SAN LEON — The fishing boat parted the canal waters as if it were opening a curtain. In the folds of wake that followed burned the reflection of the evening sky over Dickinson Bay.
In the half-light Thanh Nguyen, of Bacliff, backed his boat to a dock at the edge of the canal and, with the help of a deckhand, stacked 105-pound sacks of oysters on the shore. The oysters are the currency with which Thanh and many in the often-closed community have built their lives.
Hurricane Ike in September 2008 virtually splintered the fishing community here, damaging boats and draining savings. Vietnamese fishermen have found themselves further isolated by language and culture and still are struggling to recover.
The evening arrival is a daily rite practiced by thousands of Vietnamese-American fishermen along the Gulf Coast.
Thanh and his deckhand cleaned, tallied their catch and repaired equipment.
A few fishermen who had arrived at the dock earlier unloaded sacks from another boat into a pickup. They wore
loose sweatpants tucked into rubber boots, oversized jackets covered with a chalky coat of salt from the sea and lime from oyster shells. Their leathery faces, tucked in the shadows of wide-brimmed hats, were haggard but quick to smile.
The simple hope shared by all was that today’s catch could fetch more than the captain spent on diesel fuel, so that they could take something home to their families.
Tightly Woven, Self-Reliant
In San Leon and Bacliff, there are between 150 and 200 Vietnamese families in a tightly woven community with all lines leading back to oyster, crab and shrimp fishing, said Phale Cassady Le, an outreach coordinator with Boat People SOS Houston. The organization, funded through the Lutheran Social Services Disaster Response with Federal Emergency Management Agency money, has 60 case workers at offices in Port Arthur, Southeast Houston and Dickinson. The workers meet with families and try to help them find resources to fix their houses, apply for public benefits, interpret and translate documents and help with legal counseling.
Phale said as much as 90 percent of the 1,600 clients they have served since the group began its work earlier this year have been Vietnamese.
Part of what makes that particular community’s situation so tough is its tradition of self-reliance and wariness of outsiders.
Fishing boats often are built by hand over many years as fishermen scrape up enough money, Van Horn Nguyen, a San Leon-area boat owner and fisherman, said.
Van Horn, who had one boat washed up on a street and another that is undergoing extensive repairs, said insurance companies won’t cover the boats because they view the home-built craft as unseaworthy.
Most of the Vietnamese don’t have home or boat insurance of any kind, and many aren’t versed in English well enough to interpret the documents if they did, Phale said. The group’s lawyers have reviewed cases where people thought they were insured but found the policies had ridiculous exclusions, like not covering water damage, she said.
Some are senior citizens who don’t know what to do; others are afraid to make claims because they are concerned the companies will punish them with higher premiums.
Many in the community also are frustrated because they thought they didn’t get much help from FEMA because of the language barrier, Phale said.
Immediately after the hurricane, a lot of nonprofits came down and only partially served the community, she said. What they left was unfinished business and distrust among the residents, she said.
Because of the community’s subsequent wariness, one of the toughest aspects of Boat People’s mission so far has been to get the word out about their services, Phale said.
Business In Distress
Meanwhile, with many fishing boats still out of commission, the whole supply-and-demand chain has been disrupted.
Thanh said he was relatively lucky during the hurricane. He recalls returning to survey the damage an hour after the storm passed and finding his boat was the only one remaining where seven boats had been moored. Some of the others were strewn along the roads near FM 517; some were not found; one was discovered near Anahuac, 30 miles away.
Vietnamese fishing outfitters and the middlemen who purchase the catches for distribution to restaurants and other markets suffered, too. Some of their buildings were flooded. Many serve customers who lost boats and income.
Despite the losses, however, most Vietnamese stayed after the storm because they had strong ties to the area. Fishermen like Thanh have been here 20 years or more, Phale said.
They watched some of their non-Vietnamese neighbors leave, taking with them the valuable clientele base for Vietnamese-run nail salons and other businesses.
Those factors, combined with the effects of low rates for seafood and higher costs for diesel fuel, are leaving the community in a serious pinch, Edward Ngo, a case manager for Boat People SOS, said.
To complicate matters all the more, the habitat for fish and oysters in nearby bays has been disrupted by debris that was swept out to sea during the hurricane.
Ngo said the fishermen he’s spoken with said they routinely fish out pieces of houses, furniture and trees from the bay waters and that the debris tears up their nets.
Running On Empty
Many Vietnamese fisherman are extremely cautious these days. They are keenly aware that every day lost to boat repairs is a day of forgone income, less food and the inability to make enough money to fix their damaged houses.
Thanh’s mobile home was badly damaged by the storm and still leans. His wife, Le Diem, said she, Thanh and their three daughters make sure to be gentle when they walk, stepping solidly on the planks they’ve laid down over holes in the floor.
The roof still leaks, and the wind howls through cracks.
But at least things are on the mend now because her husband’s boat is operating again, she said.
After the storm, Le was able to pick up work in a nail salon to help with the family’s income. Boat People found them some furniture and paid some utilities.
The rest will have to be fixed incrementally, with each load of oysters Thanh brings in.
Ngo said even though the fishing community is generally full of hardworking, money-saving people, many, like Thanh and Le, already have spent their emergency savings because they needed their boats back on the water as soon as possible.
None of the grant money through FEMA is available for reimbursements, he said.
In the short term, Ngo said Boat People is helping 10 families pay for oyster traps, working with fishermen to assess damaged boat motors, finding them furniture and housing if they need it, and hoping to seek out more money to continue its work.
But it is getting harder and harder to find resources because agencies are pulling from the same money pool and it is nearly dry, Phale said.
Back on the fishing boats, Thanh pointed to the diesel engine compartment in the boat’s center. The motors can cost about $10,000 to replace. He explained that water washed in and flooded the engine during the storm, leaving the beating heart of his fishing livelihood badly damaged. Even after an overhaul, he doesn’t trust the engine anymore.
To drag the big shrimp nets, he said, a boat captain needs to be able to throttle the engine to a high speed.
Now, even though the antennae-like booms on his boat sit ready to tow shrimp nets — in a good shrimp season — he instead uses a dredge for the labor-intensive task of harvesting oysters.
“For oysters, you go slow,” he said.
For a boat that still shows the wounds of the hurricane, a softball-sized hole in the front of its wheelhouse, glass shards beneath a new window where an old one was blown out, and a motor that is hesitant and unsure, slow is the speed Thanh prefers.
