Introduction

In the summer of 1979, Nguyễn Văn Hùng, who was born and raised in a family that had resettled in South Vietnam since 1954, successfully escaped Vietnam and was ultimately rescued by a Norwegian gas carrier in the treacherous South China Sea. Following his rescue, he resided in a refugee camp in Japan for two and half years before embarking on his studies at a Columban seminary in Sydney Australia. In 1988, he made his first visit to Taiwan to participate in a two-year Overseas Training Programme and returned again upon his ordination in 1991. Since then, he has become a prominent advocate for migrant rights and a respected community organiser.

Based on Father Nguyễn’s life history, this chapter is divided into two parts, each delving into different aspects of his journey and activism. The first part chronicles Father Nguyễn and his family’s experiences as they navigated a life of constant displacement and precarity in war-torn Vietnam during the late 1950s and 1970s. It illustrates their struggle for survival amidst the violence and their perilous sea voyage in search of a new life. Moreover, it explores Father Nguyễn’s engagement in political activism as a refugee in Japan and Australia, shedding light on his resilience and determination.

The second part of this chapter shifts its focus to Father Nguyễn’s dedication to advocating for migrant rights and his involvement in community-organising activities in Taiwan. It highlights his encounter with different waves of Vietnamese migrants, and the emergence of a Vietnamese diasporic community since the 1990s. Furthermore, it traces Father Nguyễn’s persistent efforts in transnational networking, which have played a crucial role in fostering collaboration, support, and collective actions across national borders.

The primary source of material for this chapter is derived from extensive in-depth life history interviews. These interviews spanned 15 sessions, taking place between November 2019 and May 2023, with an average duration of two hours per session. As a result, approximately 33 hours of recorded and transcribed conversations were accumulated. It is important to acknowledge that while the chapter utilises the life history approach and centres on Father Nguyễn, it does not seek to generalise his individual life experience to represent Vietnamese refugees as a whole. Such a generalisation would oversimplify the complexities and variations within refugee communities. However, Father Nguyễn’s life history offers a unique perspective that enables an exploration of the broader social and historical contexts in which not only his own journey but also the journeys of others have unfolded and intersected.

As Ken Plummer (1983) aptly argues, the life history approach requires a continuous interweaving “between the changing biographical history of the person and the social history of his or her life-span” (p. 70). To demonstrate how the personal and the social, or the micro and macro, interact and influence each other, and to provide a more contextualised analysis of Father Nguyễn’s life experience, this chapter enriches the narrative by cross-referencing and supplementing his personal accounts with a carefully selected group of scholarly literature on the Vietnam War, along with research in the fields of refugee studies and migration studies. Additionally, relevant government documents, statistics, and newspapers are consulted whenever appropriate. By integrating these diverse sources, the chapter aims to provide a nuanced understanding of how the interplay between human agency, and the evolving geopolitical configurations and refugee/migration regimes in different historical contexts, has profoundly shaped the trajectory and experiences of Father Nguyễn and his contemporaries.

Displacement and Resettlement

Northern Immigrants in South Vietnam

In addition to the temporary division of Vietnam into the North and the South, and the agreement to hold national general elections before July 1956, the Geneva Accords, signed between France, the “Việt Minh” (League for the Independence of Vietnam), and other involved parties, included a provision that allowed civilians to freely move between the two Vietnams within 300 days after the signing of the agreement. Despite the fact that this provision was strongly influenced by the intervention of the Eisenhower administration, motivated by its anti-communist stance (Catton, 2015), it set off the “Great Migration” (Cuộc Di Cư Vĩ Đại), the largest population movement in Vietnam’s history within the shortest period of time. From 1954 to 1956, with assistance from France, the United States, the Soviet Union, and Poland, over 800,000 northerners, predominantly Catholics, who later became known as “Northern immigrants” (Bắc Di Cư) or the “Northern fifty-four” (Bắc Năm Tư), migrated to the South. Simultaneously, approximately 120,000 individuals, mainly Việt Minh members and sympathisers, moved to the North (Goscha, 2016, p. 280; Hansen, 2009, pp. 178–79).

The division and subsequent Great Migration marked the beginning of an era characterised by what scholars have referred to as “internal transnationalism” (Hardy, 2004; Hansen, 2009, pp. 174–75). The phenomenon of internal displacement was further exacerbated by the direct military interventions of the US beginning in 1964. As the conflict escalated, urban residents in the North sought refuge in rural areas to evade bombing raids, while villagers in the South were displaced due to intensive bombings in mountainous regions and rural areas or were relocated to cities as part of counterinsurgency tactics (Dang et al., 1997, p. 318). Samuel Huntington, an American political scientist and proponent of the Vietnam War, referred to this process as “forced urbanisation” or “forced modernisation” through the “liquidation of the countryside”, viewing it as a form of “creative destruction” (Biggs, 2018, p. 134; Gawthorpe, 2018, p. 315). Indeed, according to a report by the US Agency for International Development, during the peak years of the war between 1965 and 1969, approximately 3.2 million people, accounting for one-fifth of the South Vietnamese population, experienced displacement at some point (Vong, 2020, p. 76). Evidently, the “Operation Passage to Freedom” implemented by the US during the Great Migration did not shield Northern immigrants from the ravages of the war.

Both of Hùng’s parents were typical Northern immigrants, originating from Nghệ An, a province located in central Vietnam which became part of North Vietnam (Democratic Republic of Vietnam) in 1954. Nghệ An had long been under the control of the Việt Minh. To resist the Việt Minh, many local Catholics were enlisted into the militia led by a Vietnamese Bishop, while also serving in the French military, which had led to accusations of collaboration (Hansen, 2009, p. 179). Hùng’s father joined the French Navy in 1946 at the age of 16. Following the French defeat in 1954, he left the navy, briefly worked as a fisherman, and eventually relocated to the South alone.

In contrast to Hùng’s father, Hùng’s mother migrated to the South with her family. Motivated by the harrowing memory of the famine during the final days of the Japanese occupation (1940–1945), their Catholic background, and Hùng’s grandfather’s service in the French Navy, the family saw an opportunity for a new life in the South. Initially, Hùng’s grandmother had to travel from Nghệ An to Hải Phòng, the major French naval base, with three children in tow, to join her husband. They had to travel at night under the cover of darkness to avoid being mistaken for Việt Minh members by the French. Despite the challenges, the family persevered and ultimately was reunited, boarding a French vessel bound for the South.

Notwithstanding the varied reasons for leaving the North (Hansen, 2009) and the mixed reception from the government of South Vietnam (Republic of Vietnam) towards northern Catholic refugees (Biggs, 2012, pp. 164–67; Nguyễn, 2017), people from the same parishes tended to stick together and provide mutual support. For instance, the family of Hùng’s mother, along with fellow parishioners, received assistance from Missions Étrangères de Paris (M.E.P.) upon their arrival in the South and later established a new parish in the coastal city of Bình Tuy. As for Hùng’s father, thanks to a connection from his village, he secured employment as a crew member on a transport ship for RMK-BRJ, a construction consortium established by the United States Navy to support military operations that involved a simultaneous process of “construction and destruction” on an unprecedented scale in South Vietnam (Carter, 2008, pp. 157–58).

Hùng was born in 1958 while his family resided in the fishing village of La Gi. In 1965, Hùng’s father began working for RMK-BRJ, prompting the family to move to Gò Vấp, on the outskirts of Saigon. Hùng recalls that the forests surrounding their neighbourhood were teeming with Việt Cộng, an armed communist guerrilla force in South Vietnam, leading to occasional arrests of villagers suspected of affiliations with the Việt Cộng. Hùng frequently heard gunshots and stray bullets while playing with other children in the forests. The constant presence of helicopters and the sounds of falling bullets could also be clearly heard from his home. Most of the time, Hùng’s school was occupied by allied troops from the United States, South Vietnam, South Korea, and Australia.

Gò Vấp was one of the targets in the 1968 Tet Offensive, a significant military campaign initiated by North Vietnam and Việt Cộng forces during the Vietnamese New Year holiday (Goscha, 2016, pp. 331–33). Around the same time, Hùng’s father and his co-workers were attacked and narrowly escaped death during one operation. In the aftermath of these events, Hùng’s family decided to return to La Gi around 1970. Unfortunately, even La Gi was not a safe place. Hùng vividly recalls the tense atmosphere during the two or three years leading up to his father’s passing in mid-April 1975. Gunshots would echo in the sky nearly every night, and the village was constantly filled with the scent of burning incense for the deceased. It became commonplace to witness villagers donning white cloths on their heads as a symbol of mourning. To seek refuge from air raids, Hùng and his brothers often had to carry their ailing father to the fields.

Prior to the takeover of their province, Bình Tuy, by the Provisional Revolutionary Government of the Republic of South Vietnam (1969–1976) in late April 1975, the wealthier relatives of Hùng’s family had already departed for Nha Trang, Phan Thiết, and other major US military sites, or had sought safer locations in the South. Although Hùng’s father had previously worked for the RMK-BRJ, his family did not belong to the group of approximately 65,000 Vietnamese with the closest ties to the US who were “evacuated” in April 1975, nor were they among the other 65,000 Vietnamese who managed to escape on their own (Loescher & Scanlan,  1986, p. 111).

For those who remained or were left behind, life underwent a drastic change. In Hùng’s case, he was denied the opportunity to attend college, likely due to his family’s Catholic background and his father’s “US connections”. Additionally, his seminary studies were abruptly halted due to the new policy of household registration. Hùng observed his friends, one by one, starting to “vanish” as they fled abroad. Despite his own desire to leave, he lacked the financial means and was deterred by the terrifying sight of the “shark-man” (sharks that spit out human hands and legs) at the beach. Moreover, his mother repeatedly warned him against risking his life. However, driven by the lack of freedom in Vietnam and his brother’s conscription into the war in Cambodia, Hùng eventually became determined to flee. Over the next two years, Hùng lived a life divided between farming and fishing, all the while making numerous attempts to escape with close relatives and friends. After seven or eight failed attempts, Hùng finally succeeded in the summer of 1979.

“Boat People” Across the South China Sea

On 27 July 1979, Hùng joined 55 fellow Vietnamese on a perilous journey across the South China Sea, desperately seeking freedom and a new life in a new land. They crowded onto a cramped fishing boat that was a mere eight and a half metres long and two and a half metres wide. With limited supplies of fuel, food, and drinking water, they had provisions that would last for about a week (“Shi mo kakugo shi ni shukkoku”, 1979). For maritime Vietnamese refugees, the South China Sea was a treacherous and life-or-death liminal space they had to navigate. Regardless of the condition of their vessels, the chosen routes, or the ultimate destination, their survival hinged on safely reaching a neighbouring Southeast Asian country or being rescued by other ships in time.

As the Indochina refugee crisis unfolded in the late 1970s, the dangers of the sea became a grim reality for those fleeing the country. In response to the crisis, the International Chamber of Shipping, urged by the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees (UNHCR), called on ship masters to fulfil their obligations in undertaking rescue operations at sea (Goodwin-Gill, 2017, pp. 17–18). At the same time, the UNHCR Executive Committee reiterated that “it is the humanitarian obligation of all coastal states to allow vessels in distress to seek haven in their waters and to grant asylum, or at least temporary refuge, to persons on board wishing to seek asylum” (Trevisanut, 2008, p. 210). However, despite these appeals, the chances of Vietnamese maritime refugees, commonly known as “boat people”, being rescued by merchant ships were low. It was estimated that up to 10% of these refugees perished at sea, never reaching the shores (Wain, 1981, p. 83). As Patricia Nguyễn (2017) poignantly underscores, “Vietnamese refugees existed in a state of suspension, where the delicate balance between life and death was governed by the precarious conditions of the ocean and the conflicting claims of nation-states and multi-state entities” (p. 96).

In Hùng’s case, as they ventured into the open sea, despite the efforts of some on the boat to attract attention by burning clothes, and the boat captain taking the risk of damaging the engine to catch up with the passing ships, Hùng and other refugees were still disregarded. Fortunately, after drifting at sea for about 36 hours, they were rescued by a Norwegian liquefied petroleum gas carrier named Mundogas Atlantic, which had recently departed from Singapore and was en route to Mizushima Port in Japan. Hùng remembers that when their boat was lifted several stories high by the storm and sank rapidly, they were unaware of the approaching super typhoon. It was an extremely close call. Hùng believes that had Mundogas Atlantic not reached out in time, they would not have survived the second night at sea. Ironically, the typhoon they narrowly escaped was the super typhoon “Hope”. Just a few days after their rescue, Typhoon Hope struck Hong Kong and Macau. Reports indicate that five refugee boats were allowed to dock in Hong Kong ahead of the storm, while the Macau government rejected three other boats seeking refuge. Tragically, around 400 people, along with their hopes, perished in the storm (NOAA, 1979, p. 370; Ngai, 1979).

It is important to note that sea rescues often triggered a complex negotiation process involving multiple parties, including the country of departure, coastal states, port states, destination countries, and the countries or flag states of the ships carrying refugees. Each country held different perspectives on search and rescue operations in different maritime regions, leading to debates regarding the legal authority of individual nations to deny entry to refugees (Trevisanut, 2008, pp. 206–7). According to Hùng, with 56 Vietnamese refugees on board, Mundogas Atlantic was initially denied entry to Japan. Hùng and his fellow Vietnamese were only allowed to disembark under the condition that they all left Japan and resettled in third countries, and the Norwegian government had to ensure their resettlement.

Being a de Facto Refugee in Japan and Australia

Due to its geographical distance from Vietnam, the majority of maritime refugees who arrived in Japan during the Indochina refugee crisis were rescued at sea by Japanese or other foreign ships before being brought to Japan, including Okinawa. According to Hashimoto (2019), “the term ‘refugee’ did not exist in Japanese domestic law until accession to the Refugee Convention in 1981, and no public entity had the statutory authority, mandate, or budget to provide assistance for refugees or displaced persons. Assistance to Indo-Chinese refugees was almost entirely reliant upon private charities” (p. 134). Also, in the early stages, it was noted that refugees rescued by Japanese vessels were relatively more likely to receive special permission to land in Japan compared to those rescued by foreign vessels. For the latter, the country of registration of the vessel had to confirm its willingness to accept the refugees. The situation became even more intricate in cases involving “flags of convenience” (“Nanmin, yatto jouriku”, 1977).

Consequently, refugees faced the risk of being denied entry into Japan without guaranteed resettlement in other countries. This was the case even when NGOs like Caritas Japan were volunteering to serve as guarantors and provide asylum facilities. A notable example of this occurred in 1976 when a cargo ship flagged by Malaysia, carrying Vietnamese fishermen and their families, was denied entry by the Yokohama Immigration Office due to the Malaysian government’s refusal to guarantee it as a receiving country (“Chō no jōriku fukyoka”, 1976). Furthermore, even in cases where the Japanese government agreed to offer temporary shelter, refugees were denied “permanent residence” status. This policy, however, began to change in 1978 (“Nanmin, hajimete teijū”, 1978).

Prior to 1978 when the issue of maritime refugees, particularly those of overseas Chinese descent, escalated in Southeast Asian countries, and reports of deterred refugee boats became increasingly common, neither the United States nor the international community had adequately addressed the refugee crisis. However, as the internationalisation of the Indochina refugee problem started to gain momentum, Indochinese refugees, and the Vietnamese “boat people” in particular, became subjects of geopolitical and even geo-economic considerations (Loescher & Scanlan, 1986, pp. 102–46). This shift brought about competitions and collaborations in the realms of international humanitarianism, refugee diplomacy, geopolitical deployment, and economic developments, culminating in the UN conference on refugees in Geneva in July 1979. During this conference, alongside the implementation of the Orderly Departure Program (ODP), agreements were reached to establish first-asylums and processing centres in several Southeast Asian countries. Most notably, Indochinese refugees were granted an exceptional status. Rather than individually identifying each person fleeing Indochina as a Convention refugee, they were collectively recognised as prima facie refugees or “refugees of direct concern to the UNHCR” (Cutts, 2000, pp. 84, 86; Robinson, 1998, p. 51).

In response to growing international pressure, the Japanese government eventually collaborated with the UNHCR, the United States, and ASEAN countries to address the refugee crisis. As part of these efforts, Japan increased its contributions to the UNHCR’s assistance programmes for Indochinese refugees and provided substantial financial and technical aid for establishing refugee processing centres in Indonesia and the Philippines (Loescher & Scanlan, 1986, p. 144). In addition, the UNHCR opened a branch office in Tokyo in August 1979 (“Nihon ni mo shibu kaisetsu”, 1979), and the Japanese government took significant steps towards resettlement by enacting a series of cabinet approvals and setting up the Refugee Headquarters in the same year (Hashimoto, 2019, p. 134).

This initiative granted subsidies, allowances, and de facto refugee status to refugees, and it facilitated family reunification for resettled Vietnamese under the ODP framework. Between 1975 and 1995, Japan received 11,071 boat people and resettled 8,803 Indochinese refugees (Cutts, 2000, p. 98), bolstering its role as a prominent Asian country in refugee resettlement. Yet, as Hashimoto (2019) observes, Japan’s refugee policy created a “stratification of rights and entitlements” (p. 128). Despite adhering to the Convention and Protocol Relating to the Status of Refugees in 1981, the Refugee Headquarters initially limited support to refugees from Indochina, only broadening its assistance to include Convention refugees in 2003 (p. 135).

Upon Hùng’s arrival in Japan in 1979, the Japanese government had just recently begun adopting a more humanitarian, though still somewhat ad hoc, approach to refugee issues. Shortly after Hùng and the other refugees were transported to Caritas Japan-operated refugee camps in Fujisawa City and Kamakura, they were prompted to decide on their future destinations based on an agreement between Japan and Norway. As Hùng’s family had no relatives abroad, they were ineligible for the ODP. By the end of 1979, all of Hùng’s family, except for him, were resettled in Norway. Hùng, having been accepted into the Missionary Society of Saint Columban, faced a choice of attending seminary in the United States, Ireland, or Australia. He ultimately chose Australia, the first country to offer him resettlement. Consequently, Hùng remained in Japan for another two and a half years before enrolling at Saint Columban seminary in Sydney in 1982.

During his time at the Misono refugee camp in Japan, Hùng and other refugees received limited support from the Japanese government and had to rely on their own efforts for livelihood. Hùng undertook various low-paying jobs, such as welding, machine operation, customer service, grave digging, and construction work. He faced workplace discrimination and other challenges, but found solace and support among the Vietnamese community in Japan. This included students who had arrived before 1975 and volunteered at refugee camps, as well as members of advocacy groups like the Free Vietnamese (Người Việt Tư Do), who championed the human rights of Vietnamese people.

Hùng engaged in these community activities, representing his camp, and later discovering that some senior students were part of the National United Front for the Liberation of Vietnam (NUFLVN), a political group of Vietnamese refugees in the US, advocating for liberation from communist rule. He actively participated in events organised by the Free Vietnamese, including protests at the embassy of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam in Tokyo on dates like International Human Rights Day and 30 April, the anniversary of the Fall of Saigon. Additionally, Hùng was involved in fundraising led by Father Cathal Gallaher, a Columban priest, to improve the Misono camp. His time in Japan was transformative, marking the start of his commitment to social and political advocacy.

On 12 April 1982, Hùng left Japan and embarked on his journey to Australia. At that time, Australia’s refugee policies under Prime Minister Malcom Fraser, were lauded as proactive, generous, effective, and humanitarian (Stats, 2015, pp. 70–1). However, these policies were also viewed as “primarily motivated by fear of the political consequences of an uncontrolled refugee influx, and was a reactive rather than principled response” (Stats, 2015, p. 75). Despite its geographical proximity to Vietnam and its promises to provide “refuge, security, freedom, and hope” (Stats, 2015, p. 74), Australia had implemented a “forward selection” policy, prioritising refugees from first-asylum camps over those arriving directly at its borders. As Michael MacKellar, then Minister for Immigration and Ethnic Affairs, candidly expressed in 1978:

We give first priority to family reunion, second priority to people who have been associated with or worked with Australians in the region, third priority to those with skills useable in Australia and fourth priority to special compassionate cases. (Stats, 2015, p. 80)

As noted, the Geneva conference agreement recognised Indochinese refugees collectively as de facto refugees, bypassing individual assessments. Nonetheless, this did not eliminate criteria or processes for transitioning from temporary to permanent resettlement. It is unclear under which category Hùng would have fallen for resettlement in Australia. However, had he not pursued priesthood and been accepted by the Columban Society, he would have been required to go to Norway with his family. Australia’s practice of “forward selection” of refugees from first-asylum camps set a precedent for later policies such as the “outsourcing of asylums and offshore processing” (Stats, 2015, p. 84), assessing asylum seekers outside Australia before granting entry. As Jana Lipman accurately points out, “[re]settlement countries like the United States, Canada and Australia receive disproportionate attention in refugee crises at the expense of first-asylum sites” (2020, p. 5).

Arriving in Sydney in 1982, Hùng initially resided at the Endeavour Hotel, a Vietnamese refugee reception centre. Due to his involvement in the “Free Vietnamese” movement and other political and social activities during his time in Japan, Hùng quickly became a prominent figure within the Vietnamese community in Sydney. He was invited to speak at an annual commemorative event organised by overseas Vietnamese on 30 April, where he presented the NUFLVN statement. Despite efforts to clarify his role, many still mistakenly perceive him as a representative of NUFLVN. Nevertheless, these experiences significantly contributed to his political activism in Sydney.

In Australia, Hùng balanced seminary studies and English courses, funded by the Australian government, with community involvement. He helped organise a Vietnamese youth choir that symbolised solidarity and patriotism, while also participating in fundraising for community causes. Moreover, Hùng, along with a group of seven or eight friends, regularly contributed articles to The Resistance, a Vietnamese community newspaper based in the US but circulated monthly in Australia. Their articles covered cultural events and protests organised by the Vietnamese community in Sydney against Vietnam’s human rights violations. Hùng consistently stressed the importance of remaining politically engaged and fostering unity within the Vietnamese community.

Hùng’s role in building the Vietnamese refugee community and promoting transnational actions in Australia laid the foundation for his subsequent activism in Taiwan. He viewed his endeavours in Taiwan as a natural extension of his experiences in Australia, rather than an entirely new undertaking. However, as the following section will demonstrate Hùng’s engagement with the Vietnamese community in Taiwan differed notably from his time in Japan and Australia.

Vietnamese Community Organising and Transnational Activism

The First Encounter

When Hùng first arrived in Taiwan in 1988 to participate in an Overseas Training Programme as part of his seminary education, the international community’s stance towards Vietnamese refugees had undergone a noticeable shift since the consensus reached during the 1979 Geneva conference. The increasing number of refugees struggling to secure resettlement in third countries led to overcrowding in the first-asylums in Southeast Asia and a revival of the policy of pushing refugee boats back into international waters. The challenge was further compounded by the decision of Hong Kong government to individually screen refugee, effectively reclassifying “boat people” from de facto refugees to asylum seekers. Consequently, some were repatriated to Vietnam after being “screened out” (Lipman, 2020, pp. 161–200).

The situation in Taiwan reflected some aspects of these changes. Despite not being a United Nations member since 1972 and not directly involved in the international response to the Indochinese refugee problem in the late 1970s, the government of the Republic of China (ROC) expressed support for Vietnamese refugees and launched an anti-communist propaganda campaign due to its diplomatic setbacks at that time. While the actual efforts were relatively limited, approximately 15,284 refugees received assistance between 1975 and 1992 (Huang, 2019, p. 180). Among them were 3939 ethnic Chinese Vietnamese who fled Vietnam from April to July 1975, as well as 2740 overseas Chinese students from Vietnam, Burma, and Laos who were already in Taiwan (Huang, 2019, p. 171). They comprised the first group of returning overseas Chinese aided by the ROC government immediately after the war. Additionally, another group of 6777 Chinese Vietnamese were “repatriated” to Taiwan through chartered flights intermittently under the “Ren Der Project” between 1976 and 1992 (Huang, 2019, p. 173). The Indochina Refugee Reception Centre in Penghu, operational from 1977 to 1988, provided shelter to 2,098 Vietnamese refugees, both ethnic Chinese and Vietnamese, with 231eventually finding resettlement in Taiwan (Huang, 2019, p. 178).

The ROC government initially established task forces to assist Vietnamese refugees, offering affordable housing, allowances, and employment training to Chinese Vietnamese refugees who were evacuated with government support. Maritime refugees accommodated at the reception centre in Penghu received daily allowances and assistance for resettlement in third countries (Huang, 2019, pp. 94, 178). However, around 1982, the ROC government implemented the “Pacification Program” to counter the perceived exploitation of “refugee tactics” by mainland China, altering the perception of “boat people” from symbols of anti-communism to potential security threats. Unfortunately, this shift culminated in the tragic killing of 20 Vietnamese refugees by the Little Kinmen Garrison on 7 March 1987 (Control Yuan, 2022).

The difference in the backgrounds of the Vietnamese refugees Hùng encountered in Taiwan compared to those he met in Japan and Australia can be attributed to Taiwan’s refugee policy. In Taiwan, a majority of the resettled refugees who arrived after the Vietnam War and the Sino-Vietnamese border conflicts were of Chinese descent. However, during his internship, Hùng still had the opportunity to meet a small group of non-Chinese Vietnamese boat people from South Vietnam. These encounters were facilitated by Vietnamese fathers and brothers already in Taiwan, allowing Hùng to share his experiences of activism and the efforts of Vietnamese communities in the US, France, Japan, and Australia. They even organised a commemoration event on 30 April 1989. Nevertheless, Hùng observed that this group was less engaged in activism compared to those he encountered in Japan and Australia, and after returning to Australia in 1990, he lost contact with them.

In addition to clergymen and refugees, Hùng also came across a group of Vietnamese workers employed at a towel factory in central Taiwan. These workers, primarily young men from South Vietnam, had been recruited under the pretext of participating in an “internship” by a Taiwanese company that had invested in South Vietnam. However, Hùng soon discovered the harsh working conditions they were subject to. Deeply concerned for their well-being, Hùng attempted to connect them with local clergy members to seek assistance. Unfortunately, the clergy members were uncertain about how to effectively address the situation. Taking matters into his own hands, Hùng met with the workers and reported their plight to the Council of Labour Affairs (the predecessor of the Ministry of Labour). He became their advocate, demanding improved living conditions and fair wages to rectify the injustices they were enduring.

Advocating for Migrant Rights

Hùng returned to Taiwan in 1992 following his ordination. It was also the year when the Taiwanese government implemented the Employment Service Act in response to labour shortages, rising wages, and the offshoring of manufacturing operations since the late 1980s. The Act opened Taiwan’s door to Southeast Asian migrant workers, leading to a steady increase in their numbers.

Hùng, now known as Father Nguyễn, remained committed to advocating for the rights of migrant workers, alongside his work in assisting the homeless, youth, orphans, and individuals with mental disabilities. Around 1997, Father Nguyễn assisted a group of exploited Filipino migrant workers employed at a textile company. He reached out to companies that placed orders with the factory for support. Eventually, the compliance office of the GAP clothing brand in Hong Kong contacted him and sent representatives to assess the situation. Subsequently, Father Nguyễn established an organisation, Taiwan Independent Monitoring, conducting regular visits to the two factories to inspect their operations.

Regarding the Vietnam-Taiwan labour migration corridor, while Taiwan had started to receive migrant workers from Southeast Asian countries like Thailand, the Philippines, Malaysia, and Indonesia since the early 1990s, it was not until 1999 that the bilateral agreement between Vietnam and Taiwan was finally signed, underscoring the significance of “migrant worker diplomacy” (Tseng, 2004, p. 23). Following the implementation of the agreement, there was a rapid surge in the number of Vietnamese workers in both the manufacturing and social welfare sectors. Notably, even prior to the signing of the bilateral labour agreement, the number of Vietnamese marriage migrants in Taiwan had already surpassed those from other Southeast Asian countries as early as 1996 (Wang & Chang, 2002, p. 96). As a result, the Vietnamese community has emerged as the largest diasporic community in Taiwan, with marriage migrants and migrant workers being the two largest sub-groups within this community (Ministry of Labor, 2023; National Immigration Agency, 2023).

Southeast Asian marriage migrants in Taiwan have faced commodification, discrimination, and social stigma (Hsia, 2001; Wang & Chang, 2002). While some choose to migrate through marriage voluntarily for various reasons, there are cases of human trafficking victims. Similarly, while working abroad has been perceived as an opportunity to escape poverty and unemployment, it has also become a significant and risky financial investment within an exploitative system. Many migrant workers’ families find themselves trapped in debt after borrowing money from loan sharks to cover migration expenses, and some workers are deceived into signing false contracts or loan agreements. Consequently, workers often endure harsh working and living conditions in their efforts to break free from the cycle of debt (Hoang & Yeoh, 2015, p. 289). Many workers would take further risks of entering “illegal” trajectories for better paid but no less exploitative jobs (Lan, 2007).

As Hoang and Yeoh accurately put it, “[i]n the race to increase the supply of labour and expand markets for labour exports, the state in labour-sending countries is often complicit in lending a helping hand to the ‘migration industry’ while failing to pay due attention to the protection of migrants’ rights” (Hoang & Yeoh, 2015, p. 285). Rather than addressing the exploitative nature of the broker system, both the Taiwanese and Vietnamese governments tend to place the burden on the workers themselves. To tackle issues like worker “runaways” or overstays, workers are subjected to fines and various punishments, including criminalisation (Li & Cheng, 2014).

Against this backdrop, Father Nguyễn assumed the position of director at the Hope Workers’ Centre in 2000. The centre, originally established by Columban Missionaries in 1986 to assist local Taiwanese workers, was transformed into one of the pioneering organisations dedicated to supporting migrant workers as their numbers grew. Moreover, in response to the increasing population of Vietnamese marriage migrants and migrant workers and prompted by a distressing incident in 2004 where three young Vietnamese women were advertised for sale on eBay Taiwan (“EBay pulls ‘women for sale’ ad”, 2004), Father Nguyễn made the decision to found the Vietnamese Migrant Workers and Brides Office.

Transnational Networking

Despite facing limited resources, Father Nguyễn actively sought support from church members and overseas Vietnamese communities during this period. He collaborated with Ms Lê, a Vietnamese refugee who had resettled in the US and volunteered at a refugee camp in Hong Kong, to combat human trafficking and advocate for anti-trafficking legislation. Through Ms Lê’s networks, Father Nguyễn established connections with the Vietnam Alliance to Combat Trafficking (Viet Act), an anti-trafficking coalition in the US and Canada formed in 2004, as well as media outlets such as Saigon Broadcasting Television Network and Little Saigon Radio.

With the assistance of Viet Act, Father Nguyễn further engaged with Vietnamese diaspora groups in the US and Canada, who enthusiastically raised funds to aid his work in Taiwan. Thanks to these funds, he was able to establish a shelter in Taiwan, despite the government’s initial lack of action. Over time, as Father Nguyễn collaborated with local NGOs and effectively advocated for the government to fulfil its responsibilities, he no longer relied on fundraising support from the overseas Vietnamese community.

Unexpectedly, while Father Nguyễn received support from the overseas Vietnamese community for his initiatives, concerns were raised regarding his work. Some questioned whether it inadvertently supported the Vietnamese government without effectively addressing the fundamental issues in Vietnam. This controversy reflects the differing visions and practices within the transnational Vietnamese community regarding the future of Vietnam. On the other hand, initially when Father Nguyễn took on cases such as the sexual assault of a group of Vietnamese female caregivers by brokers (Zheng, 2005), he was praised by the Vietnamese media for his efforts to assist these victims. However, shortly after, due to his connections with the Vietnamese community in the US and his outspoken comments, he was accused of exploiting these incidents to criticise the Vietnamese government.

Controversies aside, it is crucial to highlight that Father Nguyễn’s initiatives went beyond providing rescue and shelter. He actively encouraged Vietnamese marriage migrants to establish the Vietnamese Women’s Association, which became the first officially recognised Vietnamese organisation in Taiwan with the approval of the local government. Furthermore, Father Nguyễn played a pivotal role in organising the Vietnamese Migrant Workers’ Union, aiming to support Vietnamese workers and their endeavours to form industrial unions, as demonstrated by the protests initiated by workers in two food factories in 2019. While the full impact of these initiatives may not have been realised, the primary objective was to empower Vietnamese migrants in Taiwan.

Notably, some migrant workers who received assistance from Father Nguyễn underwent transformative experiences, leading to an enhanced social consciousness and active involvement in organising protests and supporting others (Jian, 2020). Despite the risk of arrest by the Vietnamese government upon their return to Vietnam, some of them have persevered in their engagement with social activism. This serves as evidence of the enduring impact of Father Nguyễn’s initiatives and the empowerment of Vietnamese migrants in Taiwan and aligns with recent scholarship on “social remittances” (Lacroix et al., 2016), which highlights the influence of migrants in transmitting ideas and practices that contribute to social change in their home countries.

The ongoing efforts to support the victims affected by the Formosa Hà Tĩnh steel plant disaster in Vietnam serve as another example of Father Nguyễn’s involvement in transnational activism. The illegal discharge of wastewater by the Taiwanese corporation resulted in extensive coastal pollution, devastating fish deaths, and significant impacts on the livelihoods and health of local fishermen. In 2016, Father Nguyễn collaborated with the Environmental Jurists Association to establish a support platform, forging connections with overseas Vietnamese organisations, as well as international human rights and environmentalist groups. They also worked closely with local Catholic organisations and activists in Vietnam, forming a transnational network of action. Their efforts included pursuing transnational legal lawsuits to seek compensation for the victims’ losses, protesting against the Vietnamese government’s arrests of activists, and advocating for legislative reforms to regulate Taiwanese investments overseas. This initiative has been recognised as indicative of the emergence of a transnational public sphere (Jobin, 2020, pp. 108–9). However, when examining Father Nguyễn’s trajectory of practice in Taiwan, it becomes evident that fostering transnational connections with various organisations, both within the Vietnamese diaspora and in the international community, has been at the heart of all his actions.

Conclusion

The life story of Father Nguyễn illustrates the profound impact of colonialism, the entanglement of the civil war and the Cold War, and the subsequent globalisation on ordinary Vietnamese. His passage through South Vietnam, Japan, Australia, and Taiwan poignantly reveals the politics of humanitarianism and the varied approaches adopted by different countries towards refugees in different regions and times. Initially viewed as “de facto refugees”, “good refugees”, “bona fide refugees”, or “anti-communist warriors” (Espiritu, 2014), the Vietnamese “boat people” later faced stigmatisation as “fake refugees”, “illegal immigrants”, “smugglers” driven by economic motives. They were even perceived as potential threats to national security, reflecting shifting geopolitical reconfigurations.

By the late 1980s, as Southeast Asian countries started repatriating Vietnamese refugees, Vietnam experienced a new wave of outmigration, spurred by the country’s economic reform and the rapid globalisation. This, in turn, led to the further transnationalisation and transformation of Vietnamese diasporic communities. Father Nguyễn’s activism exemplifies the multifaceted and multidirectional nature of transnationalism, shaped by evolving migration patterns and border governance. It also underscores the emergence of transnational spaces and networks that connect Vietnamese individuals in their homeland to those overseas and foster mutual support among Vietnamese diaspora in various regions. The Formosa Hà Tĩnh incident is a particularly striking example of transnational activism that transcends national borders, facilitating collaborations among diverse groups irrespective of their original countries or national identities, and highlighting the tension between grassroots transnationalism and top-down transnationalism.

Lastly, as Lê Espiritu (2014, p. 11) reminds us, refugees are “intentionalised beings”, who “possess and enact their own politics as they emerge out of the ruins of war and its aftermath”. Father Nguyễn’s life story is not merely one of escape and survival, it is a testament to his commitment to freedom through community organising and transnational activism. His determination reflects the resilience and agency of refugees in shaping their futures and challenging systems that perpetuate displacement and injustice. In Father Nguyễn’s own words “I am still a refugee … I have no choice but to strive for change. I hope that through this change, I can undo and liberate the circumstances that turned me into a refugee … Only then can I be released from my refugee status”.