Examining the immigrant roots of my family

Many people know about the Vietnam War, but when asked about the U.S. Secret War in Laos, not a single person I spoke with had heard of it. Looking into my maternal grandfather’s journey from Laos to the United States has given me an insight to what the secret war was to my grandfather’s people, the Hmong.

As the Vietnam War erupted in 1961, the U.S. military saw that communists had crossed over into Laos. Conflicts emerged in Laos with the two political parties. The Royal Lao Government, the party in power, allied themselves with Thailand and the U.S., while the Pathet Lao, the communist Laos party joined North Vietnam. The main reason for the Secret War in Laos was to support the Royal Lao Government against the Pathet Lao and to stop communist movement along the Ho Chi Minh Trail. CIA paramilitary specialist James W. (Bill) Lair recruited a young Hmong man by the name of Vang Pao, who helped to recruit more than 60,000 Hmong fighters for the secret war. “The Hmong were in charge of disrupting communist supply lines and rescuing downed pilots.” (CIA Website)

My grandfather was a happily married farmer in his twenties. His daily chores included feeding the animals and tending the land. He did not know how to read or write. In fact, only a handful of men in the village were educated. One day, as he was tending to his vegetables, soldiers came into their little village and demanded that all able males, young and old, be brought to the town meeting. The men were herded into the town center. The commanding officer told the villagers about the secret war and an order was issued for one male from each family to join the military. The consequence of disobeying this order was an immediate public execution.

Hmong soldiers

As the eldest son, my grandfather was forced to join the military. When I asked him to tell me about those early days, my grandfather got very quiet; the memories were too painful. After a few seconds, he began his tale of bravery and sacrifice. He remembers that first day when he along with other terrified farmers lined up for their first training. Someone had shoved a gun into his arms, expecting him to know what to do with it. Gripping the foreign weapon tightly, sweats running down his face, he looked right to left down the line, and he saw that everyone had been handed a gun. Some people instinctively knew what to do. Most, like my grandfather had no clue. It took him almost a whole week to hold the gun properly. He sounded so sad as he remembers that an unfortunate friend was not so lucky and died when his gun fell of his shoulder and shot him. When my grandfather integrated into the war zone, he was still not prepared. Under gun fire from the enemy, he didn’t know where to shoot. He remembers soldiers yelling for everyone to “shoot and run straight ahead” so that’s what he did. To this day, he still does not know if he actually killed anyone because all he could remember was running and shooting aimlessly.

Eventually, in 1975, the U.S. removed its troops and all support from South Vietnam, ending the Vietnam War, and consequently ending the Secret War. Without the military weapons and financial support, the Royal Lao Government was defeated and the Pathet Lao communists took over Laos. After the U.S. withdrawal, the Hmong were left behind and now faced persecution from the Pathet Lao communist party. Abandoned by their U.S. allies, the Hmong fled to Thailand for refuge.

It was the year 1976, and most of the military families had fled to Thailand for protection. My grandfather has finally convinced his father to make the secret journey to Thailand. First, my grandfather met with a group of rogue fishermen, who charged him an outrageous fee for agreeing to secretly sneak the family across the Mekong River to the Thai side. After securing passage, my grandfather came to inform his family of the plan. No one besides his immediate family knew of the plan and everyone continues to act as normal as possible. Late into the night when everyone has fallen asleep, my grandfather gathered his family together and quietly snuck out the village, leaving his home and his possessions behind. The only items he brought with him were his clothes and what money he has left. The family was ordered to remain as silent as possible. Any noise made could attract the communist soldiers patrolling the area. Opium was given to the children to keep them sleepy and soundless. It took the family the entire night to reach their destination. The fishermen quickly steered everyone into the boat and without a word, navigated them to the Thailand shore. Once they reached the shore, Thai soldiers took them to the refugee camps.

My great grandparents, my grandparents along with their two children (my mother and uncle) lived in the Thai refugee camp Ban Vinai for about three years. The refugee camp was not an ideal living situation. My grandfather recalls all the restrictions imposed on them. They could not venture out the camp after a certain time. They did not have land of their own. They did not speak the Thai language because the older people were not given an education. The only available jobs were fruit picking for Thai farmers who would come to bus anyone willing to go work in the field for pennies a day. There really wasn’t any choice but to work this way.

Another decision that my grandfather made for the family was his decision to immigrate to the U.S.. Many of his friends and family had already made the move to the U.S. under the Indochina Migration and Refugee Assistance Act (passed on May 23, 1975). In 1979, my grandfather made his way to the line of the immigration center and put his name on the list. Within a few days, the family was called in for an interview. Two weeks later, they were called to board the bus to Bangkok, Thailand. Again, they left everything behind. The only belongings they were allowed to bring were their clothes and whatever they were able to sneak through, like their jewelries and traditional keepsakes. The family was quarantined in Bangkok for a week before they made their first airplane ride to the U.S.. 

Frightened and exhausted, the family finally arrived in San Diego, California on November 18, 1979. Fortunately, there were many other Hmong arriving in San Diego at the same time so my grandfather had people that he knew in this foreign land. The family were placed in a three bedroom townhouse. Their social worker quickly enrolled my grandparents into adult school to learn English. My grandfather sounded more cheerful as he recalls those early days in San Diego. He enjoyed going to school to learn the English language and culture. Finally, he knows the meaning of "freedom." After three years on government assistance, my grandparents decided to go to work. They had learned enough English to communicate with other people. My grandfather took a job as a janitor at a golf club while my grandmother worked as a seamstress in a garment shop. They have lived here in the U.S. for over 30 years and are now retired. There were many struggles here, with a new language, a new culture and learning to raise his children differently than how he was raised; but overall this is the land of freedom that he always dreamed about and he is living contently. Perhaps all his struggles in Laos and Thailand pushed him to adapt quickly in America, or it could be his natural courage that helped him to stand up proudly against all odds that allowed him to accept changes so easily.

After listening to my grandfather’s story, I am more driven to learn about my culture. Even though learning the Hmong language and culture is a curriculum my mother has included in my studies, I realized I was learning autonomously without much content. However, my grandfather has given me a tangible experience to relate to what I have learned. At home, we still practice many traditions like spirit calling ceremonies, big birthday celebrations, and New Year gatherings. My mother still makes traditional food like bitter melon and pork, pork and green vegetable soup, and boiled chicken and herbs soup. My favorite dish is the pork and green vegetable soup. 

Hmong Tapestry

I am proud to admit that I know how to speak the Hmong language. It comes from strong and brave roots. I will continue the tradition of speaking Hmong and keeping the traditions that my parents had instilled in me. My children will know where their ancestors come from and hopefully will be as proud as I am of it. Before my grandfather and I ended our conversation, he said to me “know where you come from, be proud of it; that is the one thing that no one can take away; live knowing you will always answer to someone; and be happy.” These are the words of a man who had braved through obstacles of three countries. His words are golden.

Preserving my great-grandfathers Chinese Opium Scale

For this project, I will be preserving my great-grandfather's Opium Scale so that it can be safely passed down through my family without the fear of damaging or losing it. This particular item is very valuable to my father's side of the family, as it is the only physical memory of our great-grandfather. These are the steps I followed to preserve the scale, keeping in mind that the scale and its case were composed mainly of wood:

1. Keep the object in an area where the humidity does not change often.

I started by placing the scale in a case where moisture could not get in. This prevents the wood from rotting.

This cabinet is where my family keeps old documents. I thought it would be fitting to store the scale in here as well.

2. Put in a secure container.

I also placed the scale in a tight container to keep out insects and other animals. Main examples are termites and cockroaches, who eat and deteriorate wood, respectively. This secure container also protects the item if it is removed from the non-humid area.

3. Prevent light from getting to the object.

Light, specifically sunlight, can deteriorate the finish on wood. To compensate, I stored the item in a dark area with no windows.

Sealed and placed in a cabinet.

4. Don't over-clean the item.

As I studied more on how to preserve antique items, I discovered that excessively cleaning the object can damage it extensively. A light cleaning to remove the dust was all that was needed.

I used a damp paper towel to clean the casing and the neck.

5. Apply a protective coating of varnish to protect the wood.

Finally, I applied varnish to the case of the Opium Scale. This protects the wood if we ever want to take the scale out and look at it, or when we handle it while moving the scale to a different container.

Analyzing my Great-grandfather's Opium Scale

Chinese Opium Scale

This is an Chinese Opium Scale, handed down to me by my father. This scale has been handed down for four generations. The scale was used to measure the weight of opium and other drugs or herbs. My great- grandfather and my grandfather used it in their trade back in Laos. It was very valuable to them, because a small difference in weight could create a large change in price. As a herb scale, it was used to determine how much medicine would be administered. The scale has a wooden "neck" and is connected to a plate made of brass by string, as well as a mass/weight to counterbalance the plate. There is also a hand-carved wooden container for the scale with notches for all of the components.

From what my father has told me, this scale was made in China during the nineteenth century. It was bought by my great-grandfather, for a few pennies during his time period. The scale is almost in the same condition as when my great-grandfather bought it, but unfortunately, my grandfather lost the counter-balance weight during 1979, when they immigrated to the Unites States from Laos. My grandfather replaced the brass weight with lead and a dime. Even though this does detract from its value, it is still worth $100-200 online in this condition.

The scale is a memorable keepsake for me and serve as a conversation tool to learn about my ancestors and their struggles in a third world country. I plan to pass it down to my children and hope that it continues to be a motivational item to them.

Making Firecake!

After doing extensive research of the many types of food cooked during the Revolutionary War, I decided to make Firecake, a food eaten by Colonial soldiers during the Revolutionary War. Very simple to make, this Firecake only had 2, sometimes 3 components: water, flour, and sometimes salt.

Ingredients: I made my Firecake with ingredients as close as possible to those originally used.

> Flour

>Water

>Salt

There is no specific measurement of each ingredient as the only requirement is that the Firecake is thick and damp before you cook it. I also made a small fire in my backyard to cook it on top of.

1. Mix together the ingredients until you get a texture close to mashed potatoes.

2. Place on hot rocks to cook.

3. Eat when the dough is cooked!

I'll admit... that was not the most exciting thing I have eaten in my life. It really, really does not taste great and makes you smell like smoke afterwards! The main reason this food was made so quickly is because the Colonial soldiers were constantly moving around, they were forced to create a food that would last a long time. However, it is still interesting to see what Colonial soldiers ate in the past.

Washing clothes by hand!

Today, I decided to wash my own clothes outside. I've always wondered how it would be like to be in the 1700s washing clothes by hand. Now I know.

Here is a picture of reenactors doing it:

Truthfully, it is not as easy as it looks! After bending down and washing a pair of pants and a shirt, my back and my hands started to hurt. It is definitely a tedious and exhausting job; I sure wouldn't want to do it all day!

Here is me washing clothes by hand outside: