Hà isn’t quite the top student in her class in South Vietnam, but she’s close—she loves feeling smart and learning challenging things in school. But when Hà’s family moves from South Vietnam to Alabama during the Fall of Saigon, Hà has to face the difficult prospect of starting in a brand-new school in a country where she doesn’t yet speak English. For weeks, this is demoralizing and even frightening: Hà is the victim of overt racism, as when her classmates call her “pancake face” and ask if she ate dogs in Vietnam. Some boys even chase Hà and pull her hair. This causes Hà to hide to protect herself physically and emotionally, and it keeps her from ever feeling at home in Alabama. But she’s also the victim of subtler bullying and racism, even from adults. For example, her teacher, MiSSS SScott, incorrectly assumes that Hà can’t understand fractions or multiply multi-digit numbers simply because Hà doesn’t speak English. This causes Hà to remark that “this is / what dumb / feels like.” Hà, of course, isn’t any less intelligent than her classmates; she just doesn’t speak the language and so can’t tell anyone how much she knows. Through Hà’s experiences, the novel shows that bullying, racism, and false assumptions are extremely damaging, particularly for immigrants. This treatment can cause immigrants learning a new language, like Hà, to doubt their intelligence and self-worth for senseless reasons.
Related Themes from Other Texts
Bullying, Racism, and Self-Doubt ThemeTracker
Bullying, Racism, and Self-Doubt Quotes in Inside Out and Back Again
Then by chance Mother learns
sponsors prefer those
whose applications say “Christians.”
Just like that
Mother amends our faith,
saying all beliefs
are pretty much the same.
I tap my own chest:
Hà.
She must have heard
ha,
as in funny ha-ha-ha.
She fakes a laugh.
I repeat, Hà,
and wish I knew
enough English
to tell her
to listen for
the diacritical mark,
this one directing
the tone
downward.
On one side
of the bright, noisy room,
light skin.
Other side,
dark skin.
Both laughing, chewing,
as if it never occurred
to them
someone medium
would show up.
I don’t know where to sit
any more than
I know how to eat
the pink sausage
snuggled inside bread
shaped like a corncob,
smeared with sauces
yellow and red.
I shout, I’m so mad.
I shouldn’t have to run away.
Tears come.
Brother Vū
has always been afraid
of my tears.
I’ll teach you defense.
How will that help me?
He smiles huge,
so certain of himself.
You’ll see.
I’m furious,
unable to explain
I already learned
fractions
and how to purify
river water.
So this is
what dumb
feels like.
I hate, hate, hate it.
She makes me learn rules
I’ve never noticed,
like a, an, and the,
which act as little megaphones
to tell the world
whose English
is still secondhand.
[…]
A, an, and the
do not exist in Vietnamese
and we understand
each other just fine.
I pout,
but MiSSS WaSShington says
every language has annoyances and illogical rules,
as well as sensible beauty.
Things will get better,
just you wait.
I don’t believe her
but it feels good
that someone knows.
No one would believe me
but at times
I would choose
wartime in Saigon
over
peacetime in Alabama.
I thought I would love
seeing him in pain.
But
he looks
more defeated than weak,
more helpless than scared,
like a caged puppy.
He’s getting up.
If I were to kick him,
it must be
now.
