This is the first story of a four-part series featuring first-generation daughters who navigate their own identities, experiences, and responsibilities growing up between two worlds.
Ethnic Studies teacher Lan Nguyễn is the only member of her family born in the States. Her parents and older brother, who is ten years her senior, lived in Vietnam before escaping to Long Beach, CA in 1993.
Nguyễn’s parents grew up amidst the Vietnam War, living with a constant fear of bombings. “They would regularly have a plan of where to hide if the house had been bombed––there were a lot of scares,” Nguyễn said.
After the war ended, Nguyễn’s parents spent 15 more years in Vietnam before moving across the Pacific Ocean and settling in a bustling, multi-racial neighborhood in Southern California. Nguyễn was born two years later.
“When I think about my experience compared to other Americans, I think I lack privilege in a lot of ways. But when I think about my parents’ experience, I have a lot of privilege,” Nguyễn said. “I’ve heard stories where my parents ate grass to survive. In the U.S., my parents took care of me and made sacrifices to make sure that my basic needs were met.”
At a young age, Nguyễn felt like an outsider. In high school, Nguyễn was bussed to a predominantly white school on the wealthier side of town. “There, I experienced internalized classism and racism,” she said. “I was surrounded by people who––on the surface––were happier because they had more. I was jealous that they didn’t have the struggle that I had. Instead of thinking there was something wrong with them, I internalized that there was something wrong with me.”
Listening to emo-pop soon became a way for Nguyễn to cope with her mental health struggles. She fell in love with music journalism and started her own music publication, which allowed her to get press passes to attend some of her favorite artists’ concerts for free.
After graduating high school, Nguyễn enrolled at Northwestern University to become a music journalist. “I felt like my parents empowered me to follow my dreams, even if they wished I had different dreams,” she said.
“I was surrounded by people who––on the surface––were happier because they had more. I was jealous that they didn’t have the struggle that I had. Instead of thinking there was something wrong with them, I internalized that there was something wrong with me.”
But the comfort that Nguyễn felt when reporting soon left her. “As I was doing on-the-ground journalism, I had formed relationships with the communities that I was interviewing,” she said. “My professors said that I was too attached to these issues.”
“The journalism field is changing now, but back in the day, it seemed like you needed to have privilege to be a journalist––how could someone be covering poverty and not be emotionally attached to the poverty in that community?” Nguyễn added.
After some soul searching, Nguyễn discovered ethnic studies while at UCLA for post-graduate studies. Loving herself and understanding her own history was what truly helped her heal from her past struggles.
“I was always interested in being a teacher, but I didn’t want to pursue it because it’s a very exploitative, horrible field to be in. After trying out other careers, I didn’t feel fulfilled by them,” she said.
Teaching––ethnic studies in particular––is what fulfills her. Nguyen, who goes by Ms. Lan to her students, hopes to give her students the same kind of love and empowerment she wish she had when she was younger.
Nguyen also specifically chooses to teach newcomer students. “I want to be the person I wish my family members had when they first moved to America. Learning English and getting accustomed to a new culture is scary, and can make someone feel really small,” she said.
“I don’t think my relatives had teachers that made them feel empowered. I try to do that for my students. I think it’s very healing for me to be in this role, and try to create an environment that I wish my family had when they first arrived,” she added.
I want to be the person I wish my family members had when they first moved to America. Learning English and getting accustomed to a new culture is scary, and can make someone feel really small.
Through ethnic studies, Nguyen also discovered filmmaking, which allowed her to convey her passion and talent for storytelling as a pathway towards social change. Through filmmaking, Nguyen made connections with the people she interviewed and expressed her opinions on the subjects she cared so much about––the same reason why she left journalism field years ago.
After learning about Southeast Asian refugees being deported back to their countries in 2017, she wanted to use her films as a way to advocate for them. “I felt like the deportation was incredibly unjust given that refugees came here because of US imperialism and the government did a really bad job of supporting them and resettling them,” she said.
Some of the refugees faced incarceration in addition to deportation, and Nguyễn wanted to highlight the impacts of the “school-to-prison pipeline” and immigration policies on working class Asian-Americans. Soon, with the help of some of her colleagues, she created the documentary Fighting for Family in 2019.
“Through community organizing, I befriended a lot of formerly incarcerated people, who I now call my brothers and sisters,” Nguyễn said.
“I have these very strong, very powerful relationships with people impacted by this and I want people to see what I see, which is that these are people that have struggles and have such a big heart and are just trying their best,” she added.
Nguyen struggled with navigating her own identity and fitting in her entire life––even within some Asian-American spaces. “Everywhere I go, there’s a sense of like being different,” she said. “There are people of different ethnicities, so there’s feeling of being different, but when I meet a Vietnamese person, there’s some feeling of excitement and solidarity. When I go to Vietnam, it feels home, even though it’s not my home. It just feels like a space where I belong.”
“There’s this expectation for first-generation kids to be thankful for your parents making the big sacrifices, and I think that’s really takes a big toll on the mental health of us individuals, because we didn’t ask to be brought here,” Nguyen said.
“It’s important to just recognize that, yes, there’s a lot to be thankful for, but also that the struggle of having to balance these different expectations from the culture of your family and the culture of the place that you live in is difficult. That struggle and duality can really take a toll on someone’s mental health,” she said. “That’s why ethnic studies is so important is because we are able to talk about these issues, and we have a place for students to explore that and share their struggles and experiences.”
