News from Orange County and Little Saigon areas
Tuesday, April 8, 2003
Listening post
VIEWPOINT: Tu Le, a shop owner having coffee in front of Lee’s Sandwiches on Bolsa in the Little Saigon section of Westminster, gathers his thoughts Monday about the war in Iraq.
Where: Lee's Sandwiches, Little Saigon
The scene: Customers streamed into this contemporary shop that sells banh mi, sub-style Vietnamese sandwiches ranging from chicken to sardines, with spring rolls, croissants and ca phe sua da, an iced coffee with condensed milk.
Some patrons come in and hustle out to work or home with bags of to-go orders.
Others head to the sidewalk patio next to the parking lot to eat, drink and chat in the middle of Westminister's Little Saigon, a community that knows quite a bit about war. Lee's is a popular hangout among former residents of South Vietnam.
What they are saying:
"The president – he's doing the right thing. He's trying to protect America. He has to do something before somebody else attacks America."
– Sam Ho, 51, hairdresser, Westminster
"I really want the Americans to win the war. I'm Vietnamese. I've experienced that (war). You see people, amputees. But if you want to have peace, you have to have war first."
– Tu Le, 50, store owner, Westminster
"I'm a little bit concerned about the civilians there and the U.S. troops. I support the war. But when I see a lot of death, I turn off the TV. I was not a solider, but I experienced the war. The Iraqi people love freedom. Saddam, he's a dictator – they must live under his control. After the war, if the U.S. does the right thing, they will be happy with it."
– Phil Le, 46, fabricator of semiconductors, Westminster
"Nobody wants war, trouble. (But) right now, they (leaders of the Iraqi regime) don't do nothing – but what about tomorrow? Me and my family, we support our troops."
– Howard Nguyen, 66, Tustin, retired real estate agent
"Saddam is a second Hitler. We have to take him down. ... I'm hurt every day. When I watch the TV, I hurt for all the innocent people. I hope it stops quick. My country went through the war, we saw a lot. I was so happy yesterday when they said they were in Baghdad."
– Sonya Nguyen, 55, hairdresser, Tustin
Asians' little big town
La Palma's cozy, low-crime atmosphere has attracted a higher percentage of Asian residents than any other O.C. city.
April 10, 2001
Story by ANH DO
Photos by ANA VENEGAS
The Orange County Register
LA PALMA — They are snapping up property, signing up for high-ranking schools and setting up shop - making this the most Asian of Orange County cities. The census says more than 45 percent of residents are of that race. So what's the magnet?
"It's a small, snug town," says one transplant, Will Park, from Seoul, South Korea.
"This is a perfect place to raise children," says another, Huyen Nguyen, from the former Saigon, Vietnam. "There is no criminal element. I feel protected here."
Nick Vo, center, joins in a chant during a DARE presentation at Steve Luther Elementary School. The school's population is almost 45 percent Asian or Pacific Islander.
Over and over, immigrants echo their sentiments. For some families fleeing shaky political situations in their countries - where little trust in police and authority may be the norm rather than the exception - this bedroom community, with its trim, picture-perfect neighborhoods, has become a haven, the embodiment of their American dreams.
"When I was looking for a place to do business, I thought - why not here?" says Jung Kim, once a motorcycle dealer who now owns one of the most successful enterprises in town - the Hannam Market. He saw that more and more Koreans were fleeing Los Angeles in search of a new security.
Like him, they sought not only an environment where youngsters could play peacefully on the streets but where gracious living could be combined with, well, space
Seon Kwon and daughter Yurie, 11, look at Chinese napa cabbage at Hannam Market in La Palma. The Asian-owned business is one of the most successful enterprises in the 'small, snug' city, which is more than 45 percent Asian, according to the latest census figures.
Having bought a sparkling house with a garden spanning three-fourths of an acre, Kim plunked down $3 million to purchase and remodel part of a strip mall near Moody Street and La Palma Avenue, where his store now draws nearly 1,500 customers a day. "It is beautiful here," he says, adding that the lack of crime keeps him "very happy."
Just how safe is safe?
In 2000, for example, there were no homicides in the county's third-smallest city. Two rapes occurred in the same year, along with 23 robberies, 65 assaults, 58 burglaries and 34 vehicle thefts, according to records.
"Size has a lot to do with it. So does reputation," said police Chief Vince Giampa, who commands a 35-member department with 26 officers. "It's easier to keep a handle on things when you're little, and when people hear about what a safe place this is, they're more apt to go somewhere else if they want to commit crimes."
His employees conduct a citizens police academy, bringing together those owning homes and businesses for a behind-the-scenes look at crime fighting and prevention. Almost every block participates in a Neighborhood Watch program.
Colorful flags line the streets, touting the former Dairyland as a "city of vision." The area covers about two square miles, with a median home price of $327,000 - compared with the county average of $286,000. As Asian families assimilate and become more affluent, they are flocking to this territory filled with excellent schools and wide cul-de-sacs, which, in the words of one real estate agent, "keeps out the cruisers and all that nonsense."
"People want to give their kids a good future. They would all love to have the money to live here," says Eve Vykydal of Century 21 Castle.
La Palma, incidentally, does not have as many Asians as Garden Grove, Irvine or Westminster. But in the past decade, from among more than 15,000 residents, the number of people from that ethnic group jumped to 45.07 percent from 31.11 percent.
Former Mayor Charlene Hatakeyama, who is Japanese-American, says her neighborhood alone represents a mini-United Nations - with individuals moving in from England, India, Germany and the Philippines, along with multiple Southeast Asian nations.
"We are comfortable with the mix," she says. "I think it's indicative of the direction that California is going."
Principal Troy Hunt of Steve Luther Elementary School gets e-mails from parents in China and Japan who have heard about the personal attention students get at his school and ask how they can enroll their children there.
Afternoon recess at his campus reflects a sea of Asian, white and Hispanic faces, apart from other nationalities, prompting him to remark: "It's great that it's so well-balanced. When you find a good place to live, you start spreading the news to your friends and relatives by word of mouth. That happens in all cultures, and I'm sure it's happening here."
Alex Joo, Robert Elizondo, Randy Sim, Jonathan Seo and Jordan Suzuki, from left, do the chicken dance at Steve Luther Elementary School.
Chung Yang dishes up some prepared food at Hannam Market in La Palma, a popular business in the city.
Nearly 45 percent of Luther's student population of 609 are Asians or Pacific Islanders. La Palma, for all its compactness, boasts pot-luck block parties and a program called Youth 20/20 that concentrates on educating pupils about the importance of character and diversity.
The first effort involves businesses displaying signs listing 12 attributes that children should have -- including respect and responsibility. The second emphasizes the importance of accepting all types of differences - from race to sexual orientation to economics, Hatakeyama said.
All of this adds up to an easy decision for Jane Kim, a grocery-store manager from South Korea, who wanted an ideal place for her son and daughter to grow into adults.
"It is quiet, it is clean, it is safe. Where else can I go?"
Asians on the ascent in O.C.
Some cities see increases in the tens of thousands. Immigration is only one reason for the population boom.
April 15, 2001
By ANH DO
The Orange County Register
The video screen is flickering - flashing characters that make up lyrics as the flock joins a choir, lifting their voices in song.
Services are just starting at Bethel Korean Church, and the final worshippers stream in, filling the hall by the hundreds and boosting a once-tiny congregation into one of Irvine's biggest.
The growth is part of a larger trend that has seen Asians - Koreans, Chinese, Cambodians and Vietnamese - buying houses, selecting parishes and settling across the city in the past decade, more than doubling the Asian population from 19,970 to 42,866, according to the census.
And Irvine is not alone.
Other cities - from Garden Grove to Westminster in north county, from Aliso Viejo to Rancho Santa Margarita in south county - also report dramatic increases, in some cases by the tens of thousands, for Asians and Pacific Islanders.
Coto de Caza experienced a jump from 103 to 693, while Tustin nearly doubled its number, from 5,260 to 10,261.
What's behind the boom?
One answer is immigration.
IMMIGRANTS BOOST STATE'S POPULATION
In the past 10 years, immigrants and births to immigrant women accounted for 80 percent of the state's population increase of nearly 5 million, according to estimates by Californians for Population Stabilization, a nonprofit group.
Foreign-born individuals have made California's fertility rate 2.4 children per woman - the highest in the United States, CAPS says.
When newcomers become citizens in Orange County, for example, many apply for the opportunity to send for their immediate families - spouses and children - to live with them.
Then there's chain immigration: If an individual sponsors a brother, he may also emigrate with his wife, who then sends for her parents.
Demographer William Clark, author of "The California Cauldron," says that for immigrants, the state is a welcoming spot.
"California has always had that kind of reputation. We are on the cutting edge, and we attract people willing to take a risk, willing to start anew. We're also a more open society," he said. "Yes, there's discrimination, but probably less than some other areas of the country."
Linh Tam Nguyen, owner of Advance Beauty College, agrees. The women and men learning to coif, paint and wax in her Westminster hair and nail school come from all over Asia.
Just since 2000, she has seen enrollment climb by 25 percent to more than 100 students as the service industry expanded, creating a greater need for skilled stylists, manicurists and cosmetologists.
So popular is the trade that other businesses have sprung up to compete with hers. Four Asian-operated beauty institutes have opened within a 4-mile radius of her shop.
One trainee, Helen Lee of South Korea, is preparing to open a salon. She knows that more than any other ethnic group, Asian-Americans boast a strong presence on both sides of the economic spectrum - both as well-educated professionals and as struggling refugees.
Collectively they can thrive, she said, because "they are workaholics." And as immigrants adjust, they move into older, all-white communities, markedly changing the landscape of Orange County.
Aging strip malls from Fountain Valley to Lake Forest now beckon with freshly-painted stores and restaurants catering to Asian customers while weekend language courses teach the children of immigrants their native tongues - from Laotian to Tagalog.
Schools, jobs have their special allure
Jobs aplenty are another lure to the area.
Transplant Jason Lacsamana, a Filipino-American, lives in Mission Viejo - where the number of Asians jumped nearly 62 percent in 10 years, from 4,552 to 7,373. He was raised in Bloomington, Ind., until his father, a mechanical engineer, found better work and moved the family to Orange County in 1990.
"The other factor is education," says Lacsamana, 26. "The schools in (south Orange County) are so good that you see more and more parents going there for the future of their kids."
While some go south, others head north. Cambodian Michael Leang, drawn to the multi-Asian atmosphere of this county, left his apartment in San Diego for Anaheim.
"I like interacting with people from the entire Pacific Rim," says the computer programmer. "When you're in school, it's easier, but when you're working, you have to seek it out."
In Garden Grove, the school district boasts that it has children who speak more than 25 languages, prompting it to hire cultural liaisons to promote a better understanding of diversity. In the same city, workers at the Orange County Asian and Pacific Islander Community Alliance help men, women and youth navigate through health and social problems - reaching out to folks from native Hawaiians to the Chomorro, originally from Guam.
The Asian group with the largest population in the county is still the Vietnamese. They dominate Little Saigon, but some have ventured into other markets: Manager Andy Nguyen is in charge of HomeScape, a furniture store stocked with china buffets, lounges and curio cabinets in Santa Ana's MainPlace Mall.
He thinks "mainstreaming" is the way to go. "We're going to stay here, so we should try to work with new kinds of customers," he said.
Peter Sohn, senior pastor at the Bethel church, is also branching out. He plans to christen a new sanctuary, the fourth in two months' time. It is being built with $8.5 million, more than half coming from his parishioners. The building, at 55,000 square feet, will house a gymnasium, 70 classrooms, a preschool and community center - accessible to the nearly 3,200 who attend Sunday service.
Asians pour into O.C. by thousands
April 15, 2001
By ANH DO
The Orange County Register
A surge in population is making Orange County more Asian, and increasingly, it's due to immigration.
The pattern emerges as individuals and families arrive, seeking better jobs or higher education, settling in once all-white areas.
Some cities' populations have increased by tens of thousands of Chinese, Vietnamese and Kor eans.
Linda Vo, who teaches about the Asian-American experience at the University of California, Irvine, says the first waves of Asians helped build the state's railroads in the 1850s. Japanese migrants farmed the land in the 1920s, replaced later by Filipinos.
"It's a very exciting time for us researchers as more and more people of color move here. The whole state can become an experiment in race relations."
A new migration for O.C.'s Vietnamese
Data indicate the refugee-based community is spreading out, much of the movement to richer addresses.
May 23, 2001
By ANH DO, VALERIA GODINES
and RONALD CAMPBELL
The Orange County Register
The Vietnamese population, once clustered in the center of Orange County, has doubled in the past decade and is fanning into wealthier areas - a sign of assimilation for this community of refugees.
The total is 135,548, according to U.S. Census 2000 figures released today. The latest batch of data includes a more detailed breakdown of Asian groups, showing that the Vietnamese are quickly spreading beyond their core in Westminster to places like Anaheim, Orange, Huntington Beach and patches of south county.
The new data raised suspicion among some community leaders who believe the Vietnamese total is closer to 250,000. Even at 135,548, it would be one of the largest concentrations outside of their country.
The Census Bureau, for the first time ever, spent millions on a multilingual advertising campaign meant to target traditionally undercounted communities, which tend to be poor minorities and immigrants. Officials credit the outreach with a lower undercount -- 1.2 percent in 2000 vs. 2.1 percent in 1990, according to a report by the U.S. Census Monitoring Board.
Statewide, five of the 10 most Vietnamese cities with populations of 25,000 or more are located in this county, according to an analysis of census data. The Vietnamese population is climbing throughout the county.
In Irvine, for example, there was a 79.8 percent increase to 4,414. In Fountain Valley, the Vietnamese population nearly tripled to 7,088.
Nowhere are those changes more evident than in Thomas Dao's real estate office, where during the noon hour Tuesday his cell phone rang 15 times.
Most of the calls come from immigrants who -- family by family -- are leaving Little Saigon and settling into Santa Ana, Fullerton and Irvine.
"Many men and women who came to this country in 1975 have had a chance to go to school, earn a degree, get good jobs or open businesses. They save money and chase their dream," says Dao, broker and owner of ERA Superior Real Estate in Fountain Valley, where he oversees 50 agents.
Like him, his clients have saved their money to snap up homes in safer neighborhoods, where they hope to raise their children.
"Those who don't want to be in Little Saigon, but not too far away, they choose Garden Grove or a newer city like Huntington Beach," he said. In this community, there is also status in moving south, in claiming a brand-new abode in Mission Viejo or Rancho Santa Margarita as your own. The lure may be higher test scores. Sparkling developments. A sought-after address.
Just ask Kristi Nguyen, 24, who lives in Irvine.
"I can tell you why we came here. It was because of the school system and the better neighborhoods," she said.
Nguyen is a member of the only Vietnamese household in the neighborhood, but doesn't feel isolated. She and her mother meet regularly in Little Saigon for lunch. They also participate in community activities, from singing in the symphony to hosting a radio show to organizing a support group for cancer patients.
"I need to go back there and feel connected. I am Vietnamese, and I need to connect with my Vietnamese," she said.
For those who stayed in central county, access to the shops, noodle restaurants, the dentist -- even to the one- room traffic school along Bolsa Avenue in Westminster -- are part of the area's charm.
"First of all, this is affordable," said Quyen Nguyen, 25, who lives with her parents and three siblings in Garden Grove. "Second, it's close. Everything is more central, and when we say we drive 'local,' which means no freeways, we don't have to go a long way to get to places, which is a plus for older Vietnamese like my dad."
Her family bought their home, complete, she says, with "a white picket fence made of metal," in 1991. Her mother happily filled the garden with trees - mangoes, pom egranates, lemons and longans. "Living centrally, you can get anywhere in practically 20 minutes. Like to the beach or nearby south. It feels good to be in the middle."
Dao himself is happy in Fountain Valley. Among his specialities is buying junk homes, tearing them apart and replacing what is needed - from foundation to all-new appliances -- then repainting the properties in his trademark yellow with mauve trims.
His team sells 20 houses monthly, Dao said, as his phone interrupts him again. It's another client.
"There will always be people wanting to find a more comfortable, newer home," he adds.
"Our populations are growing."
Top cities
Cities with largest Vietnamese populations
Garden Grove (35,406 residents)
Westminster (27,109)
Santa Ana (19,226)
Cities with largest percentages of Vietnamese residents
Westminster (30.7 percent)
Garden Grove (21.4 percent)
Fountain Valley (12.9 percent)
Cities with largest Chinese
populations
Irvine (14,973)
Anaheim (4,780)
Huntington Beach (3,519)
Cities with largest Korean
populations
Fullerton (9,093)
Irvine (7,593)
Garden Grove (6,240)
Thursday, May 29, 2003
Learning the facts about pho
Pho, the beloved Vietnamese noodle soup, remains a mystery to many. These "how-to-eat-it" guidelines make it easy to enjoy it at a local pho shop
By CATHY THOMAS
Register Columnist
Eager eyes blur from soup steam as chopsticks capture tangled rice noodles, their surface slick with rich, clear broth. The fragrance, a heady blend of star anise and ginger, is intoxicating. Raw salad-like toppings (crisp herbs, bean sprouts and onion) offer alluring contrasts in texture and temperature. It's so delectable and inexpensive (about $4), it's hard to imagine how anyone could resist this one-bowl meal.
Yet, pho (pronounced fuh), the beloved Vietnamese noodle soup, remains a mystery to many. Even though pho shops are springing up all over Orange County, some folks are reluctant to try it. Perhaps it's the vast array of optional garnishes that makes pho novices nervous; side plates piled with lime wedges, fresh green chili slices and unfamiliar greens can be daunting. Maybe it's those self-made dipping sauces squeezed from un labeled bottles, the contents of one black-brown, the other, rusty red
BROTH IS THE BASE: Pho Thang Long’s beef pho is served with a table salad.
Hoping to establish some easy pho-eating guidelines, I asked Haley Nguyen and Pam Cincola to join me for a pho marathon; we'd eat at three restaurants specifically chosen for their varied pho presentations. At each we'd order beef pho (either pho bo thap cam, a combination that included flank, brisket, meatballs and tripe, or pho tai/chin, with rare beef sirloin and well-done flank steak), chicken pho (pho ga) and seafood pho (pho hai san). All the restaurants were in the Little Saigon area, either Garden Grove or Westminster, because we didn't want to spend our time driving; we wanted to eat.
Nguyen, a chef and culinary instructor, grew up in Vietnam; some of her earliest memories revolve around bowls of pho. I've been to Vietnam two times with Nguyen, and, under her wing, I've slurped numerous beguiling bowls of pho, usually early in the morning for breakfast.
Cincola, a home-cooking enthusiast and adventurous diner, had never eaten pho, and she was eager to get started.
Pho Thang Long Restaurant: The restaurant was calm when we entered at 11:30 a.m., but by 12:15 p.m., it was filled with pho lovers, their enthusiasm infectious and, yes, noisy. Pho noise is happy noise. Almost immediately, three steaming-hot bowls arrived at our table, along with a table salad – a large plate filled with raw bean sprouts, Thai basil (perfumy green leaves with purple veins and stems), saw-leaf herb (long green leaves with jagged, saw-like edges), cilantro, pieces of green onions and lime wedges. We each received a divided dipping dish, an Asian soupspoon and chopsticks.
"Notice how clear the broth is in the center," Nguyen said, pointing to an area surrounding assorted beef cuts in the middle of her bowl. "Clear in the middle, with tiny, tiny globules around the very edge of the bowl. It's deeply flavored. And it should be eaten while it's really hot, otherwise the noodles aren't as nice."
Cincola, sampling the seafood broth, noted that it was completely free of fat and filled with flavor, adding that the medium bowls we'd ordered were really generous, more than enough for a meal.
Nguyen added lime juice, a little chili sauce and plenty of green onions, advising that the additions made at the table are what really make it great. Optional garnishes and table sauces are standard fare in Vietnamese cuisine; they turn diners into cooks. You can make dishes spicy or mild, sour or salty, herby green or plant-free plain.
Moving quickly, Nguyen squeezed hoisin sauce (soybean-based sauce with garlic and spices that's used as a table condiment) in one side of her dipping-sauce dish. After a generous squirt of thick chili sauce (which she dubbed Asian ketchup) was placed on the opposite side, the dipping dish was sidelined. Later, we'd dip the meat, chicken or seafood in it, using our chopsticks.
"I like the meat so that there is a little of both sauces, making it a little sweet, a little spicy," Nguyen explained.
She used chopsticks to add sprouts to her soup, then with her hands, plucked Thai basil and cilantro leaves from their stems and tore saw-leaf herbs into small pieces, dropping them into the soup. She turned the noodles with chopsticks and soupspoon.
Eating pho is a two-fisted endeavor. Nguyen grasped the Asian soupspoon in one hand for the broth, chopsticks in the other for meat and noodles. Alternately, she sipped broth and devoured noodles and pieces of meat.
Concerned about noodle etiquette, Cincola and I wanted specifics. Nguyen said it's perfectly acceptable behavior to be seen with clumps of noodles stringing from your mouth. When you have a sufficient amount, you simply cut them off with your teeth, allowing those long lovelies to drop into the bowl in a tidy manner. Easy, and fun, too.
"I like the way my mouth feels," Cincola said, finishing a mouthful of noodles. "Fresh herbs, I can still taste them. And the hot sauce made it warm, but really pleasant. And there's sweetness from the hoisin. Really a pleasing aftertaste."
Pho 79 Restaurant: "Oh, do be careful when you order," Nguyen joked, her laugh wise yet jovial. "Look at that bowl over there – it's called xe lua or 'train' size."
Cincola and I agree it's the biggest bowl of soup we've ever seen, big enough to bathe triplets. We vowed to stick with medium.
Only minutes after our waiter asked if we wanted the skin on our chicken and if we wanted dark or light meat, our three bowls arrived with a table salad. This time it included sliced serrano chilies. Instead of individual dipping bowls, there was a communal one filled with pickled onions – thinly sliced brown onions swimming in rice vinegar. Nguyen said it could be added to our broth or eaten with the meat. It had the perfect amount of sourness to add spark to every bite.
"It's the broth that makes the difference in pho," Nguyen pointed out. "Different restaurants make their own blend of spices. The broth was lighter in spices at Thang Long. Here, it's more aromatic, with more spices. The restaurant smells like star anise and cinnamon."
"Yes, the first restaurant smelled like Thai basil," Cincola said. "I guess it depends on what you like best."
Some places make the broth too heavy with spices, Nguyen said. "It tastes 'mediciney,' and filled with cloves. Broth making is an art, hours and hours of long, slow cooking and lots of bones. It's a lot of work."
Up to 24 hours slowly simmering over the lowest flame. No wonder pho is considered "restaurant food."
Pho Ho Tay: "Oh, it's more aromatic here, with pho that comes closer to the taste of north Vietnam, the broth filled with flavor, the star anise balanced with cloves," Nyugen said as we entered this small 10-table eatery. Here, the waiter didn't speak English; the ordering process was handled in Vietnamese as we waited in line for a table.
Our three bowls arrived looking different. The beef pho had thin slices of carpaccio- style steak that had been added at the last minute, some portions floating at the top still pink. For the chicken pho, rather than being served in the broth, the chicken was plated off to the side. In the broth, there were hard-cooked immature chicken eggs. They tasted like egg white. The shrimp pho, rather than tasting and appearing shrimp- based, tasted like chicken broth.
Off to the side were a table salad, a bowl of pickled onions and, intended for augmenting the chicken pho, a small bowl of 1-inch pieces of green onion adrift in broth. Another bowl was filled with a delectable dipping sauce made with Vietnamese fish sauce (nuoc mam), grated ginger and chili sauce. It was scrumptious with everything.
"Well, I liked a specific pho in every restaurant we went to," Cincola declared, laying down her chopsticks for the final time. "I liked the shrimp at Thang Long – the broth was really great, and the shrimp were plump. I liked the beef at Pho 79 – the broth was cinnamony and the meat was lean. And, I liked the chicken and chicken broth best at Ho Tay; the chicken tastes better on the side, not in the broth; it's more flavorful."
SOUP SAMPLING: Haley Nguyen slurps some noodles in her beef pho as Pam Cincola tries a shrimp version of the soup at Pho Thang Long Restaurant in the Little Saigon area of Westminster.
June 6, 2001
Census figures don't lie, say experts
Pride gives many groups the perception that they're bigger than the official count.
By VALERIA GODINES
and BINH HA HONG
The Orange County Register
For years, people have said the Vietnamese population in Orange County is 250,000. Like a good urban legend, the figure has become thought of as fact.
But it's not.
The U.S. Census Bureau says the population is about half that -- 135,548, to be exact. That's nearly double the count from the 1990 census.
What's going on here? An undercount? Not by that much, according to census experts, who say the census is one of the most accurate and unbiased surveys.
It's more pride and perception. All groups tend to have an inflated notion of their force. So whenever the census rolls around, they are taken aback by the population totals. They question the figures, often saying they are too small.
"Keep in mind that this has happened in previous censuses, and I responded to many of these complaints. People in various communities have made estimates of their populations that may not have any accuracy whatsoever," said Jerry Wong of the U.S. Census Bureau in Los Angeles.
"In the 1990 census, people in the Samoan community were complaining that the counts were off. According to their estimates, that would have meant more Samoans in the United States than in American Samoa. There are all these estimates made by community groups that have no basis in any kind of fact or methodology."
Dowell Myers, a professor of urban demography at the University of Southern California, emphasized that groups may take different approaches when calculating populations.
"I'm not going to say that their estimates are wrong. I'm going to say their estimates have a different geographic basis. In Westminster or Little Saigon, you may see many more people come through there than who live there. People flock to these shopping districts. Their numbers might be accurate in describing their community but not accurate in describing who lives there, and the census numbers describe who lives there," he said.
Myers said his studies on ethnic communities showed that only 25 percent of residents in Koreatown in Los Angeles are Korean.
"But all the signs are in Korean, and it looks like Koreatown to me. All the storefronts are operated by Koreans, and it gives you an exaggerated feeling. There is something similar going on in Orange County," he said.
Indeed.
Minh-Nguyet Nguyen, president of the Vietnamese Community of Southern California, guesses there are as many as 400,000 Vietnamese- Americans in the county.
Where does she get her figures?
From the media, she says.
Which gets its figures from community groups.
The more common figure used to describe the Vietnamese population is 250,000, but nobody can tell the source of that information. But everybody has a theory on it.
Garden Grove Councilman Van Thai Tran calculated it this way: There are 45,000 Vietnamese registered to vote in the county. He guesses an average Vietnamese family has at least four members. So, he figures, there are at least 180,000 residents, but he believes the real number is 200,000.
"I know for a fact that there's more than the number that was released," said Mai Cong, president of The Vietnamese Community of Orange County, who sees about 40,000 Vietnamese immigrants use her agency's child-care, health-care, citizenship and senior services.
The same kind of calculations were used in the Korean community in Orange County. Korean leaders say the population is 130,000 to 150,000. The census says it is 55,573 -- a 48 percent increase from 1990.
Julian Lee, a retired history professor, says the estimates are based on increased activity in the Korean business district.
Also, Lee believes, many Koreans didn't complete their census forms because of "cultural hang-ups." Distrust of the government, privacy concerns and language barriers prevented many from filling out the forms, he says.
The census, taken every 10 years, is a snapshot across the nation of the population on April 1. The agency sends out two kinds of forms.
The short form is sent to every household and asks a handful of questions about age, housing, sex, ethnicity and race. The long form asks for more information and is sent to one in six households.
If the forms are not returned, census takers go to the homes to collect information in person. Many demographers believe it is the most accurate and unbiased survey.
Not to say it's perfect.
In 1990, there were significant undercounts -- as high as 5 percent -- in poor minority and immigrant communities across California and the nation.
The undercount was calculated with a post-census survey of selected areas. The survey is designed to get a statistically valid estimate of the people who were missed by the census the first time around.
This time, there is a political battle over whether to release undercounts.
Republicans have argued against it, saying the method favors Democrats. Poor minorities typically are more likely to be undercounted.
Those undercounts worry government agencies because much federal funding is tied to population counts.
This time around, many believe that undercounts are much lower because of multilingual advertising campaigns. Orange County's undercount is estimated to be 1.2 percent.
Thursday, July 10, 2003
Secrets of the Asian grill
The balance of sweet-salty-hot-sour – plus the fire's smoky essence – shapes flavor of skewered tidbits.
SAVORY SKEWERS: Su-Mei Yu, author and chef-owner of Saffron Restaurant in San Diego, likes satay for entertaining at home. Here, her Nonya-Style Pork Satay With Peanut Dipping Sauce.
By CATHY THOMAS
Register Columnist
Oh, the allure of food grilled Asian style, the primordial perfume of smoke melding with the scent of caramelized basting sauces and marinades. Sweet and sour, salty and spicy tastes form an irresistible, crisp jacket of flavor over grilled vegetables, beef and pork. Fish and fowl, too.
I asked three Southern California Asian-born chefs for delectable and easy grilling recipes and tips for summer entertaining. Dishes that would capture the vibrant flavors of Asia. Here are their replies:
Su-Mei Yu, chef-owner, Saffron Restaurant, San Diego
Yu, author of "Asian Grilling" (William Morrow, $24.95), says it's the balance of flavors used to marinate and/or baste that makes Asian-grilled dishes so appealing.
"I think it's the distinct flavors of Asian seasonings that make it so delicious; they're designed to match perfectly with the main ingredient," says Yu, who was born to Chinese parents in Thailand. "Never expect just one or two flavors; there's always something in there to surprise you. Find the primary taste you like best (sweet, sour, salty or spicy hot) and build on that, contrasting it with other flavors.
"So if you prefer sour, you can make that the predominant flavor, but add some sweetness, some saltiness, and if you like, a little hot spiciness."
In her book, Yu explains that each Asian region has its own distinct seasoning style. In Southeast Asia, garlic, lemon grass, salt, turmeric, white pepper, and ginger or a rhizome with ginger-peppery flavor called galangal are generally signature ingredients. In China, sesame oil, soy sauce, cinnamon, five-spice powder and ginger often play a key role.
She explains that the Koreans prefer a sweeter blend, using sugar, sesame oil, soy sauce and green onions. The Japanese prefer more simple, clean tastes, frequently using soy sauce, miso (fermented soybean paste), mirin (wine made from glutinous rice) and sugar.
And as for the fire and flame, Yu says expensive equipment isn't necessary.
"It's such an ancient method, you can grill on a simple little hibachi if you like," she says, adding that you can't beat the heat from charcoal. "The problem for some is that they burn the food. That's solved when you build the fire on one side, leaving one side empty. Then you move food to the cool place when you need to ... when the fire gets too hot."
Yu says that in Thailand, it's not just meat and vegetables that make their way to the grill; balls of sticky rice, even whole eggs are grilled. But for entertaining at home, satay is one of her favorite grilled foods.
Satay is a skewer threaded with small pieces of marinated and grilled meat, poultry or seafood.
"When I entertain, I like to make four or five kinds of satay marinades and put them in the refrigerator in glass jars overnight," she says. "I make the dipping sauce and cucumber relish ahead, too. It doesn't take long to cook satay; meanwhile, we drink lemonade and have fun."
Her satay choices usually include Nonya-Style Chicken or Pork Satay. Nonya is a fusion of Malaysian, Indian and Chinese cooking. Serve with peanut sauce and a cooling cucumber relish.
Koshi "Manga" Funasaki, head yakitori chef, Kappo Honda, Fountain Valley
Funasaki knows that some new customers are expecting sushi when they walk into Kappo Honda. But at the counter by the front door, instead of raw fish, they're greeted with smoke curling from a well-tended oak-charcoal fire, a glass partition separating grill master from guest. Over the flames, two long metal bars elevate short skewers filled with glistening tidbits. Funasaki turns and bastes his yakitori, dabbing on a mixture of mirin, soy sauce and sugar. The impaled morsels are small and delicate. His well-trained eyes monitor each skewer, and before long he's turning and basting again. Sometimes he seasons with a little salt, sometimes ground pepper.
Grilling is a revered tradition in Japan. There's a more formal grilling style called robatayaki and a casual style called yakitori. The word yakitori is from yaki, which means grilled, and tori, which means chicken. And although there is plenty of chicken on the grill (everything from chicken and green onion kebobs to chicken hearts), there are skewers filled with not-hot chilies, sea scallops, asparagus wrapped in see-through curtains of fresh pork belly, and shiitake mushroom caps stuffed with ground chicken. Yum.
Funasaki says yakitori shops in Japan are often more popular than sushi bars.
"Mostly they're small places, sometimes open-air (stalls)," says Funasaki, who was born in Kyoto, Japan, near the location where the slow-burning oak is grown for the traditional charcoal.
When grilling yakitori-style at home, he says, it's important to make sure that ingredients are cut into small, uniform pieces before skewering and grilling. And if you're wrapping vegetables in pork belly (such as mild green chilies, asparagus or okra), have the butcher slice partially frozen pork belly as thin as possible. Then twist the "bacon-like" pork around the vegetable to make a single layer. When it's grilled, it will almost melt into the vegetable.
Michael Kang, chef-owner of Five Feet, Laguna Beach and Garden Grove
Kang's contemporary California-inspired Asian cuisine features lots of grilled vegetables and grilled fish, some with a tamarind-based glaze, others with a soy-honey-miso glaze. Some are marinated in balsamic vinegar mixed with a variety of Asian sauces and ingredients.
Kang, born in Taiwan, describes the grilling technique as "simple," a method he says integrates Asian ingredients and flavors in an uncomplicated way.
His Alaskan king salmon is slathered with glaze toward the end of grilling, so it has enough time to nicely caramelize, but not enough time for the honey-soy-miso mixture to burn. Often, it's accompanied by gnocchi and a stir-fry of fresh fava beans, garlic chives, tofu and crabmeat. Kang describes it as a very rustic dish.
His incredible Grilled Asian Eggplant, starts by marinating scored Japanese (Asian) eggplant halves in a mixture of soy, Chinese oyster sauce, garlic and balsamic vinegar. Then it's grilled until tender but not mushy. He says that you can marinate and grill other vegetables, such as summer squash and blanched artichokes, in the same way.
"This kind of (Asian-style) grilling doesn't involve lots of pots and pans, not a lot of washing and fussing," he says.
"Easy."
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CHICKEN AND GREEN ONION YAKITORI
Yield: 4 to 6 servings
About 10-12 bamboo skewers
2 pounds skinless, boneless chicken breasts OR thighs
2 bunches thick green onions, plus 3 green onions coarsely chopped, divided use; see cook's notes
1/2 cup soy sauce
1/2 cup sake
1/2 cup mirin (sweet rice wine
)
3 tablespoons sugar
3 (1/4-inch thick) slices fresh ginger
3 cloves garlic, minced
Cook's notes: Traditionally, the chicken is skewered with negi, a member of the green onion family that's thicker than a green onion but thinner than a leek. They are sold at some Japanese markets.
1. Place bamboo skewers in pan; cover with cold water. Allow to soak while you prepare yakitori. Rinse chicken in cold running water; drain and blot dry with paper towels. Cut crosswise into pieces 2 inches long and 1/2 inch wide and thick. Set aside.
2. Trim roots off whole green onions and cut white portion into 2-inch pieces; cut green portion into 4-inch pieces and fold in half.
3. Dry skewers. Thread chicken pieces crosswise on skewers, alternating with green onion (both a piece of white and a folded piece of green); use 4 pieces of chicken on each skewer. Arrange skewers on platter and cover loosely with plastic wrap. Refrigerate until ready to grill, up to 6 hours.
4. Preheat grill to high. Prepare sauce: Combine soy, sake, mirin, sugar, ginger, garlic and chopped green onion in small, heavy saucepan and bring to boil over medium heat, stirring until blended and sugar is dissolved. Reduce heat to low and simmer, uncovered, until sauce is glossy and syrupy and reduced to 3/4 cup, about 5 minutes. Remove from heat and strain into bowl (sauce can be prepared up to 6 hours in advance, covered and refrigerated).
5. When ready to cook, oil grill grate. Arrange skewers on hot grate and grill, turning with tongs, until chicken is nicely browned and cooked through, 3 to 5 minutes per side; brush yakitori generously with sauce at least once on each side while cooking, but not during the last 3 minutes.
Nutritional information (per serving): Calories 201 (53 percent from fat); fat 11.9 g (sat 4 g); protein 13.4 g; carbohydrates 10.5 g; fiber (less than) 1 g; cholesterol 45 g; sodium 337 mg; calcium 11 mg.
Source: Adapted from "The Barbecue Bible" by Steven Raichlen (Workman, $18.95)
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NONYA-STYLE CHICKEN OR PORK SATAY
Yield: 10-12 skewers
For marinade:
1 teaspoon coriander seeds
1 teaspoon cumin seeds (for pork); see cook's notes
1/2 teaspoon salt
2 serrano chilies, red preferred, minced; see cook's notes
1 stalk lemon grass, tough outer layers and green parts removed, minced
1 teaspoon ground turmeric (for chicken); see cook's notes
3 shallots, minced (about 1/3 cup)
1 tablespoon ground blanched almonds
1 teaspoon red miso; see cook's notes
1/2 cup coconut milk; see cook's notes
For satay:
1 pound boneless, skinless chicken breasts or thighs, OR pork loin
10-12 bamboo skewers, soaked in water 30 minutes, then dried with paper towel1/3 cup pineapple juice
Vegetable cooking spray
For serving:
Indonesian Cucumber Relish; see cook's notes
Peanut Dipping Sauce; recipe included
Cook's notes: For chicken marinade, omit cumin. For pork marinade, omit turmeric.
Red miso is sold at health-food stores, Asian markets and some supermarkets.
Coconut milk is sold in cans at supermarkets with large Asian specialty sections.
Use caution when working with fresh chilies. Wash hands and work surface thoroughly upon completion; do NOT touch face or eyes.
To prepare Cucumber Relish, combine 3 cucumbers (peeled, halved lengthwise, seeded and thinly sliced diagonally) with 1/2 teaspoon salt; place in colander; toss and allow to sit in sink to drain 15 minutes. Rinse with cold water and dry thoroughly with paper towels or clean dish towel. Transfer to bowl and add 1/3 cup finely chopped onion, 1-2 fresh serrano chilies (seeded, minced), 2 tablespoons sugar and 1/4 cup white vinegar. Mix to combine. Let stand 15 minutes before serving.
1. Put coriander seeds in small skillet and dry-roast over medium-high heat, sliding skillet back and forth over burner to prevent burning, until spice exudes a pleasant aroma, about 1 minute. Remove from heat and transfer to bowl to cool. Repeat with cumin seeds, if using. Grind in spice grinder and set aside.
2. In blender, add all marinade ingredients; whirl until pureed. If prepared ahead, place in glass jar; seal well and refrigerate overnight. When ready to use, place in bowl.
3. Slice chicken, if using, diagonally across grain into thin strips. Or, for pork, slice loin lengthwise in half, then slice diagonally across grain into thin slices. Add meat to marinade; mix well, coating it thoroughly, and let sit 30 minutes.
4. Start grill, mounding charcoal on 1 side of grill, leaving other half empty. While grill is heating, thread 3-4 pieces of chicken or pork onto each skewer into a tight bundle, covering 5 inches of skewer. Add pineapple juice to marinade and mix well. Set aside.
5. Spray skewers generously with vegetable oil. Place skewers with meat portion on grill over medium-high heat, arranging them close to one another. The uncovered portion of the skewer should not be over coals. Grill, brushing lightly and frequently with marinade, turning frequently to prevent burning, until outside is crispy brown and inside white and tender, 10-12 minutes. Transfer to platter. Serve with Cucumber Relish and Peanut Dipping Sauce.
Nutritional information (per serving): Calories 250 (61 percent from fat); fat 17 g (sat 7 g); protein 14.2 g; carbohydrates 11.2 g; fiber (less than) 1 g; cholesterol 46 g; sodium 399 mg; calcium 16 mg.
Source: Adapted from "Asian Grilling" by Su-Mei Yu (William Morrow, $24.95)
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PEANUT DIPPING SAUCE
Yield: About 2/3 cup
1 teaspoon cornstarch
2 tablespoons water, plus 1/3 cup water, divided use
1/2 teaspoon canola oil
2 medium cloves garlic, minced
1/2 cup hoisin sauce; see cook's notes
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
2 teaspoons creamy peanut butter
Optional: Asian chili sauce, to taste
1. In small bowl, combine cornstarch and 2 tablespoons water; set aside.
2. In medium skillet, heat oil on medium-high heat. Add garlic and cook 30 seconds. Add hoisin, vinegar, 1/3 cup water and peanut butter; mix well and bring to boil.
3. Stir cornstarch mixture and add to hoisin mixture. Bring to boil. If using, add chili sauce.
Nutritional information (per teaspoon): Calories 114 (47 percent from fat); fat 6 g (sat 3 g); protein 10 g; carbohydrates 5 g; fiber (less than) 1 g; cholesterol 3 g; sodium 154 mg; calcium 25 mg.
Source: Haley Nguyen, chef-instructor, Los Angeles Art Institute
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KANG'S GRILLED ASIAN EGGPLANTS
Yield: 8 servings
4 Asian (Japanese) eggplants
1 tablespoon minced garlic
1/2 tablespoon minced fresh ginger
1/2 cup balsamic vinegar
1 tablespoon soy sauce
1 tablespoon oyster sauce
1-2 tablespoons mixed, minced fresh herbs, such as thyme, oregano, parsley or basil (choose 2)
1/4 cup olive oil
1/4 cup Asian sesame oil
1. Cut eggplant almost in half lengthwise, leaving a small portion along 1 side attached; open book style. Using small, sharp knife, score interior (make shallow parallel cuts about 1 inch apart; do NOT cut through skin). Set aside.
2. In shallow glass or ceramic pan large enough to hold eggplant in single layer, mix remaining ingredients. Place eggplant, cut side down, in marinade. Marinate 1 hour.
3. Heat grill. Grill eggplant, turning frequently, until cooked through, about 5 minutes depending on side of eggplant and heat of fire. To serve, sever the "hinge" holding two halves together.
Nutritional information (per serving): Calories 240 (45 percent from fat); fat 12 g (sat 1 g); protein 3 g; carbohydrates 29 g; fiber (less than) 1 g; cholesterol 2 g; sodium 497 mg; calcium 15 mg.
Source: Michael Kang, Five Feet, Laguna Beach and Garden Grove
Sunday, July 13, 2003
How dreams can diverge
DIFFERENT PATHS: Deanna Le, left, and Areanna Vasquez are both 18, both daughters of immigrants who struggled to make ends meet, and both graduates of Garden Grove High School. Le will attend UCLA, and Vasquez is headed to Orange Coast College.
Why do Asians and Latinos from similar backgrounds do differently in school?
By MARIA SACCHETTI
The Orange County Register
GARDEN GROVE – Four years ago, Areanna Vasquez and Deanna Le bounded into the same school with the same dream - to attend a university.
Both are the daughters of immigrants who urged them to seize opportunities the parents missed. At Garden Grove High School, Vasquez led the cheerleading squad, Le was homecoming queen. Both were elected to student government. Their English is seamless, their grades are strong and their expectations high.
Yet their dreams diverged on the way to graduation. Le was accepted to four universities and spent the spring hunting for financial aid. Vasquez toured one community college, and barely glanced at the list of scholarships.
It is a split typical of Asians and Latinos at this school and the rest of Orange County. But the gap cannot be easily explained by differences in affluence, language ability or even culture.
Asians are about as likely as Latinos in this city to be poor and not fluent in English, according to the U.S. Census. Many adults in both groups never graduated from high school. But at this school last year, Asians who were prepared for a four-year college outnumbered their Latino counterparts 7 to 1.
The divide, some researchers say, is the result of the students' own decisions and the direction they received from their family and friends, teachers and counselors. How their communities work, how they are received in this country and whether they are encouraged in school will do more to determine their success than innate ability alone
Le and Vasquez, both now 18, sat in the same math class in junior high. By the end of senior year, they rarely saw each other.
"We all were once together," Le said. "It's weird."
THE BACKGROUND
Asians and Latinos are among the fastest-growing groups in Orange County, according to the census, and they are at opposite ends of the academic spectrum.
Latinos drop out of high school in large numbers; Asians don't. Latinos are unlikely to be prepared for a university; Asians outpace every group in college preparation.
Everyone from teachers to parents to community organizers seems to have a theory to explain the gap - Latinos don't value education, but Asians do; Latinos do not plan to stay here permanently, while Asians see California as their home.
Some are now challenging the conventional wisdom by studying the children of two immigrant groups that have much in common: Vietnamese and Mexicans. Both are often poor, not fluent in English and less educated than other groups.
The similarities are highlighted in cities such as Garden Grove, which is about one-third Asian, one-third Hispanic and one-third white. Most Asians here are Vietnamese; most Latinos are of Mexican descent. Census data suggests both groups have approximately the same percentage of homeowners. Asians are more likely than Hispanics to receive government assistance.
Academically, they are far apart. Two-thirds of Asians 25 and older had a high school diploma, compared with less than half of Latinos. About 42 percent of the Asians in Garden Grove Unified, which serves this city and parts of several others, completed the coursework last year to apply to a state university, compared with 6 percent of Latinos, the lowest such rate in Orange County.
Intrigued by similar gaps across the nation, two prominent sociologists - Rubén G. Rumbaut of the University of California, Irvine, and Princeton University professor Alejandro Portes - examined this issue as part of a larger ongoing study of more than 5,000 immigrant children in South Florida and San Diego, which is similar to Orange County.
Many argue that Confucianism, the Chinese philosophy that holds teachers in high regard, drives Asians to succeed. But Rumbaut and Portes said Vietnamese have been influenced by a number of religions and traditions. Most Vietnamese are Buddhist, for instance, with a strong Catholic minority.
Family values appeared similar, too. In surveys, Mexican parents were even more likely to have rules for their children about doing homework, getting good grades and planning for the future. But in reality, their children studied far less than their Vietnamese classmates did - about 45 percent of Vietnamese students did more than two hours of homework a day, compared with 14 percent of Mexicans.
The study found another troubling difference: While majorities of both hoped their children would graduate from college, the belief that it would actually happen was very different. Only 55 percent of Mexican parents believed it would happen, compared with 87 percent of Vietnamese. Rumbaut said Mexican parents' doubts about college graduation partly stem from money concerns, their lack of community support and their own educational shortcomings.
The hopes Mexican students had for themselves showed similar gaps.
"Aspirations are very high," Rumbaut said. "Expectations tend to reflect the realities of their situation."
Rumbaut said there were several explanations for the disparity:
Although both groups have suffered discrimination, most Vietnamese arrived starting in the late 1970s as refugees. They received an array of federal assistance in resettling, from rent payments to English classes and job training. Also many in this first wave of 130,000 people were educated, providing an example for the larger, less-educated waves of boat people who arrived later.
In contrast, Mexican parents historically have arrived as laborers, legally or illegally. Laborers tended to be less educated and unaware of, or ineligible for, government programs. In Garden Grove, 12.8 percent of Asian households received government assistance in 1999, compared with 4.7 percent of Hispanics, according to the census.
Vietnamese parents reported feeling far more supported by others in their own community than Mexicans did in Rumbaut and Portes' study - 54 percent of Mexican parents compared with almost 83 percent of Vietnamese. The reasons for the Vietnamese immigrants' support of one another, Rumbaut said, reflect their unique histories: their shared political exile; their anti-communist ideology, which matched that of the United States; and a subsequent desire to attain status in this country, largely through education.
Mexicans often see themselves as outsiders, researchers say, though in Rumbaut and Portes' study most planned to stay in the United States permanently. Many families perceived that they were toward the bottom of the class system, especially in California, Rumbaut said. This is reinforced by statewide referendums of the last decade that dealt with language, affirmative action and immigration, which many saw as anti-Latino, he said.
Language, however, was not a major barrier for students, Rumbaut said. Most Asian and Latino families in Garden Grove, for instance, reported in the census that their children spoke English well.
Schools, however, offer conflicting information. At Garden Grove High, half of the Latino freshman class last year was listed as "not fluent" in English, but test scores suggested that more than half of these students were fluent or nearly fluent.
THE FAMILY
Areanna Vasquez's mother, Reyna, immigrated with her father, a construction worker, and her mother, a housewife, from the Mexican state of San Luis Potosí in 1973. Reyna was 11 when they brought her to Orange County. She adored school here.
She treasures her school certificates, which she keeps in a folder: perfect attendance, most-improved reading, an award for soccer. She learned English in six months.
Two years later, a counselor asked her what she wanted to do after junior high school.
"Work," Reyna, now 42, replied. The counselor never asked about college, and sent her to an alternative high school where she worked three hours and studied three hours a day. By 15 she had dropped out.
"I thought that working would get me everything," she said. "When I had my kids, I said, 'They're not going to do that.'"
Deanna Le's mother, Katherine, 46, arrived in 1980 as a young mother and refugee, one of the tens of thousands of boat people who fled Vietnam in flimsy watercraft. In Vietnam, she had never finished high school. She yearned to be a teacher, but she had to drop out to help her family pay the bills. Her late husband attended college, and although he helped shape the family's goals, he died when Deanna was 8.
Neither Reyna nor Katherine could offer their children much money. Both had several children - Reyna has five, Katherine has four - and both struggle financially. Katherine runs a jewelry kiosk in Little Saigon. Reyna works as a child-care worker; her estranged husband supplements her income.
Like many parents, neither was active at their children's schools. Garden Grove High doesn't have a PTA, though it is forming one now, officials said. But the two women set similar rules about education.
"I would tell them, 'School is your priority.'" Reyna said. "'There's nothing else for you to worry about.'"
Both urged their children to attend a university, not just a community college. But when it came time to talk about a crucial detail - money - Katherine had learned far more from friends than Reyna had.
Deanna Le once wondered aloud if her mother could afford to send her to college.
"Don't worry about that," Katherine shushed her. "I'll find a way."
Deanna devoted herself to schoolwork and has earned thousands of dollars in scholarships for high test scores. She took Advanced Placement classes that could help her earn college credit and save money by not having to take some classes.
Reyna's oldest daughter, Andrea, 21, a go-getter in school, was twice invited to visit UCI. But Reyna balked at the price of a university education. It seemed safer to send her daughter to community college first. Andrea later transferred to Cal State Fullerton.
There was little talk of scholarships or grants, and Reyna didn't push her children to look for them.
"Truly, it seemed so expensive," Reyna said. "We couldn't pay so much money."
Areanna, who was in student government and the National Junior Honor Society with Deanna in eighth grade, followed her sister's lead. While she had once wanted to go to straight to the University of California, Los Angeles, it seemed safer to do as her older sister did, and start at a community college.
THE COMMUNITY
It would appear that Reyna, who worked in child care for a public school district, would have an advantage in understanding how to navigate the system, but by the time her daughters were in high school she still had never heard of the SAT, the college entrance exam, or Advanced Placement classes.
When her friends talk to her, it is about the day-to-day issues of work, their children and safety at school.
"I always said, 'Go to a university,'" Reyna said. "But we didn't know how."
The talk where Katherine works is far different. She spends most of her time at her jewelry kiosk in Little Saigon, a hub of strip malls with Vietnamese shops.
In the quiet morning hours, the women come to chat in Vietnamese about their son the doctor or their daughter the pharmacist. An A is good, a B is bad, they tell her, over the satin headbands and brocaded pins. A high school graduate should have a sash around his neck and an asterisk next to his name in the program, both signifying higher academic achievement. An SAT score should be above 1,200. Universities are better than community colleges, they tell her.
"I don't know anything about anything," Katherine said, with a smile and wave of her arm. "I just know San Diego, UCLA, UC Davis, Berkeley. I see on TV that famous people are at Harvard."
At home she drills the tips into her children, reminding them so often that sometimes they flee the room.
She would prefer that they become doctors, but they have chosen other paths. Hong, the only university graduate so far, is a successful auditor who graduated from UCLA while she worked to help out her mother. Deanna may become a pharmacist, which pleases her mother, but she is also flirting with the idea of studying business.
The other two children started at community colleges, though one has since transferred to a university, choices for which Katherine's friends sometimes chided them.
"In my country, doctor No. 1," Katherine said, index finger raised. "I think they make a lot of money. It's easy to get a job."
THE STUDENTS
While parents are important, researchers say a student's influences from peers and teachers may be even more so. And in these, the experiences of Asian and Latino children are often quite different.
Deanna Le relied on teachers, her older sister and classmates, mostly Asian, who were in the same top classes at Garden Grove High. She signed up for summer classes at the community college, along with her friends. Her mostly Vietnamese classmates helped her figure out which classes to take and which to avoid to keep from hurting her grade-point average.
"A lot of people think your parents are there for you a lot. My mother was never there for me," Deanna said. "She worked a lot. I was on my own."
Katherine agreed: "I'm not good enough to guide them. If you don't know the right thing, you have to ask counselor."
Although Garden Grove High appears to be one of the most integrated in Orange County on paper, often its classes are not. Most Latinos were in low-level math classes in ninth grade last year; most Asians were in Algebra I or higher, a difference that helps knock most Latinos off the path to a university because there are too few years left to take the classes required for admission.
Asians are often the valedictorians and student leaders. They compete for the top grades, advanced classes and dominate the honor roll. Last year three times as many Asians took the SAT as Latinos.
The gap belies their common goals. In 2001, 68 percent of Asians and 55 percent of Latinos who graduated from Garden Grove High then enrolled in a community college or state university. The difference is that Asians are more likely than Latinos to head straight to a university.
Students said they notice the divide. Areanna Vasquez didn't say anything when she was dropped from an honors English class after her sophomore year. She thinks it's because she didn't do a summer reading assignment, but she didn't challenge it and her mother didn't check.
"I felt like I wasn't smart enough. I never really asked why," Areanna said. "I was the only Hispanic in that class."
Paulina Ocampo, 16, who just finished her sophomore year, felt left out when she signed up last year for Advanced Placement European History - made up mostly of Asian students - only to learn completion of a project assigned over the previous summer was also expected. Already three months behind on the first day of school, she dropped the class.
In other classes, she said, she felt her mostly Asian classmates thought she couldn't cut it. Students were always competing for the highest grades, or getting together to study in their own groups to the point that she felt excluded.
"It's intimidating," Ocampo said. "Deep inside I feel like I can't compete against them."
And she said some Latino students think their teachers expect less of them. A recent study co-authored by Harvard professor Gilberto Conchas showed that students who did not know their teachers' expectations or who believed their teachers did not care did less homework than those who thought their teachers expected them to attend college.
"When you try to bring it up (to teachers) they say, 'You're just seeing things. We don't do that here at Grove,'" Ocampo said.
THE TEACHERS
If Latino parents are often unsure of how to navigate the system and their children struggle with self- doubts and a peer group with too few successes, it is often the school that is the last hope. Researchers say teachers play a role in helping students succeed - or fail - especially in communities where information about college is scarce.
Garden Grove High's teachers offer students all sorts of opportunities - from after-school tutoring to regular progress reports sent home to parents who ask for them. They say they want high standards and urge kids to reach for them. And students often need their recommendations to get into an upper-level class, such as honors English.
And sometimes, teachers say, they form opinions about who can do the work based on factors other than grades.
Kevin Griffin, an English teacher and adviser to the student newspaper, said he has sometimes rushed to such judgments. He praised student Carlos Salgado, 15, for getting good grades in his English class, and admitted that at first he thought Salgado would be a poor student because he slouched to a seat far in the back of the room and wore loose, gang-type clothing on the first day of class.
"I was expecting him to be low performing, that he might be a gang member," Griffin said at a ceremony honoring the school's most-improved students. "Carlos has turned out to be one of my good students. I think that if we had 20-25 students like Carlos Salgado, we could turn this school around."
Later, Griffin hesitated when asked if he would recommend Salgado for an honors English class. He said Salgado was getting an A, which could be grounds for advancement. But other things come into the mix, too: The honors courses are more competitive, require higher skills and often more work than the regular classes. And they can be cliquish; students who lag behind could feel ostracized by the honors kids.
"I don't know if he'd be out of place in that class," Griffin said. "I don't know if he'd want it. ... They (honors students) take things seriously."
School officials say a teacher's recommendation is one of many factors considered when students sign up for classes, and it should not necessarily bar them from enrolling.
Griffin, for instance, said in the end he considers only whether they can handle the rigors of an honors class. He has recommended Latinos for honors classes in the past.
But he said he also struggles to motivate students who lag behind at the school, who don't push as much for the tougher classes and perhaps don't see achieving in school as the "cool" thing to do.
Salgado said he, too, has been frustrated with the system, and has few peers helping him navigate it. He has noticed that many Latino kids seem uninterested in school, but he has also felt stuck in classes that are too easy, such as pre-algebra this year. He didn't know he could sign up for the honors classes on his own, and although he wants to go straight to one of "the really good universities, the four-years," he said he doesn't know which classes he needs to get in.
"The classes I have right now are pretty easy," he said. "For me, this school, I basically don't have any homework. I do most of it and then other people they're like, 'I have three projects due tomorrow.'"
STEREOTYPES AND SOLUTIONS
Garden Grove's teachers and counselors say they work hard to narrow the gaps, and the district's schools earned national recognition two years in a row, in part for raising test scores. At Garden Grove High, for instance, counselors helped seniors fill out financial aid forms for college, earning this medium-size school the sixth-largest number of Cal Grants, or state scholarships, in the county last year.
The school hosts numerous meetings, usually at night, to inform parents about the opportunities for their children. The district publishes parent guides in English, Spanish and Vietnamese and offers translators at meetings.
School officials say they cannot change things overnight - or alone for that matter, since they have the students only six hours a day and counselors have as many as 500 students each. Parents, they say, must help them by sending kids for tutoring, monitoring their classes and making sure students have clear goals.
"(Asians) apply themselves, that's the key," said Chip Kublin, chairman of the math department at Garden Grove High. "Anyone is capable of doing well in school. For the most part, the Asian kids do what we ask.
"The Hispanic population is catching up, but at a very slow rate."
But KimOanh Nguyen-Lam, interim executive director of the Center for Language Minority Education and Research at California State University, Long Beach, says teachers can fall prey to stereotypes, giving Asian students higher grades because they are often quiet and obedient. But that can hurt those same students because they might not ask enough questions and develop critical thinking skills, she said.
"All this high achievement from the Vietnamese-Americans or Asian- Americans is sort of overrated," said Nguyen-Lam, a Vietnamese-American educator who also trains teachers. "Their grades are inflated. They barely pass the (California State University) writing-proficiency test.
"I hear teachers say all the time, 'I would take 30 Vietnamese or Asian kids to 10 Latino kids any day,'" she said.
And she responds: "I would not want my kids in your room."
Nguyen-Lam said she urges teachers to visit kindergarten classrooms. Immigrant children arrive "bright-eyed and bushy-tailed" and ready to learn, she said. Rumbaut and Portes' study and others have found that some children change over the years as they feel discouraged by school and their communities.
"How did the school change them?" Nguyen-Lam wondered. "If your teacher is around you thinking that you're not as smart as the other kids, after a while, you believe it."
DIFFERENT DESTINATIONS
In their final days at Garden Grove High, Deanna Le and Areanna Vasquez rarely crossed paths. Student government was turned over to the juniors, and seniors were saying their goodbyes or searching for scholarships.
Until the end, Le was wrapped up in her classes, including calculus, which she hopes will give her a leg up when she has to take it again in college.
Vasquez took it easier, with a schedule that included serving as a teaching assistant to a woodshop class. Both said they would love to attend UCLA, a world-class university with one of the best research libraries in the nation.
Le's acceptance letter arrived March 14. Eleven days later, Vasquez toured Orange Coast College, a two-year school. She still plans to transfer to a university.
Vasquez starts classes in August. Less than a month later, Le will leave for Los Angeles.
A CALCULATED MOVE: Deanna Le was wrapped up until the end of school in calculus. At Garden Grove High last year, seven times as many Asians were prepared for a four-year college as were Latinos.
A STRONG STUDENT: Areanna Vasquez, studying in March, was in student government and the National Junior Honor Society at Garden Grove High. She plans to transfer to a university after she first goes to community college.
SETTING PRIORITIES: Reyna Vasquez, right, like many Mexican parents, believes education is important. She told her children, including Areanna, “School is your priority. There’s nothing else for you to worry about."
THE GRADUATE: Deanna Le, center, with fellow graduates in May, had a strong network of support, including mostly Asian classmates who were in the same top classes at Garden Grove High.
An island no more
Area Filipino-Americans are breaking from traditional enclaves and flourishing in Orange County.
August 22, 2001
By KATHERINE NGUYEN
The Orange County Register
Ernie Delfin didn't think twice before moving to Orange County from Los Angeles in 1977.
Never mind that he was the only Filipino-American in his Fountain Valley neighborhood, or that he was miles from traditional Filipino enclaves in Los Angeles County cities such as Carson and Long Beach. The move made sense after his wife's company relocated to Irvine, and he already worked in Los Alamitos as an accountant.
"We're assimilated and confident enough that I don't care if there is or isn't a 'Little Manila' hive of Filipinos where we live," said Delfin, who has called Orange County home for 24 years. "Everything that I need I can get here in Orange County."
His attitude may reflect those of a growing number of Filipino-Americans scattered across Orange County.
Census 2000 data show that Orange County's Filipino community has grown by 61 percent in the past decade, from 30,356 in 1990 to 48,946 today. It is now the fourth- largest Asian-American group in Orange County, behind the Vietnamese, Chinese and Koreans, with many families living in Anaheim, Buena Park and Irvine.
But the local Filipino community is still small compared with the 101,000 Filipinos living in Los Angeles, according to the census, and a fraction of California's 918,000 Filipino-Americans.
Orange County "looks like a new pattern of Filipino- American settlement in Southern California," said Linda Espana Maram, assistant professor of Filipino- American history at California State University, Long Beach. "It makes sense that they're breaking away from traditional pockets of concentration as they become even more mainstream.
"The growing numbers in Orange County are probably the Filipinos who have established themselves in the professional work force and are more economically mobile," Maram added.
Dean Toji, a Cal State Long Beach professor of Asian- American studies, agrees: "The kinds of immigrant groups that cluster are those that don't speak English well, tend to be poor and need to live near family members for a support network. Most Filipinos predominantly speak English, and the Filipinos today are mostly professionals, so they don't need to cluster."
While there may not be an official Little Manila in Southern California, those who live in Filipino-concentrated cities such as Carson, West Covina and Cerritos can readily find Filipino shops and restaurants.
O.C. Filipinos find needs are met
North Orange County Filipinos like the Delfins shop in Westminster's Little Saigon for basic groceries such as lychees, bittermelon, jasmine rice, dried-salted shrimp, ready-to-eat fried fish and fish sauce.
Occasionally, the Delfins will drive 20 minutes to Cerritos to get Filipino goods such as empanadas, pan de sal (bread), halo-halo (fruit and shaved ice) and ube (taro root) ice cream.
There also are a few Filipino grocery stores and restaurants in Orange County.
In Fountain Valley, Manila Sunset owner Maria Lilia said she's surprised her restaurant has thrived, since Filipino cuisine is not as mainstream as Chinese or Vietnamese food. But she says many of her Filipino customers come from as far away as Laguna Niguel, Irvine and Cerritos.
"Many non-Filipinos also eat here, too," Lilia said proudly.
Filipinos also connect through their shared Catholic faith, flocking to heavily Filipino congregations like St. Filomena in Carson, often jokingly referred to as "St. Filipino," or St. Pius V in Buena Park and St. Irenaeus in Cypress.
Many older immigrants also join regional associations, identifying with others from the same province in the Philippines, while second- and third-generation Filipinos unite through student organizations such as the California State University, Fullerton, Pilipino American Student Association or the University of California, Irvine, Kababayan.
Opportunities to build community abound
Still others hook up through social and nonprofit charity groups, like Katipunan-USA, started by Delfin and his 24-year-old daughter, Donna. Katipunan-USA provides help to the needy in the Philippines.
In June, a fund-raiser was held to benefit Cabanatuan City Orphanange in the Philippines. Proceeds and donations helped poor students purchase backpacks, pens and pencils.
There are other efforts to increase community-building for Filipinos in Orange County. Jason Lacsamana, a program coordinator with the Orange County Asian Pacific Islander Community Alliance, recently helped form the Pilipino American Network to enable word to spread easily among Orange County Filipinos about community events and services.
The alliance also has started researching issues in the general Filipino community, such as high suicide rates among girls and recent statistics showing low numbers of Orange County students eligible for UC/CSU admittance.
"As the Filipino community keeps growing, these are going to be the kind of issues that will emerge," Lacsamana said.
A history formed in the fields
Malinda Gonzales, a second-generation Filipino-American, says her father, Anacleto Soriano, settled in Cypress in the early 1930s to pick oranges and tend strawberry fields, as waves of Filipino immigrants dominated California's agricultural work force.
Gonzales remembers growing up picking beans and tomatoes alongside her family and other Filipino farm workers in Anaheim, Garden Grove and Santa Ana. She fondly recalls weekly gatherings with about six other farming families.
"We'd all get together on Sundays in Garden Grove, and we would feast on traditional food like lechon (whole roasted pig), lumpia egg rolls, adobo chicken, pancit noodles and bibingka dessert," Gonzales said.
She said she hopes to open an Orange County chapter of the Filipino American National Historical Society.
"Nobody really knows about the rich history that Filipinos have here in Orange County," she said.
"Everyone thinks first of the Filipinos elsewhere in California."
MEETING MOM: Pham Phoung, 36, right, is reunited Tuesday with her husband Phi Hoi, left, and daughters Phi Ha, 12, second from left, and Phi Quynh, 7 at Los Angeles International Airport. Pham had been scammed into working slave labor in American Samoa.
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
Long-awaited reunion
By GREG HARDESTY
The Orange County Register
Three hours.
For Pham Phoung, 36, the wait was excruciating - even after four years and one month.
"God, this is probably the longest time of my life," the Garden Grove woman said Tuesday as she tapped her fingers on the stainless steel rail at Los Angeles International Airport, waiting to be reunited with her
family.
"I wonder how my daughters will feel when they see me?" Pham said. Her heart jumped whenever she saw children.
Pham's husband and two young daughters were flying in from a tiny village outside Hanoi, Vietnam, to start a new life with her in Orange County. She had left them in July 1999 to work as a seamstress in a factory in American Samoa.
It wasn't supposed to be such a long separation.
But it turned into one when Pham and about 264 other garment workers, most of them Vietnamese, became ensnared in the largest international human-trafficking case in U.S. history.
Now that the red tape has cleared, 19 Orange County- based victims of the scam are expected to be reunited with family. On Tuesday, Pham became the first of those 19 to be reunited with her family, who will join her permanently in Garden Grove.
Her wait ended at about 2 p.m., when her face transformed from a white mask into one of joy.
She let out a quick "Oh!" when she spotted her husband, Phi Hoi, 46, dressed in a white shirt and tan slacks, pushing a cart filled with two suitcases and three carry-on bags.
Her daughters, Phi Ha, 12, and Phi Quynh, 7, wore brand- new sneakers, jeans, embroidered white blouses and sun hats.
Pham hugged her daughters and embraced her husband, who had been a farmer in the village of Thaibinh, in northern Vietnam.
Exhausted from their first flight, Ha and Quynh were a bit wary of this woman in jeans and a casual top who said she was their mother.
Pham kneeled to look into her youngest girl's face.
"Do you know who I am?" she asked.
"No," Quynh said.
Phi looked tired but elated from the 18-hour journey.
"I am very happy to see my wife," he said.
Phi plans to start looking for work. In the meantime, Pham will support the family by working at a nail salon in Irvine, where she earns less than $1,000 per month.
That dream of a better life started when Daewoosa Samoa Ltd., a Korean company, wooed Vietnamese seamstresses such as Pham with a promise of making $2.60 an hour.
That was far less than the $5.15 minimum on the U.S. mainland, but it was gold compared to the 10 cents an hour a typical worker in Vietnam was making.
So in July 1999, Pham kissed her children and husband goodbye and went to American Samoa, a semiautonomous U.S. territory about 5,000 miles from the mainland.
She expected to stay two, three years tops.
The family put up land as collateral to pay the $5,000 needed to work for Daewoosa. At the factory, the women made "Made in the USA" clothing for J.C. Penney stores.
They were given only rice and water to eat and drink and were forced to work 12- to 14-hour days.
When the women sued Daewoosa, the federal government started building a case against the company and its owner, Kil-Soo Lee.
Pham and the other women who worked in the factory were given a choice of returning to Vietnam or remaining in the United States on a special visa in exchange for serving as witnesses against Daewoosa in the federal government's case.
Pham decided to stay in the United States. A church community in Garden Grove that heard about the women's plight sponsored her and six other women, and in July 2000 arranged for them to come to Orange County.
Vietnam granted final approval last Tuesday for Pham's husband and children to come to the United States and live here permanently, after Pham had been given a "T" visa, which are for victims of human trafficking.
Pham's husband sold their house in Vietnam for $1,700 to help pay for the plane tickets.
After they left LAX, the family got into a waiting SUV driven by Victoria (Thuy) Nguyen with Boat People S.O.S., a Westminster group that helps resettle Vietnamese refugees.
But the girls were not quite ready to bond with their long- estranged mother.
At a Garden Grove hotel, where they are staying for a few days, the girls insisted on sleeping with their father in one twin bed. Pham slept in the other bed.
She said she understands it will take the girls time to think of her as their mother.
When the family was separated and Pham would call home about twice a month, sometimes Quynh would pick up the phone.
"Hi, this is your mother!" Pham would say.
Quynh would hang up, believing she didn't have a mother.
At the hotel, her husband said: "Don't worry. It takes time. The kids will get used to you."
There are 18 more families like Pham's in Orange County, some with up to four children, waiting to be reunited, Nguyen said. Another 12 victims in Orange County are not seeking to bring over their families.
S.O.S. helped Pham and her family with temporary housing and other immediate needs, but many challenges are ahead.
On Sept. 1, the family will move into a Garden Grove home, sharing one room. That is all they can afford.
But Pham is content. She finally has her family back.
"Now I have somebody to look forward to when I come home," she said. "It's been many years since I had somebody at home waiting for me."
Wednesday, August 27, 2003
Man convicted of cybercafe slaying
GUILTY: Tam Huynh, 23, shakes his head Tuesday at the Santa Ana Courthouse after being convicted of second-degree murder in the 2001 slaying of a man at a Garden Grove cybercafe.
By LARRY WELBORN and KATHERINE NGUYEN
The Orange County Register
A gang member was convicted of second-degree murder Tuesday for his role in ramming a screwdriver through a man's head in a case that was the catalyst for a law-enforcement crackdown of illegal activities outside Garden Grove's popular cybercafes.
Tam Huynh, 23, faces a term of 15 years to life after jurors determined he was one of the street-gang members who attacked Phuong Huu Ly, 20, outside the PC Cybercafe on Dec. 30, 2001, after mistaking him for a rival gang member. Co-defendant Jim Hoang Nguyen, 22, faces 25 years to life after he was convicted in July of first-degree murder.
Garden Grove police are searching for a third suspect.
Huynh hung his head and shook it from side to side when the verdicts were announced after the nine- woman, three-man jury had deliberated for two and a half days. His mother and sister sobbed in the courtroom. Ly's mother approached jurors after the verdict and thanked them. One of the jurors said, "We're sorry for your loss." The victim's mother, who declined to give her first name, said she doesn't understand the justice system but feels the verdicts were fair because Huynh was a member of a street gang and is responsible for what happened. "But it doesn't bring any closure. There's still a lot of pain," she said through an interpreter. "We want to bring my son home, but this will not do it." Ly's slaying prompted Garden Grove Mayor Bruce Broadwater to call for an investigation into crimes among the young adults who frequent the city's numerous cybercafes.
Garden Grove leaders swiftly considered strict cybercafe rules and approved several restrictions after the city's second cybercafe-related killing in June 2002, when 14-year-old Eddie Fernandez was shot after leaving ICE Cybercafe.
Officials required cybercafe owners to install security cameras, hire a security guard during peak hours on weekends, ban minors during school hours and close by 10 p.m. weekdays and by midnight on weekends. Garden Grove's actions prompted cities such as Anaheim, Fountain Valley, Placentia, Lake Forest and Santa Ana to adopt similar restrictions.
Most recently, on Aug. 12, city officials in Orange adopted rules that will require owners to keep a log of all customers in addition to using security guards and surveillance cameras. Placentia officials banned any new cybercafes from opening until February 2004, or until the city adopts cybercafe regulations. In Stanton, minors have to be accompanied by an adult to cybercafes after 10 p.m.
Two Garden Grove cybercafe owners sued the city last year to block enforcement of the new regulations. A Superior Court judge in May overturned key aspects of Garden Grove's cybercafe rules, saying the laws imposed police duties on private businesses. City officials appealed the ruling and are awaiting a hearing in October.
Garden Grove police Sgt. Dennis Ellsworth said only 12 to 13 cybercafes remain in the city, down from the 22 cybercafes that were open in 2000 before Ly's murder.
Many cybercafe owners cited a dramatic drop in business after all the negative publicity about the two homicides. PC Cafe managers said business dwindled so much after Ly's fatal stabbing outside the café that the business had to close in July 2002.
City officials this week said it's typical to see businesses close when too many of the same type open around the same time.
Ly had been smoking cigarettes and hanging out with a friend a few days before New Year's Day while waiting for a computer station to open up at the PC Cybercafe when they were confronted by some Asian teenagers with black, spiky hair, shaved on the side.
Deputy District Attorney Margaret Roper argued that Huynh and his accomplices were members of the Power of Vietnamese street gang who mistakenly believed Ly and his friends were rivals in either the Westside Viets or the Little Asian Rascals street gangs.
But Ly was not a gang member, Roper said. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. He just wanted to play video games in the cybercafe.
One of the assailants attacked Ly with the foot-long screwdriver, ramming the 6-inch blade up to its hilt in Ly's left temple. The blow severed Ly's brain stem, and he died a day later, after his family authorized the donation of some of his organs.
"It is very difficult to see such an everyday item (the screwdriver) slammed into the head of a human being," Roper told the jury.
Deputy Alternate Defender David Wooden argued that Huynh showed poor judgment by hanging out with the wrong people and not being able to disengage himself from the others. But Wooden argued that Huynh had no criminal intent to fight or hurt anyone. Superior Court Judge Francisco Briseno will determine Huynh's sentence Oct. 10. Huynh also was convicted of street terrorism. Judge Carla Singer will sentence Jim Nguyen Sept. 5.
Sunday, August 31, 2003
Food is cultural fuel in Vietnamese community
ANH DOanhdo_2000@yahoo.com
It was while digging into my fourth helping of lobster sautéed with French herbs that it hit me: We Vietnamese never stop eating.
The city councilman sitting to my right had asked: How do you guys afford this?
He surveyed a room bursting at its seams with slick-haired movers and shakers, chewing. They turned the Lazy Susans, spooning sea cucumbers and mushrooms, licking their lips after a taste of scallops and slurpings of shark fin soup.
He'd been to 30 of these banquets in the past three years, unable to say no, secretly thinking that it was much better than Mom's cooking. And he had increasingly tight pants and thicker Rolodexes to prove it.
I tell him what Haley Nguyen, local food marvel, tells me: "It's not about money. It's about image. People use food as a buffer to make everything comfortable. We think it would put the guests at ease; then we talk business."
Every culture has formidable traditions tied to food.
But Nguyen thinks that many Vietnamese take it to the extreme. Community functions, fund-raisers, festivals overflow with egg rolls and soy bean drinks, often followed by course after course, laced with egg noodles designed like a bird's nest, tender morsels of fish, duck roasted to a tangy crispiness.
When organizers cannot pay for it, they get someone else to. Even in the days of deepest hunger, in the war years, an honored visitor to a house would be given the brimming bowl.
"Food represents status. It shows you have money," whether or not you really have money, says the cooking-school instructor. "You are credible. You have power and others can feel free to cut a deal with you.
"When you get together with Vietnamese, it's not just a few pieces of cheese and a glass of wine. It's a series of meals. Even when it's not necessary, it's expected."
Certainly, former President Nixon found this on his travels to Vietnam, when he encountered the eat-and-eat-on mentality of his hosts, with 11 banquets over three days, as he recalled in his memoirs.
The city official experiences it – again – this night, when the crowd rallies around an immigrant political candidate. Other evenings, for work, this fellow and I have exchanged hellos at gatherings for flood victims, for language schools, for toasting the long life of our elders, for Tet, the lunar new year.
All dinners, all decadent. I take a few bites, then focus on taking notes.
"The Chinese are similar, yet different," observes Rosalee Lin, a social worker, at the event. "We have been in this society longer so we've started loosening the customs. When I go to a Vietnamese event I expect to see fried rice, a mountain of it, down a buffet line full of food, while at a Chinese event I'm not surprised anymore if it's just finger stuff. Less of a headache to plan."
Ah, planning. The restaurants catering to Little Saigon are booked months – if not a year – in advance as each weekend greets another round of celebrations.
Seafood World. Seafood Palace I. Seafood Palace II. It can be frustrating trying to get in.
At Grand Garden, for example, manager Dong Pham, always well-groomed in gleaming shoes and suspenders, raced around this past Fourth of July holiday setting up a record seven weddings.
The younger generation has started to rebel, bypassing local eateries and having their simpler-food nuptials at an assortment of Hyatts, Hiltons and Marriotts. So the restaurants followed, negotiating catering deals with choice hotels.
Nguyen starts to dread the frills: "Sometimes, I don't want to go to a function and see all the food go to waste. Or a place where you know the hostess will have spent hours getting all the dishes together so every guest can bring something home.
"I wish we could just fill our stomachs with clay pot fish and vegetables, which I love, but that shows you're poor. So you get elaborate."
And that can begin in the home. I have dozens of memories of my mother, her kitchen a fragrant garden, turning out ramekins of silky, shiny rice cakes dotted with onions and shrimp for her fifth supper party of the month. She would spend all morning slicing cabbage into paper-thin sticks for a salad, then blending crab, scallions, steaming chicken stock and cilantro for the main feature.
Having plenty of food promotes trust.
Across Asia, people doing business don't just sit down and say, "Here's your proposal, here's my proposal, let's sign a contract," said advertising executive Kim Lai. "We can give our word rather than on paper, and we can be hospitable, talking details as each course comes along."
In Vietnam, too, where third-world living allows less luxury, "When we invite someone over, we want them to ooh and ahh. We don't have too much material things; people can always offer food," Nguyen reasons.
"I don't know if we eat more than American people. It's just that we serve a lot."
With Purple Heart, an insistent regret
Heart:
SORROW: Cory Caranza on Saturday hugs Pearl Nakamura, sister of Paul Nakamura, who was killed by Iraqi fire June 17 in the ambulance Caranza was driving. Caranza received the Purple Heart and Bronze Star Saturday.
The cost of Paul Nakamura’s Purple Heart was his life.
Sunday, September 14, 2003
As told to LORI BASHEDA
Orange County Register
Army reserve Cory Caranza, 22, was awarded a Purple Heart and Bronze Star Saturday for bravery and combat injuries. He and buddy Paul Nakamura were combat medics in Iraq.
They became fast friends after joining the reserves two years ago. They surfed in Huntington Beach. Liked punk music. Had steady girlfriends. Worked for the parks and recreation departments in their Southern California hometowns.
Then the soldiers went to war, where they were blasted by a rocket-propelled grenade on a dusty road outside Baghdad. Both received Purple Hearts. One posthumously.
It was 2 a.m., June 19. Caranza and Nakamura were on the night shift at the aid station in their camp 60 miles south of Baghdad "in the middle of bloody nowhere, pretty much," Caranza said. "I was reading 'Robinson Crusoe.' Paul was playing pool on the Internet."
A soldier walked in. He had fallen into a hole in the dark. His ankle was messed up. At 8 a.m., a doctor arrived and gave the orders for the soldier to go to the hospital, about two hours away.
Their shifts were over; they could have let the day-shift medics drive him. But then they'd wind up manning the camp, treating scorpion stings and smashed fingers. A trip through the desert sounded more interesting.
Typically, Nakamura drove the Humvee ambulance. He liked off-roading. Caranza was a muscle car kind of guy. This morning, Caranza offered to take the wheel.
"I figured Nakamura could use the break. There was what barely passed as air-conditioning in the back of the Humvee. Paul would get to go back there during the trip to check on the patient, make sure he was comfortable. It was about 10:30 a.m. by now.
"Everything was going good. We knew how to get there.
"It was sunny. Hot as blazes out there. We had our radio on. We were listening to Pennywise, a punk-rock band. Just BS-ing.
"We were just driving along. It was really, really green. Lots of farms. I'm trying to get there fast. Before it hit 150 (degrees). It was already about 120.
"It was sort of a messed up road. Semipaved, half-dirt. I could see people out on the streets, just going about their business.
"All of a sudden, all hell breaks loose. I knew they shot me with a rocket. And I knew I was still alive. What they teach you, you get the heck out of there.
"So I step on it. The window was shattered, spider-webbed. I couldn't see.
"It got really hot. It's like you're being punched in the head really hard. It smoked up the entire cab. I started driving off the road. The power steering was wasted. It was like driving an old El Camino. The steering wheel was melting. Luckily I was wearing gloves. They melted onto the steering wheel."
His superiors say the force of a rocket-propelled grenade, made to penetrate armored vehicles, should have knocked him senseless. But Caranza managed to come out of the stupor and gun it the last 20 minutes to the hospital.
Marines surrounded the Humvee. Caranza stepped out to find that the back was smashed in like a tin can, the door torn off. The soldier with the broken ankle took some shrapnel and suffered some burns. Caranza had second-degree burns on his hands, arm, ears and forehead. His buddy didn't do so well.
"I saw him when they pulled him out. I was sort of hysterical, you know?
"Fifteen minutes later, someone told me, 'You know, he didn't make it.' "
He wondered what he was going to tell Nakamura's mom and girlfriend. He wondered if this was some kind of bad karma from something he had done, then decided "that karma crap is nothing." He wondered why he drove.
"In the daytime, I'm fine. At nighttime, I'll start thinking about it. Here I am driving down the street in my car in my hometown (Beaumont) and all of my buddies are in Kuwait and my other buddy's dead."
Caranza and Nakamura had treated hundreds of men and women since the start of the war in Iraq, often marveling at how "hard-core" some of the soldiers were and wondering what it would be like to lay their life on the line to save someone else, to be a hero, to get a Purple Heart.
On Saturday Caranza found out what that was like.
He stood at attention while his superiors recounted the horror. The rocket was an act of terror, they said. Their ambulance was marked with six big red crosses. Medical vehicles are supposed to be off-limits. The soldiers were not in a combat zone. It was amazing Caranza kept his head.
His dad, his girlfriend, his little brothers, they were all there to witness the ceremony. "Say cheese," his mom said after it was over, snapping pictures with an instant camera.
A few feet away sat Nakamura's family, tears in their eyes. Nakamura's sister Pearl said one relative flew all the way from Okinawa for the ceremony. "We have a connection with (the Caranzas) now," she said, before heading back to her Santa Fe Springs home.
Nakamura got his Purple Heart a few months ago, posthumously. He was 21.
Caranza thinks he is still in shock to some extent. Every morning, he woke up in Iraq and told himself he would be fine. But then did he ever really believe it? He was the paranoid one, he says. Sure he's the son of an iron worker, but he's his mama's boy.
"At the start of the war, I told Paul, 'I don't have my girlfriend here, I don't have my mom here. You know what, bro, you're gonna take their place.' "
Caranza said he felt no different Saturday afternoon than when he woke up.
"You get the Purple Heart and everything, but you wish that you didn't because someone has to die or get really hurt. Something has to happen that would make your life different than the day before."
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