My Journey by Cr Loi Truong

CONTENT WARNING: The following content may be confronting for some readers. This article is a firsthand account of Cr Loi Truong's journey to Australia as a refugee and recounts some distressing scenes.

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This article is an extension of 50th Anniversary of Vietnamese Refugees’ Arrival, printed in the April 2025 edition of Greater Dandenong Council News. Read article.

I was born in 1956 in the land that during the Vietnam War was named the fire line, where Vietnam was divided into two regions. The South follows a democratic regime while the North follows a communist regime. There were times when I lived in the midst of battles, the one I remember most was the 1968 Tet Offensive. That year, the governments of the South and the North signed a three-day armistice so that the people of the two regions could celebrate Tet peacefully, but the Northern government broke the promise and invaded a number of southern provinces and cities, including Hue city, where I was staying.

After 25 days of occupying the city, the communists were beaten out of the city. They forced some of their followers to act as human shields to avoid aircraft and artillery attacking them on the way out. Then, to protect the guerrilla forces, they massacred the group of people they captured. Some were shot, but many were buried alive, because in a continuous period of about two years, more than 20 mass graves were discovered, the number of skulls counted was 2,326. Southern authorities said reports from families of missing people were 4,062 people.

After the communists took over the South, hundreds of thousands of people were sent to re-education camps. These people were considered dangerous to the new communist regime. These camps were often located deep in the forests or wild mountainous areas of northern Vietnam. These people worked hard but all their products were taken by the state. They could not eat enough even though food was provided monthly by their relatives. In the years after 1975, a number of other people suspected of being bad for the new regime were also sent to re-education camps.

My father was arrested in a re-education camp in the early days when the South fell into the hands of the communists. For a long time we did not know where he was detained. After that, our family was informed of the re-education camp where my father was detained and had visitation rights. We made a lot of dry food to supply him every month. He was transferred to many camps from the South to the North.

The re-education camp was explained not as a prison camp but as a place where the communist government provided people who need to be reformed to become "good citizens" for the communist society. Therefore, when a person was sent to the re-education camp, it was the government's privilege for that person, so that person had no reason to refuse or ask for a reason. The person sent to the re-education camp was only released when the government deemed them good enough for society. People being sent to re-education camps and their relatives did not have the right to know the reason, did not know where they were being detained and how long they would be detained. This made all people afraid of the government. That was also the reason why people chose to cross the border to become boat people even though they knew many people had died rather than live in fear every day.

According to estimates, about 800,000 refugees died from crossing the border through Laos and Cambodia, some were shot by police and border guards and some died at sea. According to the United Nations High Commission for Refugees between 200,000 and 400,000 boat people died at sea, out of the 2 million people who attempted to flee Vietnam by boat.

I participated in nine border crossings. I do not want to list the hardships and dangers I went through during those times to protect the safety of the people who helped me who are currently living in the country. The last time I escaped on a boat woven from bamboo and rubbed on the outside with a layer of road plastic to reduce water absorption, we had to take turns pumping out water day and night. The boat was at its widest in the middle about 1.6 meters and about 7 meters long. On the boat were 10 men from 18 to 40 years old, a 16-year-old woman and 5 children from 5 to 10 years old.

The boat left the shore around 9pm on 9 September 1981 at a speed of about 8-10 kilometers per hour thanks to the propulsion of the engine and sails. We decided to go in September, the middle of the storm season because this time of year is very dangerous to go to the beach, so there are few patrols by the communist government's border guards and police. At around 7am, looking towards Vietnam, the mountain was slowly disappearing, feeling happy because I was about to escape, but my stomach hurt because this could be the last time I saw my homeland.

We arrived at Hainan Island in China at 4am on 11 September. We dug and buried ourselves in sand and slept very warmly. We didn't have a lot of food, but there was no shortage of drinking water. Furthermore, there were four people from the city, including me, who were seasick so we couldn't eat. 

At about 8am, some people discovered us so they came to see us in large numbers. The people were quite gentle and friendly. Maybe they were familiar with the people who crossed the border first so they brought us a lot of food, mostly rice and tofu.

We determined that we were in the south of Hainan Island, so we gradually went east to avoid drifting back to Vietnam. One thing to note is that in 1979, the Chinese communists fought with the Viet communist, so we were not forced to return to Vietnam. About a week later a Vietnamese Chinese interpreter came to see us and told us that the Chinese government wanted to know what we needed. We asked if we had to pay, and he said it was all paid by the United Nations. But food and clothing are already available, so we didn't need any help.

In about one month, we arrived at Quynh Chau Strait, this is an estuary with Hai Nam Island on one side and mainland China on the other. Here, when the tide is high, water flows into the Gulf of Tonkin and when the tide is low, water overflows from the Gulf of Tonkin. Our boat was too small and made of bamboo, so it was difficult to pass this place. We were advised to wait for a time when the tide was not rising or falling and then go close to the side of the big ship to pass. We did so, but the big ship was going too fast for us to keep up, so we had to pull the boat to a deserted island to stay overnight and wait for another ship for the next day.

After about two months, we reached Macau, where we were anchoring the boat to watch a car race on the beach when Macau police pulled us out to sea and showed us the direction to the Hong Kong refugee camp. They put us on their canoes and gave us food. We looked at the calendar on their ship and found out that day was Friday 13 November 1981. We believed that Friday the 13th was an unlucky day, so we decided to anchor the boat at a small island and enter Hong Kong port the next day.

I was in the Hong Kong refugee camps for nearly 20 months before being resettled in Australia on 17 June 1983.