Daughter & Dilemma

An American expat struggles over where to raise his family in the midst of cultural chaos.

Last summer, my wife discovered the Rick Rolled meme and told me all about it. I listened with glee to her iridescent pitches of amusement, grinning proudly as she sang the tune.

“Listen! ‘Never gonna give you up!’”

I’m American and she’s Vietnamese. Not Vietnamese-American; Vietnamese-Vietnamese. She’s whip smart. I know because she deferred an MBA in Boston in order to be with her dying grandfather in Hanoi. What would it profit a girl who inherits an advanced degree (of dubious value) only to lose those final moments? Loyalty to family is one of the things I admire most about my wife and her culture.

“Never gonna turn around and desert you!” she sings.

But living in Vietnam for the better part of a decade means that I have deserted my beloved parents and extended family. And my culture. My pursuit of the American dream would seem to be on hold.

It’s typically the other way, right? Asian woman meets American man, seeks green card and a better life.… I almost wish it were so. I yearn for the fresh air and familiar language of my quaint New England shire.

Instead, I have exchanged familiarity and fluency—and active civic participation—for mild social languishment, stymied by language and by my outsider status.

My wife is in love with her culture and traditions as much as I am with mine. But now we have our first child on the way. A daughter and a dilemma: Where will she gain the bulk of her formative experience?

I still taste the edge of the forest in my childhood backyard. Lush ferns crawling over the 19th-century rock wall, touched by the unadulterated sun. They leave a crisp shadow that you won't find under the occlusive Saigon humidity.

And I recall Mr. English, our rotund, bus-driving public school music teacher, sagely waiting for divergent answers to his deceptively straightforward questions. He was always challenging us to think outside the box, and despite being somewhat of a peculiar exception, he was well-liked by the other educators in those days. There were always a precious handful like him who held open the doors of perception and critical thought. They relished the spirit of creativity and debate. Education in Vietnam is not known for these qualities, to put it mildly. But nor are they any longer de rigeuer in American classrooms.

I desperately want these things for my daughter; for her to play freely in the crisp air of naïve curiosity, unintimidated, restrained only by the principles of classic virtue, set squarely with weight on her toes toward truth, goodness, and beauty. And were this freedom not falling under a shadow of cultural chaos, our choice of where to raise her would be easier. But fear, subversion, alienation, intolerance, ingratitude, and a host of attendant social ills are making America less… American. And less attractive to new families.

An ascendant chaos has cast its shadow all over the West. In the fall of 2022, my wife discovered shock climate activism. From our 15th-floor apartment, by the sad light of my outstretched phone, images of tomato soup hitting Van Gough's sunflowers spread a look of wild alarm across her face. Her expression turned to disgust. Then indignation. Her deep brown eyes shone fire as they conveyed such senseless destruction to her soul.

"What? WHY!?"

This incident at the National Gallery in London struck a nerve, but it’s hardly unique. It’s not even an especially consequential example of the self-righteous vandalism plaguing our public square. To observe current events closely is to observe a parade of rage—the procession grows ever more shocking, yet less and less surprising. The sight of increasing desecration and lawlessness makes average citizens vulnerable to the twin dangers of becoming either apoplectic or inured to the chaos.

Thankfully, my wife has not adopted an immoderate interest in politics and is neither apoplectic nor apathetic. Like so many outside the West, she sees what’s happening with the added clarity of distance—a view of disintegrating social harmony. Events of the kind that happened in London, she understands—the kind of events that shape our culture, our law, our lives—they really do matter. Especially when we have feet to vote with.

I'm optimistic, inclined to return home to cherish and perpetuate my civic inheritance. For now, though, our family is invested in Saigon, building our businesses and filling our larder. Maybe even here I can help preserve American liberty for my daughter. At worst, I might set a good example trying.