Passport to National Identity:

("Excuse me; do you have The Quiet American?")

As I waited in line along the Thai-Cambodian border portal, I walked with my head high, North Face backpack on my back—you know, the one that many 20-some years old westerners carry with them while traveling in a developing country--and a United States of America passport. If you were to stereotype me, you would probably guess me as someone from the western part of the world. However, once I take out my passport it is a whole new story, and even more so when you see what is written behind the cover of my U.S. passport. Then you know that my identity has been modified to fit your foggy eyes.

Yes, so I carry a U.S. passport with me. Does that make me American? My birth place indicates that I was born in Thailand. My bloodline determines I’m full Khmer through both parents. But my father’s homeland is no longer known as Kampuchea Krom. It is now Vietnam, and although I have searched there is no where that states that the place my father and his family came from--the ethnic Khmer Krom people’s homeland now located in South Vietnam—was once called Kampuchea Krom. Nor is there anything in American’s history that talks about the Americans secretly bombing Cambodia in the 1970s. I leave what happens when your home is being bombed to your imagination.

When I was waiting for my turn to receive a stamp on my U.S. passport from Thailand along the Thai-Cambodian border portal in Poipet, a Thai officer with a big warm smile started to speak with me in Thai. He was very surprised when I only spoke English to him. He started to question me while staring at my U.S. passport under BIRTH PLACE. “Is your father Thai? Or is it your mother? Which one of your parents is Thai?” he curiously asked. With a quick response I said,” Neither.” He was still confused but stamped my U.S. passport anyway, and allowed me to go though the Thai border portal.

I made my way to the Cambodian side of the border. The Cambodian border control person spoke to me in English because of my U.S. passport. However, like his Thai neighbor, he was surprised when I responded fluently in Khmer. With excitement he said, “Wow! You can speak Khmer! Are you Khmer?” I responded proudly, “Yes, I am Khmer. My mother is from Prey Veng and my father is Khmer Krom from South Vietnam.” The next question was a given, “So, which camp were you born?” For a moment we were sharing a common history. However, when I asked for a special ‘K’ aka Khmer visa, I was denied. Why? I did not understand why. I was definitely Khmer!

When I first arrived in Cambodia at Phnom Penh international airport, I did not know about visa ‘K’ which would allow me to stay as long as I wanted in Cambodia, at least until I renewed my U.S. Passport again. I learned about this in the third month when I was getting ready to renew my visa in Poipet. Visa ‘K’ would allow me to leave Cambodia whenever I wanted and return. Instead, I was required to leave each month to renew the visa I had and was paying $25 every time! Besides, the ‘K’ visa is only given to Khmer and for me, this would be another proof that I am Khmer blooded and that I had a homeland. Having a visa ‘K’ is like having two passports! It would also relieve the burdens of traveling each month, the cost, and the time I had to take away from my studies--not by choice but to renew my visa.

After an hour of debating with the various border portals and them making few calls, I did not get the ‘K’ visa. In other words, they did not ACCEPT me as KHMER. One of the chiefs said, “We know you are Khmer. You speak Khmer better than most Khmer living abroad that we have granted a ‘K’ visa for. Since your passport stated that you were born in Thailand, we cannot grant you a ‘K’ visa.”

My heart was broken as if someone has betrayed me. I was upset that the one thing about myself that I was so sure of--my bloodline, my root--was DENIED to me as KHMER. The officials had to follow the law, since I had no proof that I am Khmer. Besides my look and language ability, they cannot easily give me a ‘K’ visa. Knowing the history of Cambodian and Thai relationship helped me calm and be more understanding of why they had to do what they did. In the past few weeks, months, and years, Thai and Cambodia have fought for many political reasons. Therefore, they don’t like each other. Since I have a U.S. passport with a Thailand birthplace, they were a little worried.

They recommended that next time I renewed my visa to make sure to bring copies of my parents’ birth certificates. I told them that their birth certificates were either lost or burned during the Vietnam War and Khmer Rouge regime. After learning what I needed to receive the status, I GAVE UP. With a hopeless, “There goes my ‘K’ visa. There goes me being known as KHMER." For a moment I badly wanted to be accepted as Khmer. The thought ran through my little mind, “How am I going to get a ‘K’ visa when the one thing that they needed FROM ME to show that I am Khmer, is no longer in existence?”

Later, I went Saigon, Vietnam, (where my father’s homeland is located) to get my visa renewed again. As usual when traveling in and out of Cambodia’s borders, the border official did a double take on my U.S. passport. I never know what they were going to say next. You wouldn’t guess what the Vietnamese border guard said to me once he looked inside my U.S. passport. “Ahhh, so you’re Vietnamese?” I smiled and said, “Yes.” This is due to two reasons. One my name is in Vietnamese. Secondly, I didn’t want any long conversation since people on the bus were waiting for me. I continued to say, “This is my father home country,” in English. He asked with a big warm smile, “Do you speak Vietnamese?” I responded sadly and disappointed with this answer, “No.” He continued to smile as if he was very proud that one of his people has returned from living abroad. “It’s ok. Enjoy your stay in Vietnam,” with broken English. I kindly responded with one of the few words that I picked up from my childhood Vietnamese friends in one of the refugee camps, “Camon” which means “Thank you.”

Ironically, the only proof that I have of my national identity is a U.S. passport. Should it be ironic that the U.S. government accepts me for what I am or that I am a naturalized U.S. citizen and have lived in the state for 20 years now. What has made me American? Is it the fact that my grandfather had fought side by side with the Americans during the Vietnam War that has made me American? Could it be that I speak perfect English like an American? Or that I value the American dream? When do I start to call America my country? How long do I have to live and how many things should I know about America in order for me to call myself American? This is the only country I would call HOME and that I know of. It is the only country where I did most of my growing up and the only country by far that has ACCEPTED ME. What is really ironic, is that I had to live in Costa Rica, European countries and Southeast Asia to make me realize that, yes, I am an AMERICAN!


If I don’t have my U.S. passport, or a green card, does that make me a stateless person? Then which country would I define myself with? What rights would I have? Thanks goodness that I have a U.S. passport and that I have rights as any natural born American.

This question of who am I is a misty, open wide, endless window. With all the daily questions I receive in the U.S. asking, “What is your nationality? No really, where are you from? No, your parents, where are they from?” I was surprised to have it continue in Southeast Asia. The only difference is that these people look like me, could be my relatives or have crossed path with me in one of the refugee camps I lived.
My nationality, my birthplace, my language ability, my physical features, my bloodlines and history have all determined ME. However, sometime I question myself, “Who am I?” Who is the person named behind my U.S. passport cover page: Yenly Thach.