Honoring AAPI Heritage Month: Hear from DOE's Tweedie Doe

We’re nearing the end of Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) Heritage Month in the United States.

Much as federal agencies celebrate the diverse histories, cultures, and contributions of America’s indigenous people in November, so we mark May as an occasion to pay homage to and gain insight from Americans who trace their ancestry to any of the vast array of communities throughout Asia, Hawaii, and the Pacific Island territories.

In that spirit, we asked our team member Tweedie Doe to share her story.

Below, in Tweedie’s own words, she talks a bit about her background and reflects on her experience as a first-generation Vietnamese-American. Read on and learn how both have shaped who she is today.

I hated going to school until the age of 10. Our lessons on sewing fancy stitches on small muslin pieces would end in predictions of failure for me that I dreaded.

I preferred eating snails—steamed with loads of garlic and sold by an old lady—then trying my luck at the shell game en route to our 7 a.m. school start. When school ended at lunchtime, I would run home to construct elaborate kites from discarded newspapers and bamboo sticks, flying them over open fields under the gaze of water buffalos to marvel at how the kites so easily took flight above the noise.

My dad was a shoemaker, and my mom sold touristy goods at Ben Thanh Market. I was the oldest girl of five kids, and we lived in a narrow two-story house in District 8 with my mom’s younger sister.

We didn’t have running water, so we fetched water from the neighborhood pump. I balanced buckets of water on a pole to bring home for cooking and bathing. My mom would go to the market each morning to get fresh vegetables and meat to make our lunch and dinner. There was no refrigeration to get groceries for the week as I do now.

Tet, the lunar new year celebration in Viet Nam, was my favorite time of year. We celebrated for a month! We got new clothes, money in red envelopes, lots of candy and fruits—and my parents were home. It was during Tet of 1975 when a panic buzzed through Saigon. I felt the urgency of coming changes and desperately wanted to escape it.

On April 24 of that year, my American uncle boarded us onto a helicopter starting our journey to the United States. We arrived in Los Angeles—another planet—three days later. My family stayed behind and suffered while Viet Nam reunited its two halves and healed itself.

I started school in fall 1975 in Spokane, Washington. I am grateful for Mrs. Baker and Mrs. Floyd, who contributed immensely to my speaking, reading, and writing American English from ground zero. I was eager to be all-American.

I was a sponge and absorbed every new word, new food—hamburgers and spaghetti, new clothes, new celebrations—Halloween and Christmas! I thought I could shed my Viet shell and reinvent myself at age 10. I loved going to school where I could impress my peers with my math skills and my teachers with illustrated stories in English.

“Banana”—with its yellow exterior and white interior—is a term that refers to some of us Asian Americans who have assimilated to American life so well as to lose much of our cultural identities that make us whole.

I have experienced unintended and outward ridicule for what I look like and how I use my adopted language. I have also benefited from great kindness and empathy from my community who understands the feelings and experience of being a transplanted human, as well as sympathy for being born in a poor country and growing up in a war.

Just recently, after so much outwardly displayed hate for those who look different than an average white American, I realized that growing up in America, my fear and embarrassment of my looks and my history drove me to excel in blending inside a picture of success.

My life’s journey is full of sadness, joy, and unbearable challenges. My life experience—overcoming challenges, building connections with my community, and constantly learning about myself and my role in the world I live in—contributes to my strong sense of justice, love of travel to experience different cultures, and appreciation of all our differences and similar needs.

It’s the human connections and small deeds that are big to me. The people who care about all people inspire me to be bigger and do more to help balance the scale of justice.

Read more about the wealth of expertise Tweedie brings to her role as a project officer administering tribal energy grants in our July 2020 Meet Our Team blog.