Nguyen Ngoc Nhu Quynh. Me Nam or Mother Mushroom. Photo used with permission.
Despite being forced into exile in 2018, dissident blogger Nguyen Ngoc Nhu Quynh continues to write about social justice and human rights issues concerning Vietnam.
More popularly known as Me Nam or “Mother Mushroom,” she gained recognition for her posts on environmental pollution and police abuse. She was arrested in October 2016 and subjected to eight months of solitary confinement before being sentenced to ten years in prison in June 2017. After two years and seven days of incarceration, she was released on the condition that she would immediately leave the country.
As an exiled blogger in the United States, Mother Mushroom consistently demands justice and accountability from Vietnamese authorities.
She has won numerous awards, including the 2017 International Women of Courage Award and the 2018 International Press Freedom Awards.
Global Voices interviewed her through email about her life in exile, the challenges she faced as an activist and writer, and the recent incident of transnational repression involving Vietnam and China.
Mong Palatino (MP): Why did you choose “Mother Mushroom” as your pen name?
Nguyen Ngoc Nhu Quynh (NNNQ): I chose the name ‘Mother Mushroom’ (Mẹ Nấm) in 2006 when I first began blogging. ‘Mother Mushroom’ simply meant being the mother of a little girl whose nickname at home was ‘Mushroom.’ I started the blog as a kind of diary for my daughter, hoping that one day she would be able to read my thoughts and the story of my pregnancy. That’s how it all began.
Then one day, while waiting for my checkup at a hospital, I witnessed a nurse shouting at an ethnic minority woman. When I asked why she was being treated so unfairly, the staff turned and scolded me too. That moment changed everything. My personal diary, which started with tender reflections on pregnancy, became a space where I began writing about social injustice and human rights issues I had never noticed before. It was a shift — from a mother’s story to a citizen’s voice.
MP: How has being exiled affected your life and your advocacy as a writer?
NNNQ: Exile has been both a liberation and a wound. It freed me from the constant fear of being arrested or watched, but it also tore me away from my homeland, my family, and my native language. As an activist, exile sharpens your voice — because you no longer live under the immediate threat of imprisonment. But it’s also deeply challenging, because your audience remains inside the country, still living under fear.
Everything I write now carries the weight of those who stayed behind. I used to write as a mother and a citizen. Now, I write as a witness to injustice and as a bridge between those inside and outside Vietnam.
MP: What challenges have you faced as an exiled writer and activist?
NNNQ: Isolation is one of the biggest challenges. Being far from the people whose stories I want to tell means I rely heavily on digital communication, which is often limited or monitored. There’s also the emotional burden — and more importantly, the reality of being just one small voice against the state-controlled media machine.
As an exiled activist, I constantly ask myself: Am I doing enough? Am I amplifying the voices of others — or unintentionally overshadowing them? That balance is a constant struggle.
In a context where activists in Vietnam face threats of fines, imprisonment, and prosecution, exile becomes the government’s most effective strategy to neutralize dissent. And yet, I find myself proving them wrong: they may have expelled me from the country, but they failed to silence my voice.
Nguyen Ngoc Nhu Quynh at a protest in Texas. Photo used with permission.
MP: You recently wrote about transnational repression involving Vietnam and China. What are the implications for local activists and writers?
NNNQ: The coordinated repression targeting Tibetan spiritual leader Tulku Hungkar Dorje and Vietnamese monk Minh Tue is a wake-up call. It shows that authoritarian regimes like Vietnam and China are not just suppressing dissent within their borders — they are extending their control across countries.
For local activists and writers, this means that safe spaces for expression are shrinking, even in exile. It also highlights the urgent need for transnational solidarity. What happens to a Tibetan monk in Ho Chi Minh City is not separate from what happens to a Vietnamese blogger in Bangkok.
And more importantly, in a world where political and economic shifts are eroding human rights values globally, I am seeking to connect with dispersed communities everywhere — small but resilient — who are still willing to stand and support each other. This is not an easy fight. But it’s one we cannot abandon.
