Vietnamese

Berlin, Germany – In 1979, Kien Nghi Ha lived in Hanoi with his parents, who worked as electricians at a power plant, and his 12-year-old sister in a one-bedroom apartment.

They shared the toilet and an outdoor kitchen area along with their neighbours. One of them, an elderly woman, would sometimes look after Ha, then seven years old, and his sister.

He remembers the cool, smooth tiled floor offering comfort during the blistering summer heat. He would lie on it listening to the lively street noise and occasional sound of a tram beyond a green steel entrance door.

Four years earlier, in 1975, North Vietnamese communist forces had defeated United States-aligned fighters in South Vietnam to take the whole country under a one-party system that remains in power today.

Ha was part of an ethnically Chinese mixed Hoa Kieu minority. Communities like his, especially in the early post-war years, felt vulnerable.

He remembers how children turned away from him after Vietnam invaded Cambodia, then an ally of China at that time in 1978, because of his heritage.

“Some even threw stones at me. This was very shocking, and I didn’t understand at that time what was going on,” he said.

The family decided to leave. His parents sold their valuables and embarked on a dangerous and costly trip by boat to Hong Kong. Despite no guarantees of safety, an estimated two million people would ultimately leave this way.

At that time, those who feared for their future under the new Communist authorities could choose to resettle in one of three countries – West Germany, Australia or the United States.

The choice was not available for long. When his uncle left Vietnam just three months later, people were only allowed to migrate to the US.

Ha’s parents opted for West Germany as they believed it offered a better work-life balance than the US.

The fractures in Vietnam mirrored divisions in Germany, with North Vietnam backed by the USSR-aligned East Germany, officially known as the German Democratic Republic (GDR), and the capitalist West Germany supporting South Vietnam.

After arriving in Hong Kong, the family travelled by plane to Frankfurt and then on to Tegel airport in West Berlin, where journalists were waiting, eager to document the country welcoming so-called “boat people”.

“I don’t recall much from the arrival, but I do remember many journalists there wanting to take pictures of us,” Ha said.

The family were provided an apartment within a social housing complex where thousands of people lived near the Berlin Wall on the west side. His father became a transport worker, while his mother was a cleaner in a children’s nursery.

Compared with other social housing at the time, Ha says, the flat was in good condition, with central heating and individual toilets.

But the transition was not easy. Ha felt isolated as one of the only children from a minority background in his primary school.

A different path

Within months of the war’s end, Vietnam signed diplomatic relations with the GDR, paving a different kind of path for Huong Mai to fly overseas a few years later.

At 21, she left Hanoi for Moscow and then travelled to Schonefeld airport in East Berlin. She was among the first groups of contract workers and was soon employed at a factory that made drinking glasses.

Now aged 64, Mai has a 27-year-old son and runs a textile shop in the town where she has lived since she arrived in the GDR.

On April 30, Vietnam marked 50 years since the end of the war. For the large Vietnamese-German diaspora, who arrived as refugees and contract workers, this year’s milestones have stirred a sense of reflection.

Mai said she felt joy on the anniversary.

“My father resisted against the French colonialists, and then my older brother fought against the Americans. So, for me, the end of this war is very meaningful because of the blood that was shed by my family in all of these wars,” she said.

Her brother followed in her footsteps, arriving in Germany in the 1990s alone. His family joined him two decades later, in 2009.

His daughter, 26-year-old Dieu Ly Hoang, now lives in Prenzlauer Berg, which is coincidentally the same neighbourhood as Ha. It is a sought-after area of the German capital, formerly in the GDR, now home to cosy cafes, posh restaurants, yoga studios and affluent expatriate families where English is heard on the streets more often than German.

“It’s been a very important aspect for me to see what my family went through, and how resilient they have been. I know I’m very lucky not to have experienced an evacuation and I can’t imagine what it was like for my grandparents,” Ly said, as she recalled hearing stories about the wartime rations of rice.

“I acknowledge the sacrifices they made to migrate for a better life so that I could be born and live in peace,” said Ly, an art historian.

Ha, now 53 and a father to two sons, is a postdoctoral researcher in the Asian German diaspora at the University of Tubingen and holds a PhD in cultural studies. Friendly, open and knowledgeable of the complex history he is a part of, Ha also said the commemorative events have felt significant.

“There’s an intellectual and cultural discussion going on through which we are trying to make sense of this history and what this history means for us living in the German-Vietnamese diaspora,” he said.

“Questions pop up in private and public conversations, articles, books, and artworks. And knowing more about this history will improve our sense of self in German society, because we are able to discover more about a past that we, the younger generations, didn’t experience on a personal level. This allows us to connect the past with the present.”

An estimated 35,000 refugees arrived in West Germany in 1979, while 70,000 contract workers began to arrive in the GDR in 1980.

When Germany unified in 1990, it brought together, at least physically, two communities.

“In the GDR, people were proud to show international solidarity, and this went hand in hand with hatred of the capitalist West, while the West German government saw the Vietnam War as part of the global struggle against communism,” explained German historian Andreas Margara.

Ly said some of her relatives still mention it when they hear a southern Vietnamese accent.

“They do not become stressed nor do they act differently, but they notice the accent verbally, like ‘Oh, this person is from the south’. They do not go further into details, but I can feel a certain differentiation there because there is this history there. My parents’ generation, including people like war veterans, don’t have the spaces in the diaspora to meet, share their experiences and understand each other more,” she said. “Unified Germany, though, can be a space for more reconciliation.”

She added that her generation has “more chances and spaces for dialogue” as she recalled recently meeting a Vietnamese German art history student and having plenty about which to talk.

Mai agreed that there are not many opportunities in her life to meet southerners, yet she feels no animosity.

“Even though Vietnam has been damaged a lot, we are all Vietnamese and came to Germany to build a better life for ourselves,” she said.

Several Vietnamese American-owned nail salons in Orange County have sued California, alleging the state’s labor code is discriminating against their businesses.

The lawsuit, filed in U.S. District Court in Santa Ana on Friday, alleges that the state’s labor code violates the 14th Amendment’s guarantee of equal protection under the law by forcing nail technicians to be classified as employees.

The suit argues that professionals in the beauty industry for years have operated as independent contractors, renting space in a salon and bringing in their own clients. That changed at the beginning of 2025, when nail technicians under the labor code became required to be classified as employees, the lawsuit said.

State Assemblyman Tri Ta (R-Westminster), who represents Little Saigon and surrounding communities, said his office has fielded much concern from Vietnamese American nail salon owners.

“Their lives have turned upside down overnight,” Ta said at a news conference Monday morning. “It is not just unfair, it is discrimination.”

The switch in labor law came in 2019 when Assembly Bill 5, a sweeping law governing worker classification rules across various industries, was approved. It codified a California Supreme Court decision creating a stricter test to judge whether a worker should be considered an employee rather than an independent contractor.

AB 5 sought to crack down on industries in which many workers are misclassified as independent contractors, who are not afforded protections including minimum wage, overtime pay and workers’ compensation that employees have access to. But various industries have said AB 5 targets them unfairly, creating an uneven playing field for businesses.

Some professions received carve-outs, including doctors, accountants, real estate agents and hairdressers. Others such as truckers, commercial janitors and physical therapists must abide by the tighter classification rules.

Some implementation of the law was staggered to give industries, including nail technicians, time to adapt.

But Ân Tran, who owns two franchisee locations of Happy Nails & Spa that are among the businesses suing the state, said the law remains burdensome. Hiring employees is more costly, and it’s unfair that businesses hiring hairdressers, aestheticians and other beauty workers aren’t subject to the requirement, he said.

“We don’t have customers all the time. That’s going to cost us a lot more to pay them for the downtime when they don’t have any customers,” Tran said in an interview.

The requirement also defies the flexible work culture and control over their clients that many manicurists prefer, Tran said.

Emily Micelle was among several manicurists who spoke in support of the salon owners’ lawsuit at the Monday news conference.

“No one forced me to be here today. I chose to be here because I want to express my side of the story,” Micelle said. “Being [an independent contractor] means I can work for myself, I can be my own boss, I can create my own branding within the business, I choose my own hours, I choose my own clients. … The law means to protect us workers, but [being an employee] doesn’t work for everyone.”

The lawsuit describes how the nail salon industry in California became dominated by Vietnamese workers in recent decades, when Vietnamese refugees began fleeing to the U.S. in large numbers in 1975 after the fall of Saigon in America’s failed military intervention in Southeast Asia.

The industry “has become synonymous with the Vietnamese community,” the lawsuit said, with more than 82% of nail technicians in California being Vietnamese American and some 85% women.

The legal action highlights the tension between how small businesses can serve as a pathway for immigrants and others to build wealth, and how workers at times might have little formal recourse for low wages or unsafe work conditions, experts have said.

Researchers with the UCLA Labor Center last year analyzed U.S. Census Bureau data and released a report estimating that the hourly median wage for nail salon workers in 2021 was $10.94, below the then-$13 minimum wage for small businesses.

In 2017, four women sued a salon in Tustin, alleging that the owners had created bogus time records and paychecks to create an illusion that manicurists were paid lawfully by the hour, but instead workers were compensated based on a 60% commission system where their pay was further deducted for using business supplies, such as spa chairs.

Businesses that filed suit include multiple locations of Blue Nail Bar, Happy Nails & Spa and Holly & Hudson Nail Lounge.

A Los Angeles construction worker from Vietnam was among 13 immigrants roused by guards in full combat gear around 2:30 a.m. one day last week in a Texas detention facility, shackled, forced onto a bus and told they would be deported to Libya, two of the detainees’ lawyers said.

“It was very aggressive. They weren’t allowed to do anything,” said Tin Thanh Nguyen, an attorney for the Los Angeles man, whom he did not identify for fear of retaliation.

Libya, the politically unstable country in North Africa, is beset by “terrorism, unexploded landmines, civil unrest, kidnapping, and armed conflict,” according to the U.S. State Department. Human rights groups have documented inhumane conditions at detention facilities and migrant camps, including torture, forced labor and rape.

The construction worker, who has a criminal conviction on his record, had lived in the U.S. for decades and has a wife and teenage daughter. He was arrested after appearing at an annual immigration check-in at a Los Angeles office two months ago and then shuffled around to various detention facilities before arriving at the South Texas ICE Processing Center in Pearsall.

In the early morning hours of May 7, he was placed on the bus from the detention facility south to what was likely Lackland Air Force Base. From there, he and the rest of the group sat for hours on the tarmac in front of a military plane in the predawn dark, unsure what was going to happen. The men hailed from Laos, Vietnam, Myanmar, Mali, Burundi, Cuba, Bolivia, Mexico and the Philippines, the attorneys said. None were from Libya.

“My client and the other men on the bus were silent,” Nguyen said in court files. “My client was extremely scared.”

The plane hatch was open. Military personnel bustled in and out, appearing to bring in supplies and fuel the plane. Photographers positioned themselves in front of the military aircraft.

“Suddenly the bus starts moving and heading back to the detention facility,” said Johnny Sinodis, an attorney for another detainee, a Filipino who grew up and went to college in the United States and also had a criminal conviction.

U.S. District Judge Brian E. Murphy in Massachusetts had issued a warning to the administration to halt any immediate removal to Libya or any other third country, as it would violate a previous court order that officials must provide detainees with due process and notice in their own language. Lawyers had scrambled to get the order after media reports confirmed what their clients had told them: Removals to Libya appeared imminent.

Sinodis said his client and others were returned to the detention unit and placed in solitary confinement for 24 hours.

In his declaration, he said his client spoke to a Mexican and a Bolivian national who were in the group. Each had been told that their home countries would accept them, but the officials still said they were going to send them to Libya.

It’s been a week since the incident, and the lawyers said they are still fighting to stop their clients deportations to a third country.

The Trump administration deported hundreds of mostly Venezuelan men to a prison in El Salvador, invoking a wartime law to speedily remove accused gang members. Their deportation drew immediate challenges and became the most contentious piece of the immigration crackdown. Officials have also sent people to Panama who were not from that country.

This month, the foreign minister of Rwanda said in a televison interview it was in talks with U.S. officials to take in deported migrants.

It’s unclear how Libya came to be a possible destination for the immigrants. Two governments claim power in the nation. The Tripoli-based Government of National Unity has denied any deal with the Trump administration. The Government of National Stability, based in Benghazi, also rejected reports that it would take deportees.

The U.N. Human Rights Office said on Tuesday that it had information that at least 100 Venezuelans held in the Salvadoran megaprison weren’t told they were going to be deported to a third country, had no access to a lawyer and were unable to challenge the removal.

“This situation raises serious concerns regarding a wide array of rights that are fundamental to both U.S. and international law,” U.N. High Commissioner for Human Rights Volker Turk said in a statement. “The manner in which some of the individuals were detained and deported — including the use of shackles on them — as well as the demeaning rhetoric used against migrants, has also been profoundly disturbing.”

Sinodis said his client had already been in custody for months and been told that he would be deported to the Philippines in late April. But that month, he was transferred from the Northwest ICE Processing Center in Tacoma, Wash., to Texas. An officer in Tacoma told him the decision to move him there came from “headquarters,” according to court documents.

On May 5, he was scheduled to be interviewed by two U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers in Texas. He expected to learn of his deportation date. Instead, they handed him a one-page document that said he would be deported to Libya. He was shocked, Sinodis said.

The man asked the officers whether there was anything he or his attorney could do to avoid this. They said no.

Nguyen said his client, who doesn’t speak English fluently, had a similar experience on the same day. The officers handed him a document in English that they said would allow him to be free in Libya. He doesn’t even know where Libya is and refused to sign the document. The officers told him he would be deported no matter what he did.

The next day, Sinodis said, his client’s commissary and phone accounts were zeroed out.

Sinodis finally reached an officer at the detention center who told him, “That’s crazy,” when asked about Libya. His client must have misheard, he said. But his client, who grew up on the West Coast, speaks fluent English.

Then on May 7, as things unfolded, the attorney reached another officer at the facility, who said he had no information that the man was going to Libya, and referred him back to an officer in Tacoma. A supervisor downplayed the situation.

“I can assure you this is not an emergency because the emergency does not exist,” the supervisor told him, according to court documents.

Shortly after noon that day, a detention center officer who identified himself as Garza called and told him he was looking into it, but so far had “no explanation” for why his client was told this, but he also couldn’t guarantee it didn’t happen.

Less than an hour later, his client called to tell him that he had been taken to an air base. He said when he was pulled out of his cell in the early morning, he saw the same two officers that interviewed him and asked him to sign the removal papers.

“He asks the officers, ‘Are we still going to Libya?” Sinodis said. “They said yes.”