Written by: Brandon Sheehan July 10, 155

I have become enthralled by the stories of those recruited to live in the Habitats. Many of their underlying themes are similar: hopes for a better life and full participation in a shared experiment to create a strong and cohesive community. Alex has already told me the story of how she and Kevin came to discover and chose to live here, but when I asked her for the stories of those she was around, she refused, insisting she could only speak to her own experiences.

She did send me to the Archives, a project conceived and created by Liaison Public Relations, commonly known as LPR, encouraging us, even now, to record videos describing our lives for future generations. After all, “history can never completely be known unless our individual voices are also known.”

When a person decides to record something for the archives, they can talk about anything, and most of us do. It’s safe to do so; our files remain private to ourselves until well after we die, and even then, nothing is publicly available for a hundred years unless we’ve already shared it.

When LPR created the project, they wanted to make it easy for people to share their experiences. Anyone participating was given access to prompts and questions, most focusing on their lives before they moved down, the decisions surrounding their choice, what they thought about coming to live in an underground city and how their lives turned out. Some recorded multiple sessions, others none at all.

In every archive I’ve viewed, it’s obvious each person carried themselves down here, complete in their complexity. They carried hopes and dreams alongside their fears, stresses, biases and traumas. Some trauma was individual, but most was collective. No matter the type of trauma, the intensity it carries in an individual is unique and needs to be acknowledged as such.

Ted Nguyen was among the first children born in the habitats. We know him for his contribution to the Nguyen-Nguyen Principle, which has led us to discover hyperspace travel. His parents and grandparents were among those who built this habitat, living as part of the camp in Shively, West Virginia, where the workers and their families were housed as members of a community. Ted’s parents, Suong and Thao Nguyen, were part of the exodus of families who fled their country at the end of the Vietnam War when the city of Saigon fell. They left to avoid being killed for their support of what became the losing side. Suong and Thao met as children in a refugee camp set up for the thousands like them. Subsequently, they and their families immigrated to the United States. (1)

The war in Vietnam lasted twenty years, serving as a proxy between economic and ideological opponents across continents. Each contributed money, weapons and humans, primarily those their government identified as male. The war led to over a million deaths and the destruction of over 24 thousand square kilometers of land, much of it fertile, through excessive bombing and chemicals released over jungles. And so, many ordinary people fled. Some fled immediately out of fear for their lives. Others left later, as the rule of the despots failed to bring them anything but poverty. (2)

I have to admit, the concept not just of someone killing another human being but treating the act as a necessity where the senseless death and pain brought to individuals is given no heed repulses me. Yet, as I peruse history on the surface, it seems it was “a feature, not a bug”, as the old saying goes. The acts of war and violence seemed to follow the evolution of humankind, with the first acts of interpersonal violence being discovered as occurring well over 400 thousand years ago. As technology developed, so too did the capacity for violence, which continually escalated as humanity hurtled toward the Catastrophe. As time progressed, more and more people were severely injured or killed, and even more were displaced from the land of their birth. It was a downward spiral of the worst kind. (3)

Over the millennia of humanity’s evolution, aspects of our societal upbringing have become instinctive in some respects. Not just our autonomic reactions, which continuously keep us alive without conscious thought, but the reactions we assimilate from those around us and pass down to future generations. As our ancestors evolved into more civilized societies, the reasons for many of those responses faded, leaving us with inbred biases no longer relevant to our species’ success. Especially now, well over a hundred years after the Catastrophe. (4)

We who live in the habitats acknowledge and treat each individual as someone of equal worth and value. A person’s position in our community doesn’t depend on their looks, who they love, how they dress or identify, or the number of units they can access. No one lives in poverty or luxury; everyone lives comfortably. We do not require protection from others. We no longer need a forceful person to lead us and reject those traits leading us toward unthinking compliance.

It was different on the surface before the Catastrophe. It’s easy to see why someone would do anything to stay in power when doing so disproportionately benefits them, especially when the inequities built into the very fabric of society bend their way. This is particularly true when viewed through the long lens of a historical perspective. I admit it’s easier to miss when it’s slowly happening around you.

To stay in power, Trump lied over and over again, starting with a small and easily exposed lie, “My inauguration was bigger than Obama’s,” seeing who parroted the line and who chose to break free. Moving from lie to lie, exploiting those believers, even when it caused harm to others. As the lies built, so did the harm, even moving to affect those who believed and acted upon the lies. “It’s going to disappear.” “It’s fake news.” Eventually, the lies became laced with undernotes of actively harming those he directed, using coded language to tell them to intimidate, hurt and kill those he labeled “vermin.” (5)

It turns out it was easy to persuade the surface population to hate. To turn them from seeing who perpetuated the inequities and instead hate those they were told are “other,” not human, not worth their consideration or forbearance. It’s easy to push individuals into volatile situations when they are perpetually stressed and tired and are convinced someone else will take the little they have. (6)

Aggressiveness is a trait initially consistent with our individual need to survive. Protection was extended to one’s mate and offspring and finally transformed into protecting the tribe. After a while, aggression moved from defense to offense, from hunting for food to fighting other tribes for resources. Physical resources weren’t the only reasons to encourage aggression. Instead, males were encouraged to fight for base concepts, such as who would rule and subjugate the other. Aggression became built into their entertainment: wrestling matches amongst the ancient Egyptians and the slaughtering of humans in Roman arenas. Not only can aggressiveness be linked to actual participation in these competitions, but it also stimulates the same within those who are spectators. Not satisfied with actual physical clashes, electronic games became available, many continuing with aggressive themes such as combative sports or the outright killing of digital figures, including figures meant to be human, further removing them from the actuality while continuing to enhance this trait beyond what any could deem necessary. (7)

In retrospect, the spiral of violence throughout humankind’s history is evident. My admittedly non-scholarly reading of history made abundantly clear that the old quote, “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes,” continues to ring true. In this case, the rhyming tended to show itself as an increase in the amount and intensity of violence, which continued through to the Catastrophe. (8)

Other inbred traits are also problematic. Instead of considering each other as equals, it became accepted that some were better than others and should rule for no other reason than their birth or ability to win in a competition, be it a puzzle or a war. This was also when expectations based on physical and sexual characteristics required conformity to the societal expectations of exhibited traits by a designated gender.

The more time passed, the deeper those thought patterns dug into the entire species. Some were eager to unquestioningly support one who promised a dictatorship, actively ignoring or denying similar situations in history. Their attitude was one of selfishness, wanting for themselves, regardless of what it meant for others.

There was an inherent bias in the then United States against immigrants, which was strange because the entire country was created by those who had emigrated from elsewhere. But with each wave of immigrants seeking a better life, voices from earlier waves were raised against them, each citing differences in religion, fears of making less money or losing work because of those who would do it for less. Those already established embraced conspiracy theories such as fears of disease. Add in skin color and facial features marking them as different from many of the immigrants who had come before, and the plight of the refugees from Vietnam rapidly brought out all the ugly symptoms of xenophobia into the open. (9)

Many of our ancestors had forgotten we all have a right to exist. Those entering with or without permission from the government were still called and treated as if they were illegal and should be confined or placed in involuntary servitude for simply trying for a better life. It was an ugly face to show those less fortunate. I have always wondered what happened on the surface after the Catastrophe, between those who left the worst areas and those they met in areas still able to sustain lives.

Once the Charter was in place and it was time to establish the habitats, the Foundation began to recruit. They found those who would build the actual cities and were willing to establish a society conducive to the Charter. Their first recruits came from those with construction skills and knowledge and those willing to work hard for a better life for themselves and their families. Many had known the derision caused by systemic, cultural or even personal bias and were motivated to live where everyone was treated equally and equitably. Eventually, the aim was for every worker and their families to live in the habitat itself.

 The Foundation recruited from all races and cultures without regard to gender or age, based on behavioral observations and interviews. Families were recruited together, with the caveat at least one member would be willing to work in the construction zone, and the others would support the community in the town where they all resided. In effect, each of these working communities also became their own social experiment: how would individuals from different cultures work together as a community of equals and bring the concepts of the Charter into actual reality? Would it differ between cultures? Or would similar structures arise?

These first communities created under the Charter eventually provided the basis of the society we live in today. Concepts such as Stores, a centralized ordering hub, and the Canteen, later renamed the Eatery, arose from these camps in much the same way across the planet.

Until the first residents moved down permanently in 1990, everyone involved in constructing a habitat lived in an area a few hours from the construction site. This particular story refers to NAHE, but the broad strokes could be that of any of the twenty habitats under construction worldwide.

For each community associated with a habitat, the Foundation provided teachers for children and adults. Still, aside from providing the necessary and requested supplies, it allowed the families to form communities without interference. The only time the Foundation intervened was when someone transgressed physically, at which point they were removed from the camp and the project.

Those recruited then seemed to have had enough of strife and hatred and chose to live quietly and in cooperation with each other. They embraced the Charter and, in each instance, chose to live as a unified tribe under the guiding principle that all voices should be heard. The broad contours of the social experiment became the basis for the government of the habitats.

By the time Suong and Thao’s families arrived in Shively, the habitats had been fully excavated, formed and lined with reinforced, specially treated concrete and steel designed to withstand catastrophic earthquakes and direct explosive hits. The basic construction for many sections was completed, and the Central Platform, the only way to move through the habitat, was also operational. Lifts, elevators and the base floor structure continued to be built.

The video begins:

Suong Nguyen - October 02. 2020

[Video view: a diminutive woman whose light golden skin and dark brown eyes are topped by her short, straight black hair. She sits on a dark purple couch set back from a wall upon which a pattern is rendered; what looks like tall and spiky plants are depicted in a dusty green set against the background colors of purples, yellows and reds, slowly undulating and creating new patterns. She reads from a tablet visible on her lap]:

Okay, what's the first question? "Tell your story about how you came to live in the habitats."

[She pauses, looks up, and we see her face fully on screen, quiet and solemn. She begins speaking]

My name is Suong Nguyen; I was born in the country of Vietnam in 1970, fifteen years after the start of a war fought to decide who would rule us: the communists who were based in the North or a democratically elected government, which was mostly made up of those of us in the South. My father, Bố, and mother, Má, were born near Saigon, in the south. My father was part of the military, fighting with the United States against the North Vietnamese and their communist allies. When Saigon fell to the North Vietnamese, we managed to escape on a boat, and eventually, we landed on Guam, a small island under the protection of the United States. I was only five, so I don't remember much, mostly I was tired, hungry and scared. (1)

I remember there wasn't much to eat on the boat, but Má had packed some food, and we mostly survived. There wasn't much to eat in Guam either. Once we arrived in the United States, food was more plentiful, but it was still strange to me. Almost everything came from a can, and there weren't many fresh vegetables. Even the rice was strange. In Vietnam, our rice was light, and each grain was separate, but it all stuck together here, and I didn't like it. (2)

We met Thao's family in the resettlement camp in Guam. They landed a few days before us and were kind enough to show us what to do. Our families became friendly. Thao was two years older than me and wasn’t too interested in having me tag along with him. We were allowed to choose from four arrival locations in the United States, and both families picked Fort Indiantown Gap in Pennsylvania. By the time we arrived, Thao’s family had again been there long enough to be our guides. Our families became even closer than before. (3)

We didn’t know it, but the Foundation had agents in Guam and Fort Indiantown Gap. They were looking for people who would stand up for themselves, without aggression, not prone to throwing temper and anger around; in other words, those who were not troublemakers. We were all approached in Pennsylvania, and when asked, my family said yes. Thao’s family said no because they had already accepted a sponsorship through a church in Virginia, which was further south, where they hoped to be warmer. The agents from the Foundation gave them an address to write to if they should change their minds. They could write to us too if they wanted.

Thao’s family left before we did, and I was lonely. I missed Thao and our games. My parents and I put our energy into learning English; I was much better at it than my parents were, but they could make themselves understood. The Foundation promised to help us keep learning once we left the camp. It took a while because they wanted to bring as many families as they could at one time.

In the end, twenty-five of us boarded a bus and left Fort Indiantown Gap on our way to what we hoped was the beginning of a better life. What else can a refugee hope for in those brief moments when possibilities are just over the horizon? The bus was comfortable, but it was a very long ride, and we didn't get there until it was dark, long past dinnertime. We got off the bus and were led into a large building. I remember the room we entered was very big, and I could see tables and benches set up in rows, filling most of the space. I don't remember much, not even eating; I was so sleepy. Finally, they took us to another room, already set up with cots, and I slept.

I woke up the next day to all the strange noises and got scared. I grabbed Má's hand, holding tight as we walked back to the room we had been in the night before. I saw lots of adults, some carrying trays from the kitchen to a cafeteria line, others were sitting at the tables, talking and eating. Everyone seemed nice, but they left us alone to get settled. I still remember our first breakfast. There were eggs, congee made with proper rice, steamed buns stuffed with vegetables and even Bánh Tiêu, a fried dough I remembered my mother making once as a treat. The residents of Shively had gone out of their way to welcome us.

After breakfast, we were shown our new homes and invited to return to the large building for lunch. Our house was clean with enough room for the three of us, my younger sister not surviving the boat trip.

[Suong Nguyen pauses for a moment and stares past the camera. She wipes a tear from her eye and eventually resumes her story.]

The house had a main room, two bedrooms, a bathroom, a small kitchen, and a room for washing clothes. It was tucked into an area between a road and trees separating us from the hill behind us, with a vegetable garden to one side. Anyone who knew what they were doing or wanted to learn was welcome to help grow food for the community. We were given time to adjust to being there, but all we wanted was to start living normally as soon as possible; we needed that stability.

Because Má was a good cook, she worked in the big building we called the Canteen. The Canteen cooked enough food for everyone in Shively and fed the work crews at the habitat site. Every family had at least one person who worked at the site; in our family, it was my father. He helped build the interior, as most men and even some women did. His shift lasted for almost four days out of seven.

By the time we arrived in Shively, the habitat had already been excavated and was lined with concrete. The lift area had also been separated out and lined. The main staging area and platform lift were already completed. Crews were adding other infrastructure and roughing out the separate sections, but most of the work focused on making the lowest section livable. Crews were building the individual floors and the interior wall, separating the habitat's living space from the travel corridor, installing elevators and creating a section we could live in.

The Foundation brought together all sorts: those with skills in construction and other building trades and others like us, just seeking a better life for their children and willing to work hard to achieve it. We came from many cultures, spoke many languages and followed different customs. The Foundation insisted everyone be allowed to learn English, whether to speak fluently or just to understand it, and they brought in teachers who taught us kids and adults. And even though the primary focus was on English, we all gave and took lessons in other languages, sharing the words of where we came from as well. I learned bits of Italian, German, Polish, and even Yiddish. But mostly, we spoke English. Having a common language helped us feel more connected.

Everyone living in Shively had been recruited from all over the eastern region of the United States; some had ancestors who had lived there for generations, while others had come to this country more recently. However we came to the camp, we were told we were all equal so long as we followed the rules. The rules were simple: share equally, treat everyone nicely and courteously and respect it when someone says "No".

We were given a nice place to live, but we weren't in it much since everyone in the camp spent time together. We worked in the gardens and met in the community center. We shared our experiences, whatever knowledge and wisdom we had, and our skills. We also shared our food, oh, so much good food. Everyone shared the food from their cultures. I remember many nights sitting with the aunties as they planned a future meal showcasing one ingredient in many ways or would join together to cook one culture’s food for a day. It helped remind us, and we learned to respect how everyone could be different, and still, we were connected. I always thought it was one of the best parts of living in Shively, and we brought our food-loving culture with us when we finally moved down.

There were lots of kids around, and I started school a few weeks after we arrived. At first, I was just learning more English, but as I found friends and my language skills improved, I moved to classes on regular subjects like math, reading, writing and science. Outside of regular school, all the aunties and uncles were happy to teach us skills and crafts they knew. We had people who played and taught music, and everyone learned songs and dances from all our different cultures. I remember learning more about growing food, sewing and knitting, and even creating dishes from clay. I even learned about herbal medicine. We had a staff infirmary in Shively, but for small stuff, most of us were more comfortable with the local herb person than those strange pills.

Time passed, and I was happy; all three of us were, even though we still missed my little sister. We had a comfortable place to live, the work wasn’t too hard on anyone, and we were treated courteously; the stress of simply trying to survive was gone. About a year after living in Shively, Thao’s family appeared, and we learned how lucky we had been.

Once they settled, they told us how the sponsoring church expected them to join in their worship. Like us, they didn’t have a belief in this Christian god. Our religious practices had been based on honoring our ancestors. The neighbors on their street resented all Vietnamese because of the war, which the Americans lost. They didn’t like anyone whose skin color was darker than theirs either. Thao told how they were yelled at and even spit upon. It got so bad Thao’s mother didn’t want to leave the house. (4)

They had received my parents' letters, describing how it was here, how everyone was working together and treating each other like a true community. It was the direct opposite of how they were living. It only took a few weeks for them to arrive, once they wrote the Foundation. This time, Thao was happier to be around me. I knew how to navigate this world, and he was still learning. He and his family quickly picked up the basics: treat everyone with respect, and being mean or bullying had no place there.

And so we all settled into a routine. When it was time for Bố to work building the habitat, he would wake up early, eating breakfast at the Canteen along with others on his shift, before loading all the food containers for the crews onto the bus. He told me they mostly slept through the trip, which was many hours. Once they arrived, those returning to Shively were already on the surface, along with all the empty food containers from the previous day. The crews moved the empty containers onto the bus and almost all the filled ones onto the platform, leaving the smallest on the bus so the crew going home could eat lunch on the way. Then Bố's group went down with the platform lift, picking up workers from their first shift until they reached the finished floor they were camping on. Everyone ate lunch together and the new shift settled themselves in. Once it was time for the next shift, everyone got back on the platform lift, which dropped them off at the different job locations.

Bố mostly worked on constructing the floors themselves. It was dangerous work, installing steel beams across the openings. Other crews laid pipes for all the systems or installed the elevators. Everyone worked two five-hour shifts a day, separated by a four-hour rest period. They worked for three full days, swapping with the crew coming down their last afternoon before coming home to the camp.

When Bố was gone, Má and I would be busy, her working in the kitchen and me with others my age in classes, learning our lessons. After lunch, she and I would return to our house, working in the garden or napping. Then it was back to the Canteen for her to work again and me to play outside with my friends or learn a new song from one of the Aunties or Uncles. It was a happy and stable life, just what we all needed.

It wasn't much different on the days Bố was home. Bố and I would work in the garden in the afternoon and give Má time to herself. I loved spending time with him. He hadn't been there much in Vietnam, and now we had a chance to be together. He told me stories he remembered from his childhood; I loved the legend of Cuội the best. On nights with a full moon, I begged to stay up to find the shadow of Cuội and the tree. (5)

Looking back, I guess you could call where we lived a company town, but ours was unique compared to other such places. The Foundation provided everything: food, housing, and basics, and paid us a salary we could use to order outside goods or send to family members in need. We created a small economy in the camp based on made things and services. If you didn't like to clean your house, you could pay someone to do it. Thao's mother bought a sewing machine and made traditional clothing for both families for special occasions, and then she learned how to sew other clothing, too. It was always wonderful to see everyone dressed in clothes from all our different cultures on holidays. (6)

But while the Charter's basics were our guideline, the Foundation let us figure out how to manage ourselves. We all wanted a voice in our community, which most of us had never experienced. Every one of us carried the stigma of being looked down upon and even mocked by those born into more fortunate circumstances with little say in how we lived. Perhaps because of our earlier experiences, we worked hard to see our community was run with fairness to all and that everyone had a voice in the decisions.

Discussion groups were regular events. Informal groups came together over one specific issue or groups organized around a particular focus, whether gender, age or culture. Even the children had a council to talk about issues. Most of the younger children were more interested in playing than talking, but as we got older, we participated more. It was a good way to learn about being an active community member from a young age. Groups were asked to bring up an issue and propose a solution. This stopped people from just complaining and expecting others to solve their problems. Once brought up, all the other groups could talk about whether it hurt or helped them and propose changes before it went to the main council, where all the adults had a voice and a vote.

Sometimes, someone broke the rules and needed to be punished. We had a council of elders who were deemed wise and just and they were the ones who determined a reasonable punishment. Most violations were minor since the Foundation removed anyone who resorted to violence. The worst punishment I remember was shunning. Those who were shunned still had to do their jobs, but no one acknowledged them other than the minimal instructions necessary. They had to live in a dormitory and eat separately from the rest of us. Wherever they went, they were ignored as if they didn't exist. The time someone was shunned depended on the severity of the offense. It was a harsh punishment; being shut out of the only community and feeling the disapproval of everyone around them turned out to be a pretty major deterrent for most people. Honestly, it was hard on everyone.

After living and working in Shively for two years, we were asked if we wanted to join the Foundation and sign the Charter. There were meetings held in our native languages and English to talk about what it meant and answer our questions. We were told even if we didn't sign the Charter, those who came to Shively as adults could remain for the rest of their lives. However, anyone brought here as a child would eventually have to leave if we didn't sign the Charter as adults. Signing the Charter meant we could live in the habitat itself. Since the rules we were already living under were based on the Charter, it wasn't a difficult decision; in many ways we would be formalizing how we were already living. By then, we had heard enough from the others in Shively and seen enough news stories to know that what the Foundation offered us and our children was better than what we would experience if we left.

It was an easy decision for my parents and me. Living in a quiet community where everyone worked together was healing. Nothing changed once my parents signed the Charter; food, housing and even the therapy sessions we had been participating in since we arrived kept going, but now we saw a future. My parents felt like they had a stake in this community and paid more attention to the adult council than before since the decisions affected us all.

By the time I turned 16, Thao and I realized we were interested in each other, and we got married when I was 18. He had been going into the habitat for a few years, and I was working in the Canteen. We were happy; our families were connected, and we had friendships with so many in Shively. We didn't need more than we already had, and the promises of education and relevant work for our children made us happy to continue with the Foundation.

Even though the habitats were livable in 1990, our families didn't move down for another five years. There was no pressure to move; families did so when they were emotionally ready. Our son Ted was born in 1998, part of the first generation of children born and raised within the habitat. By the time we moved, two livable floors were available: one for farming and one where we lived. Everyone still cooked and ate together, and in many ways, it was the same as above ground, only now our families were together every day.

Like most original families who lived in Shively, we weren't ready to let go of the surface entirely. Once the hotel opened, our entire family tasked there. Ted enjoyed it, but my daughter Rhonda didn't and has always been happier staying below. Our parents retired and stopped working, and unlike the surface, they don't have to worry about how they can afford their lives. They spend time with and enjoy their grandchildren and friends who've moved down from Shively. I'm grateful my parents have had happier lives after all the trouble of Vietnam.

Once we had two floors for residences, we opened the Eateries on the Culinary floor, and gradually, those of us who loved to cook opened cooperative restaurants with the foods of our different cultures. Together with our parents and others who were Vietnamese, we opened a restaurant with our home cuisine. I still work at the Eatery; most of us who cooked in Shively do, but we also create the foods of our homelands and invite everyone in the habitat to taste them.

Over the years, I've watched as the lifts were installed and more people came down, populating five sections. The first ones joining us were the smart ones, the scientists and the engineers working on the surface to create what we would need and use in the future. We welcomed them to our community and our lives. They joined our meals, and our families mingled. Each year, more people from different cultures and with different skills come down and enrich our lives and experiences.

Our children live happy and productive lives with a bright future ahead of them. It makes everything I went through as a child worth it, and I am so grateful my parents chose to come here. Ted no longer works at the hotel and is studying physics. He's been dating Lily, and we hope they'll get married someday, and Rhonda is studying psychology. Both are happy and healthy and looking forward to peaceful and fulfilling lives. Me? My life is great; I’m safe, without any of the stresses we hear about on the surface. We have a nice home, nicer than anything we could have had in Vietnam or even on the surface in the United States. There is good food down here, work we enjoy, and best of all, we have happy, educated children who get to learn whatever they are interested in and who can follow their dreams in a way none of us could have imagined. What parent doesn’t want the best for their children?

My dreams might seem small to someone else, but they are my dreams, and I’m fulfilling them. That’s all that matters.

Written by: Alexandra Hanlon 20625-04-28

Once our initial time in the habitat was done and Kevin and I had accepted our positions, we returned to the surface. As I packed up our lives, I considered what my new position would be like. My title might have the word “director” in it, but who was I to tell anyone what to do? I hadn’t spent my life preparing for this absurdly influential role. I had no idea what the situation was in the habitats and until I did, I had no suggestions to give.

The more I thought about the Liaison mandate, the more I wondered what being a conduit between the habitats could look like, especially when filtered through the Charter. I kept going back to Clause Two, guaranteeing the ability to make choices best for the individual without government coercion. The Charter also required a form of representative government. While I knew the Liaisons wasn’t in any way meant to be a part of the government, there wasn’t any other global body around except the Foundation Board. I found myself unwilling to let the Board be the sole arbitrator as to when to begin elections. Especially since while they apparently had a plan, they had yet to implement it. I thought about how easy it is to get into the habit of making all the decisions, especially when others allow it to happen without protest. Conversely, it’s very hard to let go of unrestrained power even when what necessitated it passes.

In retrospect, the LCO Initiatives and SIGs were directly inherited from the informal councils and discussion groups organized by the families involved in the construction of the habitats. How fitting that the very foundations of our society came in through consensus by the same people who became our first residents, and out of those building blocks came Habitat Governance.

Eventually, I realized all I could do in the beginning was listen. I knew I needed to learn from those around me—not only the people I would be working with directly but also those in the organization who worked with residents. I needed to find a way to listen to the residents themselves, not just those I lived around or eventually could consider friends. I wasn’t sure how I would be able to do so with those outside of my home habitat, but I was determined to figure out a way. In the meantime, I decided to do what I could within NAHE.

On the day Kevin and I finally left the surface and moved to the habitat, Ted Nguyen, a young man working at the hotel, offered to introduce us to his parents, who had been part of the original surface community while the habitat was being constructed. Two months later, Kevin and I were finally able to accept the dinner invitation extended by the Nguyen family.

I still remember the first evening we spent together. The Nugyens all lived together in Section One and invited us to their home for dinner. By then, Noodin’s appearance at our door notwithstanding, I had learned most entertaining happened outside the home. We brought a gift to show our appreciation for the honor they were extending. It was something consumable, which I had been informed was polite in our waste-nothing society. To give an item you did not know would be treasured was considered impolite, but small amounts of interesting food were usually welcomed. I brought a bag of sweet and spicy caramels laced with bits of candied jalapeno peppers. A kiosk on our residential floor sold a variety of homemade goodies, and I was a regular customer. It was well received, and as the years passed, Suong, Thao, Ted and Rhon became our close friends.

Suong’s story in the archives is similar to what they told us that evening after dinner. The one part she never mentioned to us was the loss of her younger sister. I cannot imagine the terror of Suong as a child having to flee from the only home she had ever known and the horror of watching a sibling die with no choice but to continue. I marvel at the grit so many immigrants have shown when confronted with the need to survive, and I saw it in the determination of those who chose to move to the habitats, always in search of a better life for their children.

And I consider how much abuse those who did survive were subject to. I know it was bad in the ’70s, but believe me when I tell you it got much worse, even as the world hurtled toward an unimaginable disaster. Racism, xenophobia and credible threats against anyone who chose not to march in lockstep with insanity became the new normal. It was ugly, and it got uglier. (1)

At the time Suong told this story to the archives, the 2020 United States Presidential elections were just a few weeks away. The Covid pandemic continued to spread worldwide. In the United States, it hit those populations who backed the incumbent the hardest, even though he spent most of his time trying to blame the pandemic on anyone but his administration or simply denying the pandemic’s existence altogether. A denial so many of his followers chose to emulate to their detriment. Based on his policies and lies, he contributed to the deaths of almost 400,000 Americans, with the majority of those fatalities continuing to happen in the areas where they most believed his lies. To distract from the horrible state he had led the country to, he tried to distract the population by working to incite race wars over the summer, blaming protestors who were protesting police aggression against minorities as domestic terrorists and using riot control weapons to clear a space for him to pose for a photo opportunity. Because in Donald Trump’s mind, everything was about appearance. He had no policies to implement to help ordinary people. Instead, he aimed to enrich himself and his fellow would-be oligarchs and implemented policies to hurt and harm the ones he hated most. Typical for a narcissistic sociopath. (2)

To be down in the habitat was to be able to forget the tensions on the surface, at least for a time. None of us could submerge ourselves entirely into the habitat, but some could do it easier than others. Suong and Thao had spent so much of their formative lives in the community at Shively that the outside world meant little to them. They focused on their families once they moved down, which eventually included Lily, who did indeed marry Ted, and even Kevin and myself as we all merged into a larger heart family.