Half a century in retrospect is a reminder of how much context changes, or expands, over time. With 50 years gone by since the war, a second and third generation has grown out of the chaos of the Vietnam War.
The passage of time was necessary for Santa Fe author Christina Vo to learn, document and share her family’s refugee story. Vo, who moved here four years ago, was born in Connecticut before moving to Indiana for grades 6 through 12. She’s written two memoirs since arriving while balancing a job as assistant director of donor relations for Stanford University.
“I do that remotely,” she explains. “I was so lucky to find the job.”
Her residence in the high desert is likely familiar to fellow writers.
“It’s such a peaceful, spacious place,” she says over coffee at Betterday Coffee. “The city has distractions, but they’re the right kind of distractions, you know? The landscape, the setting. It’s perfect for getting into a creative state of mind.”
artdirector@sfreporter.com
Author Christina Vo
Vo’s books focus on her experiences as a second-generation refugee. Her father, Nghia Vo, served as a medical doctor for the South Vietnamese Army to the bitter end of the war. He escaped after the fall of Saigon and eventually landed in the American Midwest.
It took Nghia Vo years to find a way to express the bitterness of losing his home country. The outlet ultimately was writing but until he published his stories, his daughter Christina felt left in the dark.
“He didn’t talk about his experiences,” Christina Vo tells SFR. “He didn’t talk much at all, period, when I was growing up.”
Christina was 14 when her mother tragically passed away, widening the gap between daughter and father while expanding the void Christina felt about her cultural identity. She left Indiana to attend college in another Asian-light setting, Chapel Hill, NC. There, she felt the pull of Vietnam and decided to move to Hanoi after graduation.
Courtesy christinavo.com
Vo and her father Nghia co-wrote their new memoir—the first of its kind—based on their disparate experiences of Vietnam.
Vo reveals the post-graduate odyssey and her family’s legacy in a dual memoir called My Vietnam, Your Vietnam. Published last year (Three Rooms Press), Vo and her father, who has written extensively about his experiences, weave their stories together to create a broad view of the Vietnamese experience.
Nghia Vo, who currently resides in Northern Virginia, joins Christina via Zoom for a special event at the New Mexico Military Museum on April 30. The father and daughter will read from their work and answer questions. Local veterans are among other scheduled speakers starting at 6 pm.
Vo and her father found the same avenue, writing, to express a personal legacy from the Vietnam War. SFR offered local Viets a platform and opportunity to put into words what the legacy they feel from the Vietnam War personally.
To be a child of refugees is to live a life of conscious purpose, remembering what our families risked for us. After two years in a labor camp and a failed escape attempt after which they were blacklisted, my parents fled Vietnam with their four sons, the youngest a year old. My mother's brother was killed by pirates, my father jumped into the sea to save a son who had fallen overboard, and my mother begged passengers for water for another son with dysentery. Their destination was without edge or outline, and their continual gift to us is the choice to carve our lives from that expansive canvas.
— Kim Nguyen, general practitioner, Santa Fe
As a second-generation Vietnamese Canadian and American, the Vietnam War is the reason I exist where I do. My father fought for the South and was a POW. My parents fled by boat in 1984, leaving behind family—some lost to the war. Their journey was marked by heartbreak and resilience. When I think I’m having a hard day, I remember what they endured. That legacy keeps me grounded. Visiting Vietnam showed me generational scars, but also strength. To me, the war’s legacy is pain—but more than that, it’s survival, perspective, and deep-rooted gratitude.
— Gary Dinh, Business Consultant/Investor/Entrepreneur, Santa Fe
I was a soldier in the Army of the Republic of Vietnam. After April 30, 1975, when the Vietnamese Communists took over the South, I had to spend 8 years in communist prison camps in North Vietnam.
In the first year, I thought the communists would sincerely rebuild the country. So at the end of 1976, they asked me why I didn't flee abroad, I did not hesitate to answer them: "I was born in the North, grew up in the South and matured during the war, I stayed to see what you communists could do for this country." In my opinion, what they needed to do was to heal the wounds of war, reconcile with the people and not discriminate against those who served the Southern government and their family members.
But day by day until today, almost 50 years have passed and they still haven't done it, or rather, they didn't do it. Not only that, they also oppress, rob houses and land, get rich on the sweat and tears of the people, they corruptly steal public property. Look at the assets of Vietnamese communist party members today, and you will see that most of them are people with assets in the millions of dollars, this money comes from corruption and exploitation of the people.
The legacy of the Vietnam War only left nearly 2 million dead and several million disabled people. Under the rule of Vietnamese communists, today the country is devastated, the people are scattered, society is decadent and insecure, the economy is slow to develop. It is sad that Vietnam may become a province of China in the near future.
— Hieu Doan, veteran Ranger Captain for Republic of South Vietnam Army, Albuquerque
For someone born here to a refugee parent, reconstructing Vietnamese identity can blend quickly with mythology. When sense-making of “what is left” gets gathered second hand, experiences range. In my own body, I have known rage and sorrow through the transmission of pain, to immeasurable pride for the fearless self determination that guides my full heart when adversity arises. What exists in New Mexico are often private victories savored with a few sisters, knowing a lot of good people fought with all they had for us to find laughter together. And I feel it’s my responsibility to be integrous with the gifts that are meant to come through me for their unnamed sacrifices.
— Erica Nguyễn, documentary filmmaker & rock climbing mentor, Nambe
My mother, who fled while pregnant on April 30th, 1975 with my dad (who fought for the South), and my oldest brother. They couldn't go back to get my 2nd oldest brother who was at my grandparents' house because there was so much bombing. I attribute the survival of our family due to her strength. As Viet Thanh Nguyen has said, "All wars are fought twice: once on the battlefield and once in memory." My family's experiences with the war shaped my identity. I'm not completely sure why I would pass down these sad stories to my children. I guess it is so they could remember their ancestors' strength, resilience, hope, and know the motherland.
— Terry Ngo, filmmaker/educator/community organizer, Santa Fe
Pain, suffering, struggle, strength, resilience, new start, second chances, survivor’s guilt, lingering issues, living two lives, constantly battling to find happiness.
— Hà Ngô, Ngô Hà in Vietnamese order, Santa Fe
