South Australia’s First graduate Vietnamese Lawyer

Nguyen Duc Trí

Trí was born in a family of four brothers and two sisters in South Vietnam. In 1980, he left Vietnam with his big brother Tâm when he was just eight. The boat engines failed, leaving them drifting aimlessly for seventeen days.  They were violently boarded by Pirates seven times and stripped of all valuable possessions.  They even survived a deliberate sinking attempt by the pirates before slowly drifting onto a Malaysian beach where they were rescued and transported to the small island of Pulau Bidong. In the eyes of young Trí, it was a big adventure. For his parents, the decision to send their two sons on such a journey was anguish.  They had members of their family who have died on such perilous journeys.  However, faced with the prospect of their sons nearing compulsory age to be sent to war, fighting at the Cambodian border where death was the expected outcome, it was a grim choice between two unimaginable paths. I remember our father started taking us to the river in front of the house for swimming every day a few months before.  Then one day our parents had arranged for a big family lunch with some of our aunts and uncles.  Later that afternoon they took us to the side of the house and told us that we would go with our 6th Aunt and Uncle on a journey and we hurriedly left with them while the rest of the guests were still enjoying their meals.  It was a sunny mid-afternoon and we caught a bus on the side of the road.  As soon as we got off, our Aunt and Uncle rushed us behind some bamboo bushes.  It all felt very odd. I was scared, at the same time overwhelmed with excitement.  We stayed there for an eternity and in the darkness of the night, ran between the bushes; hid; then ran and scrambled a long distance through swampy wetlands swiftly looking back every now and then to see angry flashes of orange and red in the horizon in tune with deafening sounds of thunder.  I was to find out years later that those were from guns firing at us.  We scrambled on small fishing boats with myriad of strangers, fear in their eyes.  These boats took us all to another slightly larger fishing boat where we squeezed in like sardines and began our rough, long perilous journey across the seas.  My first memory of the sea journey was peering above deck in the morning, seeing rolling black mountains and getting severe seasickness. Trí and his brother stayed in the UNHCR-administered camp on the tiny Malaysian island, Pulau Bidong for 3 years, learning limited English before they were accepted for resettlement in South Australia. Life on Pulau Bidong was harsh and sad for many of us. Our homes were makeshift huts made of wood and covered with thick colour plastic sheets, predominantly of blue and white.  The camp was overcrowded with little or no infrastructure and infested with rats.  We were offered a can of highly prized condensed milk in exchange for catching 20 rats.  The reward kept us motivated to go on rat hunting trips.   My brother and I would spend our days roaming around permitted sections of the island and watching the endless arrival of boats filled with hungry, desperate, but relieved souls.  Every boat arrival was given a registration number that would mark us for the rest of our time on the island. Ours was PB-040. For many, year after year without an offer of resettlement, they would attempt to escape the island via makeshift rafts and risk another perilous journey by sea.  Most, unless they soon drowned, were caught by the Malaysian water patrols and brought back.  Others who lost hope would take their own lives and the news would filter through the camp via sad whisperings among the adults but loud enough for us to comprehend that a tragic event has happened.  We all lived in hope that one day one of us would be accepted for resettlement in another country.  The fear of being sent back to Vietnam or the desolation of never being accepted for resettlement was constant in all of us.   After nearly 3 years we were accepted for resettlement in Australia and we soon boarded a ferry that would take us to the Malaysian airport.  None of us knew anything about our new home.  My only recollection was seeing one of the movies showing a land of magic snow, amazing machines harvesting hay and large herds of grazing cattle and sheep; but those who had successfully resettled had sent news back to the island, with the comforting tip…look for a red flying kangaroo and once you see it, then you know you are safe.  I vividly recall arriving at a very strange and noisy place and seeing all these amazing aeroplanes, and desperately searching for a red flying kangaroo on it; trying to picture it as I had seen from the movies they showed on the island.  When my eyes finally set upon the red kangaroo symbol at the tail of one of the planes, I immediately pointed it out excitedly and felt a tremendous sense of relief. I was safe at last.  Things weren’t easy for them in the new land, but with the support of the Government and the Australian people, their life gradually became settled. Trí studied at Hindmarsh Primary School and was awarded Dux of the school in his final year.  After matriculating at Woodville High School, he went on to study Science at the University of Adelaide. At the end of the first year Trí finished in the top 10%. As a boy with ambition and with high marks in his first year of his Science degree, Trí decided to also study Law.  In 1994 Trí finished his Bachelor of Science (Jurisprudence) and commenced post-graduate studies. He recalls the hectic schedule of attending the Adelaide Law School in the daytime then racing down to the Queen Elizabeth Hospital in the evening to do his Honours research into early detection of Colon Cancer via studying Apoptosis in patients.  However, faced with the heavy schedule, he made the difficult choice to discontinue his post-graduate study and focused on Law and went on to complete his Bachelor of Laws, graduating in 1996 and became the first Vietnamese graduate lawyer in South Australia. On 2nd September 1996, Trí completed the requirements of the Practical Legal Training Program at the University of South Australia, where he met his wife, Sarah.  He was honoured to have now retired District Court Judge, Sydney Tilmouth QC move his admission to the Supreme Court of South Australia.  He was accepted in the Register of Practitioners of the High Court of Australia. He is now the General Counsel and Company Secretary of Redundancy Payment Central Fund Ltd, a director of Clean Swell Dreaming Pty Ltd and a Fellow member of The Chartered Governance Institute. Reflecting on his corporate and legal career he feels privileged to be able to provide and represent a large number of Vietnamese clients throughout his time in private practice.  He is encouraged by their increased awareness of the legal system and the protection and benefits it provides.  He also sees great benefits for lawyers and the client they represent when they can communicate in their client’s languages as is reflected by the many practicing lawyers and barristers of Vietnamese background. Having arrived from Vietnam by boat as part of the UNHCR Refugee Program in the early 1980s, being given a second chance in life and being able to achieve his dreams of intellectual fulfilment and financial security; he strongly feels that Australia is a land of many attainable opportunities, easily achieved with dedication and hard work.  These are the qualities which his parents instilled in him.  He clearly recalls a simple but poignant conversation his parents had with him just prior to starting high school: – We have all sacrificed and risked much to find a new home, one where you and your sisters and brothers can have a future.  You are about to begin a very important journey that requires you to work hard to achieve your future. He is firm in his belief that migrants are significant contributors to society. I feel indebted to Australia and the Vietnamese community – both have provided me with strong support and opportunities to achieve my dreams but at the same time I also benefitted greatly from a setting that encouraged cultural diversity and importantly, retention.  The opportunities given to me have allowed me to gain and develop valuable skills which allows me to contribute and help others.   Trí’s gratitude has been expressed through his work and contributions to the community over the years.  He is a founding Board member of the Vietnamese Australian Benevolent Foundation (SA) and non-executive director of Indigenous Education Foundation Limited.  He is also a Mentor with the Association of Corporate Counsel Australia, Future Leaders Mentoring Program where he assists in mentoring young in-house lawyers. Trí’s philosophies are to never forget your root for it will be your source of strength; learn from your mistakes for there will be many; always endeavor to achieve more than what you believe you are capable of for there is always untapped potential in all of us; and do what you can to contribute back so that others may have a smoother path. I never dreamt of being able to do a Law Degree because back then although I was adequately proficient in the English language, it was still my second language. The idea of studying law itself was extremely daunting.  My years in Law School were filled with reservations and self-doubt.  University life was an unfamiliar world and Law School life with its rich cultural history and affluence, so alien to my lived experience, had a mystique and complexity that made it daunting for a shy, ethnic Western suburbs boy. However, knowing the sacrifice made by my family for me to be where I was, I was doggedly determined to succeed. Trí feels blessed with always being surrounded by passionate dedicated teachers throughout his school years, some of whom he still maintains contact today and being part of a tightknit circle of family and friends and respected professionals and colleagues throughout his career, some have also become close confidants and mentors.  He attributes his drive and success to his amazing lawyer wife Sarah, and his loving and much-adored children Sophie and Simon.   Nguyen Duc Trí