"America the free," is what my people were told as we made our way to the United States as refugees in the 70's. We are going to a rich country. Where everything is free. Everyone there has a house, drive cars, have plenty to eat, shoes, and clothes.
We left our huts behind in desperation. Bombs and execution threatened our existence. Barefoot is how we ran into the jungle for hiding. Separation is traded for survival. When will I see you, again? Will we ever see each other again.
In America sponsors took us introduced us. People were very generous to give us: shelter, food, clothing, and shoes. The drove us around in cars to the welfare office, schools, various charities, and thrift shops. There are so many things. Wow, America is wonderful.
Amongst society, we got an awful lot of stares and questions. When we were not welcomed, we were ridiculed, and by far not normal. Americans accused of us being Chinese, Japanese, or Vietnamese. Those were the only Asians they knew at the time. "Hmong," was not a valid answer. There is no country named, "Hmong." Were we the enemy that shoved their young men into war? No, we were the USA's ally in a secret war most knew nothing about.
They moved us into our own rented house. There were expenses and money became a necessity. Things in America are not free. They helped my father get a job. He needed to buy a car to get us all around easier. They forced my mother into school and children into daycare. Free time hardly existed.
It was customary for an entire Hmong clan to hang on the words of elders. Families stood behind the dominant male. A fatherless family was considered orphaned. Hmong women were obedient house wives and mothers. Children respected their parents. Now in America, adults heavily relied on children to translate. Children carried a burden of responsibilities. Everyone changed their priorities in life. Some triumphed, some are lost, and some are still working hard at it.
Many still find it hard to adjust. What do you do when even women and children have minds and voices of their own? What do you do when respect is lost in times of difficulty? A new struggle had appeared. It was a new kind of survival that had to be tread carefully upon.
