Saving Five: A Memoir of Hope

by Amanda Nguyen

I feel gutted. Like I had to spill the entrails out of my body, showcase how damaged they are, and then neatly package them all back inside, serving my terror on a platter, in a consumable way in order for the people who have been elected to care.

It feels like I’m only there to perform my pain for voyeurs. My trauma is on the menu to be consumed. The main course is the violence on the meat of Amanda, garnished with a broken criminal justice system. The literal legal bill is a side thought at the end.

There was no time to fear, to feel. No time to comprehend that loss sounded like a C-130 fleeing Saigon, a name that the city itself would lose. Loss of a name. Loss of a country. Loss of an identity. Loss of a childhood. Loss of innocence.

But there were new tools, too. Instead of painting park scenes, he painted the house with holes from his fists, his anger coloring the walls. He sculpted his pain into the people around him. His daughter became his favorite painting, a canvas that could heal so that more and more paintings could be made. Ink from blood and bruises.

“He started off as a hero,” I tell 5, “but he still is a hero. He’s a hero and a monster. It’s common, you know, for people to love those who hurt them. It’s not so straightforward. He was a lovable boy once, who was brave to escape. But his pain never did escape him and he put it on us instead.”

Secret Rule One: Out of the 535 members, both representatives and senators, there are only four people in Congress who matter. They are called the agenda holders.

Secret Rule Two: The lead sponsor of your bill should be a member of the majority party. Agenda holders are the leadership of the majority party. Compromise is the “C word” in DC. People are allergic to it.

Most bills that are introduced are called “press bills,” an excuse for politicians to stage elaborate press conferences, interviews, and media spreads to say that they care about an issue.

There is a difference between feeling good and doing good. Congress is less about the latter and more about the former.

I believe that most politicians and activists start off as public servants, people who genuinely want to do good for their community. Along the way, the game chews them up and spits them out. They become reality TV stars for the world’s most dangerous and important show, the 24/7 news cycle. How does someone navigate this system without getting lost? By having a clear north star. Few do.

We assume that people working on similar issues will be more open to understanding our stories, but what we find is that many feel like legislation is a zero-sum landscape. That our fight for our human rights will somehow deter them from getting funding or their issues prioritized.

“A 2017 study by the Centers for Disease Control (CDC) estimates that the lifetime economic burden of rape per victim is $122,461, which includes the cost of physical and mental health treatment, lost work productivity, and other factors. The White House Council on Women and Girls found in a 2014 study that the cost ranges from $87,000 to $240,776 per rape, which accounts for costs such as medical and victim services, loss of economic productivity, and law enforcement resources. Injustice is expensive.

I feel like a prized pig being put on a pedestal for my pain to be observed—in awe, in horror, in delight.

What is supposed to be a joyous moment turns into a swirling disaster: there I am in a press release at the wooden polished table on the fancy carpet, my mouth in the middle of speaking, in the middle of tearing my soul open. This is a press bill, nothing more.

Go silent? After his senator made a huge public display and speech for the cameras saying that they want to uplift my voice? Is this what politicians mean by being a “voice for the voiceless”? By literally gagging and intimidating victims of rape into silence so that they can get press? My anger boils. Chad is holding millions of rape survivors’ civil rights hostage all because of ego and credit.

Hope is infectious, but so is panic. Steady the ship. Be the anchor. Be the lighthouse. What happens if you’re the lighthouse for others, but you’re also burning?

need civil rights more than we need political gain. Pawns become queens when pushed to the edge of the board. We can become powerful when we’re pushed far enough and have had enough.

Grief is worth going through. Each stage is painful but has a lesson to teach us. Denial provides us hope. Anger gives us fuel. Bargaining teaches us value. Sadness grants us our humanity. And Acceptance … acceptance of grief reveals to us that we are made of love. At the end of all this, at the end of the tunnel, is healing.”

Insanity to one human is just reality to another. By definition, my life is insane. To challenge the US government, to take a gamble without knowing the ending. To fight a centuries-old, deeply entrenched system, thinking I could win. To quit the CIA, fingers up to the world, this twentysomething Asian girl who looks nothing like what “powerful” usually looks like. But I think it’s more insane to accept the status quo. Sanity depends on the vantage point of the viewer. Do you have a seat at the table? Or are you what’s on the menu?