I carry my home inside me.
Steve Baker
Minneapolis, MN
Inspired by Hmong American writer Kao Kalia Yang.
Nice small town has race issues.
Sara Przybylski
Stevens Point, WI
People think this is a great place to live, work, and raise kids… and it is. Just under the surface, though, there’s a little more going on. I grew up here. I saw my first African American person at the grocery store at the age of four-ish and loudly complimented his “really good tan,” much to my poor mother’s embarrassment. There wasn’t much in the way of cultural diversity (save a family here or there) until the late 80s, when Hmong refugees were relocated to, among other places, Central Wisconsin. Since then, our Hispanic population has also increased (some of the population is migrant, some year-round), and more African-American families and individuals have moved to the area. While the White population sits at around 85% or so, things look different than they did just 25 years ago… and some people aren’t reacting well.
I teach English as a Second Language, and work closely with many of these students who, a quarter of a century ago, would have looked incredibly out of place in our schools or on our streets. On the surface, things are OK… and then you start hearing things. We’ve gotten past the “Hmong people will eat your dogs!” fever of the early 1990s, but I’ve had (college-educated) friends make some comments that could have come straight out of the mouths of 1960s-style segregationists.
“I’m glad I don’t live in that neighborhood anymore. You know, the Hmongs.”
“They all used to live in the John’s Drive housing area. Why are they moving other places? It’s better to keep all those kids at one school.”
“They live, like, 12 people to a house. This isn’t the third world. We don’t live with four generations and an aunt and an uncle under one roof here.”
“I’m glad my kids are in private school so we don’t have to deal with all that.”
These are things I hear from people who I would otherwise have considered to be friends. College-educated, mostly. The half-truths and twisted truths and complete fabrications boggle the mind. The historical hypocrisy of it never ceases to amaze. Yes, many second-generation citizens are still speaking a language other than English at home. You know what? My grandmother, whose grandfather immigrated to the U.S. from Poland before her father was born, failed kindergarten because she couldn’t speak English. So, you know… pot, meet kettle. Know your own cultural history before you shoot your mouth off about someone’s assimilation, or lack thereof. Last I checked, we still eat ponczkis before Lent starts and dance the Polka at weddings, and most Polish-Americans in Portage County are, what, fourth (Fifth? More-th?) generation at this point.
I love you, dear hometown, but you’ve got some work to do.
“They’ve never heard of us before”
Lucy Moua,
Fresno, CA.
My name is Lucy and I am Hmong. “Hmong” some may question and say as most people are not aware of this particular ethnicity. Growing up, I’ve always thought my ethnicity was well known and familiar to people as I grew in a community where people embraced the Hmong culture even if they were another race or ethnicity. However, it wasn’t until I was about 11 or 12 where I realized that outside of small cities like where I’m from, people have never heard of the Hmong culture or even know that it’s a certain ethnicity. I remember a time when my sister who attended UC Davis in Souther California came back home to visit, and she told me that people thought she was lying when she told them she was Hmong. “What? Hmong? What is that?” or “Stop lying. There’s no such thing as Hmong” some people said to her. I also remember a time when I went to a K-pop (Korean pop) concert and I was telling my mother about the concert and how I was able to get close to the male artist, and my brother jokingly blurted out, “They’re obsessed with a guy who’s never even heard of the Hmong people or culture. If you told him you were Hmong, he’d probably be like ‘What is that?’ Why? Because They’ve never heard of us before”
Hmong is an ethnicity that falls into the Asian race, however ethnicities such as Korean, Japanese, and Chinese are really well known whereas Hmong has never been heard of before. As much as I love being Hmong, there are times where I just choose to tell people that I’m Asian and avoid telling them my specific ethnicity as I don’t want the typical “Hmong. What is that?” question to pop up.
Hmong American muaj lub siab tawv
Janes Lee,
Minneapolis, MN.
I am a Hmong American male, residing in the most Hmong populated state though we are still very unseen. The service our people provided during the Vietnam War, known to the Hmong people as the Secret War, has been invisible to the public eye. How fitting of it for the invisible people to serve in a secretive war.
But our invisibility ends now. We will make ourselves be known to the world and showcase what we’re capable of. Not in a way like that of the movie Gran Torino where for the first time the Hmong people made it into mainstream media only to be portrayed as gangsters and thugs or shy and timid.
We are more than that. We are educated, athletes, teachers, doctors. We are people who have survived genocide and will overcome oppression. We are a strong people. We are resilient. We muaj lub siab tawv (have a willful heart).
I’m actually from the United States
Katherine Ellis,
American Fork, UT.
I stood alone by the playground, kicking pebbles. Someone approached me and I glanced up eagerly, hoping for a friend.
“Are you Chinese?” the girl spat at me.
“No,” I mumbled. “I’m half Hmong.”
“Monk? What’s that?” She looked at me like I should be bald and humming in an orange robe.
“Not Monk. Hmong. My mom is from Laos,” I clarified.
“Where’s that?”
“It’s over by Thailand.”
“Where’s Thailand?”
Had this girl even heard of a world map?
“Under China. On the other side of the world?” I answered, trying not to let too much sarcasm coat my voice.
“Why do your eyes look like that?” she demanded, narrowing hers.
“Like what?” I asked, hoping she would drop it. She didn’t.
“Like this.” She used her hands to stretch her eyes into barely visible slits.
“All squinty and stuff. Can you even see?”
I hadn’t thought my eyes were any different from anyone else. They worked just fine.
“I have 20-20 vision.” I offered, hoping that was the answer she wanted.
“I heard that’s not even that good,” she retorted.
Clearly, I had been mistaken. I said nothing, wishing her away. The bell rang, signaling the end of recess. The girl skipped to the front of the line with her friends and I stayed behind. My arms were crossed in front of my chest, attempting to hold back tears. Was I really that different from everyone else? I inhaled deeply and wondered how the rest of 3rd grade was going to go.
Where do Hmong people come from?
Amy Xiong,
Minneapolis, MN.
Yes, I was born in America
Yonah Vang,
Fresno, CA.
Most of the time in high school, students who are not Asian are really confused. They can not understand that the Hmong ethnicity is a type of Asian. They also constantly assume that I was born in a different country.
I’m Hmong, and I am proud.
Kabao Lee,
Sacramento, CA.
I am Hmong and I am proud. I think it pretty much explains itself, but there are many people I know growing up who do not embrace their culture, needless to say I am proud of being Hmong. Even though many people do not know about the Hmong people, I am glad to say that I was born into such a beautiful race and culture. The language is beautiful, our clothing is beautiful, and just learning about the many things my parents had to go through when they were coming to the US is as interesting as it can be. My parents came here to the United States to better themselves, and better me, even though I wasn’t born yet when they migrated here. I am glad to say that with the risks that they took, I am now a proud Hmong American. Hmong is a beautiful culture. We may not have a country to call our own, but we have the many things in life that keeps us going and continuously growing as a community.
“You Speak English So Well!” -People
Anonymous,
USA.
The worst thing about people on the street commenting on how good my English is, is that the only language I’m really good at is English, and I can’t speak my own language. Whenever I try, I just fail, and life seems so pointless. It’s so much easier to speak English: the default. People who don’t know me think my English is good, but Hmong people think my American accent is something to laugh at. I never can fit in anywhere, and it’s one of the reasons why I am so depressed.
Husband Said Last Name Wasn’t Mine
Annie,
IN.
We just got married about 3 months ago. I am Hmong, and he is white. During some sweet talk, the subject of my surname came up. My husband said, “It’s not [your last name] anymore,” with a smirk. I cried. It was the kind of tears that just came, the kind you cry when there isn’t anything else. I don’t know how he could have been so cruel. He later claimed it was meant to be loving, but I had no words for that.
Chinese Japanese people just don’t know
Je Jack Vang,
St. Paul, MN.
When people see Hmong people the only thing they think of us is either Chinese or Japanese. It’s like our race has been deleted out of the world.
