Interviewed by Charles Zhong (CZ) and Leonard Chan (LC)

LC: This past August, author friend Phuoc Tran informed me of a presentation that was going to be given by Chau Thuy, founder of the Vietnamese Heritage Museum in Garden Grove, California. The presentation was a virtual tour of Chau Thuy’s museum.

A while back, while doing research for past AACP newsletter articles, I discovered this museum’s website and was quite curious about what was there. At the time I had discovered the website, it appeared that the museum was just getting started. Now that they were doing this virtual tour, I couldn’t pass up this chance to learn more about it.

Phouc’s email also directly introduced me to Chau Thuy and suggested that they could do an interview for our newsletter, since it was the 50th anniversary of the Fall of Saigon (April 30, 1975) and the start of the Vietnamese mass arrival to America.

For those of you that may not know, we did an interview with Phuoc Tran for our January 2022 newsletter upon the release of her children’s book “All About Vietnam.” Phuoc is also the author of three other children’s books (Vietnamese Children’s Favorite Stories, Vietnamese Folktales for Children, and My First Book of Vietnamese Words) and is a retired librarian from Minnesota.

Along with being one of the founders of the Vietnamese Heritage Museum, Chau Thuy was also an electrical engineer for more than 35 years, an author of a novel (“Bloodstained Sea”) and books on calligraphy, and is also a skilled artist.

Both Phuoc Tran and Chau Thuy were also refugees that escaped Vietnam by boats.

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CZ: Thank you so much for agreeing to do this interview with us. Is there anything that you would like to add or correct with our introduction? We’ll get to questions about your refugee experiences later in this interview. 

(Phuoc Tran)

Thank you for the great introduction, Leonard! It’s great to be back after three years. I'm very excited to have another opportunity to add “See and Say Vietnamese” to the list. Then my story “The Ocean Where the Dreams Go” was included in the anthology “Sky Blue Waters: Great Stories for Young Readers.” Also, I was selected as the 2025 Blue Ribbon Author at the Alphabet Forest of the Minnesota State Fair.

Looking back at my previous interview with you on January 2, 2022, I noticed that I never share with the readers about my name, such as how to say, write, spell, and last but not least, the naming customs in Việt Nam.

In Việt Nam, there are several customs that are followed when naming children. It is considered disrespectful to name a child after parents and grandparents. Children are also given odd nicknames, such as Ugly (Xấu), Dwarf (Đẹt), Shorty (Lùn), Cu Tí or Cu Tèo (Little John) for boys, so they seem undesirable and won’t be taken away by spirits.

For me, my name is Minh Phuoc, which means Smart and Lucky, but at home I am called Mười, “Number Ten.” Even though I am proud of my name, I have encountered many problems. I have been the victim of many butchering of my names, such as “Pho” which means “soup,” or “Phoc” like a “fox,” and even “foo” like “crazy” in French or “What’s up, Foo!” like “What’s happening?”

I am so used to the mispronunciation of my name, whenever I see hesitance in someone’s face when reading the name of a raffle winner, I know I have won. In one of my classes, my teacher called me “You.”

My name has even caused trouble because of its similarity to a swearing word. One day, when I called my friend, instead of saying “it’s me Phuoc,” I just said “Phuoc” which my friend misinterpreted as a swear word and promptly hung up.

Also we don’t have the combination of “ou” in Vietnamese language and there is no combination of “uo” in the English Language. How many times have my friends, teachers, and strangers misspelled my name as PHOUC or PHUAC? My name should be PHUOC. Do you see how I spell my name? In Vietnamese, the last consonant is always not pronounced so it is pronounced “Phuo.”

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LC: While we are on the subject of names, I've been meaning to ask Chau Thuy about his name. Is Chau your surname and do you prefer to have both parts together and always in that order?

(Chau Thuy)

Please refer to me as Chau Thuy, which is my full pen name. Thank you very much.

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CZ: (for Chau Thuy) Out of curiosity, since I am interested in science and engineering, what motivated you to study electrical engineering? Has studying engineering shaped you as an artist?

(Chau Thuy)

I was drawn to electrical engineering because it offered both structure and possibility. After 1975, I saw technology as a way to rebuild, not just infrastructure, but lives and communities. Engineering taught me discipline, problem-solving, and precision, which continue to shape how I approach storytelling and museum curation.

I believe God creates each of us with a unique set of gifts. For me, those gifts have revealed themselves through calligraphy, book writing, and the quiet art of preservation. Engineering gave me the tools to build systems that hold memory. Art gave me the voice to honor it. And through the Vietnamese Heritage Museum, I’ve found my life’s purpose—where both worlds come together to serve history, healing, and hope.

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LC: Tell us about the Vietnamese re-education camps. This was something I knew very little about and that I learned some from Chau Thuy’s virtual presentation. Did both of you have to go through one of these camps? Did a lot of the people that left Vietnam have experiences in one of these camps? Did they escape the camps, wanted to leave before they got imprisoned in one of them, or were released on their own good behavior and decided they didn’t want to stick around after their experience? Tell us what you know about them, whether from your own experience or from people you knew that were in one of them.

(Chau Thuy)

After the fall of the Republic of Vietnam, thousands of South Vietnamese soldiers, officials, intellectuals, and civilians were sent to re-education camps. These were not places of learning—they were prisons, often in remote jungles, where people endured forced labor, indoctrination, and inhumane conditions. The goal was to erase the values of the Republic and instill communist ideology.

In my case, I did not experience the camps. But many in my family and community did. Their experiences left deep scars and powerful stories. These stories are etched into our collective memory through the Oral History Project and honored on the Communist Victim Memorial Walls at the Vietnamese Heritage Museum. They serve as a solemn reminder of the suffering endured and the resilience that followed.

Many endured years in re-education camps before escaping or being released. Others fled before they could be imprisoned. The trauma of those camps shaped the refugee experience profoundly.

Some fled under the cover of night, risking everything for a chance at freedom. Many were imprisoned—and tragically, some were executed. Others endured years of confinement in re-education camps before being released, only to realize they could never truly live freely under that regime. And many left early, sensing the storm that was coming. Each path was marked by courage, desperation, and the hope for a life beyond fear.

(Phuoc Tran)

The Vietnamese re-education camps (in Vietnamese, Trạicảitạo) were actually a system of prison camps operated by the communist government of Việt Nam after the Fall of Sài Gòn in April 1975, which functioned as forced labor to hundreds of thousands of former military officers, government workers, and citizens of South Vietnam. Initially the government instructed people under their targeted groups to report for a few days or weeks to re-education centers to learn about the new regime, but many were held for years without trial or formal charges or no clear release date.

My two brothers were military officers of the Army of the Republic of Vietnam (ARVN) for years. They were released due to severe illnesses. They were not treated fairly and not allowed to live in the city. They faced tremendous discrimination, including job restrictions, constant surveillance, and their children were denied educational opportunities. That’s why former detainees and their families sought to escape Vietnam, despite their risky sea journey.

Before 1975, I remember that every Tết (Vietnamese New Year), it’s a happy time, family reunion, a festive and cultural celebration, but not for our family after the Communists took over Sài Gòn.

Why? Because during Tết, the new Government would allow families of the detainees to visit their sons, daughters, relatives in the concentration camps. I remember my daddy went with one of my sister-in-laws and my mom with another sister-in-law to visit my brothers in the concentration camps, actually they were prisons. We were at home with no parents and no Tết at all.

I had an opportunity to interview Trần Văn Quý, one of the eleven members of Commando Team Hadley for the Vietnam Era Oral History Project, which documents the experiences of Minnesotans during the Vietnam War Era through 101 oral history interviews (August 2017-June 2019).

Mr. Trần Văn Quý and his team were spotted, ambushed and captured by some civilian informants for Việt Cộng on January 23, 1967. It was devastating, but they had prepared of it. In 1982, only 10 of them were released because one of the heroes died of illness in 1970 in the prison.

Quý said to me during the interview that no words could describe what he had endured, his horrified past of torture, malnutrition, and isolation in incarceration. The detainees were forced to do manual labor every single day and after hard labor, they were shackled and put in isolation. He mentioned that in the Quyết Tiến camp, there were so many human remains up in the hill. The catholic priests, Buddhist monks, political prisoners were treated brutally with barbarous methods or horrible practices intended for purposeful punishments and vengeance.

In his own words, Quý said, “In my life, there are many times, I was snatched from the jaws of death by sheer luck. The first time, in 1967, the Việt Cộng took me to the field, made me dig a hole, then blindfolded me. They read the death sentence and put the gun to my head. But right then, another one put a hold on it and ordered to let me live, hoping I might tell them all my secrets. That was a game they played on us. A half year later, they pulled that trick again on me. And when I was in HỏaLò Prison, they brought me to a secluded room, blindfolded me again, read me the death sentence, and released me again.”

I remember that we both cried during the interview. Mr. Trần Văn Quý resides with his family in St. Paul Minnesota and sadly he is not in good health.

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CZ: What were the long term impacts of people who were put into re-education camps? How successful were the camps in achieving the government’s goals?

(Chau Thuy)

The camps left deep scars—physical, emotional, and generational. While the government sought to suppress dissent, what they created instead was a diaspora of survivors determined to speak the truth. In that sense, the camps failed. The stories live on.

(Phuoc Tran)

For sure they would live with their haunted memories during their stay in these concentration camps, but like my brothers, they rarely talked about their horrified and darkest days in prisons. After the release, like other detainees, my brothers were not treated fairly and not allowed to live in the city. They faced tremendous discrimination, including job restrictions, constant surveillance, and their children were denied educational opportunities. That’s why former detainees and their families sought to escape Việt Nam despite of their risky sea journey or land route.

The Communists government might see their goals’ achievements as vengeance and punishments for the detainees, but the detainees and the world viewed it as a human rights disaster, reputation damaged and not a success.

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CZ: What are your most vivid memories of your boat escape? How did people keep morale high during the perilous journey? What was the process like going from the refugee camp to the US? What were the biggest challenges in that process?

(Chau Thuy)

The silence. The fear. The police are chasing us. The vastness of the ocean and the relentless rise of the waves. I remember the faces around me—some praying, some comforting others, some simply staring in to the horizon, searching for hope.

We faced unimaginable brutality. Pirates attacked us. I witnessed young girls taken to refugee camps after suffering horrific abuse. I saw men executed without mercy. I buried bodies that had washed ashore—lives lost in the pursuit of freedom.

Every wave felt like a question: Would we survive? Would we ever be free? And yet, even in the darkest moments, we held on to hope.

We kept our morale up through faith, through song, through stories. We reminded each other of what we were leaving behind—and what we hoped to find. Even in the darkest moments, there was a shared belief that freedom was worth the risk.

The journey from refugee camp to the United States was long, uncertain, and often terrifying. During the day, we had some protection under the watch of the United Nations. But at night, we were vulnerable—left in the hands of local authorities and, at times, pirates who preyed on the displaced.

We spent months in the camps—waiting, hoping, and trying to prove our identity and our right to resettle.

The biggest challenge came after arrival: starting over in a new land with nothing but memory. We had to rebuild everything—language, culture, livelihood, and a sense of belonging. It was a test of resilience, and for many, a quiet triumph of the human spirit.

(Phuoc Tran)

I would say that the memories of being a boat person, a refugee in the camp, are too painful and terrified to remember: women and girls were raped by pirates; bodies floating in the dark sea, men were beaten and killed; days and days, months and months without food and water; sinking boats and monster waves. However, it’s part of our heritage, our family history that we would proudly tell our children and among generations to come about our hardship, sacrifices, bravery, endurance, and compassion in the search for freedom.

My vivid memories would be our struggle for nights and days in the stormy ocean. Again and again, the current sucked us down. Water rushed in and our fragile boat was flooded. Just like the roller coaster, the high angry waves pushed us up higher and higher at mighty speeds before the next current dragged us down again into the deep dark ocean. We screamed. We shouted for help, and we knew that we were not going to make it to the land of freedom. We held each other as hard as we could and knew definitely that only God could save us, give us strength, and tame the angry ocean. We wanted to see our families, our friends, our hopes, and didn’t want to be buried alive in the deadly ocean. Then I felt my pain, my agony, and my fear when my little damaged boat passed by a sinking boat. Oily bubbles emerged from the bottom of the sea. There were pot and pans, broken suitcases, clothing floating everywhere. Even now, every time the rain falls down, I feel goose bumps over my body and the rigid cold running through my spine because I was soaking wet for days and nights in the stormy ocean.

Like other refugees in the world, the extensive process of a refugee going from camps to the United States involves multiple stages of evaluation, security screening, and resettlement assistance. It can take months or years with some refugees spending decades in camps before resettlement. For some reasons, some refugees were sent back to Việt Nam. During my stay in the refugee camps in Malaysia, I volunteered to teach French to the refugees and served as an interpreter for Dr. Marc and Nurse Martine at the Sick Bay Hospital. As a favor for my volunteerism, I was selected to be in a Pilot Project (designated to elders and children only) to go directly to America without spending six months in Philippines to receive cultural orientation and English language training before resettling in America.

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LC: Both of your efforts, Phuoc with your books on traditional folktales, culture, and language, and Chau Thuy’s work on creating the museum, seems to be addressing a perceived need to hold on to your heritage and culture.

CZ: How was the adjustment to “American” culture? Do you think Vietnamese refugees were generally able to preserve their cultural identity after resettling in the US or do you think they lost too much in their efforts to assimilate?

(Chau Thuy)

Absolutely. The Vietnamese Heritage Museum is a response to silence. It’s a place where our stories are not only preserved but honored. It’s a bridge between generations, a space where memories become a legacy.

The adjustment to American culture was both liberating and disorienting. Freedom was exhilarating, but the cultural shift was steep. We had to learn new norms while holding on to our values. It was a balancing act, especially for the younger generation.

Many preserved it through community, language, and tradition. But assimilation came with loss, especially for those without strong support systems. That’s why cultural institutions like ours matter. They help reclaim what might otherwise fade.

(Phuoc Tran)

Cultural shock, language barrier, home sickness, depression, frustration, encountering discrimination are the most common things refugees face in adjusting to American culture.

Famous Vietnamese saying

Tre già, măngmọc.

As the bamboos get older, young sprouts spring up.

The popular saying speaks of the perpetuation, the immortality of the Vietnamese culture and its spirit. Younger generations will continue to preserve the culture and heritage of their ancestors, grandparents, and parents.

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CZ: How does the US treatment of refugees today compare to the treatment you and other Vietnamese refugees received after the Fall of Saigon?

LC: The Afghan refugee situation seems particularly similar to that of the Vietnamese. What are your thoughts about our government’s treatment of Afghan refugees and the freeze that is preventing most refugees from coming?

(Chau Thuy)

After 1975, the U.S. opened its doors to Vietnamese refugees with bipartisan support and compassion. Today, the process is more politicized and restrictive. The moral imperative remains, but the pathways to access it are more complex.

The Afghan refugee crisis echoes our own journey in profound ways. It’s heartbreaking to witness the delays, barriers, and uncertainty faced by families seeking safety and dignity. Their resilience reminds us of the importance of compassion, urgency, and collective responsibility.

(Phuoc Tran)

Each era might have policy changes or different criteria to receive refugees. The Vietnamese refugees after the Fall of Sài Gòn were part of a large scale resettlement in America, relying on government agencies, humanitarian organizations, and charities.

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LC: Both of you lived under a Communist government for a short time. Do you have any concerns about the erosion of our institutions and the challenges faced by the United States Constitution?

(Chau Thuy)

Yes. I’ve seen what happens when truth is suppressed and power goes unchecked. Democracy is fragile—it requires vigilance, participation, and respect for the Constitution. We must never take it for granted.

(Phuoc Tran)

Yes, we need public trust, which is vital in any circumstances.

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CZ: What is one lasting message you would like to pass on to future generations upon this 50th anniversary and about the refugee experience?

(Chau Thuy)

Remember where you come from. Honor the sacrifices that gave you freedom. Speak up, stand tall, and carry your history with pride. The refugee experience is not just about loss; it’s about resilience, hope, and the power of remembrance.

(Phuoc Tran)

Telling stories is a treasure! Remember that every bird or animal you see, every person you encounter, every flower you smell, and every fruit you taste has its own amazing story. I concluded my interview with the words of Wisdom of my daughters, Hai Duong Nguyen-Tran, MD, and Thuy Duong Nguyen-Tran, MD, in Denver, Colorado and Twin Cities, MN.

“Everyone has a story. As children, Hai and Thuy grew up hearing Vietnamese folk tales and harrowing accounts from their parents’ refugee journey to America. These stories helped instill in them important life lessons and values they continue to carry in their everyday life. Through stories, we can learn and enrich our lives. Whether it is a family member, friend, co-worker, patient, or new acquaintance; each person has a unique perspective and life experiences. Stories are a way to help build connections and facilitate an exchanging of ideas to help promote positive change in the world. By sharing our stories and listening to others, we can foster a sense of community building, idea sharing, and educational enrichment. Everyone has a story and we would love to hear yours.”

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LC: Thank you again for doing this interview. We wish you success in all your endeavors.

(Phuoc Tran)

Thank you for having me as part of this interview!