Vietnamese immigrants’ sacrifices, struggles shape daughter’s identity

This article is part of Rapid Growth's Voices of Youth series, which features content created by Kent County youth with support from the Rapid Growth staff. 

My parents, Bich An Thi Pham and Tien Huy Le,  were born in 1968 in the city of Hai Phong. My father grew up hearing the U.S. planes drop bombs during the war. Growing up impoverished with few opportunities that they could afford without higher education, my parents got married and decided to pack up their life in Hai Phong for America after hearing news that the United States was accepting refugees. This was the late ‘90s, and it would be one of the last major waves of Vietnamese immigrants.

Courtesy of Christina LeChristina Le's parents’ photo ID cards, issued by the International Organization for Migration.

They waited for interviews in Saigon to be accepted as refugees in the U.S. When they were finally approved, my parents boarded a long flight from Vietnam to South Korea to Los Angeles to Detroit, and finally to Grand Rapids.

They had brought nothing but the clothes on their backs and some toiletries. Having no family in the United States to rely on, West Michigan, the location assigned to my parents, was their only option.  In 1999, at age 31, my parents gained the opportunity to chase the quintessential American Dream in the United States, the land of opportunity.

Courtesy of Christina LeChristina Le as a child with her dad and sister.

Building a new life

My father claimed that your attitude reflects how people perceive you, so he put on a brave face. In a country where they didn’t know the language or customs, my parents worked and worked and worked. My dad still works at the same job he got all those years ago at Scott Group Studio, where he spent days making carpets and nights poring over a thick Vietnamese-English dictionary to understand a new language.

During this period, my dad recalls how the community of Vietnamese workers he had at his job would show him the ropes and helped him acquire his driver’s license by helping him get his hours in. This community partially filled the longing to see their own family that was now oceans away. 

Throughout my life, my parents have made sure to preserve that culture, from international calls where I awkwardly fumble through Vietnamese with my family to the comforting taste of home-cooked meals like a warm bowl of pho on a rainy day.

Courtesy of Christina LeChristina Le as a young girl, pictured with her sister and mother.

This project was an opportunity for me to learn more about my parents. After all, their story isn’t exactly something that comes out over dinner. Over the years, I’ve picked up bits and pieces of their story from their offhanded comments or when they reminisce about their lives in Vietnam. However, I felt like this project was an opportunity to shine a spotlight on my parents’ story, and in a broader sense, the story of West Michigan’s Vietnamese community.

Unique identity

My parents' journey made it possible for me to be uniquely Vietnamese-American. Part of this unique identity meant there would always be a certain cultural disconnect with my relatives back in Vietnam and the community here in the U.S. To my cousins in Vietnam, I’m the American cousin, but here in the United States, I’m Vietnamese. To my cousins in Vietnam, I’m the cousin who speaks in the old-fashioned way my parents taught me. Here in the United States, I’m a Vietnamese student with a whole different culture from those around me. 

Courtesy of Christina LeA Vietnamese altar in Christina Le's home honors her late maternal grandfather and features three statues symbolizing luck, wealth, and longevity.

One aspect of Vietnamese culture is burning incense, also known as thắp hương. It is a way to commemorate and honor those who have come before you, from ancestors to parents to elders. The incense I burn now is a continuation of my parents, grandparents, and other ancestors. It also affirms a sense of responsibility to uphold my family connection and legacy. It is a way of acknowledging the efforts, sacrifices, and love that have brought me into an enduring network of respect. 

In the rugged individualism America projects, I try to embrace the familial connection and collectivism embraced by my Vietnamese heritage. After all, I am the sum of those who came before me.

Our stories show the Vietnamese community has made West Michigan a better place to live, to do business, to learn, and to grow for everyone. There tends to be a focus on what the United States has done for immigrants and not what immigrants have done for the United States.

We are adding truth to the historical record. As descendants of immigrants, our existences prove that their sacrifices weren’t for nothing. We carry the stories of those before us, and, in a system not always in our favor, we toil, we translate, and we break generational curses. Every achievement is another word written in our legacy.

Photo of Christina Le by Tommy Allen, and family photos courtesy of Christina Le

Christina Le is a junior at East Kentwood High School. She took part in GR Stories, a partnership between Kentwood Public Schools and the Grand Rapids Public Museum. In their U.S. History class, students explore how Vietnamese Americans shaped West Michigan by interviewing family members who arrived after the fall of Saigon. Their stories offer personal insights into national history, highlight the impact of the 1980 Refugee Act, and serve as primary sources for future students.