How Montreal's Super Boat People reframes Cambodian, Laotian & Vietnamese narratives

In Rosemont-Petite-Patrie, mortar meets pestle in a cooking workshop hosted by Super Boat People, where participants pound lemongrass, garlic, and galangal into kroeung—the aromatic paste that forms the foundation of Cambodian cuisine. The air fills with fragrant hits of citrus and spice, and there’s a sense of cultural reconnection taking place by way of the kitchen.

"It's serious on some points, but also very unserious or unpretentious in the way we do things," says Rémy Chhem, who co-founded Super Boat People with his partner Marie-Ève Samson.

The collective's name itself—a deliberate reclamation of the term once used to describe refugees fleeing Southeast Asia—carries that same blend of reverence and irreverence.

"We weren't sure if it would stick," Chhem admits. "Should we just have something like 'The Cultural Association for Cambodian, Laotian and Vietnamese People in Montreal'? But we decided to go with Super Boat People, and I think it works. People instantly understand what it's about."

What it's about is creating space for mostly second-generation Cambodians, Laotians, and Vietnamese to engage with their heritage—not through the narrow lens of trauma that often defines these communities in public discourse, but through the full spectrum of their histories, cultures, and lived experiences.

Deepened roots, a widened lens

The roots of Super Boat People stretch back to 2012, when Chhem and other founding members participated in Montreal Life Stories, a Concordia University project hosted by the Department of History's Center of Oral History and Digital Storytelling. Under Professor Steven High, they facilitated interviews with first-generation immigrants about war experiences and beyond, eventually expanding to include second-generation perspectives.

"It was somewhat initiatory," Chhem reflects on those early days. "This was our first experience where we were the actual leaders of a community project. That's important to mention considering that traditionally, first-generation members have been more in charge of things."

A decade later, the pandemic provided the catalyst to transform those early experiences into something new. Chhem and his partner found themselves at home with more time on their hands, meeting every Sunday to brainstorm how to restart something like what they had experienced with Montreal Life Stories—but with a fresh, almost "juvenile" feel.

Officially registered in 2023 but launched informally a year earlier, Super Boat People has rapidly established itself as a vital connector within Montreal's Asian communities, both Southeast Asian and beyond. Their approach deliberately integrates Cambodians, Laotians, and Vietnamese together—a thoughtful choice in a landscape where Vietnamese narratives often take precedence over others.

"There's understandably a bigger focus on the Vietnamese community because it's a community that's bigger, with more social and economic capital," explains Chhem. "We tend to forget the Cambodians and Laotians. I don't say that because I'm Cambodian—Vietnamese people in our circles would be sensitive to this question, too."

This inclusive framing isn't just about representation—it's about challenging simplified narratives about how these communities process their histories. Chhem describes his frustration with media portrayal: "There's a whole standard narrative. People would talk about history around the 1970s, then the reporter would ask, 'Have you talked about this with your family?' They would say no, and the reporter would assume there's a general silence around those stories."

Breaking out of tradition, challenging authority

Super Boat People's work proves otherwise. Through cooking and gardening workshops, oral histories, and community gatherings, they've demonstrated that intergenerational conversation happens—just not always in the ways outsiders expect.

"There is discussion, there is transmission happening, but it needs the right conditions," Chhem insists. "For it to happen in a respectful way, the two people need to get along well or at least perceive a certain proximity in their relationship."

The cooking workshops exemplify this approach. When aunties and grandmothers circle the room, offering guidance as participants work through traditional recipes, something meaningful happens: "For people to have an aunt or grandmother who is attentive, who gives them advice, who reassures them—that's quite transformative, because often younger or second-generation participants haven't had that kind of support in their own family."

Montreal has proven fertile ground for this cultural exploration. Chhem describes the city as multicultural, university-centred, young, and affluent—a place that "allows people to recreate what they are." He points to stories like that of the event company Deuces Wild; its co-founders included a Vietnamese man who organized Asian parties in the late '90s and early 2000s, creating spaces where Asian communities could gather to socialize beyond traditional frameworks.

"It's at events like that where people managed to break out of the traditional framework of the communities, to challenge authority, to do things that aren't within the norms," Chhem explains. "It opens up a whole new culture and a whole new dimension."

Cultural reconnections

It’s sharing lesser-known stories like these that make Super Boat People's exhibition More Than Good Refugees! 50 Years of Cambodian, Laotian and Vietnamese Presence in Montréal at the MEM - Centre des mémoires montréalaises so significant. Covering 50 years of history, the exhibition will present different viewpoints and different people, ranging from arrival experiences to contemporary realities.

"It barely talks about the war," Chhem notes, "but it covers moments from arrival to contemporary realities, like people who are mobilized for post-pandemic collectives, for housing rights, recognition of what's happening in Palestine, things like that. It breaks the frame in which we've always been confined."

Looking ahead, Chhem sees both promise and challenge. While he believes there's "enough fuel" culturally and artistically to sustain these communities for generations, he worries about what happens when language fades and first-generation presence diminishes from day-to-day life.

"If people don't speak the language anymore, if the first generation is no longer there...there’s a risk we're going to regress rather than advance culturally," he admits.

For now, though, Super Boat People remains focused on the present generational shift—creating spaces where the handoff between first and second generation can happen harmoniously, where lesser-known stories emerge alongside canonical ones, whereCambodian, Laotian and Vietnamese Montrealers can be more than just "good refugees."

As participants gather around a table laden with the fruits of their labour in that Rosemont kitchen, the conversations drift naturally between food, memory, and identity. This, perhaps, is Super Boat People's most significant achievement—creating moments where cultural reconnection feels less like an obligation and more like coming home.