Mr. Speaker, 50 years ago today, the capital of South Vietnam, Saigon, fell to advancing North Vietnamese forces. The collapse of the anti-Communist South Vietnamese Government marked both the end of a decades-long conflict and the…
Mr. Speaker, 50 years ago today, the capital of South Vietnam, Saigon, fell to advancing North Vietnamese forces. The collapse of the anti-Communist South Vietnamese Government marked both the end of a decades-long conflict and the beginning of a painful chapter for millions of South Vietnamese people.
As the North Vietnamese Army launched its final offensive into Saigon, fear and uncertainty gripped the city. For countless South Vietnamese, the Fall of Saigon was not only the loss of their capital, but it was the loss of their country, their dreams, and, for many, their safety. Having allied with and supported the United States in the fight for a free republic, they now faced the terrifying prospect of persecution or worse.
Among the individuals was a young boy named Phi Nguyen, whose story I have the privilege of sharing with you today, Mr. Speaker. Phi is the second-born child of parents Dung Nguyen and Diem Le Do. Notably, his father worked as a newspaper cartoonist whose art illustrated the complex political dynamics in Vietnam during the war, which is preserved in the Library of Congress today.
In the final days of April 1975, Phi was 8. His older sister, Mien, was 10, and his younger brother, Thuc, was just 6.
With the fate of Saigon hanging in the balance on April 28, 1975, Phi's family raced to Tan Son Nhut Air Base for a chance to escape. This would not be an easy task. The airbase had already been heavily bombed in the days before, causing severe damage to its runways and planes. As the North Vietnamese Army closed in, they were actively launching rockets and artillery, even as desperate families attempted to flee.
Yet, in the dead of night, after two planes ahead of them were shot down, the Nguyen family boarded what would become the last fixed-wing aircraft to depart Tan Son Nhut. Their escape was harrowing, but their journey toward freedom, safety, and hope had just begun.
Mr. Speaker, I can only imagine the mixed feelings of relief and heartbreak they felt as the plane left Vietnamese airspace, finally touching down at Clark Air Base in the Philippines. From there, they were transported to Guam and eventually to Camp Pendleton in California, a place known then as Tent City, which saw more than 50,000 Vietnamese refugees who awaited new lives and new homes.
After 3 months at Camp Pendleton, the Nguyen family received a life- changing letter. A Lutheran church in Shavertown, Pennsylvania, had offered to sponsor them. So, they made another journey, this time across the U.S., to begin again in an unfamiliar place, adjusting to a new climate and embracing an entirely new culture.
After 2 years in Pennsylvania, they relocated to Virginia in 1978, where Phi and his family have lived ever since. The Nguyen family even welcomed a new family member, their youngest daughter, Mai-An.
So, Mr. Speaker, why am I standing here on the floor of this House sharing the story of this family? This story could be about any of the Vietnamese families who found freedom in the United States. Here is why, and he is sitting right in front of me.
From this family came someone many of us recognize and know professionally, but maybe not personally, a man who has spent nearly four decades serving as a photographer in the Halls of this House, and that man is Phi Nguyen.
In 1986, Phi began working for the Senate Photo Studio, where he would spend the next 15 years capturing history through his lens. Then, in 2002, he transferred to the House Photographer's Office, a role in which I have had the distinct pleasure of working with him many times.
That same year, Mr. Speaker, he married his wife, Tam Nguyen, whom he met during the Moon Festival in Arlington, Virginia, a celebration marking the end of the harvest season. It was a fitting beginning to their relationship, one rooted in tradition and thanksgiving.
Together, they became the proud parents of two wonderful children. His
daughter, Quynh-Chi Nguyen, is 20 years of age and attends James Madison University, pursuing a degree in architecture. His son, Hoai- Viet Nguyen, is 19 years old and studying cybersecurity at George Mason University in Fairfax.
Phi's story is not just one of survival. It is one of resilience, adaptation, and success. It is, at its heart, a multigenerational story of the American Dream, a dream that Phi and his father before him pursued with determination and faith in the promise of a better future.
Over his nearly four decades of service to the United States Senate and House of Representatives, Phi has captured countless moments that only a photo can, and while doing so, he has also captured the hearts of those who know and work with him.
Mr. Speaker, in preparation for this speech, I asked Phi: What do you want the listeners and the viewers to take from your story? His answer was simple: ``The American Dream is real, and I am evidence of that. You can do it, too.''
Today, on this anniversary of a day that changed the course of history for millions, I want to take a moment to honor one remarkable individual whose life journey embodies the spirit of the American Dream.
I thank Phi Nguyen. All of us who share in a professional relationship with him thank him for his service and commitment to capturing history and doing it with excellence. It is with the utmost sincerity that I commend Phi for his 39 years of service to this institution and congratulate him on one-half century of living the American Dream.