This is the second year the VIET Fellows program has participated in the Listening to the Silence Conference at Stanford. On February 18th 2012, Dat Pham, Janet Chu, and myself were able to share our work and understanding of Agent Orange and dioxin to Stanford students. Along with many other representatives from the API community, we were able to contribute to this wonderfully diverse and inclusive conference. Special thanks to all the Stanford students who attended and participated with their insightful questions and thoughts. Below is our program and abbreviated audio clips from our presentation. For the full audio version, please contact tony@aapip.org.

Tony Luong

As our program and the fellows that make up our program develop further into their roles as members of a very diverse Vietnamese-American community, the need to concentrate and network leadership in our communities has become an ever-increasing area of focus. It is through our efforts in engaging and activating the community that we understand there exist many barriers that hinders an open dialogue about the health concerns of both the people in Vietnam and our communities here. It is through this understanding that we are devoting the third year of incubation through AAPIP in meeting these challenges and raising awareness of the legacy of Agent Orange/Dioxin to many diverse parts of our community in the United States.

In refocusing our work for this year, we must announce to any and all possible candidates that applications will not be made available for 2012 in both our Involvement and Engagement tracks. We thank you and understand from the inquiries that there are many dedicated candidates that are interested in our program and the humanitarian work. Although our program will not be open to new candidates in 2012, the campaign to remedy Agent Orange/ Dioxin continues, and if any candidate is interested in learning and collaborating in this effort, please contact us for more information.

Sincerely,

Tony Loung

Together, as almost a full group, we were able to attend the screening of Masako Sakata’s “Agent Orange: A Personal Requiem,” on Friday after a wonderful reception at the David Brower Center.

Saturday’s activities included observations of numerous panels at the conference. VIET Fellow Dat Phan shared a panel with Dan Seigel and spoke about U.C Berkeley’s history of activism in the midst of war. VIET Fellows Dan Huynh and Janet Chu sat on the Non-profits Addressing Agent Orange panel along with Nancy Letteri (Executive Director for Children of Vietnam) and John Nguyen (Development Officer for East Meets West) and talked about the work currently being carried fourth by organizations prioritizing needs of people and children living with disabilities.   The night ended with a wonderful dinner where we honored by a visit from Dr. Charles Bailey, Ambassador Ngo Quang Xuan, his daughter Ngo Lan, and Dr. Nguyen Thi Ngoc Phuong of Tu Du Hospital.

Sunday was programmatic time, where a VIET Fellows meeting was held at the AAPIP office. Although our time was short, we were able to reflect about where we are now as individual fellows, and seeded the discussion for the program’s potential  now as a group of 25 inspiring VIET Fellows.

Below is a short video of our gathering:

These three stories are only a part of a larger narrative of Vietnamese people impacted by disabilities deserving better resources and opportunities.  Currently, 7% of Vietnam’s population lives with disabilities with 87% living in rural areas.¹  Because of the constrained situations of those living with disabilities, the reality is that many families rely on organizations such as Thi Nghe for help.

Authors:

Lan Ngo is an undergraduate in California studying Environmental Science and Southeast Asian Studies. Contact: lanngo at berkeley.edu

MK Nguyen has worked as a community organizer for equitable education in San Francisco. She will be working with the Vietnamese American community in New Orleans, Louisana. Contact: mklnguyen at gmail.com

Susan Nguyen currently works around issues of urban planning and transportation in the San Francisco Bay Area. Contact: shnguyen87 at gmail.com

Today, the shiitake is a delicacy in numerous Asian cultures. Its cultivation begins with a log of hardwood – such as oak, beech, alder, gum or sugar maple – and it’s from these logs that the fruiting bodies of the shiitake can begin to grow. The next step is to drill a dime-sized hole into the body of the log. A tanned-colored capsule containing the mushroom spawn is then put into this hole, and then sealed with a special wax to keep competing fungi from invading the log. Following inoculation, the log is kept in a wet and shady area. Mycelia will begin to colonize throughout the body of the log, and in four to nine months, depending on the climate, the familiar caramel colored mushroom caps will begin sprouting from the trunk.

A typical shiitake harvest yields at about 7% of the weight of the dry wood. So a 2,200 pound cord of oak will produce about 154 pounds of mushrooms over three growing seasons. Wholesale profits from the harvest will vary yearly depending on market prices, but on average, the mushroom sells for about $4-$7 per pound in the United States, totaling approximately $900 per cord.

Why do I know so much about the shiitake mushroom? The reason is because for the last two weeks, I’ve been researching them as a possible income generating venture for my partner organization, the Red Cross Vocational Center for Youth with Disabilities.

When I first heard about the idea from my boss, I thought his mushroom enterprise idea was absolutely ridiculous. A vocational center simply isn’t a place for growing mushrooms, and in fact, there were many other programs I felt the organization needed more. For instance, many vocational centers have computers and classes that teach IT skills. Many others help their students improve their English language skills, or even accounting and business skills. Unlike mushroom growing, these were more typical vocational skills that I could actually see leading to future employment.

It wasn’t until I was more settled into the vocational center after a few days that I realized the insight behind my boss’s plan. The center serves about 50 students, all of whom are living with disabilities that range from mild hearing impairment to severe intellectual disabilities. The sad truth is that each year, for every ten students that graduate from the center, only about three end up finding jobs in the workforce. Neither Vietnam’s society nor economic culture is set up to genuinely accommodate the disabled in the workforce – many modern work offices still lack ADA staples like wheelchair ramps and elevators. Additionally, public schools are not fitted to teach persons with disabilities, which means that students at our center are doubly disadvantaged by also lacking a high school education. Lastly, social work is still a nascent enough field in Vietnam that people with disabilities lack the social support and even government support that a handicapped person would receive in the U.S. So for most of the youth that leave our center each year, for the seven out of ten, their lives continue by simply going back home to live with their families. They go back to the dusty farms that skim the outskirts of the city.

It was in thinking about these dusty farms that I finally realized what my boss was trying to communicate to me. For the seven out of ten that go home, what use is it to know how to operate a computer? What use is it to be able to speak English at home if no one else speaks English? Or what use are any of the other typical vocational skills that are often practiced here in the U.S? The families of these students really have no outlets for these traditional types of vocational skills…and the society still lacks the wealth and social structures that would allow them to function independently in the workplace. What my boss wanted most was to teach each of his students something they can actually use. Maybe the student’s don’t have computers at home, but they have something else. Maybe they have a small area out in the back of the house, with just a little bit of shade and a little bit of rain; a forest nearby and just a little bit of knowhow.

I’ve always learned that every little bit counts – but coming to Vietnam after working in America makes me realize this more than ever. No one at my center fetishizes about applying for the huge grants, using the most up to date computers, or even working in an air conditioned building. No one here needs to have the best…they just want something – anything – that can improve their lives. And so, perhaps the simple idea of teaching youth with disabilities to grow mushrooms isn’t as ridiculous as it sounds. I hope that one day, people living with disabilities here in Vietnam will be as integrated into society as much as those with disabilities in the U.S. I hope my vocational center will have more computers, more English teachers and big grants. But for now, I realize it’s important to start small and to be thankful for whatever comes.

–Quang Truong

If there’s one person I won’t ever forget during my time in Vietnam, it’s Thủy. The first day I met her at Từ Dũ Hospital, she welcomed me with open arms. I can never forget her smile, a smile so generous and kind. I remember her asking me quizzical questions about America and about my life; although we had only met for a day, I felt as though I had known her from years ago. But Thủy waslike that; she was full of life and made others feel comfortable in her presence.

A few days into my service at Từ Dũ Hospital, our relationship evolved. As I sat in the hospital room helping to fold diapers, Thủy asked me if I had any siblings. I immediately rambled on about my baby brother in the states, a person I missed dearly. Impulsively, I asked her if she had any siblings. Thủy laid her head down with only a small smile perched on her lips.

She quietly said no. She told me that she was okay with it and that she didn’t get lonely. I sensed sadness in her voice and realized that my question was too sudden, too intrusive. In an attempt to lighten up the mood, I nudged her and said that I had always wanted a younger sister. Then I pulled out the question: Thủy, would you like to be my younger sister? Her eyes lit up, and her lips curved into a smile. She asked me excitedly if I were serious, if I really wanted to be her older sister. I nodded and smiled.

From that day onwards, Thủy and I began to refer to each other as em gái and chị gái (little sister and older sister). We exchanged phone numbers and email addresses. On the last day of service, she wrote me this note:

Chị Trâm thân yêu! Chúc chị đi về Mỹ bình an và có nhiều đìều may mắn trong cuộc sống. Và nhũng điều chị mong ứơc sẽ thành hiện thật, chị gái của em!

 Dearest Sister Tram! I wish you a safe flight back to America and that lots of lucky things will come to you in life. And I hope that all your dreams will be fulfilled and become reality, my sister!

-       Bé Thủy.

Even miles from her and Từ Dũ Hospital, Thủy and I still talk everyday. When Thủy is sad or happy, she calls me. Sometimes she calls just to say she misses me. A pang of guilt always hits me as I realize how much our relationship means to her. Due to the hustle and bustle of the fellowship, I often forget that I need to be there for her. I know that our ten-minute phone conversations mean the world to Thủy. But this is something I should have realized long ago.

On my last day at Từ Dũ Hospital, Tran, a volunteer at Peace Village, relayed to me Thủy’s story. Tran was talking to Thủy one day about her family. Thủy suddenly cried. She cried in longing for her mother; Thủy said her only dream in life was to meet her mother.

For a girl who gives me all her love, I’ve realized how truly unqualified I am in holding the title as her older sister. When I promised Thủy that I would be her sister, I didn’t realize the responsibility it entailed. I became her family. Thủy is often sad when I am unable to talk on the phone. And when I finally fly away from Saigon in that plane, where will we be?

But the thing is—Thủy, Thủy is so selfless. She is happy just to hear my voice; she asks for nothing else. Sometimes she just needs a friend, a sister who she knows is there to care for her. I find myself sitting and asking what on earth I ever did to deserve her love. This person who was a stranger to me two weeks ago now treats me like family.

I abruptly flew back to Saigon a week ago for the weekend. I visited Từ Dũ Hospital again, and Thủy ran up to me with a huge bear hug. In her hands laid a phone chain she had bought.  She whispered in my ears: “This is for you sister. I bought us matching ones. I missed you so much.” I walked into the hospital with nothing, no gifts on hand; but for Thủy, just seeing me had made her day. And that, to me, is the greatest gift she has given me.

I’ve realized how special our relationship is. I want her to know that I am always thinking about her. I want her to know that if she is sad or lonely, she has me. The miles and the distance cannot limit all we have. I cannot be there for her everyday, but this fellowship has taught me that there are many other avenues I can take to protect her. I’m always thinking of you, em gái. Thank you for all you have given me. I’m always so proud of you.

– Ai-Tram Bui

Dear Buddies,

This past Friday I made a trip out to Ngu Han Son (the Mountains of 5 Elements) to conduct field visits with my project manager, Anh Tuan. After compiling care-giving guidelines for children with disabilities in the comfort and isolation of Children of Vietnam’s (COV) office, I was ready to meet and to present my brochures to the most important members of our organization: the children and their families.

The first home we visited was Chi Hue’s. Her family had just moved again (the eighth time over the last few years) due to new construction in the surrounding neighborhoods. Despite the constant relocations, Chi Hue manages to take her 3 year old son, Trung, to physical therapy every month; Trung has cerebral palsy so continuing his motor exercises is an important routine. But, as best as she can, Chi Hue can make time for only a few therapy sessions every month. She explained whatever exercise the family performs at home in between the sessions are inefficient. “We do their exercises at home but we don’t have the machines the [physical therapy] center has,” she explained. I considered her perspective on the need for therapeutic equipment and I wondered how the exercises mentioned in the brochures would measure up to her expectations.

Showing her the brochure, I explained that Trung could practice proper posture by completing small tasks with objects found around the house. A round, plastic tube used as a chair could help Trung sit upright and a sloped, wooden plank used during playtime could help him straighten his back and neck (image 1). I wanted to demonstrate that, even without major equipment, it is possible for Trung to make progress with a little creativity and resourcefulness. Chi Hue, however, expressed uncertainty over the use of household items for therapy and was hesitant about reading too much text.

“Trung cannot keep his legs straight when sitting on the floor—we need 2 family members to keep his body from slouching over—how can the exercises you suggest change this?” I was glad for her skepticism.

“The exercises won’t dramatically change his condition, however, they can supplement his therapy especially since the sessions are infrequent.” I explained. “It will take time but with constant repetition, the muscles in Trung’s neck and legs will strengthen.” I asked her to look over the brochure again and to evaluate its content. After some deliberation and confirmation with Anh Tuan, Chi Hue seemed encouraged by my suggestions and asked me to include more of the same type of diagrams in the revised brochure. “I like the diagrams, they are the most helpful. The text is not so bad to read.” I felt elated; I hadn’t expected to build any bridges during our first meeting but Chi Hue and I had established a mutual understanding.

As we departed, Anh Tuan asked me to consider the following situation: if I was a parent with a basic education and my child lived with a disability, what is my priority? The answer was obvious to me: the most effective way to care for my child. So, he ventured, what is effective? To Chi Hue, textbook explanations of disabilities translate poorly into care-giving instructions. Effective for her is the use of illustrations over words and their direct translation into action. Chi Hue also places great importance on her son’s performance on therapeutic equipment. On the other hand, I find textbook explanations conducive to research, a process that helps me map out a protocol. Without the urgency of caring for a child, I do not need to place so much emphasis on a machine; I am free to explore all the available treatments. Clearly, context has everything to do with our differences in understanding.

Going into the site visits I was hopeful about connecting families to the right resources. Now, I have hope but also a clearer sense of context and practicality about my work.

With metta,

Dan

6:30am: Hit Snooze again.

6:45am: Finish getting ready and take out the bike. A little ashamed that the 4’11”, 95lb trash-lady has to help me again. How does she make it look so easy? Drive off while reminding myself to get her a present before I leave.

6:50am: Arrive at the offices for DAVA (Da Nang Association for Victims of Agent Orange). Grab a banh mi before Mr. Taxi gets here. The sandwich lady already has one wrapped and ready to go for me. It feels good to be a regular somewhere.

8:03am: Arrive at Facility 3. A straight ride from the city to this site would normally take about 30 minutes, but we go in large circles to pick up all the students. The van is only built for 12 people at most, but we regularly stuff about 30 on our morning route.

8:30am: Do some role-play of daily life skills, simple manners, how to use the bathroom, etc. It’s helpful for the kids with developmental disabilities, but most sit around bored. The range of disabilities for this group is too large to accommodate personal needs.

10:12am: The Flower Twins pull me aside to fold paper stars with them. The girls are deaf-mutes and are teaching me Vietnamese sign language. Our communication is rather disjointed, but the mini-games of charades are always fun.

11:00am: Lunch time. The kids with cerebral palsy or limited motor control have to be spoon-fed, but most serve, eat, and clean up by themselves. I’m amazed at how quickly the boys inhale their food to sneak in time for a soccer game before the afternoon nap.

12:07pm: The teachers sit down for a quick lunch. I ask some of my co-workers about how they got into social work. They all say it was the only exam they passed.

12:30pm: Pull out a straw mat and try to nap with everyone else. It’s too hot to do anything at this time of day, sleep included, and the fans seem to only move the warm air around.

2:25pm: The students are waking up. I’ve organized some games, but the group is too large to do anything all together. I decide it’s better to break off into smaller circles. Coloring, soccer, duck-duck-goose, etc. It seems to work well, but I wish I had more time to give every child at least some attention.

3:47pm: Mr. Taxi returns with the van. We pile even more kids into the van and start the trek back home.

5:50pm: Arrive at home. Call my housemates to grab some dinner. We decide on Bread of Life, since we’re all missing some traditional American fare.

6:37pm: Ordered a double cheeseburger again. I should branch out, but I like to stick with what I know is good. The restaurant itself is a glowing model for social enterprise. Here, all the staff, from the cooks to the busboys to the servers are deaf, and profits go back to support the deaf community in Vietnam. I rationalize that getting another burger is all for a good cause.

7:23pm: Dessert goes to a good cause too, right?

8:00pm: Take a walk along the Han River pier. We meet a group of breakdancers and poppers who come every night to practice. I never realized that the hip-hop scene was so big in Vietnam until now. Try (and miserably fail) to learn a few moves, but get a lot of laughs along the way.

9:35pm: Unwind with a mini-marathon of Modern Family. I’m happy to say I got a few converts on this trip.

11:03pm: Housemates are getting sleepy, so we wrap things up. Still not tired so I decide to Skype a few friends from home.

12:00am: Finally crawl into bed. Keep forgetting that I have to wake up at 6 again.

–Holy Vo