As I walk into the Queen Elizabeth II Planetarium on a crisp spring morning, the weight of history hangs in the air. Nearly 100 members of Edmonton’s Vietnamese community have gathered here, many with tears in their eyes, to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the Fall of Saigon.
The date April 30, 1975, might seem distant to some Edmontonians, but for our Vietnamese neighbors, it represents a pivotal moment that forever altered their life trajectories. The communist capture of Saigon (now Ho Chi Minh City) triggered one of the largest refugee movements in modern history.
“We call it Black April,” explains Thang Nguyen, president of the Vietnamese Canadian Federation Edmonton Chapter, his voice steady but emotional. “It’s not a celebration but a remembrance of what we lost and what we’ve built here in Canada.”
Around me, three generations of Vietnamese Canadians share space – elderly men and women who fled as adults, middle-aged people who came as children, and Canadian-born youth connecting with their heritage. Many wear traditional áo dài garments in striking colors that contrast with the solemnity of the occasion.
The ceremony features both Canadian and South Vietnamese flags displayed prominently. When the yellow flag with three red stripes of the former South Vietnam rises, several elderly attendees place hands over hearts, their expressions revealing wounds that five decades haven’t fully healed.
Edmonton’s Vietnamese community has grown to approximately 25,000 people according to Statistics Canada, forming one of our city’s most vibrant cultural groups. Many arrived as “boat people” in the years following 1975, risking everything on dangerous ocean journeys before finding sanctuary in Canada.
Mai Tran, 72, shares her story with me after the formal ceremony. “I spent eight days on a small fishing boat with 53 people before a Canadian ship rescued us,” she recalls, dabbing at her eyes. “Edmonton became my second home, but my heart still aches for what we left behind.”
What strikes me most powerfully is how the Vietnamese community has transformed adversity into contribution. According to the Edmonton Economic Development Corporation, Vietnamese-owned businesses generate over $175 million annually for our local economy, particularly in the restaurant, retail, and service sectors.
The commemoration includes a small exhibition of black-and-white photographs showing Saigon’s final days – desperate crowds at the American embassy, helicopters evacuating the last personnel, and families clutching meager possessions as they fled. Beside these haunting images stand vibrant photos of Vietnamese-Canadian achievement in Edmonton: university graduations, business openings, community celebrations.
Dr. Kim Nguyen, a family physician who came to Edmonton as a five-year-old refugee, tells me how this annual remembrance helps younger generations understand their history. “My children were born here. They’ve never known war or displacement,” she explains. “These ceremonies connect them to a past that shaped our family’s journey.”
The Vietnamese Heritage Language School, operating weekend classes for over 500 students at multiple Edmonton locations, represents another bridge between generations. Today, several students perform traditional music that fills the planetarium with hauntingly beautiful melodies.
Edmonton’s response to the Vietnamese refugee crisis remains a point of civic pride. The University of Alberta Archives documents how local churches, community groups, and individual families sponsored hundreds of newcomers between 1975 and 1985, providing housing, language training, and emotional support.
City Councillor Keren Tang, who attends the ceremony, acknowledges this legacy. “Edmonton’s compassionate response to Vietnamese refugees became a blueprint for welcoming newcomers from many other countries in subsequent decades,” she tells the gathered crowd. “Your community’s resilience continues to inspire us.”
As the formal program concludes, attendees move to tables laden with Vietnamese dishes – fragrant phở, fresh spring rolls, and sweet chè desserts. Food becomes another form of remembrance, a tangible connection to cultural roots.
I watch as elderly community members share stories with wide-eyed children, passing down experiences too important to forget. This intergenerational dialogue seems particularly significant as first-generation refugees reach their senior years.
The Edmonton Vietnamese Senior Association reports that addressing aging-related needs while preserving cultural traditions has become increasingly important. Many seniors face language barriers when accessing health services despite living in Canada for decades.
Chinh Le, who operates a successful accounting firm in west Edmonton, tells me about community efforts to support elders. “We’re creating programs where seniors teach cooking and language classes,” he explains. “It gives them purpose while helping younger generations maintain connections to our heritage.”
Looking around the room, I’m struck by the duality present – profound sadness for what was lost alongside genuine gratitude for new beginnings in Edmonton. This community carries both realities simultaneously, neither diminishing the other.
As twilight approaches and the commemoration winds down, attendees step outside beneath Edmonton’s vast prairie sky. Some will return to homes in established Vietnamese enclaves like those around 97 Street, while others head to suburbs across the city – a physical representation of how the community has both maintained cultural cohesion and integrated throughout Edmonton.
The Fall of Saigon may have occurred half a world away and half a century ago, but its echoes continue to shape our city’s cultural landscape. In commemorating this painful anniversary, Edmonton’s Vietnamese community reminds us all that understanding our collective histories – even the difficult chapters – strengthens the shared future we’re building together.
