”Viet Kieu,” asserted my HCM City neighbor, his mouth turned down with distaste, “are simply no good.” He would not elaborate, but merely shook his head as if to say I’d never be able to understand.

 

His is a sentiment one hears less often since Viet Nam’s economy started booming, but still there remains a barely palpable undercurrent of resentment here towards the millions of Vietnamese who whether by choice or circumstance have made their homes outside of the country. A new generation of Viet Kieu, however, are pouring into this emerging market economy and doing something to reverse that negative image.

 

Not unlike the “ugly American” stereotype that hangs over the head of every Yankee visitor to Paris, stories about wicked Viet Kieu have been woven into the fabric of local urban legends since the country opened its doors to the outside world nearly two decades ago. Such tales usually star a pleasantly plump middle-aged Vietnamese American fresh off the plane, overdressed and flaunting his purported wealth for all hungry eyes to see. He’s come back, we are told, to wed a young virgin and whisk her back to a life of manicures and spa treatments in southern California... He can’t speak a word of his mother tongue, but money still talks in the former Sai Gon, and instead of visiting his relatives, Mr. VK treats himself to a suite at the Las Vegas-style Rex, special “massages,” lavish dinners and bottles of the finest liquor before stepping gingerly over the beggars who stare up at him from the sidewalk and ask why he has been chosen instead of them. 

 

Was there ever a grain of truth to this picture? Maybe. But even locals without overseas relatives wiring money home have begun to realize that the second generation is somehow different.

 

In the two years I’ve lived in Sai Gon, I’ve spoken to hundreds of Viet Kieu from around the world. Ten of those people from my generation agreed to talk in detail about their experiences coming back to live in a Viet Nam drastically different from the war-scarred nation many of their parents fled over 30 years ago. Instead of summarizing their viewpoints in a tidy package, I’ve decided to let them tell their own stories, in their own words.

 

Laurence Nguyen, the youngest of the group at 23, was born in Montreal and moved to Sai Gon just over a year ago. After a stint at the Canadian Chamber of Commerce, she is now a client relationship exec with Fraser’s law firm.

 

Twenty-seven-year-old Christine Van was born in Hue but grew up in Brooklyn, New York. She came back to her country in 2004 to find her “Vietnamese” self, after realizing how assimilated she had been in the U.S. She now lives sandwiched between her aunt, uncle and cousins in HCM City’s District 3, and since July has been the general manager of a new restaurant called Hideaway Cafe. 

 

Dao Xuan Loc, 35, a software development manager born and raised in Paris, has lived in Sai Gon for two years. He lives alone but sees his relatives every other day.

 

Nguyen Trung Hoang, a 42 year-old filmmaker, left Viet Nam at 18 and returned home in January 2005 after spending more than half his life in France and America. Now known as Ouater Sand, he recently married a local girl (who was introduced by her aunt in the U.S.) and took her back to San Francisco, where he runs a restaurant. He’s the only married one in this group of 10.

 

Linda Pham, 27, left her birthplace in Melbourne to gain international advertising experience in her parents’ hometown of Sai Gon. Now an art director at Saatchi and Saatchi, Linda (whose Vietnamese name, Hien, means gentle and virtuous) is one of the few members of the group at ease in the language, and seems to have found a happy balance between her Western and Eastern values.

 

In 1975 Landon Carnie was adopted as a toddler by American parents as part of “Operation Babylift,” which saw almost 3,000 Vietnamese orphans flown out of the country to families around the world. Now 32 and teaching at an international university in HCM City, he recently returned from a trip through China, Mongolia and Russia on the Trans-Siberian railroad. He says the most valuable lesson he’s learned in Viet Nam is that yelling never gets you anywhere.

 

Voughn Nguyen, 33, Director of Marketing for Norfolk Group (real estate), grew up with traditional Vietnamese values in Canberra, Australia, even though her parents left their country as children for Laos. Now a busy businesswoman, she’s at peace with Sai Gon but can see her future elsewhere.

 

Twenty-nine-year-old Quoc Doan recently moved back to San Jose after three and a half years in Sai Gon, where he held various creative positions, most recently as an art director for McCann Erickson. Although he misses life in Viet Nam, he’s getting by just fine without the traffic and pollution, thank you very much.