II  The Tragic Journey - Untrustworthy Boats, Amateur Navigators and the Deadly Oceanic Dangers

'Có lẽ trời muốn trao cho gánh nặng,
Bắt trải qua bách-chiết thiên-ma.'
 ‘God perhaps wants to train us for an important responsibility,
thus makes us endure tragic challenges.’
Famous Vietnamese Statesman Nguyễn Trãi  (A.D. 1418)

The reality of the Vietnamese boat people’s journey is full of tragic experiences, endless natural calamities and brutal man-made obstacles. (Photo: B. McDougall)

To reach the nearest haven outside of Socialist Vietnam, the boat people had to cross the Gulf of Thailand or the huge South China Sea, which are definitely not peaceful for boating novices. The region’s oceanic weather is harsh and full of deadly typhoons blowing over 100 miles per hour and destroying anything on their paths. Typhoons are occasional incidents in the area during the summer months, but the region is also wrecked regularly by the Gulf of Thailand’s southwest monsoon that bombards the sea route from Vietnam to Thailand and Malaysia with its endless, hazardous rains and powerful winds for almost 6 months from April to September.  As the southwest monsoon calms down, the northeast torrent with perilous downpours and mighty gusts begins to sweep the South China Sea and attacks the seaway from Vietnam to Hong Kong and Japan.

            Nature’s obstacles, however, do not end with the rough weather. A web of coral isles, reefs and atolls form underwater hazardous barriers that run for miles west and south-west of Palawan Island in the Philippines. Many refugee boats ran aground on these reefs and islets, and the Asylees often tried to survive on a diet of oysters, sea gulls and shellfishes while waiting for rescue; but when help failed to come by, the refugees eventually perished. In September 1978, a boat of 50 Vietnamese including Ms. Trần H. Huệ was stranded on a coral isle for 5 months.  Except for Ms. Trần H. Huệ  who was saved, all others died of thirst and hunger.

            In most cases, the asylum-seekers headed out to the sea on fragile boats to face gigantic oceanic dangers unprepared with neither proper navigational equipment nor appropriate piloting abilities. Their navigational tools in many instances were a map ripped out from an old geography textbook and a compass manufactured for use on land only.  The map would evidently be imprecise, and the land-use compass lost its accuracy when operated in the ocean.  No boat was ever equipped with life jackets or buoys on board in preparation for emergencies; and thus when the craft sunk, everyone died if not rescued on time.

        In addition to unsuitable nautical equipment, the boats used by Vietnamese refugees were mostly unseaworthy and had to be destroyed after they reached shore. Many crafts were built for traveling on rivers and canals only but were piloted to the angry sea on the deep ignorance of oceanic dangers. A lot of vessels were no more than 10 feet in width and 30 feet in length but carried an incredible large number of refugees. In some instances, even small canoes were used by the asylum-seekers to flee Socialist Vietnam. In most cases, there was not enough room for all people on the boats.  Thus, the men often had to stay out either on the cabin’s roof or wherever they could find resting space. Women and young children had to sit up with their legs folded in the lower compartment, where at times would be filled with seawater several inches high. Seasickness reflected by the throw-ups and medicated oil’s scent as well as children’s urine and cries due to thirst or hunger added to the depressing atmosphere on the boats a dreadful smell of death.

            Ms. Leanne Lý, a chemical engineer and founding CEO of Opticare World Inc. in Canada, wrote the following narrative to summarize her journey to freedom when she was a student. Ms. Lý  was just 8 years old at the time of her escape from Socialist Vietnam in 1979.

‘1980 was the year that ended my journey to freedom when my family and I arrived in Canada. I cherish every moment of my freedom. The fact that my family and I tried to escape from Vietnam 17 times was our commitment to gain freedom. Leaving Vietnam was both the best and the worst thing that ever happened to my family.

We were hidden in a friend’s house along the coast in South Vietnam. At exactly midnight, organizers led us to the dock where a small boat was waiting. The boat was carrying 315 people, but its allowable capacity could only transport 100 people.  Everyone in the boat sat shoulder to shoulder, filling up every space we could find. You can imagine how heavy the boat was.  Four trunks of thick bamboo had to help support the sides of the boat to keep it afloat. We were very lucky that the ocean was calm and clear for several days.

On the fourth day of our journey, we began to panic because food and water were becoming scarce and a storm had just begun. By this time we were lost at sea. The engine broke down and the water in the boat increased quite a bit due to the heavy rain and the splashes by big oceanic waves. The captain and some men made fire signals, and all we could do was just to hope and pray for a miracle.  The storm intensified and the boat was just rocking harshly up and down, back and forth.

Finally the captain spotted a ship that we thought was coming toward us. Happy thoughts must have run through everyone’s mind, knowing we would be rescued. But to our disappointment the ship was heading away from us. We had lost hope. All we had left was one tank of water.

A few hours later, another ship was heading our way. We didn’t dare to raise our hopes until we were rescued, and you know what? We were! Tears were just rolling form everyone’s eyes, these were tears of joy knowing that we had escaped from the communists. Freedom is finally ours!’

The boat people’s vessels, once described as ‘floating coffins,’[1] wandered into the deadly dangers on high seas often with limited supplies. Fresh water was definitely never enough for all refugees, and accompanied food reserve was always inadequate. Rations could only be imposed so long as water and foods were still available. Once the supplies dried up, the boat people’s only hope was to be rescued or to reach shore or a petroleum rig soon.[2] In the case of Mr. Phan Văn Thiệu who landed on Kora Bahru in Malaysia on April 22, 1979, his family and he were subsequently put on a boat and pulled out to international waters by a Malaysian Navy ship on May 11. The refugees were left floating in the open sea; and when fresh water ran out, they had to drink urine instead.  Five days later, the children began to die, and more would pass away if they were not rescued by the Sibonga, whose Captain Healey Martin later wrote in his log:[3]

‘Women and children on the twenty metres long by three metres wide boat were screaming for help; the smell on the boat, which was tier-decked for maximum capacity, was terrible.  The weather had been fresh south-westerly for the previous four-eight hours.  Prolonged sickness, lack of food and water and the horrible way the people were crowded together in their own dirt and urine had reduced them to a very weak physical condition.  Merely to give them stores would have been to condemn a large number of people to death.’

        As for many boat people, fuel shortage represented another major problem. Diesel for boat engines would eventually run out if the refugees failed to arrive at their destination of freedom on time. Wandering aimlessly in the huge ocean could only mean sure death in the face of hazardous downpours and perilous winds. A further problem concerned the aged boat engines, which often developed problems after several days of non-stopped operations.  There were countless cases in which the refugee’s vessels had to be navigated with homemade sails because the mechanical problems could not be repaired.

    The escape of Phan Công Trang, aged 18, illustrates the dire consequence of logistic disasters.  Phan left Ba Xuyên, Vietnam, on April 12, 1983 with family relatives and neighbors on a 7-meter-long boat equipped with one motor. After 3 days at sea, the escapees ran out of fuel, food and fresh water.  By day 13, their boat was smashed into pieces by gigantic waves. Everyone on board vanished except Phan, who managed to stay afloat for two days by holding on to a jerry can. Eventually, Phan was rescued by a Norwegian ship and taken to Manila, Philippines.

            Phan Công Trang was fortunate not to commit cannibalistic acts to survive. In April 1982, the horrible escape of 11 refugees from Nha Trang ended up lost a sea for nearly two months. Out of fuel, fresh water and food, the boat wandered aimlessly, and hunger and thirst claimed six lives. The remaining members on board became cannibals in order to survive their ordeal until they received help from the Hong Kong coastguard in June 1982. 

    An earlier escape of Trần T. Bá was even more terrified.  In a letter to his uncle and aunt, Trần T. Bá wrote that he left Båch ñ¢ng port on October 1, 1978 on a boat carrying 146 passengers. After four days at sea, the boat ran aground on a coral isle and could not steer out.[4]  They ran out of supplies a week later. Trần’s brother, Thành, died on November 3.  Until the arrival of a Taiwanese fishing vessel on November 18, the isle was a dreadful scene of cannibals.  In his letter, Trần T. Bá insisted that he was able to survive without taking part in these desperate acts.[5]

            Apparently, harsh weather condition, hidden sea obstacles, limited stores and engine troubles were behind many unimaginable calamities faced by the boat people. These problems were understandable and particularly unavoidable; however, what incredible was the amateur skills of some self-proclaimed captains, many of whom had never piloted a boat at sea in their lives.  The urgent need for experienced captains and the exit need of refugees sometimes met in awkward situations.  The fear of communism outweighed the risk of personal death and forced some boating amateurs to portray themselves as accomplished pilots in order to take part in an escape.  They would accept the captain’s job knowing that their navigational skills were limited or, at times, non-existent; this irresponsible, but comprehensible, action placed the lives of others on the same boat at extremely high risks.  Fortunately, however, situations as aforementioned were isolated and few.