Trần’s Building Bridges, Belonging, and a Bold Future for Denver

My story begins long before I was born — shaped by the courage and sacrifice of my parents, who fled their home because of war.

My parents were what many called “boat people.” They were among nearly two million who fled Vietnam by sea after the fall of Saigon. That journey was harrowing. Refugees faced overcrowded boats, starvation, violent storms, and piracy. Historians estimate that between 200,000 and 400,000 people died at sea. My parents were some of the fortunate ones who survived.

They first arrived in the United States at Camp Pendleton, a temporary tent city set up to process the wave of refugees. From there, they were sponsored by a family in Minnesota through the federal resettlement program. Ordinary Americans — people who didn’t know them but welcomed them anyway — gave my parents food, clothing, job training, and most importantly, dignity. That generosity changed the course of our family’s story.

It was in Minnesota that my parents met. They were just 17 and 19 — teenagers carrying unimaginable trauma, in a country where they didn’t know the language or culture. Yet, with the help of community, my dad trained as a machinery repairman and my mom became a seamstress. Their sponsors even helped pay for their wedding, setting them on a path neither could have imagined when they climbed onto those boats.

Not long after, my dad found work in Denver at Bar-S Foods. Through connections made in the resettlement program, my parents secured public housing in Sun Valley Homes, where I was born. From there, they worked long hours, saved what little they could, and eventually moving our family to the Northside into the apartments above the old Federal Theater, when it was still a dollar movie theater. Years later — through grit, persistence, and sacrifice — they did what once seemed impossible: they bought their own home, just 15 minutes north of Denver.

That’s the foundation I come from — a family who risked everything for freedom, and a community that caught us when we fell.

My childhood was shaped by responsibility. Because my parents were still learning English and navigating this new country, I often served as their interpreter — at doctors’ offices, schools, and government agencies — all while struggling to learn English myself.

At school, I longed to be like my friends — the “all-American kid” who went to the mall, had sleepovers, and stayed out late. But at home, I was Vietnamese — the eldest daughter, the cultural bridge, the one who helped my parents navigate a country that didn’t always welcome them. I lived in the in-between, belonging fully to neither world: not entirely Asian, yet not fully American.

By 15, the weight of those responsibilities caught up with me. I found myself on my own — couch-hopping and relying on the kindness of friends, their parents, and school counselors. Once again, community stepped in to catch me when I was falling.

It was around that time I met Josh. We were just kids — 15 and 17 — when we became teen parents. Josh and his family took me in as one of their own, and together we built a new life. It wasn’t easy. But love and community changed the trajectory of my story.

Today, as an adult, I walk alongside my parents on our shared journey of healing. Together, we are learning to carry our traumas with grace, to turn pain into strength, and to transform struggle into connection. Our healing isn’t perfect, but it is powerful — a reminder that love, resilience, and community can rebuild what once felt broken.

When I share this story, I don’t share it for sympathy. I share it to show the transformative power of community and advocacy.

Community gave my parents a chance at survival.
Community lifted me through my hardest years.
Community helped us raise our family, grow our small businesses, and nurture others along the way.

And community is the reason I have the courage to stand before you today.

But my courage doesn’t come from community alone. It also comes from my parents. Watching them leave everything behind, risk their lives at sea, and rebuild from nothing gave me a blueprint for bravery. Their sacrifices taught me that even when the odds are against you, even when the seas are rough, hope is worth fighting for.

Their bravery is my inheritance. Their strength is my foundation. And because of them — and because of community — I have the courage to stand here now: ready to lead, ready to serve, and ready to advocate for a stronger, more inclusive Denver.

Over the last 25+ years, I’ve worn many hats: mother, wife, sister, friend, small business owner, creative, daughter of Vietnamese refugees — and now, community advocate and public servant. Each of these roles has shaped who I am:

• As a daughter of refugees, I learned that opportunities aren’t handed to us — they are built with grit, resilience, hope, and community.

• As a mother, I think about the city my children will inherit and the community they will grow into.

• As a wife, I dream with Josh about a future where families like ours can stay rooted, thrive, and grow old together.

• As a business owner, I learned the importance of investing in people and creating spaces where everyone belongs.

• As a creative, I learned to imagine what doesn’t exist yet — and to see possibilities where others see barriers.

• As a reproductive rights advocate, I know that belonging also means the freedom to make decisions about our own bodies, and access to care that supports healthy families and thriving communities.

• As a community advocate and public servant, I’ve built programs and strategies that ensure historically excluded voices are heard, uplifted, and centered in decision-making. I’ve seen where our systems work and where they fall short. That’s why leaders must listen deeply, be rooted in community, and carry lived experience into every decision.

I am more than a candidate for Denver City Council — I am a bridge-builder whose life has been defined by resilience, advocacy, and the belief that everyone deserves to belong.

My small businesses — from retail shops and art galleries to restaurants, and one of the first non-toxic nail salons in the nation — were never just about commerce. They were sanctuaries: welcoming spaces where women, immigrants, refugees, youth, LGBTQ+ community members, people of color, working families, and neighbors of every background and identity could work with dignity, celebrate culture, gather in safety, and build lasting connections. They were places where belonging was as essential as business, and where equity, justice, and community care were quietly and steadily woven into everyday life.

When crisis struck during the pandemic, I didn’t wait for institutions to act — I mobilized alongside my community. Together, we organized food fridges to feed hungry families, set up vaccine clinics for essential workers, and rallied support for immigrant-, refugee-, and minority-owned businesses on the brink of collapse. These weren’t acts of charity — they were acts of solidarity, advocacy, and connection, reminding us that survival and progress are always collective.

Today, I serve as Deputy Director of Community Outreach for the City of Denver, working at the intersection of policy and lived experience. I’ve built multilingual and culturally fluent engagement strategies that bring historically excluded voices into City Hall and ensure they are not only heard but valued. I also serve on the Planned Parenthood of the Rocky Mountains Board and the Denver Commission on Cultural Affairs, where I champion reproductive justice, cultural equity, and inclusive policies that reflect and uplift Denver’s full diversity.

If elected, I would become the first Asian American and first-generation Vietnamese American to hold a seat on Denver City Council. But representation alone is not enough.

My vision is bigger: to remake the very table of power. To ensure that working families, immigrants, refugees, youth, seniors, people of color, LGBTQ+ neighbors, and every community too often pushed to the margins are not only included — but truly centered — in shaping Denver’s future.

My campaign is about building a city where no one feels invisible; where housing is stable and affordable, small businesses thrive, culture is honored, and every neighborhood — from Mar Lee to Harvey Park, from Bear Valley to Fort Logan — feels connected to the decisions made at City Hall.

For me, public service is not a career move. It is a calling. It is the continuation of the courage my parents carried across the ocean, the resilience I cultivated as a young mother, and the love I pour every day into my family, my neighbors, and my city.

Denver’s District 2 doesn’t just deserve a representative. It deserves a leader who knows firsthand what it means to struggle, to organize, to build, and to belong — and who will fight to make sure everyone has a seat at the table.

I am rooted in community. I am ready for change. And together, we will build bridges, create belonging, and shape a bold future for Denver.