From Shrimpers to Pioneers: The Vietnamese-American Legacy in the Gulf Tuna Fishery

Nestled along the southern Louisiana coast, the small fishing community of Dulac holds a remarkable story of transformation, resilience, and innovation. What began as a modest shift from shrimping has evolved into one of the most significant and least told stories in American fisheries: the rise of the Vietnamese-American tuna industry.

The Shift That Changed the Coast

In the late 1970s, many Vietnamese families who had resettled in the Gulf region turned to shrimping—a familiar livelihood echoing their roots back home. But as the shrimping economy tightened and profits shrank, opportunity appeared on the open ocean.

One man in particular Ken Trinh—an innovator, businessman, and fisherman—led the charge in the Dulac region. Recognizing the potential of the tuna fishery, he began converting old shrimping vessels into longliners, boats designed specifically to target yellowfin tuna. His confidence sparked a movement.

"He was probably 80% responsible for it all," David Maginnis recalls. "He convinced other families to build new boats, to take the risk. And once one did it, others followed. That’s how our community works."

A Model That Spread Across the U.S.

What started in Dulac quickly caught fire. Vietnamese fishermen in other coastal towns—Venice, Galveston, Sabine Pass, Pensacola—adopted the same model. Some communities had fleets of 30 or more boats, all inspired by that first wave of conversions.

This innovation didn’t stay confined to the Gulf. Fishermen from the Dulac area carried their expertise to California and even Hawaii, planting the seeds of a Vietnamese-led tuna industry far beyond Louisiana.

Fishing, Labor, and the Cost of Success

The success of this fishery was built on hard work and deep community ties, but the economics were always complex. In Hawaii, the longline industry operates differently: deckhands there share in the profits, sometimes earning over $30,000 per trip. However, many of the crew are Indonesian workers on restrictive visas, earning a base wage of $500 per month and rarely leaving the boats.

In contrast, the Gulf model was smaller and more community-driven. Fishermen bore more risk but also had more control. Boats that performed well could gross up to $100,000 on a single trip, but the high costs of operation and the burden of ownership meant those earnings were hard-fought.

Licenses became commodities in themselves, fetching high resale values, and the boats symbolized pride and perseverance.

The Evolution of a Business

Eventually, like all of the Vietnamese immigrants who had grown up in the fishery, saw the need to evolve. Rather than selling their catch to larger processors, they began marketing and distributing the fish themselves. This shift to vertical integration wasn’t just about profit—it was about preserving control and ensuring sustainability.

"A lot of what we did wasn’t just about fishing," Maginnis reflects. "It was about building something that could last."

A Vanishing Generation

Today, that legacy stands on uncertain ground. The children of the original pioneers are not entering the industry. The youngest tuna fishermen in the Gulf are in the late 50s. New boats aren’t being built. Younger generations are choosing different careers, ones with fewer risks and more predictability.

It’s not just tuna—it’s a trend across nearly every domestic fishery in the United States. Scallops, groundfish, shrimp—all are seeing fewer boats, fewer new entrants, and more red tape. Policies like limited access and leasing quotas make it harder for newcomers to break in. There was growth in the industry when families thought they could pass on their knowledge to their children, and they would have an easier time to make a living. Once live bait was banned from being used in 2000, there was a drop in returning fishermen. Then there were new areas that couldn’t be fished, and more policies that continued to restrict the tuna boats in the Gulf of Mexico.

Remembering the Legacy

This isn’t a story of decline, but of impact. The Vietnamese-American tuna fishery reshaped the Gulf, brought innovation to the industry, and built a community that turned hardship into opportunity.

"We’re not saying it’s over," Maginnis says. "But people should know what it was—and what it still means."

In telling this story, we honor a legacy that changed the coast, and perhaps, with the right support and recognition, still has more to give.