Wisconsin is home to the third-largest Hmong-American community in the country, behind California and Minnesota. Over 100,000 Hmong came to the United States after the Vietnam War as political refugees. Wisconsin alone has almost 50,000 Hmong, making up about 38 percent of the total Asian population in the state. The Hmong population continues to grow here in Wisconsin and have made tremendous gains in educational attainment, entrepreneurship, medicine and non-profit work.
To showcase some of their impressive accomplishments, Madison365 is presenting 12 profiles of Wisconsin Hmong professionals in the "1.5 generation." This is the generation of those born in Laos or Thai refugee camps and transported to America in their childhood. They represent the link between their parents, who lived through the war and are fluent in Hmong, and their children, who were born in America and are fluent in English.
These profiles are not representative of the whole community, as there are Hmong professionals in many other fields than those listed here, including business, human services and politics. While not totally representative, these profiles do share common themes. The parents of these individuals placed a high value on schooling, and often worked multiple jobs to ensure their children could get the best education available. An acute realization of their parents’ sacrifices fueled a drive to achieve. Now, they look to help the next generation, acting as mentors and role models.
This is part two in a three-part series. You can read part one here.
Chia Vang: The importance of experiential learning
Associate professor at UW-Milwaukee, department of history
Just nine when she came to the US, by middle school, Chia Youyee Vang had her sights set on higher education. She wrote in her diary that she wanted a PhD by the time she was 25.
She didn’t know anyone with a PhD and consequently didn’t realize 25 would be a tough deadline to meet. But she attained her masters degree by that age, and today, she has her PhD and is an associate professor of history at UW-Milwaukee.
"It may seem that I’m unique, but I’m not that unique when thinking about immigrant children," Vang said. Immigrants who come from countries without as many opportunities do well, she says, simply because they can.
"In Laos, I never went to school. It wasn’t an option for me. I never held a pen until we got to the refugee camp," Vang said. "So when we arrived in the US and could go to school, some of us just went crazy with learning."
Once in America, growing up in impoverished neighborhoods in the Twin Cities solidified her desire for something better.
"We didn’t even start at zero, we started at negative. As refugees, you come with nothing," she said.
Rather than international relocation, Vang knows many Hmong American youth today struggle with their bi-cultural identity. Some hide within the security of the Hmong community, while others ignore their heritage, she said. She wants youth to embrace both sides of who they are, and she believes that in order to do this they must be open to learn.
But as an educator, Vang doesn’t want students to learn about anything simply by reading about it. Rather, she wants to get students out of their comfort zones so that they can examine things from different viewpoints. This is why she offers short-term study abroad courses to Southeast Asia.
"It’s one thing to sit in the comfort of a university classroom and read about other people and places, and it’s another thing to be in these places to learn from local professionals and interact with local people," Vang said.
This opportunity is just one part of the Hmong Diaspora Studies program she established at UW-Milwaukee in 2009. The program is a multidisciplinary approach to Hmong culture, history and contemporary issues. Because Hmong history in the courses is not taught in isolation but as part of the larger American immigration history, it has proved especially helpful for students who plan to work in school or healthcare systems that work with diverse populations.
By exposing her students to different global perspectives, she hopes they recognize our common humanity.
"We may live in different parts of the world, but all people share the same hopes for their families," she said.
Kaying Xiong Vue: Don’t let anyone tell you "no"
Director of Student Services for Eau Claire Area School District
As a person of color in Eau Claire in the '90s, Kaying Xiong Vue met with resistance. She wanted to graduate from high school early and was told that that wasn’t the way things were done. She did it anyway.
As a college freshman, she was told she wouldn’t be accepted into the competitive education program. She was.
She doesn’t believe the pessimistic advice was given maliciously, but she learned her lesson. "I can’t let other people tell me it’s not going to work when they don’t know me," Vue said.
She would continue to meet resistance. She became a first-grade teacher, then an elementary school principal. As principal, she was the first person of color many of the parents had interacted with at the school. Perceived as an outsider, parents came to her time and time again with a clear message. "You haven’t been here long enough, you don’t know about the traditions of our school, let me tell you what we care about," Vue said.
It took years to build relationships so that the community trusted that she knew what she was doing. She worked hard and cared deeply about the children at her school. "I didn’t want one day to go wasted without a child feeling like this was their most valuable day," Vue said.
She persevered in the face of criticism, and she hopes that the next generation of Hmong Americans can also confidently navigate their role in dual cultures.
"I want to see them being able to clearly identify, ‘This is who I am, and I’m comfortable with that,’" Vue said.
Vue was the first female Hmong principal in the United States, but she’s not very concerned about the title. More important to her is the idea that, as the first, she can help "pave the way and create that space for people to see themselves in roles that have been traditionally been reserved for white middle class men or women." She wants the next generation to know that they shouldn’t let people tell them "No."
Her first year of teaching, one of her first-grade Hmong students came up to her and asked, "Are you a real teacher?"
"I thought, ‘Do I look like a fake teacher?’ But I said, ‘Why do you ask?’ because I was curious as to her line of thinking. And she said, ‘I want to be a teacher when I grow up, but my mother says only American people (she meant white people) can be teachers.’"
Vue realized this small girl had learned at a young age that she couldn’t achieve her dreams. She had grown up in an education system only seeing people of color as aides and support staff but none as teachers or administrators.
"We have a district of 27 percent students of color, and we probably have three or four teachers of color. Kids learn what they see and what they live with," said Vue.
This realization helped her approach her dissertation, and later her career as a principal, with an intentional focus.
"I was always reminding myself to be consciousness of the fact that I wasn’t just a principal," Vue said. As a women of color, she wanted to demonstrate to students that if they were willing to put in the hard work, they could enter any field they wanted.
After 15 years as a principal, Vue is now the Director of Student Services for the school district. In her new role, she gets what she calls the "30,000 feet perspective" as she works with staff and programs in 19 schools. The role presents new challenges, but as an educator, Vue firmly believes in the necessity of lifelong learning.
"I need to be able to buy the product I sell. I truly believe that in this country, in order to seek social justice and to find peace and quality of life, education is a key component of that. So whether people are 40 or 10, education is a key part to wherever they need to go," Vue said.
Bee Lo: An international approach to medicine
Naturopathic medical doctor
Dr. Bee Lo lived in a Thai refugee camp for four years before coming to America. In this difficult environment, he had no ambition or dreams for the future.
"You don’t think about a high school degree. You don’t think about college. You just live day by day," said Lo. "In America, it’s ‘What’s your dream? What are your goals?’ There’s no such thing when I was growing up. Just live, don’t think far ahead."
When he eventually arrived in America, he was 11, an orphan and unable to read or write in English or Hmong.
Lo knew he was behind and was willing to put in the hours to make up for it. From 1979 to 2005, he studied straight through every year including summers, taking only two years and one summer off. But what may seem an intolerable burden to some was accepted matter-of-factly by him. "I love education. I love knowledge," he said.
He majored in biology and chemistry with the aim of becoming a doctor, but didn’t find it fulfilling. "I realized I wanted to do more than prescribe drugs or do surgery," Lo said.
Growing up watching elders in his community perform spiritual or herbal healings, he believed a more global perspective on healing was important.
"I knew there were other medicines practiced by other countries and cultures out there that are thousands of years old that I wanted to learn," Lo said.
He went to Bastyr University, an alternative medical school, and straight after graduation, he began performing house calls. Eventually he earned enough money to rent an office and then opened a practice in Onalaska. He is now a licensed naturopathic medical doctor and acupuncturist. People come from miles around to come for his natural remedies for arthritis, asthma, migraines, joint pain, allergies, celiac disease and other health issues.
After his years of hard work, the reactions of his patients are easily the best part of his job. Sometimes he gets hugs, or people tell them he is the answer to their prayers. "I enjoy helping people get better," he said simply.
Yer Yang: Helping women have a say
Yer Yang: Middle school teacher in Sheboygan
When Yer Yang arrived in America in 1979 at age 11 with her three siblings, they were orphans. Their parents had died in the Vietnam War when Yang was 6. Growing up in the US, social services moved her around from Pennsylvania to Michigan to Tennessee to Nebraska, and she finally wound up in Wisconsin. Her childhood was a montage of different homes, different cities and different families.
Yet across the string of households, one thing was always the same. Men were first, women were second. Men spoke first; men ate first. Women, although major contributors to the family, were relegated to a permanent secondary status.
"I was always curious as to why the women couldn’t have a voice," Yang said. She remembered thinking, "Why can’t the mother have a voice? It’s always the father who has the only and final say."
Women would not only defer to men in their immediate and extended family, but to the leaders of their clan. This could sometimes be dangerous, as in the case of domestic violence. At times, women in the Hmong community have been encouraged to return to their abusive husbands or won’t even considering leaving in the first place, Yang said. A woman who seeks divorce may be ostracized, shunned and left with no resources and nowhere to go. If she returns to her parents, she may be blamed for the separation, said Yang.
"Can you imagine being at the mercy of your parents and extended family, and your clan leaders?" said Yang. "Often times, Hmong women are not courageous enough to make their own independent decisions, especially on personal and family matters."
Even with little power and no female role models to point her to future goals like higher education, Yang knew that America offered unique opportunities. She took advantage of every one she could.
"Coming to America just opened the door so wide, that individuals like myself just seized the opportunity to fly with it. We truly spread our wings," she said.
She got a bachelor’s degree, then a Master’s. Yang wasn’t content with personal success; she wanted to help other women of all ages realize their power and potential.
To that end, she started youth organizations for Hmong high schoolers that focused on personal, social and leadership development. Boys and girls alike, she spreads a message of empowerment to pursue confidence, education and dreams.
She also became active in the Hmong Women’s Society. Here, her personal testimony holds special weight, as Yang is recently divorced. While the divorce devastated her, she knows that her personal tragedy holds an important message for Hmong women who fear life on their own.
"I can own my own house, I can pay my own bills and I don’t have to run to another man to take care of it," she said. "For years and years, I educated them about that, and now it’s my turn. I have to live it. I have to prove it."
The end goal is a balance where everyone has a say.
"I’m not anti-men; I’m pro-family," Yang said. "It doesn’t matter if you’re boy or girl, man or woman; you go ahead and fulfill your dreams and live your passion."
In order to achieve this balance, Yang knows that gender inequality also needs to be addressed at the systemic level. In 2011, Yang, several other women leaders and key Hmong clan leaders called for the first free elections of the Hmong 18 Council in Wisconsin. They made history by not only holding the first open elections, but through the subsequent changing of the organization’s by-laws. These new by-laws required a female vice-president for the organization and a chiefess to complement the chief of each Hmong clan. Yang served a term as the first vice president herself.
Along the way, Yang has met with resistance from many Hmong elders. But she’s not giving up. As an orphan, she learned not to care much what other people think, but rather do what is right, she said. Almost nonchalantly, she added, "I’m just going to keep impacting the world."
