopters. She was very much afraid. As the huge, dual-rotored helicopter lifted her through the clouds, she could not hold back tears of despair even as she, with happiness and great relief, thanked God for her safe passage out of Vietnam.

Another pair of siblings, Bich Thuy and her brother Tuan, were literally launched on their new life by their mother. Eight years after South Vietnam’s surrender, the family decided the two youngest children must leave and attempt to join the older children who had left earlier. Their LDS father was still in a “reeducation camp,” and their mother was unwilling to leave without him. For her children, however, she knew a better life was possible. She took her two children to the ocean, put them on a small fishing boat loaded with others also seeking a better life, and like the mother of Moses who set her baby adrift in a basket, committed her children into the currents and prayed that God would watch over them.

Prior to her departure, Bich Thuy, now 20, had been an accomplished pianist trained in the finest Saigon music schools. Her delicate hands have since known many hardships. As those same hands were raised to bid farewell, she wondered if she would ever see her mother’s face again. She wonders still.

Each of the young people mentioned, Tien, Seiko, Lili, Mai-Anh, Bich Thuy, and Tuan are now members of the Church living in the United States. Tien, Seiko, and Lili had prior contact with the gospel but joined the Church after coming to the U.S. Mai-Anh, Bich Thuy, and Tuan were members of the Church in Vietnam and continued that association in the United States. They are representative of a small but faithful contingent of LDS Vietnamese youth. Whether they walked, flew, or sailed out of Vietnam, they faced obstacles and humiliations most of us have never known. Once safe, they still had to pass through refugee camps where they waited for months and sometimes years to be processed. Finally, they arrived in America, with and without families and always with little or nothing to call their own.

They had to pull together and help one another as they began a new life in a new land where a new language and new skills were required. They have been ignored by many, welcomed by some, and scorned and treated badly by others. They each point to their faith in the gospel of Jesus Christ as a positive force in their lives. The gospel also provides them with a common bond with other members of the Church, regardless of their backgrounds or station in life. It is the one thing that transcends race, nationalities, and circumstances.

The Vietnamese youth feel they have been truly blessed. Because of their starting points, what they have accomplished is particularly noteworthy.

Tien was the only one in his group that spoke Siamese, the Thai language. He was able to communicate their desire to seek freedom in Thailand. They were put into a refugee camp but eventually lost track of each other. Tien spent a total of two years in three different refugee camps. He volunteered to work in the kitchen, where he could get enough to eat and also receive extra water for showers. While carrying out his kitchen duties, he noticed that whenever he offered coffee or tea to certain young ladies, they always politely refused. He was very curious about this practice, so one day he asked if something was wrong with his drinks. They explained that they were Mormons and did not drink coffee or tea for religious reasons.

Missionaries were not allowed to give formal lessons in the camps. They were there to teach the refugees how to speak English and otherwise prepare for life once they left the refugee camp. But from their mealtime discussions, the missionaries left Tien with an interest in the gospel and a card with a Utah address saying to get in touch when he left the camp.

One day a U.N. official came to visit the camp and said there were too many unattached children in camp under the age of 18. He said if there were any who would like to go to America, applications were being taken. Tien, who was willing to go anywhere, quickly applied. He was asked if he had a preference of a place to live in America. He showed the missionary card with a Utah address and said he heard the place on the card was nice. His papers went first to New York and then to Utah, where a sponsor was located. After arriving, he found a home with foster parents, Gary C. and Shawna Smith and later with Macoy and Marjorie McMurray. Tien was baptized after missionaries in Salt Lake completed the work begun in the refugee camp through the Spirit and the unselfish Christian service of the missionaries.

Tien is now a senior at Olympus High School in Salt Lake City. His parents are still in Laos, unable to join him in America. He plans to serve a mission as soon as he graduates in June. He feels that his finding a life-saving gas can along the Mekong River and then finding the missionaries in the refugee camp are more than mere coincidence. His visa does not allow him to travel out of this country, so he hopes to do missionary work among Vietnamese people living in America.

Seiko is a student at Brigham Young University, where he plans to major in electrical engineering. A good student, Seiko has so far maintained an A average. When kidded about his height (five feet, four inches), Seiko says he wants to marry gymnast Mary Lou Retton so he planned it that way. His good nature and quick wit make it easy for him to get along with others. Also, having conquered some giant obstacles already in life, he is not intimidated by the little things that sometimes bother young adults.

Along with Tien, Seiko will soon be serving a mission. He also hopes to take the gospel to displaced Vietnamese who are now living in America or elsewhere in the world. Although 16 LDS missionaries were called to serve in Vietnam between 1973 and 1975, missionaries are not currently allowed in his native country. Because he speaks French and many Vietnamese live in France, he sees that as an advantage to serving there but is quick to add, “Where the Lord sends me is where I will go.”

Lili is currently a sophomore at Rampart High School in Colorado Springs, Colorado. Along with her parents, she is a member of the Colorado Springs Ninth Ward. Her father sought out his LDS military friends when he got to America and settled near the Air Force Academy. The family was baptized shortly after its arrival and has since been sealed in the Provo Temple.

Lili is also a good student. Unlike Seiko, who is not even remotely interested in flying, Lili wants to go from back seat to the front seat and be the first Vietnamese-born woman pilot in the U.S. Air Force. The Air Force advertising slogan, “Aim High,” has been taken to heart by Lili, not only where flying is concerned but in her Church, school, and social life as well.

Mai-Anh, her sister, and two brothers were reunited with the rest of their family in Guam about a week after leaving Vietnam. It was a week they will never forget, traveling into the unknown due to circumstances they did not understand. The U.S. Navy ship Deluth was packed stem to stern with thousands of Vietnamese in similar circumstances. As crowded as it was, Mai-Anh’s loneliness nearly consumed her. The fate of her family was a mystery; the life she had known was in shambles. This was surely the lowest point in her young life. As hungry as she was, on Fast Sunday, far out in the Pacific Ocean, she and her sister fasted and prayed for the safety of her parents and other family members. How great was her joy when her father met the bus which took her from the ship to the refugee camp! All of her family were safe! About 60 of the displaced Vietnamese LDS were taken to Guam after the airlift and shared the same barracks.

After a few months in the refugee camp, the Doan family, parents and all ten children, came to America. In Vietnam, they had been well off, but in America they arrived in southern California with nothing. Those old enough worked in fields pulling weeds or harvesting crops for $1.80 per hour. Mai-Anh’s parents went to night school and learned new skills. Her mother now assembles electronic parts for an aircraft manufacturer. Her father began working as an engineer and now operates his own business and provides employment for others. The entire family is a shining example of the type of determination and hard work many LDS Vietnamese members put forth to make a new life in America.

Mai-Anh, now in her late 20s, has already graduated from BYU in accounting and from Cal-State-Irvine in biology. After getting her Master’s Degree in public health from UCLA, she is now pursuing her life-long ambition to become a doctor. She is attending medical school near San Francisco. What is true of Mai-Anh, the oldest child, is also true of the other nine Doan children. Each one is excelling in the academic and church activities of their respective age groups. She has a brother who is an electrical engineer and a sister who is a pharmacist. Another brother and sister both study computer science. Her youngest brother, Linh Khanh, was one of the first Vietnamese to serve an LDS mission. He recently returned from his labors among the Vietnamese people living in the Salt Lake City area. Three of Mai-Anh’s younger sisters are still in high school and junior high in Southern California.

For Bich Thuy and her brother, Tuan, who last saw their mother two years ago when she bade them farewell, life in America, although fulfilling in many ways, nevertheless holds a certain emptiness. Bich Thuy is attending a community college in Los Angeles while also working at a music store. Tuan is in high school. Five older brothers and sisters who preceded them in coming to America are also in California. But the emptiness lingers because their father, until recently, was being held in a work camp while their mother struggled to maintain their home. These parents would like to join their children in America, but their hopes are dim. In the meantime, the children they sent to America send them back what money and supplies they can. They are one of about 16 known LDS families in similar circumstances still in Vietnam.

These young Latter-day Saints are pioneers. They are still in transition between two different kinds of lives, the one they had in Vietnam and the one they prepare to have in America. For their parents, who are more tied to their homeland through memories, families, and traditions, America is a gratefully accepted refuge, but home is Vietnam. They cannot forget that their new life was forced upon them by circumstances beyond their control. They cannot forget their families and friends who are still in Vietnam.

The younger children, however, know nothing of Vietnam except through the efforts of their parents to keep their language and culture alive. These little ones were born in America. They are not only new Americans but are also part of a new generation of Latter-day Saint pioneers who are just starting out. As with the pioneers in Brigham Young’s day, the gospel is the silver lining that makes dark clouds, past and present, bearable and the future full of hope.

The young Vietnamese Saints give a worthy example for others to follow. Trials made them strong in the gospel. Simple faith keeps them that way. May we be grateful that we can feel their special kind of warmth without having to pass through the fires that created it.

Photo courtesy UNHCR

Photos by Carolyn Allen, Guy Neddo, Virgil Kovalenko, Corey Anderson, Tien Pham and family

Leaving chaos behind but sailing into uncertainty, Vietnam’s refugees worried about adjusting to a new future in a new land. The Doan sisters, airlifted from Saigon in 1975, now feel right at home in a California high school. In fact, Phuong-Anh recently won the title of All-American Cheerleader.

Tien Pham’s fireside talks include stories about traversing the farmlands of Laos, floating across the Mekong River, and spending two years in three different refugee camps in Thailand. There he met missionaries who were teaching English and preparing people for life after the camps.

Lili wants to be a pilot. Seiko, in engineering at BYU, will soon leave on a mission. Mai-Anh plans to be a doctor. The Doan family was sealed in the temple. For all of them dreams are coming true. Yet memories of Saigon’s street markets and congested highways still tug at their hearts.