16 years old Yuki Sơn Lâm would have never thought that a simple Vietnamese wordplay would open so many doors in their journey to activism. Yêu Sách, meaning both “book lover” and “claim for rights”, was the core principle of Hội Yêu Sách, a self-organizing gathering in Vietnam, in which they began volunteering in 2010. At the same time, they also began to delve into the first underground waves of the Women Loving Women community in Vietnam by volunteering at the Lesbian Sport Championship (LSC). These experiences created a ripple effect, amplifying the wave of passion they still carry to this day.
NGOs and other civil societies have helped to change the views of homosexuality in Vietnam since 2003, counteracting the damage done by the 2000 revision of the Marriage and Family Law that targeted homosexuality by banning same-sex marriage. The first priority for the emerging LBQ movement was to create safe spaces where lesbians could gather, connect, and find a sense of belonging, and from that need, Bangaivn.net was born as one of the earliest online havens for women loving women in Vietnam. However, every step forward seemed to come with a pushback. Citizen’s sentiments towards LGBTQ+ people were further damaged when the Head of the National Assembly’s Social Issues Committee declared homosexuality a disease and an “evil thought.” Even so, their effort persists, gradually leading the nation to be the first country in Asia to debate LGBTQ+ issues in national parliament—though the result is far from certain, ending in a “no prohibition, no recognition” statement.
In the midst of these debates, Yuki’s conviction for LGBTQ+ rights deepened, pushing them to organize NYNA – Nữ Yêu Nữ Association (Women Loving Women Association), in hope that they could provide the sapphic community with accurate information about LGBTQIA+ identities, together with feminist ideas that had been quietly developing within her. After founding NYNA, Yuki’s life seemed to move in fast-forward. From spearheading policy discussions in the Rainbow School project to representing Việt Nam at the UN Women Safe Cities initiative in Mexico, Yuki embodied the dual force of intellect and empathy that shaped Vietnam’s growing LGBTQIA+ movement. But beneath the momentum, a quieter reckoning brewed. The more they immersed themselves in advocacy, the more apparent the dissonance between public ideals and private truths became—the patriarchal structures, exploitation, and silencing that still persisted inside rights advocacy circles. “It was even more horrifying than the already cruel outside world,” Yuki recalled, “because these activists were also on the frontlines of rights advocacy.”
Within the chaos of that period, what kept Yuki from completely falling apart was the presence of those who had walked the path before them. Mentors like chị Yến Nguyễn became quiet anchors, offering encouragement, guidance, and belief when the movement itself felt fractured. Yuki often credits her for helping them endure the harshest moments of activism. Yuki now finds themself on the other side of that exchange—offering guidance to young LBQ people eager to join the movement. Over time, Yuki has learned to accept that not every lesson will land. “Not everything I offer is what people need,” they admitted, “and for what they don’t need, my advice isn’t worth even two cents.” This thread of intergenerational care, of learning, leaning, and lifting each other, became the foundation beneath the LBQ movements in Vietnam. It is through this same thread that new voices continue to rise.
About four years ago, Stu found herself pulled into that current. Reconnecting with a close friend, a stalwart LGBTQ+ activist, she was invited to a workshop on feminism and LGBTQ+ rights. What began as a simple invitation soon became a turning point. “I learned a lot about the true meaning of activism,” she said. “I felt strongly inspired.” From volunteer to organizer, Stu realized over time that this was the path she had always wanted to follow.
Yet, her story seemed to follow a similar path as Yuki. As Stu became more deeply involved, the reality of activism revealed its own quiet battles. “One of the biggest challenges,” she reflected, “is systemic invisibility.” LBQ+ people, she explained, often fall between the cracks, unrecognized in law, overlooked in funding, and even marginalized within broader LGBTQ+ spaces. “Currently, very few groups work on LBQ+ issues,” Stu said. “Our voices still aren’t a priority. Not for donors, and sometimes not even within LGBTQ+ advocacy itself.”
Structural challenges were only one part of the struggle; the emotional toll within the community was harder to mend. Many of her friends who once fought beside her had begun to step away. “When I reached out to invite them to gatherings,” she recalled, “some declined with the same reason: they no longer wanted to attend community events or spaces.” Still, Stu refused to let disillusionment take root. For her, resistance wasn’t always loud or visible. “Sometimes, resistance means staying visible,” she said. “It means continuing to speak, and making sure our stories are not forgotten.” So she focused on the small things: pop-up gatherings, storytelling sessions, and circles of solidarity. Looking ahead, Stu dreams of a Vietnam where equality is not conditional. “What I truly hope for,” she said, “is that Vietnam will officially recognize same-sex marriage in the next five to ten years.” For Stu, activism no longer looks like grand marches or viral campaigns. It looks like connection, the kind that happens in living rooms, cafés, and safe online spaces. “Every small gathering, every workshop, every story shared might seem small on its own,” she said, “but together, they build the foundation for larger change.”
For Tuyen, the path to activism began a deeply personal question that would not leave her alone. Throughout her high school years, she became the subject of sexual harassment, and when she shared her story, she realized that people around her did not really pay attention to the issue. The question that occupied her at the time was, “How can we build a safe environment for girls?”, and that is how she began her quest to find the answer.
Tuyen’s journey reflects her identity as a woman who has always been interested in women. Initially, she was involved in sex education and prevention of child sexual abuse, gender equality for adolescents, and initiatives against gender-based violence. Currently, her interests revolve around health equality for women of diverse sexual orientations, focusing on sexual and reproductive health (SRHR). For LBQ people, SRHR issues are even less addressed, due to cultural contexts that make LBQ people less open about their sexual orientation and less space to talk about specific health topics. For Tuyen, her journey to becoming an activist has been a journey of constantly asking “why” and searching for answers. “This journey has not only helped me understand myself, but also how the world works for a woman,” she expressed.
She started the journey solely driven by her own urge without fully understanding how the surrounding factors would affect her. At first, she thought she had to do something big and see results as soon as possible. However, after a period of implementing activities, she realized that the core of the answers is something that is not easy to change; it is a social system that has been built, consolidated, and repeated over a very long time.”[In the end,] instead of doing something that directly challenges these inherent structures, I chose to build a solid enough foundation to ‘accumulate small things into big things’,” Tuyen said.
Like Yuki and Stu, Tuyen found herself confronting challenges that extended far beyond policy and law. The biggest challenge came from an unexpected place: her own family. As an LGBTIQ+ activist, she not only sought recognition from her family for what she did, but also sought recognition for her own sexual orientation. Whenever she talked about her work or sexual orientation, the response she often received was “difficult to understand, complicated”. That made her feel lonely and lost because she could not find spiritual support from people she trusted. Her feeling of loss is even greater because women’s issues are often overshadowed, even in the LGBTIQ+ community, where the issues of people with female bodies are often less present than people with male bodies.
Beyond the personal struggles, Tuyen also faces systemic barriers. Legal restrictions made organizing activities difficult, especially for grassroots groups without formal legal status. Resources were fragmented and scarce, with most accessible domestic funding coming from youth initiatives limited to about three months. This meant that activists could not support themselves solely through project work but had to take on multiple jobs, making activism essentially volunteer work. Personal financial pressures, lack of family support, and the fragmentation of activist groups put activists in a state of loneliness and burnout.
Yet Tuyen, like those who came before her, refused to be defeated. The solution she and other LBQ activists were applying was to build a community of activists to create a space to maintain connection, not only in terms of resources and cooperation, but above all, spiritual connection. With a strong enough community, they could together overcome the current challenges and those that may arise in the future.
Looking to the future, Tuyen held a vision shaped by her focus on health equity. She dreamed of expanded health equity programs to provide gender-sensitive, inclusive health services to LBQ communities, including reproductive health, sexual health, and mental health. Beyond that, Tuyen envisioned legal recognition of LGBTIQ+ people, policies to protect their rights, and topics on gender diversity included in school curricula as part of comprehensive sex education. She believed that the efforts and contributions of grassroots groups should be recognized and given more space to implement activities and access diverse resources, helping groups develop more sustainably. “In the future,” she said, “I hope that Vietnamese society will become a place where acceptance is not only on paper but also in real life.”
“Because the most significant changes usually start from the smallest actions, repeated, resilient, and relentless,” Yuki had said, a belief that resonated through the work of Stu and now Tuyen. From Yuki to Stu to Tuyen, a new generation of activists continues to reshape what resistance means in Vietnam. Their strength lies in quiet persistence and in the communities they build, one small act at a time.
