Americans called them "boat people," as if they were a unique race or culture. But the truth is they were the same South Vietnamese strangers those Americans had watched on television for 20 years. And the Deseret News and other papers tracked their numbers like the Dow Jones average. Headlines blared:
"51 Vietnamese boat people go home from Hong Kong."
"Boatload of 137 Viets sighted."
"39 Vietnamese rescued from junk."
Tam-Ta of West Valley City gets a steely look on his face when he remembers those days.
"It was a long time ago," he says.
His expression says otherwise.
When Americans think of "Vietnam War vets," they seldom picture someone like Tam-Ta. He was a member of a South Vietnamese special forces unit when the South began to collapse. He and other members of his family were divided, conquered and driven into the sea. There were 60 refugees on his boat. They spent five harrowing days on the open sea before washing ashore in Malaysia.
"Most of the people on our boat were soldiers and their families," he says today. "That was in 1979. I was 19 then."
Now he is a wise and wizened 40. And though it was a "long time ago," he has a hard time saying Ho-Chi-Minh City. For him, the city will forever be Saigon. When asked if he'd like to return for a visit, he bristles. "In 20 years I have never been back," he says. "I'm an American now."
In Utah, assimilation for the boat people has been bumpy but encouraging. The cultural virtues they brought with them — family strength, curiosity and willingness to work — have served them well.
There have been some hassles. That Vietnamese relentlessness, when spun onto the wrong side of the law, can make for some stark confrontations. And the language continues to be a hurdle. But in the area around west 3500 South, a slice of Salt Lake City affectionately known as "Little Saigon," the mixed mantle of American and Vietnamese cultures is worn easily. The focus for the citizens there remains on the future.
Loc and Thanh Luu run the LyLy Restaurant in the area. Today they speak of the war and their escape matter-of-factly, as if re-reading a chapter of their own autobiographies. Thanh's aunt was with the American media, which means her family was in double jeopardy when the collapse came. It also means she caught a break. She was spirited away to America on an airliner while Loc, her future husband, had to raft his way to safety.
Thanh's memories of the time are clear and precise. She could have been a script consultant for the musical "Miss Saigon." In fact, she could have been "Miss Saigon" if she had taken a job in a bar, as so many young Vietnamese women did.
"I remember walking to school and watching the American B-52s on their bombing runs outside the city," she says. "But it wasn't frightening. It was normal. It was life." The idea of her laughing and playing with her friends while war planes droned overhead is just another confusing image of the times.
"I remember the American soldiers," she says. "They were blond and blue-eyed. They were very foreign, very strange."
Ironically, she would be forced to play the role of stranger among the blue-eyed boys of America for several years.
While she was on a jet winging to America, Loc's not-so-sea-worthy boat turned him into a "continental drifter." He finally splashed ashore in Singapore. The year was 1975.
"My sister and I spoke French," he says. "We'd been educated in French schools. And we were the only ones in the group who wanted to go to France. Everyone else wanted to go to America. We had 15 minutes to decide. We decided to go with them." Such snap decisions sent Vietnamese refugees to countries throughout the world.
Was his a good choice?
"It was a good choice," he says, smiling.
Today, he and Thanh have developed a faithful and satisfied clientele for their restaurant. And the place gets good notices in the local media. Their five children are healthy, happy and well and "speak English without any hint of an accent," Thanh says. One boy is now in college and speaks five languages, in fact.
All are American-Catholic-Vietnamese kids who celebrate the Fourth of July as well as the Vietnamese Lunar New Year. Like born-and-bred American children, they know the Vietnam War is important, but it seems like ancient history to them — a war played out sometime after the War of 1812
and before the Persian Gulf conflict.
The older generation, however, always remembers. Saturday night, in fact, a group of war veterans plans to meet for a meal at one of the Little Saigon eateries. There, they will renew their bond and try to make sure their stories don't get washed away on the sea of time.
As for Tam-Ta, the former special forces soldier won't be attending. As he said, "It was a long time ago." This is now.
Still, he can't help but ask a question.
"Clinton's visit," he says, "do you think it will help?" Many Vietnamese are asking the same question as America's president visits their old homeland.
Even after 20 years, it seems, the loyalty of old soldiers never dies.
E-mail: jerjohn@desnews.com