Born from Violence

Photo provided by Joshua Vaughan

Exploring how intergenerational resilience and shared trauma shape Vietnamese American identity and foster mutual understanding

The Vietnam War and Generational Trauma

When war is the unspoken elephant in the room, how do you confront the moral complexities of conflict? To be born from violence, how do you justify your existence? How do you move forward from the past and ask, "What now?"

For generations, the question of victimhood has persisted in Vietnamese culture. Elders and first-generation immigrants rarely had the luxury of asking, "What now?" Upon arriving in America, they had to rapidly rebuild their lives, like countless other immigrants. Climbing the socioeconomic ladder required relentless focus. There was no time for victimhood or recovery from the traumas of the Vietnam War—no space for reflection or therapy for those who had to put food on the table. Survival demanded quiet resilience, a relentless work ethic, and a selfless commitment to provide for their families. There was no alternative path, no room for risk, exploration, or self-discovery. Success was narrowly defined, leaving no room for deviation.

Unaddressed war and trauma allowed their consequences to flow, spread, and seep into future generations. The emotional scars of conflict are often inherited by the children of survivors. Among Vietnamese Americans, this intergenerational experience highlights the tension between inherited trauma and the desire for individuality. First-generation immigrants, shaped by survival and servitude, often find their resilience juxtaposed against the second generation's quest for self-determination and the clash of Eastern and Western values.

Yet, within this dynamic lies an opportunity for reconciliation. By honoring unspoken traditions, shared resilience, and a reimagined definition of success that transcends Western ideals, Vietnamese Americans can bridge the gap between past and present. In doing so, they create a collective narrative that respects their heritage while embracing their aspirations for the future.

The Generational Paradox

A profound paradox exists between first- and second-generation immigrants. Upon arriving in America, many Vietnamese and other immigrant families were taught by their elders to remain in the shadows—to be passive, quiet, and unseen. The advice was simple: work hard in silence, avoid confrontation, and perhaps you will find a way to survive and build a life. In stark contrast, later generations yearn to be visible, to explore, to test their limits, and to discover the world on their own terms. This evolution from timidity to exploration reflects not only differing timeframes and mindsets but also reveals an honorable and multifaceted story of the Vietnamese and broader immigrant experience in America.

For second-generation immigrants, this sense of discovery often stems from a desire for acceptance and reconciliation between two identities. The clash between Eastern and Western ideals disrupts a sense of belonging. Traditional family expectations of success often emphasize collective prosperity and selflessness, while Western ideals prioritize individualism and self-made success. This cultural dissonance can leave future generations feeling trapped, burdened by the obligation to reconcile these opposing values. The question arises: can true individuality exist when one is bound to serve multiple, often conflicting, identities?

Art provides a striking example of this tension. Consider the stereotype of the Asian artist: a prodigious violinist or pianist shaped by “tiger parenting,” strict practice regimens, and a devotion to the Eurocentric musical canon—Bach, Mozart, Beethoven. These children are often seen not as creators but as servants of a tradition, raising questions about where individuality and unique talent fit into this narrative. Similarly, the academic scholar molded by Kumon, debate competitions, and rigorous extracurricular programs is seen as a product of regimen and rigor.

This rigid framework of success often leaves little room for deviation, creativity, or self-determination. To step outside these expectations, as the Vietnamese American author Ocean Vuong suggests, renders one inconceivable—a challenge to deeply ingrained stereotypes. Yet, it is within these acts of defiance and exploration that second-generation immigrants begin to carve out their own paths, blending their inherited resilience with their aspirations to be seen and heard on their own terms.

Overcoming Trauma: Mental Health and the Postmemory

Although trauma and stereotypes often permeate generations of war-born Vietnamese immigrants, resilience and growth emerging from the past can lead to a profound new sense of discovery and identity.

The notion of maintaining “good health” or “endurance” within the Vietnamese household is a deeply ingrained value. An excerpt from an essay highlights this sentiment: when facing struggles or obstacles, I was often reminded to “rang chiu,” or “try your best to endure,” with the assurance that better times would come. This phrase was often accompanied by a detached optimism, suggesting that our family had already endured the worst, and things could only improve. The other reminder, “rang hoc giai,” or “try your best to learn well in school,” came as an afterthought. The importance of health in the household often feels one-sided, as elders routinely sacrifice their own well-being for the sake of their families and livelihoods.

This conflicting view of health—where endurance and sacrifice are prioritized over self-care—can be frustrating, but it is crucial to understanding the behavioral patterns and trauma carried by first-generation Vietnamese immigrants. By recognizing this nexus of health, second-generation Vietnamese Americans can bridge the gap between themselves and their parents, reshaping their relationships and reinterpreting their filial duties. This bridge also allows for a deeper understanding of Vietnamese customs and traditions, which are steeped in patriarchy and shaped by the lasting impacts of French colonialism and American imperialism. The concept of health and family serves as a foundation for communication between generations—focusing both on the individual (the second generation striving to thrive in Western society) and the family (a force rooted in older generations’ sacrifices).

The crux of health within the Vietnamese American community extends beyond individual well-being to encompass the health of the family and the community—a collective sense of resilience. As seen in the care many Asian Americans provide for their parents well into adulthood, this focus on mutual responsibility facilitates conversations around difficult and often awkward topics.

Additionally, the second generation’s drive to reconstruct their Vietnamese American identity is deeply intertwined with a loose nostalgia for the homeland—a mourning of a lost, ambiguous country. This is reflected in the sight of Vietnamese flags alongside the Stars and Stripes in Little Saigons across the country. Our homeland, built on folktales and trauma, remains a place that is simultaneously distant and forever tied to the refugee experience. Many first-generation immigrants urge their children to identify not as Vietnamese, but as Vietnamese Americans. This affirmation of identity—rooted in stories of war and immigration—creates gaps in the understanding of one’s diaspora. How can one truly be Vietnamese when the homeland remains out of reach, defined only by the legacy of conflict and displacement?

The concept of postmemory—a way of reconstructing identity through the intersection of past, present, and future—becomes a powerful tool in defining what it means to be Vietnamese American. Acknowledging both the inherited trauma of war and the shared resilience that transcends generations forms the foundation for mutual understanding. While phrases like “I love you” and “I’m proud of you” are rarely spoken in Vietnamese households, a deep, unspoken understanding of resilience exists between generations, expressed through service, respect, and the quiet recognition of struggles endured. This connection endures through folk stories, family recipes, old photo books, and shared cultural experiences such as eating in Little Saigon or visiting night markets. Even without direct ties to the homeland, second-generation Vietnamese Americans maintain a sense of connection, respect, and trust beyond the war, drawing strength from the collective legacy that binds them.

Conclusion: How Do We Dismantle the Master’s House?

Many unspoken truths and understandings shape what it means to be a Vietnamese American — respecting both perspectives on success without solely relying adhering to Western ideals help define our resilience and identity as Vietnamese Americans. To fully “dismantle the master’s house”, we must understand both sides of being heard, both vocally and silently. We must look inwards towards our families and trust their good intentions and realize their situational upbringings. We must look past western conventions of success as the only option while acknowledging our elder’s perspectives of serving beyond the self. Both sides, both generations, and both perspectives are voices that demand respect and attention, while promoting a strong sense of individuality and control in answering the question, “What now?”, even when the understanding remains unspoken.

Citations –

Ocean Vuong on War, Sexuality, and Asian American Identity | Amanpour and Company