Duy Nguyen

Exhibition text by Hải Nam Nguyễn.

Distant Tongues

For many Vietnamese and others globally, Vietnam’s history is intertwined with terms that, though seemingly straightforward, carry deep complexities: the American/Vietnam War, the Viet Cong, and the Boat People… These terms encapsulate a multifaceted and painful history marked by division, ideological conflict, and the enduring impacts on national and diasporic identities; a history where victory and resentment coexist, fragmenting its own people. Vietnam, a country repeatedly divided, has left its people dispersed across the globe, torn between the conflicting narratives of north and south, instrumentalized by both the East and the West. These traumas have been passed on to subsequent generations. We were taught to point fingers at one another and declare, “Those are the betrayers,” yet in our youthful innocence, we looked at each other and thought, “These people are just like me”.

It has been 49 years since Reunification Day, or the Fall of Saigon, yet the scars of division remain visible in the second and third generations of the Vietnamese diaspora. This is particularly evident in Germany, where two Vietnamese diasporic communities have evolved in unique ways: the “Boat People,” who fled persecution to West Germany between 1978 and 1986, and the Contract Workers and students from socialist Vietnam who migrated to East Germany between 1980 and 1990. Today, Berlin hosts the second-largest Vietnamese diaspora in Europe.

Reflecting on this historical context and his own biographical migration background, Duy Nguyễn envisioned the Vietnamese diaspora as a complex and diverse community, motivating his decision to move to Berlin. As one of the few Vietnamese immigrants in a small town in Norway, Nguyễn sought to explore and understand the differences and commonalities within his heritage through food and places, hoping to find a sense of belonging. His installation, “Distant Tongues,” features kinetic sculptures, photographs, and a poem, all addressing the concept of “cultural liminality”—a state in which individuals find themselves caught between multiple cultural identities without fully belonging to any.

Different kinetic sculptures are arranged around a large table, striking it aimlessly, creating the impression of a cryptic conversation that remains out of sync. These sculptures evoke Duy Nguyễn’s childhood memories of dinners with his family, reflecting both harmonious and conflictual interactions. Using a pigment transfer technique, Nguyễn has created objects featuring his self-portraits on leather drums, inviting viewers to interact with either the objects themselves or with one another. Another kinetic sculpture attempts to shatter a self-portrait on acrylic glass by constantly hitting it. The installation also symbolizes Nguyễn’s ongoing search for identity, which he explores through his experiences at Asian restaurants where he connects with the Vietnamese community in Berlin. To convey the duality of feeling both like an insider and an outsider, as well as the longing for a place of belonging, Nguyễn envisioned himself offering a prayer at the dinner table through a poem. “Distant Tongues” allows Nguyễn to share with viewers his deeply personal and sensitive state of mind, one that is nonetheless filled with powerful emotions. At the same time, it addresses the struggles of the Vietnamese diaspora through themes of cultural and political division, as well as religious and regional differences.

Finally, it poses a question to the second generation of Vietnamese diasporic descendants: How can we achieve a deeper understanding of one another?

Dearest father,

Please don’t devour this day

because it's not yet fully ripe.

I know no harvest is done with clean hands

and no bite are chewed without teeth.

Tell me which civilization I must unearth to belong.

You ask how far I’ve come

so that I can become one of you.

I ask how long it’s been

since I was one of them.

Time washes all,

and the wind touches

with both a soft and a hard hand.

The world has never counted

on men without feathers.

Storms are not told to follow,

I wonder which name I must cast

to remind you of yours.

I pray while you watch

four tongues twist into one.

Today I’ve listened to words so dense

they anchor to the bottoms of lungs.

Today I’ve seen eyes so impaling

they hurt like braille on sore thumbs.

It takes a palm to touch a soul,

but it only takes one finger

to point out one’s faults.

My young body was forgiving

but this one needs to be kept safe.

I know an end to a means

is like the end of a dream.

Fill my mouth with filters

so my body can be free to speak.

I’ve been three people

since my last prayer,

and all threads that bind me

are hard-wired.

Have you seen the world?

I have, and now I can write my mom in silence.

Why are you eating your mother’s meals

with those shredded lips?

No book about reality is more forgiving

than fiction on creased-up pages.

Now you live in a prison by an unknown author.

Son, why must you speak in distant tongues?

Your voice became so thin

my brother started speaking.

Now his tones can only be heard

echoing in distant caves.

I have replaced wood and concrete

with feet that never stepped twice

through the same mud and ice.

Don’t remove more chairs from my table.

I don’t want to dine alone

in these drenched-up halls

masked by its own sweat and tears.

Let me soak in these last words

like wet clothes on bare skin.

Amen