San Francisco Has Its Own Little Saigon
Nguoi Viet 2, News Report, Andrew Lam, Posted: Dec 08, 2004
SAN FRANCISCO — The idea of a “city within a city” assumes the smaller area is homogenous, known for one particular theme, the way Chinatown advertises its cultural wares. But in the San Francisco Tenderloin district, even with all the people transplanted from Vietnam, diversity remains the true nature of the place.
Tenderloin is made up of 20 square blocks — smaller than half a square mile — where 28,000 of America’s most diverse inhabitants live. Fewer than 3,000 of the residents are Vietnamese Americans. Hispanics, yuppies, Middle Easterners, African Americans — and a sizable population of transvestites to throw in the mix — all call the area their home.
Yet, what war refugees lack in population, they make up in commercial and political activities within these boundaries. And they have so much clout that this fall, city and county supervisors designated the two-block portion of Larkin Street between Eddy and O’Farrell streets as Little Saigon.
Minh Huynh, head of Little Saigon Project Task Force —a coalition of community organizations and institutions that lobbied for the name — says there are 255 businesses owned by Vietnamese Americans in the area, along with a dozen nonprofit organizations for youths, veterans and the elderly, making it the most active ethnic group scattered in the enclave. There’s even a Buddhist temple.
Phu Nguyen, a former U.S.-trained captain with the Army of the Republic of South Vietnam, is commissioner of San Francisco’s Immigrant Rights Commission and a task-force member. He says Vietnamese in the Tenderloin area “are proud to have a home in San Francisco. Not even San Jose, with its large Vietnamese population, has a Little Saigon.”
Thien Tran, who has been living in the area more than two decades, agrees. “I feel that we should be recognized for our contribution to this area. Before Vietnamese refugees came here it had little economic strength. Now it is vibrant thanks in large part of Vietnamese-owned commerce.”
Last January, for instance, 20,000 men, women and children streamed here from all over the Bay Area to the Tet festival celebration. Eight blocks were cordoned off, and Vietnamese singers and dragon dancers performed amid popping sounds of firecrackers.
Of course, not everyone believes that Little Saigon in San Francisco, officially designated in September, is fully a Little Saigon yet. Steven Nghia, owner of the most popular restaurant in the area called Turtle Tower, which specializes in northern Vietnamese-style pho, says he feels that the term is a bit premature.
“We still need more Vietnamese shops to make it a real Little Saigon,” he adds.
The elements of Vietnamese presence are unmistakable despite the small population. Take a walk on Leavenworth or Hyde streets and you will see Vietnamese altars through open windows, and sometimes you can smell incense along with the complex aroma of roasted coffee and fish sauce wafting in the air.
Once, a long time ago, the Tenderloin had its heyday. Rebuilt after the 1906 earthquake, it was a glamorous shopping and theater district where guests from wealthy suburbs all over the Bay Area came for dinner shows and stayed overnight in one of many its art-deco hotels. According to resident Cathy Cooper, who knew the area when it was still in full glory, urban redevelopments plans in the late 1950s and early 60s managed to drive away business.
It became a no-man’s land until the early 80s, when Southeast Asia refugees visited in droves — and stayed — looking for cheap rent.
It was then that that Little Saigon in San Francisco took root.
Lan Traŕn is from Vallejo, 30 miles north of San Francisco. She was a refugee who came here in the late 1970s but has since moved over the other side of the Golden Gate Bridge. She sees the Tenderloin as a transitional place.
“It could never be as big and bold as Little Saigon on Bolsa (Avenue in Southern California) is,” she says. “It’s because once Vietnamese make enough money, they move to San Jose or to the suburbs to buy a house and raise their kids.”
But Tran says that she comes in often enough for her noodle fix. “I got to have pho every once in a while, and this is the place for it.”
Does she think the area deserves to be called Little Saigon?
“Well,” she says with a laugh. “Maybe you can call it Very Little Saigon.”
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