Former German Deputy Prime Minister Searches for His Vietnamese Birth Mother After 50 Years

Former German Vice Chancellor Philipp Roessler, born Giang Duc Bach, has been searching for his biological mother in Vietnam, hoping to complete the missing piece of his life's journey. The search has been extraordinarily difficult, because he has only a handful of clues. The only information he possesses is her name, Giang Thi Dzep, and her former address at 40 Nguyen Hue Street, District 1, Saigon. The baby no one expected to change history. In 1973, a child was born in Can Hung Commune, Sok Trang Province, Vietnam. Only hours after entering the world, the tiny infant was abandoned, another heartbreaking casualty of a country struggling through unimaginable hardship. Poverty had forced countless parents into impossible decisions, and every abandoned child carried a story few people would ever know. Fortunately, someone found the baby before it was too late. He was taken to a nearby Catholic orphanage, where the sisters welcomed him with open arms. Every child who arrived represented both heartbreak and hope. The nuns gave him a name, Giang Duc Bach. Years later, Sister Anna Lucia Ri, who devoted much of her life to caring for abandoned children, remembered those painful days with remarkable clarity. People were desperately poor back then. Many families simply couldn't afford to raise their children, and abandoned babies were tragically common. Some parents brought their children directly to the orphanage, while others left them in garbage bins outside our gate. We accepted every child because every child deserved love and compassion. Among those children was one tiny infant whose future no one could possibly imagine. She recalled the moment he first arrived. One day, people discovered a newborn baby abandoned in a trash bin. They brought him to our convent, and we welcomed him into our care. A German couple visiting Vietnam came to the orphanage, hoping to adopt a child. Out of everyone there, they chose him. The orphan, once known as Giang Duc Bach, boarded a plane bound for Germany. His new name was Philipp Roessler. Looking back decades later, Sister Ri believed the moment had been guided by something greater than coincidence. I think it was simply meant to be. Out of all the children in the orphanage, that German couple chose Philipp. It was God's plan for him. His adoptive father was a former German soldier whose experiences had shaped his decision to adopt. After meeting many Vietnamese refugees during military training in the United States, he realized he had two choices. He could spend his life protesting the suffering caused by war. Or he could change one child's future forever. He chose the second. That child was Philipp. Although Philipp grew up without knowing his biological parents, he never questioned whether he was loved. His adoptive parents surrounded him with warmth, security, and encouragement. They never allowed his uncertain beginnings to define his future. When Philipp was only four years old, however, his adoptive parents divorced. His sisters remained with their mother while Philipp moved with his father to the German city of Buckeberg. His father made sure he never doubted where he belonged. Standing beside his young son in front of a mirror, he gently pointed to their reflections. When I was six, my father stood beside me in front of a mirror. He pointed out that we looked different. Our eyes, our noses, everything. Then he told me none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that he was my father. Those words became the foundation of Philipp's confidence. Growing up in Germany, he rarely thought about looking different. His Catholic elementary school welcomed children from many backgrounds, making diversity feel perfectly ordinary. After his first day of school, he rushed home excitedly. Dad, there are lots of foreign students in my class. His father burst into laughter. As he grew older, Philipp sometimes imagined he might have belonged to a royal family in Vietnam. He once asked his father, did Vietnam have princes? His father smiled. Vietnam once had a royal dynasty, but not anymore. The answer ended the childhood fantasy, but never erased the quiet longing beneath it. Who had given him life? Why had they let him go? Those questions remained buried beneath decades of extraordinary success. Because the abandoned baby from Vietnam was about to accomplish something no one, not even the sisters who had saved him, could ever have imagined. From orphan to Germany's youngest vice chancellor, the baby who had once been left alone on a street in Vietnam grew up in a home where love was never measured by blood. His father believed every child deserved the chance to build a future. Rather than dwelling on Philipp's difficult beginning, he taught him integrity, responsibility, and compassion. Philipp threw himself into his studies. Quiet and disciplined, he earned excellent grades and developed a fascination with medicine, helping people felt natural, perhaps because someone had once helped him when he had nothing. After finishing high school, he joined the German armed forces as a military medical officer before continuing his education at Hanover Medical School. Years of hard work earned him a doctorate in medicine at just 29. Medicine taught him how to care for individuals. Politics gave him the opportunity to improve lives on a much larger scale. In the early 2000s, he joined Germany's Free Democratic Party. Colleagues quickly noticed his thoughtful leadership. He spoke calmly, listened carefully, and earned respect across political lines. His rise was remarkably fast. In 2009, at just 36 years old, Philipp became Germany's youngest minister of health. Two years later, he reached another historic milestone when he was appointed Germany's He became the first person of Vietnamese origin ever to hold one of Germany's highest offices. The headlines celebrated an inspiring political success. Philipp saw something much simpler. Every achievement reminded him of the man who had stood beside him throughout his childhood. Looking back, he often said his father had taught him the principles that guided every important decision—freedom, openness, and tolerance. More importantly, he had shown him what unconditional love looked like. Those lessons stayed with Philipp after he married physician Wiebke Rosler and later became the father of twin daughters. Without realizing it, he found himself passing on the same values. His life seemed complete. He had a loving family, an international career, and the respect of millions. Yet one part of his story remained unwritten. He still didn't know who had brought him into the world. The questions rarely demanded attention, but they never disappeared. Everything changed because of a conversation at home. One day, his wife gently said, I came because my wife said to me, One day we'll have children, and I'd like to be able to tell them about the country where you were born. Her words made him realize his past no longer belonged only to him. His daughters would one day ask about their father's birthplace. He wanted to give them more than a name on a map. At the age of 33, Philipp returned to Vietnam for the first time since leaving as an infant. The trip began with a simple hope, to see where his life had started. Finding it proved harder than expected. Khanh Huong, the village recorded as his birthplace, no longer appeared on modern maps. Then an unexpected discovery changed everything. While visiting Independence Palace in Ho Chi Minh City, Philipp noticed an old historical map displayed inside the building. There it was, Khanh Huong, a forgotten name preserved by history. That discovery pointed him toward the orphanage that had once protected him. As the familiar yellow building slowly came into view, Philipp stood in silence. He had no memories of this place. But for the first time in his life, he felt he was standing at the beginning of his own story. Returning home, searching for his mother, and finding a greater purpose. More than 30 years had passed since Philipp Roessler left Vietnam as a nine-month-old baby. He returned without a single memory of the place. Yet as he traveled through southern Vietnam, he felt an unexpected sense of peace, as though he was slowly finding his way back to where his story had begun. His journey eventually brought him to the Catholic orphanage in Soc Trang. The building had changed over the decades. After the Vietnam War, it became a small medical clinic. And only after the COVID-19 pandemic did the sisters begin caring for orphan children there once again. Philipp walked through the courtyard quietly. He knew he wouldn't suddenly remember lying there as an infant. But standing in the place that had protected him during the first months of his life was enough. He greeted the elderly sisters who had devoted their lives to children no one else could care for. As he held their hands, emotion finally caught up with him. When I hold the sisters' hands, I feel incredible warmth. They cared for me when I was just a baby. Over the years, they have raised nearly 3,000 orphaned children here. Not all of those children became doctors or government ministers, but every one of them is grateful just as I am. After a brief silence, he added, they never cared for us because they expected something in return. They had no idea who any of us would become. Their love was simple, the love of mothers for their children. Even though they had so little themselves, they gave us everything without asking for anything back. The sisters smiled quietly. For them, Philipp was never the former vice chancellor of Germany. He was simply one of the many babies they had once carried in their arms. During the visit, Philipp spent time with the children now living at the orphanage. Some had lost both parents during the pandemic. Others had been separated from their families by circumstances beyond their control. Watching them laugh together, he noticed several of the girls were the same age as his own twin daughters. Later, he spoke about the children with visible emotion. I met these children during a very private moment. Yes, they smile, but not because the pain inside them has disappeared. They watched their parents suffer and die. He continued, I became an orphan as a newborn. I was too young to remember the horrors of the Vietnam War. But these children are old enough to remember losing their parents. They carry emotional scars that will stay with them for a very long time. Those encounters changed the direction of his journey. Finding his roots was still important, but he no longer wanted his return to Vietnam to be only about discovering the past. He wanted it to create opportunities for children facing the same uncertain beginning he had once faced. When he celebrated his 50th birthday in Germany, he asked friends and guests to make donations instead of bringing gifts. The money helped improve education at the orphanage and funded scholarships for young women from Vietnam's Mekong Delta who hoped to study medicine. His commitment continued to grow through partnerships supporting health care, education, mental health services, and vocational training for orphaned children across Vietnam. Whenever he visited the orphanage, he reminded the children that their future was not determined by the circumstances they were born into. Beyond education and vocational training, we focus heavily on emotional support for orphaned children. I promised every child at the Sockdrang Orphanage that they would have the opportunity to study any profession they dream of. I came from this orphanage myself, and I became a doctor and later a politician in Germany. I want them to know that their future is not limited by where they started. Even so, one deeply personal search remained unfinished. Over the years, Philip managed to uncover only two pieces of information about the woman who gave birth to him. Her name, Giang Thi Jep, and an old address on Nguyen Hue Street in Saigon. When investigators followed those leads, they discovered she had moved away long ago. No one knew where she had gone. The search reached another dead end. Although he still hopes the mystery will one day be solved, Vietnam has already given him something he never expected. It gave him a deeper understanding of who he is. The country he left as a baby is now the place where he continues to invest his time, his energy, and his heart. Whenever Philip speaks about Vietnam today, he rarely says he is coming for a visit. He simply says that he is coming home.