An Emotional Visit Home: Vietnam--13 Years Later

On April 29, 1975, hundreds of family members of South Vietnam Air Force officers filed into transport planes at Tan Son Nhut air base in Saigon, fleeing an onslaught of the North Vietnamese military that, the next day, would result in the fall of the city.

Among the evacuees that day was Ho van Xuan Nhi, a 16-year-old high school student who was filled with the same fear and uncertainty about becoming a refugee that must have gripped everyone about him.

This month, nearly 13 years after he, his mother and two younger brothers (and later his father) last saw the country of their births, Ho fulfilled a dream he has nurtured all these years.

He went home again.

Now 29 years old and a U.S. citizen, Ho lives in Cypress and is an aide to U.S. Rep. Robert K. Dornan (R-Garden Grove). He went to Vietnam with Brian O. Bennett, Dornan’s chief of staff, as an official congressional delegation trying to help untangle red tape that has ensnared many Vietnamese citizens who want to join family members living in the United States.

Ho, a former electrical engineer who graduated in 1979 from California State University, Long Beach, is among only a handful of Vietnamese-Americans who have seen Vietnam since they left during or after the Vietnam War. Ho believes he is the first to return as a member of a congressional delegation.

Ho kept a journal while he was in Vietnam and after his return was interviewed by Times Staff Writer Andrea Ford. What follows is an edited version of his journal.

MONDAY, FEB. 1, 1988

Today is an historic day for me. The Thai Airways DC-8 landed at Gia Lam Airport in Hanoi. I had prayed to God for many years that one day I would return to my homeland. I looked at my boss, Brian Bennett, with a grateful thought. I wanted to tell the congressman and him how much I appreciate this golden opportunity.

On this first day in Hanoi, Brian and I walked for four hours on most of the streets in downtown Hanoi. There are hundreds of thousands of bicycles in this city, perhaps. People in Hanoi looked at us strangely. They probably asked themselves, ‘who is this Vietnamese guy.’ I was dressed nicely and my camera told them that I came from a foreign country. But they could recognize my nationality anyway.

Hanoi is not pretty, as I thought before. When I was a high school student in Saigon, I read books that said Hanoi was beautiful and romantic. What I see today is not. All the French-built buildings are old and ugly. I just could not find a place to praise its beauty.

There are not many restaurants in Hanoi. There are many small shops, but not many things to sell. Most of the goods must be sold in state-run shops. A can of Coca-Cola cost about 400 dong, more than an average payday here. I have many feelings about this city. I’d never been here before. I have no love for it. It is just simply a capital of a Communist nation. My father was here more than 30 years ago. He liked Hanoi at that time. But I don’t.

There aren’t many friendly people in this city, especially if they notice you are an American. They just don’t smile at you, or say a friendly, welcome word to you.

At one newspaper stand, a young man spoke in Russian to us. They mistakely thought we were Russians. When I talked to him in Vietnamese, he invited us to buy some magazines. We took a long look but decided not to buy anything.

We stopped by a printing shop of the “People” newspaper, the official newspaper of the Vietnamese Communist Party. Some guys from the windows upstairs looked at us in an unfriendly way. I assume they know who we are.

We walked everywhere in the city. I think there could be a secret police guy following us. If that is the case, they are really doing a perfect job, because I hardly notice anything suspicious behind us.

The Vietnamese government really wanted to impress on us that we could go anywhere we wanted to and we could take any pictures at any place we wished to. We stayed in the government’s guest house, in a luxury room with an air conditioner. Still, there was no television set in the room.

The young official from the Foreign Ministry told me: “This is where Henry Kissinger stayed when he was here for negotiations.” I just gave him a half-smile.

Hanoi is so boring that both of us, Brian and I, went to bed early. The mattress was bad and I just could not sleep at all, thinking about the day.

TUESDAY, FEB. 2, 1988

At 8:30 a.m., the guy from the Foreign Ministry came to pick us up. He took us to the Ho Chi Minh imperial tomb. No cameras are allowed inside the tomb, but we are allowed to take pictures outside.

Inside the tomb, Ho Chi Minh is lying there just like he’s asleep. The Vietnamese have done a good job in making him up. I looked at him but without emotion. I guess the tomb is the nicest place in this city.

They drove us around the Hanoi Hilton, which remains a prison, but they claimed they have no Americans held there now. We took pictures at a lake where they have a small statue in memory of the day they shot down 10 U.S. warplanes, including Col. John McCain, now a Republican senator from Arizona. We visited the Vietnam history museum.

We met Nguyen Tin, director of consular affairs of Vietnam’s Foreign Ministry, and Nguyen Can, deputy director of North American affairs of the Foreign Ministry. Later in the evening, we met privately with Nghiem Xuan Hai, director of North American affairs.

Nguyen Can didn’t like me very much. He never looked at me straight, eye to eye. When I asked him questions, or when he answered my questions, he only looked at Brian. I could tell what was on his mind.

To him, I am a traitor to the country. But not many Vietnamese have this honor: sitting at a table, face to face, talking to high-ranking Communist officials and negotiating with them. I am enjoying it.

I also feel happy because I am here to help my people, my community.

In the evening, we are guests of the Foreign Ministry. They host us at a nice, delicious dinner with lobster, beef, egg rolls, chicken cooked with curry, crab soup.

On the same evening, we attended a live music show outdoors to celebrate the 58th anniversary of the Communist Party. It is a kind of rock ‘n’ roll music, but the words contain ideology in favor of communism.

The singer is young, beautiful. I asked one Vietnamese next to me if he knows where she came from. He said she was from the North. It surprised me. I did not know that they have this style of music in the North and singers who can dance like a rock singer.

Later, when we asked a young soldier if we could buy his military hat for a souvenir, he seemed angered at us and pointed his finger to the hat, then said:

“This is our nation. We will never sell our nation to anyone.”

WEDNESDAY, FEB. 3, 1988

Saigon is now being called “Ho Chi Minh City.” I hate to see this beautiful name changed.

We arrived at Tan Son Nhut Airport after a 90-minute flight from Hanoi. I almost cried. I keep telling myself, “Be calm, Nhi.”

I am landing in my homeland now. My heart beats faster. My eyes became red, but I tried to keep myself calm.

I used to live near this airport, but I just couldn’t recognize it at first. It could be changed, or I just don’t remember much of it.

On the upper level of the terminal, hundreds of people are waiting to receive their family members returning home from abroad. On the same day, a flight from the Philippines arrived with about 200 tourists, many of them from Australia, Canada and Western European countries.

A young man from the Foreign Ministry is waiting there. He is a nice guy and very gentle. Again, we didn’t have to go through any regular customs procedures.

A Toyota Corolla, 1986 model, is there for us. They called this Toyota a Vietnam limousine. You just could not find a better car than that one in Vietnam. They have Mercedes models made in the early 1960s and now are used by high-ranking officials. The Toyota cars are reserved for special foreign guests.

Now, an unbelievable thing occurs: our driver is my cousin.

I didn’t recognize him until he told me his name. No wonder he is so familiar to me. . . . My eyes are tearful. I just could not believe this.

He told me that he was unsure if it was me when he was informed by his boss that there was a Vietnamese among the delegation and his name was Ho van Xuan Nhi.

His father is my mother’s younger brother. We were close for many years before I left in 1975. Trung Ho tells me that he is happy with his life and his job as a driver for the Foreign Ministry. He never intended to leave the country. He now is married and has five children. I am really surprised with all the things he said.

After changing clothes, we drive around the city taking some pictures. We visited the old places once called the Presidential Palace, the American Embassy, the House of Representatives, the Senate. . . . They all are changed to something else now. The city is very much older and looks uglier than before the day I left in 1975. Still, compared to Hanoi, it is a much prettier city. All the streets changed names, but I am able to recognize them when we drive by.

In the afternoon, we had a meeting with Lun van Tanh, deputy head of the consular office in Saigon, who oversees the ODP (the Orderly Departure Program for Vietnamese waiting to join relatives in the United States). We presented to him all 600 ODP cases from Vietnamese-American families brought to us during the last two years.

Later in the day, we drove around the city. We had lunch at a French restaurant. It was extremely expensive. A lunch for three persons cost us more than 8,000 dong, a month’s average salary in Vietnam.

In Saigon at night, there still are some dancing clubs managed by the state. In our hotel, Ben Thanh (called the Rex before 1975), there is dancing every night. Our hotel is a luxury one with a swimming pool, massage, a restaurant, gift shops, theater and a dancing club. It costs $45 a night in U.S. currency.

In the evening, I visited my relatives: my aunt and her family, my uncle and his family, a close friend of my parents and his family.

They all were shocked when they saw me. None of them knew I was coming home. I knocked on the doors. I rang the bells. They opened.

My relatives cried. They almost screamed. They just could not believe their eyes. They soaked me me with tears and I cried myself. I have never had a time like this before. It was a quite an experience that I will never forget.

I took their pictures. They told me that they couldn’t survive if there wasn’t help from relatives in the United States. I know many of my cousins in the U.S. are sending gifts and money to their families.

The cost of living in Saigon is so high. The average income of each family is about 50 to 100 U.S. dollars a month, based on the official exchange, not the black market. But exchanging money in the black market is illegal, and not many people dare to do that often.

My relatives also are so proud of me for being an aide to a U.S. congressman. I told them what the American embassy in Bangkok told me, that I am the first Vietnamese-American returning home as a member of a congressional delegation to negotiate in Hanoi.

I ask them if they will be in trouble for seeing me. They just can’t tell, but they are so happy to see me again, so it won’t matter if they are in trouble with the secret police. It has been 13 years, and they say that they can handle anything.

I met a couple of old friends. They are happy to see me but are a little bit nervous when they learn that I am a member of a U.S. delegation. If the secret police notices them talking to an American, then they will be questioned.

THURSDAY, FEB. 4, 1988

On the day I left Saigon, I visited my former high school, where I was reunited with my former principal. He recognized me, since I was a student leader 13 years ago. A female teacher there also recognized my name and told me how rumors spread after April, 1975, with my disappearance.

Some said I died. Some said I was left on an island after I flew out of Saigon and no American ship came to rescue us in 1975. They loved me and wondered about my status.

My principal told me that he is proud of me and the school will be proud of me for being successful. He is no longer principal there, but the government allowed him and his family to live on the school grounds. He has had a stroke. He could speak only softly and slowly. Brian took a picture of us.

I talked to some students and introduced myself. My high school now has changed its name from Nguyen Thuong Hien to Nguyen van Troi. Nguyen Thuong Hien was a revolutionist who died long ago during the revolution against the French. Nguyen van Troi is a Communist hero and died in the Vietnam war.

The trip was too short for me, but I went to all the places I wanted to see, and met many individuals I wished to see. I even went to visit a girls’ high school, called Gia Long before 1975, now changed to Nguyen thi Minh Khai.

It was a famous high school where I met a beautiful girl who became my first love. I have a lot of memories of her. I took some pictures in front the school. She now is living in the United States and married to someone else and has two children. Still, she was my first love and my heart broke when I was standing there to recall a love 13 years ago.

We visited a Catholic priest, who is an uncle of one of my close friends in the United States. He directs a Catholic seminary in Saigon.

We left Saigon on an Air France flight. I said to myself that I will have another trip back here. Next time it will be a much longer trip and I will have the chance to see many others.

I thanked God for this miracle. A dream has came true. I closed my eyes but the tears still came.