By Larry Shurilla
After a short pause, I continued my acceptance speech. “My grandfather said we could be free in America and that was his dream. I stand before you tonight as a grandson of a Laotian refugee and as a senator of the Congress of the United States of America—the freest country in the world! I chose to run for senator because I still carry my grandpa’s and Thomas Jefferson’s dream in my heart, that all men and women are created equal and that God has given us the right to live in freedom and not be persecuted. He has given us the right, by our own hard work and ability, to try and make our lives better than those who have gone before us. My people, the Hmong, as the newest immigrant wave to seek refuge on these golden shores, face many challenges, but this is nothing new to America. The Irish, the Polish, the Germans, the Africans, what people haven’t faced challenges to integrate into the fabric of America and what people do not face challenges today? What is good for one race of Americans is good for all Americans. I pledge my life to honor the trust you have placed in me to work for the good of all my fellow citizens of this blessed land. I thank God for my life, my grandpa for his dream, and tonight, I thank you all for your votes and your confidence!”
Once again, the crowd boiled over with wild applause and then I noticed a small group of people making their way toward our stage. As they drew near I could tell they were holding something rather bulky and heavy. When I caught a glimpse of bright red, white, and blue, I knew the secret of their precious package. They began to unfurl a large American flag, that took four people to hold, and started flapping it like it was waving in the breeze. Then, to my great surprise, seated right next to the billowing flag, Grandma Blia, now bent with age, along with my mother, my wife, Aunt Paxia, and my daughter, slowly stood and began carefully unfolding another fabric I immediately recognized, our family’s tapestry! They were all excitedly pointing to the lower right portion of the bright blue fabric and motioning for me to come over and see! I made my way through the happy crowd, shaking hands, thanking friends, and accepting well wishes. I knew the tapestry so well, knew that in the lower right corner there was no embroidery. It was an empty spot, waiting for the next notable event in our family’s story.
As I approached those wonderful women who have taught me so much about love and what it means to be a family, my eye caught the corner of the fabric. There, neatly stitched with the care and love of my aged grandmother, Blia, was a needlework image of me standing in front of the United States Capitol building in Washington D.C. An American flag was waving proudly atop the Capitol and I, I was holding a small, blue rectangle, bordered by two thick red stripes, one across the top and bottom, with a large, solid white circle in the center-the national flag of Laos.
For me, that moment will always be frozen in time. Looking at those beautiful, loving women–four generations of Hmong, now, four generations of Americans, holding that priceless history of my family, was just about the proudest moment in my life. But even at this moment of my greatest triumph, I felt, somehow, that something, or someone, was missing.
*****
“At long last, the date for our departure from Nong Khai arrived and we gathered up our meager possessions and were taken by railroad about 300 miles south to Thailand’s capital city, Bangkok, for some final testing and processing. Luckily we passed and began the long, and I truly mean long, flight to America. “
“Do you know how far away Thailand is, Justin?”
“I have no idea, Grandpa.”
“The trip from Bangkok to Atlanta, Georgia is over 9,000 miles! That’s over a third of the earth’s circumference! It’s like flying from New York to Los Angeles almost 4 times in a row! We’d never flown on a plane before and being cooped up for so long, I almost wished we were paddling on our homemade raft back in the Mekong River! I’m telling you these things because I want you to realize that every step of our path to the U.S. has been difficult. Every time we thought the worst was over, that things would start getting better, we would meet another obstacle to overcome; but somewhere deep down inside, I knew it would all be worth it, because we were doing it for Sher and for Paxia and for you, for those who would come after us.
“Once in America, besides our new found freedom, we also found that with some people, we were not welcome. At first we were just so thankful to be out of the refugee camp and able to walk down a street without the fear of being chased, shot at, or scolded by angry soldiers, but as time wore on we could see on the faces of some Americans that we were not wanted here either. I also noticed that being around so many white skinned people was a little unsettling to me. Maybe I was a little prejudiced too! Racism is an ugly thing, no matter where it’s found and it doesn’t stop at the borders of countries.
“One day your father, Sher, came home from school, crying. He said that the kids at school were making fun of him again and calling him dumb and stupid. Sher said one bully in particular came up to him and showed him a photograph. The bully said, ‘See this picture, Sher? That’s my dog. He’s a Black Lab. I call him, Duke. Do you know what your kind would call him? Dinner!’ Then Sher and this bully got into a big fistfight and both were given after-school detentions by the Vice-Principal. Those were tough days for your father.
“Don’t’ misunderstand, Justin. We met many wonderful families in America that actually took us in and shared their food, clothes, and homes with us. Those first few months in America, when we felt so out of place and were adjusting to the culture, we were blessed to live with wonderful people in Good Hope, Georgia and Selma, Alabama. Kinder people don’t exist! Without those caring people, I don’t think we could have survived the transition to western society.
“As hard as the move to America was on me and the kids, living in the deep South was especially difficult for Blia. She felt so isolated and uprooted. Living with a deaf husband who didn’t talk much, trying to fit in with an American family’s daily routines and feeling her own family traditions slowly eroding was almost too much for her. I remember many mornings her pillow was wet from tears. We had some very serious talks and knew we had to make another change. Until you are really on your own, you cannot feel free.
“After a few years of living with host American families, we had the opportunity to move in with a number of other Laotian families in Chicago, Illinois. Although we were cramped, sharing an apartment with five other Hmong families, Blia was the happiest I had seen her in years. We now had friends who were going through the same culture shock that we were and we could finally communicate in our native language. After a few years in Chicago, we moved here, to our own home in Milwaukee where we’ve been ever since.
“You may not realize this, but speaking and listening to a foreign language is exhausting. I learned this, even before I became deaf, but Blia had to learn it in America. Every word takes concentration and effort. When we first came over, it was a little easier for me because I knew English pretty well, but for most Hmong, the English language is an incredible barrier. Until you learn English, there is an invisible wall between you and the rest of America. This wall of English must be overcome in order for our people to progress.
“I knew that our children would face a difficult challenge. They had first learned the Hmong language at home and then they would have to go to American schools and interact with children who only spoke English. I knew some Americans would think we were stupid because of our broken English, but these things just had to be. What I tell you now, Justin, you must never forget, never!!
“People are pretty much the same, everywhere. In Laos, we hated the North Vietnamese for forcing us to leave our home. In Thailand, the Thai people wanted us out, and now, some Americans see Hmong, in the same way, as people who don’t belong, but there are good and bad people in all countries and America is a very special land of opportunity. In America, the law has set us free. Here in America, all people are protected by the words of our most noble documents—the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. I didn’t know much about these documents before I came here, but I have learned. They protect us. These documents state that all men are created equal and that God has blessed each of us with the right to pursue happiness and not live in fear.
“God has led us to America, not so much to give us things or to make our lives easier, but so that we can give to America and help make her stronger. As America grows in strength, so does the dream of freedom for the world. The Laotian people, the Hmong, have much to share. Our people are strong and good. We work hard and know how to show respect. We value the family above all else. America has many problems, but its biggest problem is that she is forgetting the family. We will help make America stronger, help her remember the family. We are as American as any Irish, German, African, or Italian person. Don’t ever forget that! We just haven’t been here as long. Except for Native Americans, America is a nation of immigrants. Unlike many earlier generations of immigrants, our path to America may not have led us by boat past the Statue of Liberty, our path was by an airplane that came up through the southern United States, but we are as American as anyone. In fact, as the newest Americans, perhaps, we are the most American of all, for we know what it’s like to live each day in fear and each breath we take of freedom fills us with hope that there’ll be a better day ahead. This is the dream of America.
“Now, Justin, I am growing old and don’t have a lot of time left to really make a difference for our people or for America, but you do and I love you so much. There’s not a lot an old, deaf man can do, but you are young, smart, and so full of hope! Your generation must keep our Hmong traditions alive and you must help make America a better place. In Laos, we could not live free. The North Vietnamese Government wanted to punish us, but here in America, we have been given a very great gift—our freedom to live and worship as we choose. We earned the right to live here. We fought alongside the Americans in the Vietnam War. I didn’t know it then, but I see the hand of God in it now. I thought I was fighting to protect Laos from invasion, and I was, but as I look back on the war now, I see I was also fighting for my right to come to America, the right to come to a place where freedom is the greatest gift of all, where a whole people would rather die than live in bondage. Learn English well, Justin. Learn the history of America. It is a long story of freedom. It is our history now, and our history is now part of America’s.”
*****
The day after the election, there was a place I knew I had to visit, a story I needed to share. When my grandpa died suddenly of a heart attack fourteen years previously, I had a difficult time accepting that he was really gone. There were so many stories that I knew I would never hear from him, so many questions I wanted to ask that I never took the time to ask, but how thankful I was, for that special talk we had when I was a curious boy of thirteen and he opened up his gracious heart and shared our family’s story with me.
As I walked upon the grass, almost hesitantly, perhaps a little afraid to actually reach my destination-there it was, a small white rectangle amid ten or more equally small rectangles, neatly spaced. The limestone grave marker, with the letters of my grandfather’s name, Xeng Thao, deeply etched into its surface, stood stiffly, like it was standing at attention, guarding a place of profound respect, which indeed, it was. Beneath his name and the dates of his birth and death was etched, “Treeholder.” My grandfather had been buried in an older cemetery in downtown Milwaukee, one that was embedded in the heart of the city; one that had little space, many mature trees, and probably hadn’t seen a new entry in quite a few years. To me, this place was hallowed ground.
As I came upon his grave, I felt an overwhelming sense of pride and loss. I was so proud to be his grandson, yet, so sad that he wasn’t here to share in my greatest triumph. I knelt down at the foot of his stone and put my hands on top of it and started to cry. Between sobs, I said, “When you were here with us, Grandpa, you never heard my voice, but maybe now, you can. You did it, Grandpa! Thanks to you, we made it. You came to America to find a better home for us, make a better life for our family, and you did it. Thank you, for bringing us here. Thank you for providing us a home in the freest country in the world and for the opportunity to live a better life. Thank you for fighting for freedom in Laos, for hiding in the jungle all those years, and for surviving the long, bleak days of the refugee camp. You never lost hope that there was a better place for the Thao family and you were right; you were right. The sacrifices that you and Grandma Blia made for us were truly worth it! You once told me you believed that God led us, the Hmong, here for a reason, to help America remember the importance of the family and help make America stronger. I think I can help make that difference now. I’ve been elected a senator and have pledged my life to serve this country, our country. I finally realize how understanding our past helps us move forward with purpose. Because of you, I’m so proud to be Hmong and to know where I’ve come from and I’m also proud to be American and know where I’m going. Oh, Grandpa, how I wish you were here!”
I slowly stood up and prepared to go home. As I leaned one hand against a big maple tree a few feet from my grandfather’s grave stone and began wiping the tears with my other, I felt something crawl on my fingers and quickly shook my hand off the tree and looked at the ground to see what it was. The ground was practically barren, just neatly trimmed grass. Then my eyes caught a blur of red, flutter just above me and land on a lower branch of the maple tree. I quickly noticed the tree was beginning to fill with cardinals! From every direction, swift, red streaks were blazing into the maple tree and filling it with song and brilliant color. I gently placed my hands onto the tree trunk, smiled, and felt for a grand moment in my life, God’s pleasure. As I stood there, marveling, I looked up into the miracle sent from my grandpa and whispered, “Thanks for the message, Grandpa; I’m glad you heard.” I then closed my eyes and bowed my head, oh, so thankful, to feel the song.”
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