Onward, Cyber Soldier

Photo by Gustavo ArellanoIt's $2 per hour to use the computers at the Vietnam Internet Center, and the 30 machines get a lot of use. Kids tend to play video games, the elderly smile into webcams to keep in touch with loved ones in Vietnam, and software programs translate everything from immigration documents to tax forms into nine languages.

“See that?” asks Diane Vo, an attorney who owns Vietnam Internet Center, pointing to a Vietnamese-language banner advertising the place. “That's my name up there, saying I'm the owner. I'm proud to own this place.”

Vo's tone is defiant—with reason. In the past year, the Garden Grove City Council—led by Mayor Bruce “Bulldozer” Broadwater—has implemented repressive regulations against cybercafés, insisting that the virtual violence presented in some of the computer games evolves into real-life gang violence on the streets. The council cites the deaths of Phoung Huu Ly (Dec. 30, 2001) and Eduardo Fernández (June 8, 2002) as prima facie evidence for their argument because both visited cybercafés the night of their murders.

“It's ridiculous to link our business to gangs,” Vo nearly yells. “When the kids leave here, they step back into reality. Everyone knows it. And yet [the city] says that since gangsters go to cybercafés, they should be highly regulated. Gangsters go to banks, too—why not shut them down? And stores. And gangsters live in homes. Why aren't police cracking down on homes?”

Vo's so disgusted with Garden Grove's cyber censoring she's suing the city to repeal all cybercafé restrictions. Additionally, she is demanding the city issue a public mea culpa, admitting their comments and actions have irrevocably damaged the reputation of cybercafés. “They owe [cybercafé owners] a big apology for tying us with gangs and violence,” Vo says. “They've killed our businesses.”

Well-known in Little Saigon for her three immigration-law-related radio shows, Vo opened the Vietnam Internet Center in January 2002 so her family could work together. “My eldest son and I are lawyers, so we run our immigration business from here,” she explains proudly. “My husband is a computer engineer and takes care of the computers. My youngest son is an avid video-game player who buys the latest games.” She spent about $150,000—her eldest contributed additional funds by selling his house—to launch the center. But Vo admits that if she knew of the problems ahead, “I would have never done this.”

The first round of restrictions—a closing time of 2 a.m. and mandatory security cameras—came on Jan. 22, 2002, a few weeks following Ly's death. Vo grudgingly complied, even though installing the cameras cost more than $1,000. But after the summer death of Fernández, the council issued stricter ordinances: customers had to be registered, and security guards were required at closing times, which were moved up to 10 p.m. from Sunday through Thursday and midnight on Friday and Saturday. Vo argues that the reduction in business hours would bankrupt cybercafés because business doesn't pick up until 10 p.m. The proposed closing time also prohibited Vo from conducting her primary job of helping immigrants in Vietnam migrate to the States.

“At 10 p.m. here, it's noon in Vietnam, which is the time all the government offices open,” she explains. “People with visa problems like to check with me online beforehand to make sure everything is in order. I wouldn't be able to do any work, and many of my clients would have nowhere else to turn.”

On Aug. 9, Vo and four other cybercafé owners obtained a restraining order prohibiting the regulations from taking effect. In issuing the injunction, Superior Court judge Dennis S. Choate questioned the constitutionality of Garden Grove's proposed regulations. Fearing they would lose in court, the council on Nov. 27 relaxed its proposed regulations. The new ordinances push back closing times until 1 a.m. on weekdays and 2 a.m. Friday and Saturday, nix the customer log requirement, and require guards only on weekends.

Three plaintiffs dropped their suit, but not Vo.

“This whole ordeal makes me feel as if I'm back in Vietnam,” says Vo, who escaped the Communist regime in 1975. Actually, in this instance, it may be worse. “In Vietnam, cybercafés are open 24 hours. The government doesn't require customer logs or security guards. Sure, the government goes in once in a while and harasses clients, but they let owners operate their business without interference.”

Vo returns to court Jan. 30 for her hearing. Though the lawyer fees increase exponentially, Vo says money is of secondary importance to fighting to free cybercafés from government-sponsored infamy.

“I'm losing my shirt and pants for $2 an hour,” she acknowledges, “but I'm fighting for the underdogs, the people who can't afford to fight but suffer the consequences. I'm fighting for freedom.”

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