In Vietnamese-American families, the term “conservation,” or Bảo tồn thiên nhiên, is a luxurious word, heavily laden with implications of something frivolous, only meant for Caucasian men with financial means to pursue. My curiosity about conservation and intricate ecological systems did not develop from growing up with my family’s penchant for nature—rather, it was stunted in its growth, and struggled against their constant pleas to choose a financially stable career, preferably a doctor or lawyer. Given that I came from a low-income household in an urban neighborhood, my decision to go into conservation was certainly an anomaly.
My first introduction to the concepts of environmental justice and biology came from my time working at the local community farm. I kept this job a secret from my parents, making sure to scrub my nails clean every time I came home. Another important piece of Bảo tồn thiên nhiên was that it belonged to the world of men. My former self, known as “Annie,” was someone my parents had expected to be a graceful Vietnamese woman with long, black hair. Instead, I dug my hands in the earth, I wore men’s work clothes, and I wistfully dreamt of exploration through tropical jungles and uncovering new species.