COLUMN ONE
A son's loyalties tested
An uproar over communist imagery in a museum picture leaves a photographer torn between his duty to his father and his artistry.
 Brian Doan is facing the anger of the Vietnamese American community over his photograph of a woman wearing a T-shirt with the Vietnamese flag and sitting next to a brass bust of former Communist leader Ho Chi Minh. His father, a former intelligence officer in the South Vietnamese Army, is especially upset with the picture. (Irfan Khan, Los Angeles Times / September 20, 2010) |
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Brian Doan was rushing to the photography class he taught at Long Beach City College when his cellphone rang. It was his father.
The two had barely spoken in weeks. He slumped against the wall and picked up the phone.
"Ba," he said in Vietnamese. "Dad."
Doan could hear his father crying.
"You are my son," his dad said. "Listen to me."
He pleaded, "Take down the photo."
"Son," he said, "don't you know that I am dying? Take it down."
Then his father hung up.
***
In the first days of 2009, hundreds of angry Vietnamese Americans marched outside an exhibit in Santa Ana featuring Vietnamese artists. Some arrived by bus from as far away as San Jose.
The object of their fury was a 2-foot-by-3-foot photo featuring a young woman sitting next to a brass bust of former Communist leader Ho Chi Minh. She wore a red tank top with a large yellow star, the color of the official flag of Vietnam.
The protesters shouted into bullhorns and raised pickets skyward. Here, on the edge of the largest Vietnamese community in America, the image of the hated Communist leader and the flag of a country that was no longer theirs stirred painful memories.
Vietnamese newspapers likened the image to a swastika appearing in a Jewish community, a deep and hurtful insult.
The photo was called "Thu Duc," the Ho Chi Minh City suburb where Doan had posed and shot the picture.
A few weeks later, after the photo had been scratched, spit on, sprayed with red paint and denounced by politicians, a defiant Doan hung a smaller version at a solo exhibit at nearby Cypress Community College.
The 40-year-old artist from Long Beach insisted he didn't mean to hurt anyone. The photo poked fun at communism, he repeated in a weary voice during interviews with Vietnamese and American media. It was comical that the bust was no longer held up in reverence, that the flag was worn as a tourist knickknack. Doan saw the photo as a modern Vietnamese American point of view.
The anger only spread. Dozens picketed on the campus after Cypress College administrators declined to remove the photo, citing freedom of expression. The anger boiled up in e-mail messages on Doan's iPhone. "How dare you, kid!!" one read. "…seeking fame at others' grief," read another.
But it was the voice of his father, Han Vi Doan, that cut the deepest.
His father had taught him to be tenacious. It was tenacity that helped his father survive the brutal Communist prison camps and drove him to America, where he hoped to finally touch freedom. That, Doan reminded himself, is why he'd been able to become an artist.
The two had barely spoken in weeks. He slumped against the wall and picked up the phone.
"Ba," he said in Vietnamese. "Dad."
Doan could hear his father crying.
"You are my son," his dad said. "Listen to me."
He pleaded, "Take down the photo."
"Son," he said, "don't you know that I am dying? Take it down."
Then his father hung up.
***
In the first days of 2009, hundreds of angry Vietnamese Americans marched outside an exhibit in Santa Ana featuring Vietnamese artists. Some arrived by bus from as far away as San Jose.
The object of their fury was a 2-foot-by-3-foot photo featuring a young woman sitting next to a brass bust of former Communist leader Ho Chi Minh. She wore a red tank top with a large yellow star, the color of the official flag of Vietnam.
The protesters shouted into bullhorns and raised pickets skyward. Here, on the edge of the largest Vietnamese community in America, the image of the hated Communist leader and the flag of a country that was no longer theirs stirred painful memories.
Vietnamese newspapers likened the image to a swastika appearing in a Jewish community, a deep and hurtful insult.
The photo was called "Thu Duc," the Ho Chi Minh City suburb where Doan had posed and shot the picture.
A few weeks later, after the photo had been scratched, spit on, sprayed with red paint and denounced by politicians, a defiant Doan hung a smaller version at a solo exhibit at nearby Cypress Community College.
The 40-year-old artist from Long Beach insisted he didn't mean to hurt anyone. The photo poked fun at communism, he repeated in a weary voice during interviews with Vietnamese and American media. It was comical that the bust was no longer held up in reverence, that the flag was worn as a tourist knickknack. Doan saw the photo as a modern Vietnamese American point of view.
The anger only spread. Dozens picketed on the campus after Cypress College administrators declined to remove the photo, citing freedom of expression. The anger boiled up in e-mail messages on Doan's iPhone. "How dare you, kid!!" one read. "…seeking fame at others' grief," read another.
But it was the voice of his father, Han Vi Doan, that cut the deepest.
His father had taught him to be tenacious. It was tenacity that helped his father survive the brutal Communist prison camps and drove him to America, where he hoped to finally touch freedom. That, Doan reminded himself, is why he'd been able to become an artist.
Copyright © 2010, Los Angeles Times
COLUMN ONE: A son's loyalties tested - latimes.com
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