Vietnamese Kids and Crime Next on His List : Profile: Nghia Trung Tran, head of a social service agency, is up to his ears in work. Soon he’ll add a research project aimed at keeping youths out of trouble.

As usual, Nghia Trung Tran was late for his appointment. Not too late--only five or 10 minutes--but enough to evoke a self-deprecating, apologetic smile.

His schedule was jammed to the max. First, his meeting with the Westminster Police Department had run late because his phone conversation with the Orange County Probation Department lasted longer than he thought it would.

And that was after the brainstorming session with the youth counselors at a social services agency that he operates. Before that, there was the meeting with the president of the board of the agency. Before that. . . .

“Well, you get the picture,” he said, again expressing regret. “I’m late to things more often than I would like.”

As executive director of the nonprofit Vietnamese Community of Orange County, which each year helps 20,000 Vietnamese Americans in need of advice, counseling or other services, the 32-year-old Tran is always scuttling from one place to the next.

The agency has worked with Vietnamese American individuals and families since the early 1980s, but after Tran’s three years at the helm, outreach and counseling programs have grown from four to 14 and staff from five to 28.

And he is about to lead the agency into what, for the organization, is uncharted ground--researching why Vietnamese American youths participate in crime and gang-related activities and what could be done to stem the tide.

“We were looking for someone who would bring energy and innovation to the agency, and we found it in Nghia,” said Mai Cong, the Vietnamese Community board president who recruited Tran for the job in 1992. “He is just tireless, and his concerns for our young people cannot be questioned.”

Since joining the agency, Tran has developed programs that range from child abuse and gang violence prevention to a program that counsels Vietnamese American juveniles during and after their incarceration in an effort to reduce repeat offenses. Tran said in the past three years, that program has reduced the number of juveniles returning to crime from 60% to 20%.

His latest project, the research--financed by a $50,000 grant from the California Wellness Foundation--would take the success of the anti-recidivism program one step further by interviewing those juveniles who have been through the program.

By examining family lives, neighborhoods, peers and social and economic backgrounds, Tran and others hope to better understand why these youngsters get into trouble in the first place.

“Many people out there say they have a solution, but they never pose the question of what is the problem,” Tran said during a rare afternoon coffee break at a cafe in Little Saigon. “My question is, what is the problem? Where is it? How could we effectively intervene? We cannot just continue to counsel what we don’t know. We need to find out what strategy works and what doesn’t. . . . We need a discussion on Southeast Asian youths and their needs. We need to find ways to accommodate those needs.”

The baby-faced, bespectacled Tran is most enthusiastic when he talks about the evolution of the Vietnamese expatriate community, the conflicts between the older and younger generations and how they could be resolved.

He is immersed in his job at the agency and is wholly preoccupied with issues relating to Vietnamese American youths and how to bring them back into the community, which he believes oftentimes is indifferent to the young.

While he is reticent about his long-term goals, those who know Tran say politics seems to be his calling.

“He’ll deny it, of course, but he has the makings of a successful politician,” said Pulitzer Prize-winning historian Stanley Karnow, a mentor and good friend of Tran. “Just a matter of time.”

Westminster Police Lt. Andrew Hall, who often turns to Tran for insight on Vietnamese American juveniles, also sees politics in Tran’s future.

“Whether he sees himself in the elective role, only Nghia knows,” Hall said. “But there’s not a doubt in my mind that his greatest role is in public policy issues and that public policy is in his blood.”

Tran himself is coy about such things.

“There are things I still have to learn about, and I believe I will learn them best through working with the VNCOC,” he said. “My life experience is not full enough for me to be an effective policymaker.

“So until then,” he said, almost impatient with the break from the discussion about his research project, “let’s get back to how we can help our kids, keep them from crime and bring them back into the community.”

So back to the topic at hand.

Tran believes that generational conflicts with their parents--and cultural conflicts within themselves--steer some Vietnamese American youths to crime.

And assuming his research proves him right, Tran wants to work with Vietnamese American parents and educate them about their children’s needs. He hopes, eventually, that the generation rooted to the order-and-obedience tradition of the East can find common ground with the one that came of age in the individual-freedom culture of the West.

“For many Vietnamese kids who have been incarcerated, the family disowns them; the community disowns them,” Tran explained. “It’s because of our culture, in which pride and shame play such important roles in our daily lives.

“Someone has to be there for them.”

Those who have worked with Tran on violence prevention programs say his devotion to troubled Vietnamese American youths goes beyond doing a job well.

“I genuinely believe that his concerns about the well-being of young people are born out of a conviction that he has to try and better the community and to try and turn around as many young people as he can,” said Michael Schumacher, director of the Orange County Probation Department.

Tran is matter-of-fact in acknowledging such praise.

“I think we’ve made inroads in intervention and prevention. I think we have made a difference in many, many cases,” he said. “Are we doing enough? No. Can we do more? You bet. I don’t think my job is ever done.”

This he said as he stood up; the afternoon appointment had clearly ended.

“An award dinner in Los Angeles,” he explained. Apologetically.