Mixed blessing

I meant for it (the title) to set the tone. A right one. Non-judgmental. Just in plain gratitude.

However, what I want to say is, for the “children of the dust” ( or worse, ” cho muc i.e. black dog ” as Vietnam era Amerasian were coined in private), Homecoming Act could only help so much (with legal immigration for the roughly 20,000 in early 90’s). Meanwhile, for the Black Amerasian who are now full-grown, 12 per cent of the 3 per cent who got back in touch with their G.I.’s fathers, Fathers Day is hardly celebrated each year.

The struggle from backwaters Mississippi to non-violent Selma, to “nuke them gooks” in the jungle of Vietnam, resulted at best in children in temporary holding camps in Palawan, Philippines late 80’s onto Bolsa/Bellaire Boulevard of the Vietnamese-American enclaves in the US.

Double-discrimination: Black faces, Vietnamese names. Tell that to the barista at Starbucks.

Out of the many mothers who accompanies their Homecoming children to America, there were, per WarBabies.org statistic, 17 per cent were fake relatives. The Black enlist men fathered those unwanted, expunged and expelled by their government to finally be admitted by ours.

Those adults, few of whom made it in Vietnamese show-biz, turned around and adopted many orphan children e.g. Phi Nhung who died of covid recently.

Others, like a gentleman I had a privilege to interview and offer him a job at MCI (he subsequently changed his mind), never grow out of their hybrid identity and perhaps insecurity, even with the obvious advantage of the “right” skin tone.

The war forced people to come into brush with many unpleasant elements. Out of survival. Out of necessity.

Its aftermath was even uglier, due to compassion fatigue and media ill attention.

A stamp of visa never is an admission ticket to the American establishment. Au contraire.

Just file in, take a number, wait your turn and wait for the trickle-down economy..

Keep waiting. You carry two bloodlines. Immigrated from one country to the next.

But you’re neither here nor there. Never fully taken roots. Drifted and self-enclaved into precedent ethnic ghettos: Chinatown, Little Italy, Little Tokyo and of course, now Little Saigon.

Bring the native seed. Plant a fruit tree. Contribute to the ever-widening Rainbow cuisine of America.

If you (Black Amerasian children) ever are folded into your father’s clan, then Soul Foods and Southern Foods.

On VA pension. Wearing second-hand clothing and hearing over and over about the good old days.

Those good old days could have been better had it not for that war that your Dads got drafted into. Its Commander in Chief once rested on the long conference table, exhausted and self-deflated.

Torn between two lovers. The Great Society on the one hand, and Vietnam on the other.

Kennedy, Johnson, Nixon and Ford. All drained. One war. Lost war. Lost cause.

Now the children come home to roost. To remind and ridicule us of our utter failure.

Decent interval. ” I shall not seek re-election ….”.

Of all the glorified war movies, NAM is at the far end of the spectrum.

Guess who is coming to dinner? Our flesh and blood. From afar. From Cu Chi, from Cho Lon. From the ethnic enclaves of former Saigon – which BTW, reestablished their norms and prejudice, thanks in part to the availability of influx of migration, student visas, spousal green cards and ethnic content on YouTube ( never out of the strong grip of country origin’s propaganda, supported by American Ads dollars).

Let’s give thanks to the Almighty on this Thanksgiving Day. That the children are safe and sound.

Their acceptance is an admission of guilt. But that’s for the Friday after Thanksgiving.

So the unpleasant surprise keeps staring at us, in the face. Two bloodlines, one Nation under God.

P.S. It would be so ironic for the children of the KKK’s to harass the Children of the Dust (imported from Vietnam). They ‘ve got plenty of practice at being invisible and living “underground”. This time to stay and not to have to emigrate to France for better racial acceptance. We congratulate the 12 per cent of the 3 per cent who reunited with Daddies. May they celebrate their Fathers’ Day in joy unspeakable and non-judgmental gratitude for the mixed-blessing.