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How I Got Radicalized
I Became a ‘Closeted Socialist’ After My Family Fled Communism
Welcome to How I Got Radicalized, a new series that tells a story about a cultural moment that made you drastically rethink how society works.
It is 2007 and I am 10 years old when my father takes me to an anti-communist protest in Little Saigon, California. Almost everyone there is a South Vietnamese refugee, clutching the corner of a banner or waving the former republic’s yellow and red striped flag. I’m too young to understand why we’re out on the hot sidewalk — mostly I just want to go home — but I am old enough to know my father’s migration story by heart, to know how he fled Saigon in 1975, how he was separated from his family for 10 years, and how he blamed it all on North Vietnamese communists.
My dad used to take me and my brother on trips to Little Saigon every weekend to visit my grandparents, eat, and go grocery shopping. Immigrant communities were all around us at every point of my childhood. When I had to do a “living history” project in fifth grade, most of my peers also interviewed their parents about how they left their homelands. A friend’s mom spoke to the class about her time living in a refugee camp, while my science teacher (Mr. Tran, no relation) darkly joked that he had once been attacked by pirates. My dad is a quiet man and doesn’t share much unless asked, though I rarely felt the need to when I was growing up. My family’s story didn’t seem particularly special given the breadth of experiences around us.
I learned enough to avoid mentioning communism around my father, lest I set off one of his bitter monologues. When I once expressed interest in visiting my family’s old neighborhoods in Vietnam, he told me I’d have to go alone. He was barred from entering the country because of his anti-communist work, but he didn’t…
