The stories refugees have to tell are all about resilience and opportunities

I want people to know that as refugees, we are human. We are people and like all people, we want a better life for our children and to be part of a warm welcoming society where we can embrace opportunities for ourselves and the next generations.

I always find it funny when you think about it, in the US it’s referred to as the Vietnam War but in Southeast Asia, it’s called the American war. We had to leave Laos as refugees because of the Vietnam War. After the war started, the communists took over Laos. I know my dad was scheduled for what was commonly known as re-education, but I don’t know much about his journey besides that. I only know why he left us.

My dad left before I was born. He had to escape because of the scheduled re-education the communist had planned for him, and he promised to come back, but on his journey, he met a woman in a refugee camp in Thailand. The woman had a similar story to him, so they got together. He sent pictures of his new family to his family in Laos. His little sister was close to my mom and showed her pictures of the good life he was living in the US. My mom was angry and thought, how dare you take away that opportunity from our family?

We were still in Laos until then, but because my father had escaped, the communists would’ve assumed my mom knew where he was and they could torture or punish her to learn of his whereabouts, that’s why we had to flee. Soon afterwards, my mom started to think of an escape plan. It was dangerous and there were communist spies everywhere. Anyone who had any information had to tell the party or they risked being executed.

At the time, my mom was working as an assistant on an army base. My mom used to ask her boss questions about her escape plan and her boss told her that she would get them all killed. He still helped her though, by slipping her a note with the information of an escape guide.

We walked into the woods with 3 strangers who were the escape guides. We’d heard the stories of women who had tried to escape but ended up being raped and mutilated, but we had no choice but to go with them.

The night we left, we had dinner with my family, and no one said anything out of fear of the spies. We left in the middle of night. I was 3 years old, and I can’t remember much about that night, but I do clearly remember being scared. We walked into the woods with 3 strangers who were the escape guides. We’d heard the stories of women who had tried to escape but ended up being raped and mutilated, but we had no choice but to go with them. I learned the stories of what we went through from my mom, and I want to share them before I forget.

The journey took two and a half weeks over fields and mountains. At times, we had to sleep near fresh graves and at the sites of massacres. To this day, those images stay with me. It’s haunting for a young child to see dead bodies. I still can’t watch horror movies. When we hear these stories, it puts things into perspective and refugees are humanised. There is an immense emotional and psychological effect and when we recount our journeys, they bring back memories. I watch a lot of forensic documentaries, perhaps it’s my way to rationalise things.

We walked until we reached the Mekong River. We used to be able to boil the water and drink it, but it was full of rotting corpses then. I remember seeing bodies floating down the river. The escape guides helped us cross the river because that was part of the escape plan. Laos was a dangerous place to be and our only access to freedom was crossing over into Thailand because China is above Laos, Vietnam to the east and Cambodia to the south, where an active genocide was happening.

We’d heard stories of guides stopping halfway across the river and tipping the boats. Why would they risk their lives if they had already been paid?

We’d heard stories of guides stopping halfway across the river and tipping the boats. Why would they risk their lives if they had already been paid? Halfway across the river, one of the men asked my mom if she had more money. During the day, we had slept in trees and the escape guides had to carry me up. I was young, and asthmatic and I coughed a lot. They argued they needed more money for this. My grandma, who was physically too old to travel safely with us, had sewed some jewellery into my brother’s trouser leg and my mom bit off the threads and gave it to the escape guide.

Asians are superstitious, it’s part of the culture and I distinctly remember my mom telling me the story of a dragon. She’s told me this story ever since I can remember. Well before I was born and before Laos was taken over by the communist, a Buddhist monk in the hills of Southern Laos had told my mom something would happen to us as we crossed the Mekong River. I was born in the Chinese Year of the Dragon, and he said whatever happened would be in alignment with my sign. The moment the escape guide had asked my mom for more money, and she had given him the ring, something came out of the water parallel to the boat. All 8 of us on the boat saw it. It was huge and looked like a dragon. It looked like it had a lion’s head, I am convinced it was an Oarfish. I remember my mom recounted the story to her friends during my teenage years and I finished the story for her. She was surprised I could remember because I had been so young. Was it a miracle? I don’t know.

Eventually, we crossed the Mekong River into Thailand. There were several refugee camps in Thailand, but we were crossing into the country illegally. Thailand was trying to protect its own borders and it was pure luck whoever you happened to encounter on the Thai side. We heard of women being raped, children sold into slavery and prostitution and men being killed or sold as slaves or put into labor camps, but the escape guides also had people on the Thai side.

When we woke up, she realized that we were sleeping on fresh graves that have pushed up from the ground from the gases of bodies decomposing.

The escape guides told us we were safe for now and told us we could sleep where we were, and someone will come meet us in the morning. Mom recalls that it was the best sleep she has had since we left our hometown. She said that our sleep was restful and peaceful. When we woke up, she realized that we were sleeping on fresh graves that have pushed up from the ground from the gases of bodies decomposing. A little while later, a man crawled up to us from one of the grave mounds, he said we had “broken the law and they’re coming” for us and to follow him if we wanted to be safe. We went to his house where his wife was preparing a meal and told us to sleep there, and that we would leave soon. Not even 15 minutes later, he ran back in and said, “they’re coming!”

He put us in the back of his truck and surrounded us with bags of rice.  We drove for hours, and the truck was stopped multiple times where soldiers would prod the rice sacks with sticks and knives but luckily, we weren’t discovered. The man dropped us off outside the Ubon Refugee Camp in Southern Thailand. He gave mom a basket of vegetables and told her to pretend we had just gone shopping outside the camp and were returning to the camp. He suggested for my brother and I to run around and be playful as if we were in a familiar environment. He guided us to walk right into the camp and announce to the officials that we were new arrivals from Laos and that this would secure our safety for the time being.

Life wasn’t easy in the refugee camp, it was lawless. My mom made us sleep in the corner of the tent away from the tent entrance and away from those looking to do harm to tent occupants. My mom was also afraid of being raped so she made herself unpresentable. She cut her hair very short, didn’t wash or wear makeup, and didn’t brush her teeth to prevent any attention towards her.

We had petitioned to go to the US, but my father denied us by way of claiming that he didn’t know who we are. He said he had no other family and that we were not his family. We were considered a burden to society but there needed to be someone to sponsor us. So, we were continuously denied. We also tried looking into France, Germany, and Japan but my father’s younger brother who was in Idaho received notification of our whereabouts and confirmed that we are his family. That’s how we ended up in Idaho. He also sent us $60 to live on and my mom said it had felt like winning the lottery.

As a refugee child in a rural state like Idaho, you were continuously reminded that you were special, not in a good way but in a way that you will have barriers to success and that bothered me.

I was immediately aware of being a refugee, of being different and society continued to remind me. As a refugee child in a rural state like Idaho, you were continuously reminded that you were special, not in a good way but in a way that you will have barriers to success and that bothered me. I remember thinking why don’t they realise kids can assimilate quickly? English rapidly became my first language, and I adopted the culture, but I was still classified as a refugee kid who will require language assistance.

I had a lot of cultural struggles growing up in Idaho with two cultures – my origin and host country cultures. I wanted to grow up quickly and support my mom because I saw her struggling. My mom was the first single refugee to buy a house in Idaho in 1986 and this was huge. The people selling the property said the same thing to my mom, but they were mean about it. My mom couldn’t understand them and although I was 10, I could. I closed the deal on my mom’s house and all I was thinking about was how can I grow up faster. How do I get them to take me seriously? How do I show them that I’m just like everyone else? I wanted to grow up fast and shed my refugee identity to become part of the broader community.

We were also outcasts in the Laos refugee community because so many women were afraid my mom would take their men, but my mom showed up to gatherings anyway because she wanted to feel the cultural belonging. As a child, I knew what was happening and in the Idaho Lao community they thought that because we didn’t have a dad, we would not be successful as adults. Some of the Lao community members resented my family, so we did not maintain a solid relationship in the core of the community. As I journeyed through my academics and career, I felt something was missing and gravitated towards my cultural identity.

We also had to deal with racism and people looked at me funny. My mom used to say they’re only looking at you because you are unique and special, don’t let them put you down. She used to tell us we were our own barriers and how will you achieve anything if you don’t ask questions? She said we were specks in people’s worlds, people won’t remember your embarrassment over asking a question. So, I asked my councillor how to graduate high school at 15 and he guided me.

It took my mom 11 years to gather the courage to go back to Laos, she was so scared our names would be on a list. When we were travelling from Bangkok to Laos, my mom held my hand and asked me if I would forgive her if we wouldn’t be able to go back to the US or if we had to leave her behind and go back without her. It was 1997 and we hadn’t spoken to my family members since we’d left in 1979. During the 1990s, it was still considered dangerous to send letters to family. Families in the US feared that the communists would screen the incoming letters and act accordingly.

I was 17 years old the first time we visited Laos. I remember I went with a western mentality, and I remember being humbled by the trip. As soon as we landed, I remember looking around and thinking this could’ve been me, this could’ve been my life if my mom hadn’t left. It made me realise what life could’ve been like, what my success or my education would’ve looked like if we had stayed. I saw 8-year-olds working, they weren’t at school because it was more important for them to make money. They had to work to put food in the mouths of their family members. When my mom saw Laos, she said this isn’t the country we’d left behind, it was once thriving and now it’s a deserted town.  Laos stayed in poverty for a long time. When people flee their homes, you need money to pay other people to help you navigate.

As a parent who cares about their children, some parents consider the need for survival to be greater. There’s a mentality of yes if we leave, some may die but some may live.

My mom is the youngest out of her siblings and she was the only one in her family who escaped. Her other siblings had too many children, so it was too big a risk. They were envious of us, and we pitied them. I had all these opportunities and they had nothing. Our presence there was great but there was resentment from my cousins towards their parents. They asked why they didn’t leave as well. It’s a complicated question but the truth is not everyone who flees survives. As a parent who cares about their children, some parents consider the need for survival to be greater. There’s a mentality of yes if we leave, some may die but some may live. Other parents thought that if they stayed, at least they would still have each other.

Now that I’m older, I embrace the fact that I’m a former refugee. It is an exercise in humility when we share our stories and instil hope to inspire others. Despite everything we go through, we still have this hope that everything will be all right and try to see the opportunities available to us.

I went on to become the first person in the Laos community to graduate high school at 15, the third to get my Bachelors, the first to get a Masters and the first to pursue a doctorate. The leaders in the Laos community had been following my success journey and saw me as a role model for my generation and the future. They asked if I could help them. They said the Laos community has been in Idaho since the 70s as refugees and Idaho doesn’t know anything about us. They wanted me to become an advisor for the wider community. I’m a professor of multicultural studies and my students often talk to me about their identity struggles, they say they don’t know their origin stories because their parents don’t want to talk about it. I also mentor younger generations because I want them to be proud of their cultural identity and I often use storytelling to do it.

My mom’s entire story is filled with strength and resilience, she has inspired me in so many ways.

It’s not common for the Laos community to come together and talk about what happened to us. There are factors like culture, PTSD and individual personalities which contribute to this. My mom was single, and she had no outlet for her trauma, so she used to speak to her children about it and especially to me as a daughter. I was a curious child and I used to ask her so many questions. There are so many elements of disconnect, if the kids do ask their parents for information, they ask in English and their parents want to answer in Lao. Sometimes the parents won’t understand the questions because of this.

My mom’s entire story is filled with strength and resilience, she has inspired me in so many ways. I saw her struggle within our Idaho Lao community because she had this stigma attached to her as a single woman whose husband had abandoned her, yet she persevered. Her story was also the driving force being the Idaho Museum of International Diaspora (IMID).

I vividly remember, it was June 2018 12.35am and I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t shake the idea of a museum. I just had to get my ideas down on paper. I wrote 6 pages and poured all my ideas onto it, and it became the framework for the museum. The idea was to create a museum so as a community we could connect to the wider world. It was difficult to decide on a name, but the term diaspora kept coming up.

IMID is a space to elevate the stories of refugees, immigrants, adoptees, human-trafficking victims and those who are homeless to preserve these stories. Diasporas are backed by 1000s of years of culture. IMID really is a space to celebrate the cultures of my diaspora brothers and sisters who have been displaced around the world. I knew nothing about museums when I started IMID, but I am slowly gaining a social media following. I had the opportunity to meet Lao PDR national dignitaries and critical partners who helped open doors for the IMID’s journey.

Idaho is a rural state with predominantly white Caucasians. People of colour only make up around 2% of the population depending on who is reporting. People always ask why I started the museum here and not in San Francisco or New York and the answer is simple, it’s because I live here. IMID is the first real international-scale diaspora museum which will house a collection of people’s stories from around the world.

Idaho is a resettlement state for refugees and in the state today, the politicians are supportive. I don’t naturally gravitate towards politics and the rhetoric associated with it because I don’t consider it my space. I’ll acknowledge it but it doesn’t impact me like it does others because there is also a non-political community which has a different rhetoric which exists as well. Refugees are hard-working people, and my mom’s story was featured in the Idaho Statemans.

The term refugee refers to a group of people who have endured special lived experiences.

When I think of what the term refugee means to me, I believe it goes beyond the traditional UN definition. The term refugee refers to a group of people who have endured special lived experiences. They’ve experienced journeys which are so special and powerful. I want to learn more from them and how they overcame their hurdles. IMID will allow us to learn from them, it’s an acknowledgement of people who have suffered through profound experiences.

The stories refugees have to tell are all about resilience and opportunities, if we don’t tell them then who will? We’ve endured so much through our journeys as refugees and as we transition out of being refugees and becoming community members. We deal with community backlash but still give back to the community so we and younger generations can enjoy society. For new arrivals, they are still transitioning mentally and physically, they still have the trauma of displacement. That state of mind is still there for them and for some people this period lasts longer than for others.

I remember my mom thought many times of going back to Laos even though it was still dangerous because she didn’t feel like she belonged here. My mom gravitated towards going back because she was still in that state of limbo, there is still a level of trauma. She had to live in Idaho longer to develop that sense of belonging.

When refugees start to integrate somewhere new, it’s not only about losing their home but it’s a loss of culture as well. Cultures start to phase out, that’s evolution and it has happened forever, that’s why through IMID we want to preserve the integrity of cultures. People have settled across the world but now we want to preserve the culture for future generations.

~Palina Louangketh~

To learn more about IMID and Palina, please visit the Idaho Museum of International Diaspora. IMID can also be found on Twitter, Facebook, LinkedIn and Instagram.