How can I help?

Reflection on Vietnamese community in Biloxi, Miss.

Linh C. Nguyen, M.D.

It was Labor Day weekend when I volunteered with the Sheppard Air Force Base (AFB) team for a Katrina relief mission. Thirty-six hours later, we left Texas for Biloxi, Miss. Our mission was to relieve the medical staff at Keesler AFB medical center, which was damaged by Katrina and completely uninhabitable. Members of the staff had been working nonstop since the Katrina hurricane and they too were victims of the storm. Many lost most of their possessions. I could see the relief in their eyes when we arrived.

Though I had read much about Katrina’s devastation at the Gulf coast, I was still shocked by stories that I heard upon my arrival, especially those from Dr. M. - the ER physician at Keesler AFB. Story after story was told of how people in Biloxi had endured the aftermath of Katrina’s devastation. I was moved when I heard that patients were treated in the dark due to an electrical blackout; emergent C-sections were almost done in a non-equipped research lab; patients’ lives were unable to be sustained on ventilators due to lack of immediate equipments… on and on and on… Nothing was more vivid than what I would see later during my three-week stay there in Biloxi.

I am a Vietnamese–American family physician who is fluent in Vietnamese. I knew that I would be quite helpful for the care of a very large Vietnamese-American population in Biloxi. This assistance might not be allowed because the primary mission was to relieve the medical staff at Keesler AFB. There were more than 20,000 Vietnamese living in Biloxi before the hurricane. Most of them were fishermen. I was sure that Katrina’s damage must have been horrendous to this Vietnamese community, but to what extent? I did not know at the time.

For our safety, Col Miller required our group to remain on Keesler Air Force base. I wondered how life outside would be for people in Biloxi, especially for members of the Vietnamese community, and whether they had sufficient medical care. With help from local hospital staff, I was able to contact Dr. T. and his wife - the only two Vietnamese doctors in Biloxi. I learned that their office and house were mostly destroyed, and that they had been struggling to recover themselves. They were not capable of helping the community although they really wanted to. These facts made me wonder how medical care would be delivered to the Vietnamese community in which many are not quite fluent in English.

Because my mission was to provide relief to Keesler AFB medics, I was unable to utilize my special bilingual and medical skills to help the Vietnamese community in Biloxi. Because of language barriers, Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) possibly did not have any doctors speaking Vietnamese to help the victims. Many Vietnamese adults and elders did not speak English and might not be able to fill out their paperwork with FEMA or Red Cross without interpreter. They have been known as a community, working hard for living, and silently enduring the natural disaster. They pray and count on the Buddhist temple and Catholic Church for food and clothing. Many elderly Vietnamese patients could not communicate to the American doctors who have limited time for everyone. They would have to bear the post traumatic stress syndrome, the lack of chronic medications and many other illnesses without the appropriate medical therapy. These issues tore my heart for days while I was inside the Keesler AFB EMED center.

Days went by with more stories and news until I read from a local newspaper about the Vietnamese couple living on a narrow dock by their wrecked boat. Mr. Chau Nguyen politely refused to leave his boat. He was afraid of losing it, the only thing left for the fisherman. Mrs. Le, who was five months pregnant with twins, would not leave her husband when Red Cross offered shelter services. They lived in a roof made of a blanket and a tarp surrounded by walls made of bed sheets. The kitchen is a burning log atop a piece of sheet metal. I went to my bed heart broken. The story brought me to tears. It reminded me my days as a refugee from Vietnam by boat. I also learned that there were many similar or worse stories in the Gulf coast areas and New Orleans. I wondered what happened to the rest of the Vietnamese community.

The next morning, I asked Col. Miller, the 82nd Medical Group Commander, for permission to visit the Vietnamese community. I just simply wished to take a lot of pictures of what was left of the community. I wanted to show the aftermath of the hurricane to as many people as possible. To my surprise, Col Miller agreed and offered to drive me.

We left the base and drove through the streets of Biloxi. There, I had an actual glimpse of where there was once a lively city. Debris of houses was scattered everywhere as we drove by. In many guarded areas, I could not even imagine that bundles of concrete debris and broken wood and glasses were in fact houses just a few days ago. I saw a few houses which were uprooted and shifted to the middle of the road by the hurricane. Broken glasses, bare house frames, tipsy houses almost collapsing, and scattered damaged household properties…. passed by as we drove closer to the Vietnamese community area. The vivid scene of the devastation brought back haunting memories of the aftermath of the war not so long ago in my country. I was shocked to the point of despair.

We approached the area where the Vietnamese used to be shortly after we left Keesler. There almost all houses were severely damaged. We saw a few people staying behind in the community, wandering in the street. One of those that Col Miller and I encountered was Hieu, a Vietnamese veteran, who did not leave town during the hurricane. While ocean water was up to 20 feet high, Hieu dove in the water to save lives. His severely damaged house was uninhabitable. He had stayed by the sidewalk in front of his house for days, and survived on food provided by the Buddhist temple and Vietnamese Catholic Church. He said he could not sleep at night due to mosquito bites despite using sprays given by others. He struggled with his English, and we talked in Vietnamese. He asked for our prayers, and wished that he could have a hot meal, a light bulb, and a mosquito net to get through the nights. He seemed clueless when asked if he received any help from medical care, Red Cross, and FEMA. With his limited English, he just simply did not know where to turn. He had to rely on the Vietnamese Catholic Church and Buddhist temple exclusively for help.

We passed by the Vietnamese Catholic Church and Buddhist temple; the only two damaged buildings that withstood the hurricane. Outside the church, boxes of clothes and household necessities were left for those staying behind like Hieu. Water level markings by mold could still be seen near the top of the first floor inside the church. The free clinic was empty and without any medical staff. The priest told us that the staff left the day before without substitutes. Across the street, the Buddhist temple was even worse. In its main hall, two statues of Buddha against the torn wall stared into the gloomy, empty space while the only monk of the temple talked to us in an exhausted sad tone.

Feeling sad and shocked by what I saw, I could not sleep that night. The next day after work, Col Miller and I went to a restaurant and a local store, which had just reopened. Despite the long working day, we drove back to see Hieu again same night and gave him what he had long been wishing for. Hieu was speechless with tears. He was so happy, and so were we.

I stayed in Keesler for another week. I could not forget what I have seen outside the Keesler’s air base. I thought of Hieu whenever I had a hot meal at the base. I thought much of what could be done for those like him who have suffered so much by the hurricane. They need more than just a hot meal, a light bulb and a mosquito net. I know that we all could provide them with more than that. The “silent” Vietnamese community for sure needs long term help from everyone to rebuild their home, and get back on their feet once again. They surely play important role in the Gulf Coast’s fishing industry. I wanted to do something to help the desperate Vietnamese community there, but I did not know how to start. I could not provide medical care for people there because of my mission. I thought of showing others the pictures of Biloxi, and of talking about my experience in hope that we could help those like Hieu.

As the news of another hurricane was constantly on television, the medical team and I prepared for safety evacuation. The remaining Vietnamese people in Biloxi probably had no plan for evacuation. Without television, they might not know that the Rita hurricane was coming. Once again, they were on their own. Will insurance companies pay for their loss by hurricane without flood coverage? Will FEMA help these people? Have they sent any Vietnamese doctors there? How long will these elderly people have to live in humid and hot weather without a home?

As the Rita hurricane approached, I continued to work nonstop in the medical emergency tent with staff from all over the country. We worked racing against time while the wind outside blew hard, shaking the medical tent vigorously and threatening our lives. Tomorrow morning, we will board a military flight, leaving behind embattled Biloxi waiting for the fearful hurricane Rita. I wonder if Hieu will be able to sustain another round of devastation. I hope he will have some comfort knowing that we all care so much for those like him. I hope he will survive.

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Wichita Falls, Texas, 24 Sept 2005.

Special thanks to my wife and daughter for support with the Katrina Relief Mission. My sincere appreciation to Dr. Khoa Tran (ENT specialist), Col Miller (82nd MDG Commander), Col Thompson, Public Affairs and my colleagues in the Sheppard Air Force Base for valuable feedback.