On April 23, 1975, the first planeload of Vietnamese refugees landed at Anderson Air Force Base in Guam. As the first American processing center following the end of the Vietnam War, Guam was only expected to temporarily shelter 13,000 Vietnamese refugees. However, between April to November of 1975, more than 112,000 Vietnamese refugees were processed in Guam in what became known as Operation New Life. The Vietnamese refugees who temporarily lived in Tent City, Camp Asan, Tin City, and other refugee camps around Guam, came from many different walks of life. While some were young children and others were graduate students, all of the Vietnamese refugees in Guam were trying to navigate the challenges of their forced displacement. Chân Trời Mới, a Vietnamese-language newspaper written by and for Vietnamese refugees on Guam during Operation New Life, attests to Vietnamese refugees’ practices of place-making and community sustainment in the camps. Here are some Vietnamese refugees’ reflections on their experiences on Guam during Operation New Life.
Hanh BuiHanh Bui left Vietnam with her family as refugees when she was just 8 years old. Today, she is a children’s book author based in Virginia. Click on the photograph to hear Hanh share her memories of Guam and Operation New Life with Dr. Evyn Lê Espiritu Gandhi. This photograph was taken at Fort Indiantown Gap in Pennsylvania, where Hanh and her family stayed for six months after leaving Guam. Hanh is on the right while her relative Hien is on the left.
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Bùi Văn Phú
In 1975, Bùi Văn Phú was a law student and student activist at Saigon University. In the spring of 1975, Bui fled Vietnam by ship. Along with other refugees on Saigon II, an engineless boat, Bui made his way to Singapore and Subic Bay in the Philippines before arriving in Guam. After living in Guam for one week, Bui left to Pennsylvania via Fort Indiantown Gap. Since his resettlement, Bùi Văn Phú has worked in education, including a role as an educational consultant for the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees in Southeast Asia. He is now a community college instructor and a freelance writer based in the San Francisco Bay Area. Here, you can read, in translation, his reflections on his time on Guam.
"We arrived in Guam on a blazing hot afternoon. Orote Point camp, also known as Tent City, was much larger than Subic Bay camp [in the Philippines], but devoid of trees. As the bus entered the parking lot, on both sides of the barbed wire fence there were people waiting. There were voices calling out to each other, asking for news of who made it and who did not, with many sad faces and shaking heads. After completing the admission procedures, since my cousin had a child he asked to be sheltered in an area with shade so his infant boy would not have to suffer from the burning sun. I was taken to a military tent. Upon opening the door, I saw a man sitting quietly on a cot with a sorrowful face. The tent was built on the ground with a dozen cots inside, but all were empty and there was only one person, with me now as the second. He asked where I came from; I replied from Subic Bay. He told me he was requesting to be repatriated. I was surprised and asked him why he wanted to return home when he not had even arrived in the US yet. He was a navy official who vacated Vietnam hastily, leaving behind his wife and children, and now he missed his family so much that he wanted to return. He introduced himself as the songwriter Trường Sa.* His name immediately reminded me of a song that was quite popular on Saigon radio. I asked if he wrote the lyrics that Lệ Thu sang: “The street has been deserted since you left. Afternoons swinging with sorrow footsteps…” He claimed to be the author. His eyes were red. His face was full of worries and desperation. He asked me, do I intend to return home to Vietnam? I said I also came alone, my parents and siblings left behind, but I wanted to go to see what the US was like, not to return." |
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Ngoc Minh le
Ngoc Minh Le left Vietnam and was processed in Guam during Operation New Life when she was nine years old. As an adult, she has been a longtime advocate for the empowerment of Asian and Vietnamese communities in the US. She was a founding Board member of Asian American LEAD, a non-profit organization which supports low income and underserved Asian American youth. Le also served on the Maryland Governor’s Commission on Asian American Affairs during the O’Malley administration. Currently, she is a member of the Kennedy Center Community Advisory Board and Advisory Council member of AALEAD. She owns her own business as an Empowerment/Business Coach, helping to empower women in business, civic engagement, and their personal lives. Ngoc Minh Le is married and has two children. She also has a friendly dog called Tabasco. Here are some of her reflections about her time on Guam.
"We left Subic Bay on a military plane: one of those that opens up its rear rather than having doors on the side like commercial jets. I had never been on an airplane before, but I have seen them on TV – the commercial ones, so I knew this was different. For starters, instead of rows of seats, there were two benches facing each other and our family piled in, with nine of us taking a good amount of the space on one bench. The seat belts attached to the walls, so we were belted in by our parents.
I didn’t remember much about the landing, but we were eventually bused to a resort that seemed to have been taken over for the use of refugee processing. I was excited that we were actually given beds instead of cots and we had actual rooms. I think our family was given two or three rooms for the nine of us, so though crowded, we thought this was heaven!
The food was very good as well. Much better than in Subic Bay. We had ice cream almost every day of the week! My siblings and I were very happy with this added perk.
We celebrated our first 4th of July in Guam. I remembered the preparations the soldiers made for the celebration. The energy and excitement! There was fried chicken and hotdogs handed out and you could get as much as you like. There was also ice cream of course! At night, there were fireworks!
The most distinctive memory I have of Guam is the beach near the resort. We could go swimming there and it was so much fun! Often there would be movies shown outdoors and we would sit on the blanket or just on the grass amongst the other refugees. I remembered one movie where people would turn into snakes. It gave me nightmares for quite a few days. I think Guam was overrun by snakes at some point, and to this nine-year-old, it made perfect sense.
In Guam, we had more comfort, so it lent a bit more normalcy. My mother sold her jewelry in order to have money to take the weekly bus the camp allowed to go to a market in town. She would normally come back with basic medicine, vitamins, and treats for us. This act of being able to provide for the family also made the refugee experience feel more bearable. We were not at the complete mercy of the government.
When it was time to leave Guam, I was very sad but curious as to what the next adventure would hold. We were heading to Camp Pendleton, California next and getting ready to be resettled into an American community. That road ultimately took us to Baltimore County, Maryland, where our family has lived until the present day."
I didn’t remember much about the landing, but we were eventually bused to a resort that seemed to have been taken over for the use of refugee processing. I was excited that we were actually given beds instead of cots and we had actual rooms. I think our family was given two or three rooms for the nine of us, so though crowded, we thought this was heaven!
The food was very good as well. Much better than in Subic Bay. We had ice cream almost every day of the week! My siblings and I were very happy with this added perk.
We celebrated our first 4th of July in Guam. I remembered the preparations the soldiers made for the celebration. The energy and excitement! There was fried chicken and hotdogs handed out and you could get as much as you like. There was also ice cream of course! At night, there were fireworks!
The most distinctive memory I have of Guam is the beach near the resort. We could go swimming there and it was so much fun! Often there would be movies shown outdoors and we would sit on the blanket or just on the grass amongst the other refugees. I remembered one movie where people would turn into snakes. It gave me nightmares for quite a few days. I think Guam was overrun by snakes at some point, and to this nine-year-old, it made perfect sense.
In Guam, we had more comfort, so it lent a bit more normalcy. My mother sold her jewelry in order to have money to take the weekly bus the camp allowed to go to a market in town. She would normally come back with basic medicine, vitamins, and treats for us. This act of being able to provide for the family also made the refugee experience feel more bearable. We were not at the complete mercy of the government.
When it was time to leave Guam, I was very sad but curious as to what the next adventure would hold. We were heading to Camp Pendleton, California next and getting ready to be resettled into an American community. That road ultimately took us to Baltimore County, Maryland, where our family has lived until the present day."
Wendy Tuyet Tougher
"As my eyes scanned the sparkling vast ocean, I felt the blazing sun sting my skin. Thoughts of the war hung over me. The war between North and South Vietnam came to an end in early May of 1975. The villages south of Saigon were bombed. The bombs pierced our ears with mighty booms. The ground shook violently, buildings crumbled all around and civilians were being shot at. The cries and screams of the victims of war, mostly women and children, forced me to take my eyes from the sea back to the land we just left. My mom told me not to look back yet, but I was compelled to look over my shoulder. Though I was not physically wounded like many others, I too began to scream and cry. When the tears were gone, my heart wept. The faces I saw, twisted in agony, painted with blood, streaked by tears; sketched an ageless image in my mind.
The tragedy of war was upon us all. Every cell in my body shook with fright. Every organ in my body ached for us, the victims of war. At the age of 11, I looked in the faces of my people and saw a history of human suffering. The sound of sorrow was recorded in my mind. The deepest feeling of hopelessness, loneliness, and despair pressed heavily on me as I became separated from my family. The weaving of people in and out of our path caused my mom to look back to check on us. Looking up at her panicked-stricken face, fear took hold of me. Within the blink of an eye, my family scattered into the crowd. Amid the chaos and all the panicked people, I recognized a face. Spontaneously, my sister and I extended our hands towards each other. I gripped her fingers around mine. I was not going to let her go. With our eyes focused on a fishing boat, we pushed our way forward.
It was a clear, hot, sunny day in May when I left Vietnam on a small fishing boat. The boat, about 20 feet long and 9 feet wide, was shelter for the fortunate 30 or more of us aboard. Sitting on the deck of the boat, I felt a new danger hovering over me. The ocean did not seem peaceful and safe as it had appeared when I stood on the shore and gazed out. The ocean had become the new enemy I had to fight for survival. Its power greater than I had ever imagined was possible. The realization of being swallowed up and capsized by the next wave became increasingly clear when the powerless boat nosedived into wave after wave. Gripping the edge of the boat to keep from being flung into the ocean, a feeling of total insignificance washed over me. Would the ocean shed her tears for us if we were pulled under today? Or would she continue with her fierce and violent rhythm without regard for our fate? If we disappeared, nothing would change, nothing at all. The sun would not flinch. The sky would not weep. The sea would not be still in sorrow for us. The massive and continuous waves seemed to gain more and more strength with each rise and fall. The ocean’s endless energy left me desperate and without hope for survival.
Death would have been the easiest way out. Deep within me, behind the physical and emotional pain, underneath my drowning hopes, my soul begged for a chance to live. As my second day on the boat began, my body convulsed. Slumped over, I began to shake uncontrollably. While the relentless sun berated me, I drifted in and out of consciousness. The thrusting and hurling of the boat made my head dizzy and stomach turn. My stomach muscles contracted into a single hard knot every time I lean over the rail to throw-up. The movement of my body combined with the sickness and pain reminded me I was still alive.
I prayed for life, I prayed for the waves to calm, and I prayed for food. What I prayed for most on that third day of my journey was water. By the end of the second day, our boat was out of drinking water. The nauseating cramps and pain of not eating were a luxury compared to how I felt when my body could not have the water it needed. The unquenchable craving for the taste of water was so powerful, it began to consume my sanity. Reaching down to the salty ocean water, I wanted to dip my body in it and allow myself the dangerous and yet enticing comfort of letting go of life. Looking into the vast, never-ending ocean, I thought I saw a happier existence underneath its surface. I closed my eyes and felt myself fading into the dark blue water. For the first time on my journey, I felt nothing. No pain, no sorrow, no weight on my body. The feeling of nothingness lured me to let go and end this misery. Letting out what I thought was my last breath, I felt my body going limp. At last, my 11 years of existence were coming to an end. What happens to me when I die? I wondered about heaven. I wanted to go to heaven. Relatives had told me my dad was in heaven and he watches over us. Can you really see us, dad? Can you ask God to help us?
I searched my mind for peaceful closure. Looking again at my mom, two sisters, and three brothers, I felt their sufferings and hopelessness. Seeing my family struggle to survive in this most dreadful state brings about another layer of heartache. My sadness plunged to a deeper level yet. It had been a rough, bumpy life with war, death, and famine but my family always stuck together and surrounded each other with love and protection. The thoughts of my family caused a reaction in me. My eyes shot open. No, I will not close my eyes and slip away. I must fight to stay alive for them, for me. I do not want to die. I wanted more from my life. I wanted to hold my mom’s hand. I wanted to go to school someday and learn to read and write. I wanted to play and laugh. I wanted just a little bit of something to eat and a glass of water to drink. I wanted to get off this forsaken boat. I wanted to live.
Slowly, the horizon lit up with colorful layers of peach, pink, and light blue. A new day arrived with assurance of another scorching day. There was nothing to do but watch for shadows as the sun took its time crossing the sky. At last, a gray cloud crossed our path. As it approached the boat, a rush of excitement descended on us. Adults yelled instructions to the kids on how to catch the raindrops. Shouts of, “Open your mouth!”, “Cup your hands!”, “Pull out your shirt to catch the rain!” pierced the otherwise silent sky. The raindrops fell, so did the shouting. Everyone concentrated on catching the most raindrops. All too soon, the gray cloud moved away, leaving us behind to lick away each raindrop. The moment of satisfaction and hope drifted out of our reach again. With a burdened heart, I helplessly watched the gray cloud leave.
The boat drifted aimlessly with the splash of each wave. First, there was no food, then no water, and then there was no fuel. Nobody prepared for a long journey. Having our backs to the ocean and facing the approaching army, we took shelter where we could. A small fishing boat had become our promise for survival. Not realizing we would be chased into the sea; we took no provisions with us. Now there was nothing for us to do but pray and wait for gray clouds to come our way.
Like a risen sun with all the glory, a ship rose from the horizon. My heart stirred with joy and hope. I cried, for my heart needed to shed the pain and misery. At last, I smiled, then joined the people in waving and yelling. As the ship closed in on us, I could not believe a boat of this size and strength existed. There were times, in my disbelief, I feared the approaching ship. I feared the ship was simply my imagination playing tricks on me. I feared the ship would turn away from us. I feared the ship would harm us. What if the ship did not want us? Again and again, I looked up and studied the expressions of the adults to reassure myself the ship was real and coming to rescue us.
Soon the gigantic ship hovered over us. The big black letters read, US Navy. A man in uniform stood on the deck and spoke to us through a megaphone. I did not understand him, but I knew he had come to help us. A man swooped me up and helped me up a net of ropes onto the ship. Days later, we arrived at Apra Harbor on the island of Guam, a territory of the United States of America."
The tragedy of war was upon us all. Every cell in my body shook with fright. Every organ in my body ached for us, the victims of war. At the age of 11, I looked in the faces of my people and saw a history of human suffering. The sound of sorrow was recorded in my mind. The deepest feeling of hopelessness, loneliness, and despair pressed heavily on me as I became separated from my family. The weaving of people in and out of our path caused my mom to look back to check on us. Looking up at her panicked-stricken face, fear took hold of me. Within the blink of an eye, my family scattered into the crowd. Amid the chaos and all the panicked people, I recognized a face. Spontaneously, my sister and I extended our hands towards each other. I gripped her fingers around mine. I was not going to let her go. With our eyes focused on a fishing boat, we pushed our way forward.
It was a clear, hot, sunny day in May when I left Vietnam on a small fishing boat. The boat, about 20 feet long and 9 feet wide, was shelter for the fortunate 30 or more of us aboard. Sitting on the deck of the boat, I felt a new danger hovering over me. The ocean did not seem peaceful and safe as it had appeared when I stood on the shore and gazed out. The ocean had become the new enemy I had to fight for survival. Its power greater than I had ever imagined was possible. The realization of being swallowed up and capsized by the next wave became increasingly clear when the powerless boat nosedived into wave after wave. Gripping the edge of the boat to keep from being flung into the ocean, a feeling of total insignificance washed over me. Would the ocean shed her tears for us if we were pulled under today? Or would she continue with her fierce and violent rhythm without regard for our fate? If we disappeared, nothing would change, nothing at all. The sun would not flinch. The sky would not weep. The sea would not be still in sorrow for us. The massive and continuous waves seemed to gain more and more strength with each rise and fall. The ocean’s endless energy left me desperate and without hope for survival.
Death would have been the easiest way out. Deep within me, behind the physical and emotional pain, underneath my drowning hopes, my soul begged for a chance to live. As my second day on the boat began, my body convulsed. Slumped over, I began to shake uncontrollably. While the relentless sun berated me, I drifted in and out of consciousness. The thrusting and hurling of the boat made my head dizzy and stomach turn. My stomach muscles contracted into a single hard knot every time I lean over the rail to throw-up. The movement of my body combined with the sickness and pain reminded me I was still alive.
I prayed for life, I prayed for the waves to calm, and I prayed for food. What I prayed for most on that third day of my journey was water. By the end of the second day, our boat was out of drinking water. The nauseating cramps and pain of not eating were a luxury compared to how I felt when my body could not have the water it needed. The unquenchable craving for the taste of water was so powerful, it began to consume my sanity. Reaching down to the salty ocean water, I wanted to dip my body in it and allow myself the dangerous and yet enticing comfort of letting go of life. Looking into the vast, never-ending ocean, I thought I saw a happier existence underneath its surface. I closed my eyes and felt myself fading into the dark blue water. For the first time on my journey, I felt nothing. No pain, no sorrow, no weight on my body. The feeling of nothingness lured me to let go and end this misery. Letting out what I thought was my last breath, I felt my body going limp. At last, my 11 years of existence were coming to an end. What happens to me when I die? I wondered about heaven. I wanted to go to heaven. Relatives had told me my dad was in heaven and he watches over us. Can you really see us, dad? Can you ask God to help us?
I searched my mind for peaceful closure. Looking again at my mom, two sisters, and three brothers, I felt their sufferings and hopelessness. Seeing my family struggle to survive in this most dreadful state brings about another layer of heartache. My sadness plunged to a deeper level yet. It had been a rough, bumpy life with war, death, and famine but my family always stuck together and surrounded each other with love and protection. The thoughts of my family caused a reaction in me. My eyes shot open. No, I will not close my eyes and slip away. I must fight to stay alive for them, for me. I do not want to die. I wanted more from my life. I wanted to hold my mom’s hand. I wanted to go to school someday and learn to read and write. I wanted to play and laugh. I wanted just a little bit of something to eat and a glass of water to drink. I wanted to get off this forsaken boat. I wanted to live.
Slowly, the horizon lit up with colorful layers of peach, pink, and light blue. A new day arrived with assurance of another scorching day. There was nothing to do but watch for shadows as the sun took its time crossing the sky. At last, a gray cloud crossed our path. As it approached the boat, a rush of excitement descended on us. Adults yelled instructions to the kids on how to catch the raindrops. Shouts of, “Open your mouth!”, “Cup your hands!”, “Pull out your shirt to catch the rain!” pierced the otherwise silent sky. The raindrops fell, so did the shouting. Everyone concentrated on catching the most raindrops. All too soon, the gray cloud moved away, leaving us behind to lick away each raindrop. The moment of satisfaction and hope drifted out of our reach again. With a burdened heart, I helplessly watched the gray cloud leave.
The boat drifted aimlessly with the splash of each wave. First, there was no food, then no water, and then there was no fuel. Nobody prepared for a long journey. Having our backs to the ocean and facing the approaching army, we took shelter where we could. A small fishing boat had become our promise for survival. Not realizing we would be chased into the sea; we took no provisions with us. Now there was nothing for us to do but pray and wait for gray clouds to come our way.
Like a risen sun with all the glory, a ship rose from the horizon. My heart stirred with joy and hope. I cried, for my heart needed to shed the pain and misery. At last, I smiled, then joined the people in waving and yelling. As the ship closed in on us, I could not believe a boat of this size and strength existed. There were times, in my disbelief, I feared the approaching ship. I feared the ship was simply my imagination playing tricks on me. I feared the ship would turn away from us. I feared the ship would harm us. What if the ship did not want us? Again and again, I looked up and studied the expressions of the adults to reassure myself the ship was real and coming to rescue us.
Soon the gigantic ship hovered over us. The big black letters read, US Navy. A man in uniform stood on the deck and spoke to us through a megaphone. I did not understand him, but I knew he had come to help us. A man swooped me up and helped me up a net of ropes onto the ship. Days later, we arrived at Apra Harbor on the island of Guam, a territory of the United States of America."
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Hoa V. Nguyen
Dr. Hoa V. Nguyen and his family left Vietnam in April 1975 when he was a young child. During Operation New Life, they stayed at Camp Asan in Guam for two weeks, transferred to Camp Pendleton, California, and finally resettled in Fort Walton Beach, Florida with their sponsor, US Air Force Colonel Thornton Peck. Retired Lieutenant Colonel with the US Air Force and retired State Air Surgeon first returned to Guam when the Air Force, which sponsored his college tuition. He had a choice to serve in either Guam, Hawai‘i, or Korea. He fell in love with the island again, and once he had earned his medical degree, Nguyen returned to Guam in 1995 to work in a medical clinic. In 2005, he opened the American Medical Center, which serves tens of thousands of patients. Overall Nguyen is grateful for the opportunities Operation New Life gave his family, and is happy to able to give back to the community in Guam. Every Sunday he likes to go fishing on his boat, enjoying the Pacific waters.
Nghia M. Vo
Nghia M. Vo was processed through Guam as a refugee after the Fall of Saigon. He eventually settled in New London, Connecticut. He received his MD from Saigon University in 1973. Since arriving in the US, he did his residency in Surgery at St Francis Hospital and New York Medical College. As an independent researcher, Dr. Vo has written more than 10 books about Vietnamese history. He is the founder of the non-profit, Saigon, Arts, Culture and Education institute. He currently works as a Health Research Scientist at the Agency for Healthcare Research and Quality and lives in Leesburg, Virginia.