Stories: The Power of People

A Father’s Story

A Daughter’s Story

At the age of 14, his responsibilities were to serve and protect the thousands of Hmongs who were living in the jungles of Laos fleeing persecution. A decade before my dad became a soldier, my grandfather was trained by the American CIA to recruit foot soldiers for a secret war. He was a businessman with a permit to travel throughout the country, making him the ideal recruiter to rally up Hmong men to join the war. The Hmong are an ethnic group that have lived in Southeast Asia for thousands of years with no country of their own. They are also known as Freedom Fighters. When the war came to an end in Laos, there was an aggressive campaign to capture or kill Hmong soldiers and their families who aided the Americans during the war. The CIA recruited the Hmong with the promise of guns, money and food. There was no exit strategy for the Hmong if the Americans pulled out of the war. No written agreement of the promise to bring Hmong people to America for better opportunities. There were few options for the Hmong who were left behind. Stay, fight and possibly die, or leave for Thailand in hopes of a new life somewhere else.

My grandfather feared for his life. Like many others, he took my dad and found a new home in the jungles of Laos. For two years, my father would live in the jungles with my grandfather and thousands of others. He would patrol the jungles with other young men. Then one day, my grandfather’s brother who made it to Thailand found out that his son was left behind and living in the jungles. He made a special mission trip to find him. Thankfully, his son was alive and they were reunited. He also found my grandfather and my dad. He told my grandfather that he knew the way to get out of the jungles. He knew the way to get to the Mekong River. The river that separates Laos and Thailand. The river that separates life from death. He encouraged my grandfather to leave the jungles with him because staying would only mean dying. My grandfather agreed.

But something happened. A shift. A change and he left for Thailand without my grandfather and my dad. 

In the Hmong culture, we honor family. It is the number one priority. My grandfather was heartbroken and didn’t want a new life. Nws tus kwv tso nws tseg. His brother left him behind. But he looked at my 16 year old dad and told him he needed to leave. He told him he needed to find a way to the River. He needed to live. He wanted his only living son to fall in love, to become a father, to grow old.

Can you imagine what it would be like at 16 years old to hear your parent tell you to leave? A parent who loves you, who you love begs you to start a new life in a new place? To leave behind what you know and to start over again with nothing?

That night, my dad knew his dad was right. He knew if he stayed he would die. And he would rather die fighting to have a life than to do nothing at all. He mustered all the bravery he had and encouraged other young men between the ages of 14 to 19 to join him. They were all patrolling together that night. They made a pact. They would find a way to the river, not get caught while in Thailand, get all the supplies they needed and come back for their loved ones in the jungles. You see, they were all leaving people behind. People they loved. It would take them two weeks to get to the river. They would be ambushed, shot at, separated, and eventually find their way to each other to only be captured by a high ranking Thai officer at the border. They would be freed by the officer’s guard who had compassion for them. They would rush as a large group into the camps where you’re supposed to enter one by one then be thrown into jail for illegally entering the country. At 5 feet and 4 inches tall, less than 80 pounds, my dad and his friends would befriend a drug lord in prison who would pay for all of their meals for 40 days because he knew they were refugees escaping death. My dad would be released from the prison and reunited with his mother who made it to the Thailand refugee camps before he started his journey.

Together, they would start a new life right here in Des Moines, IA.

Growing up, I learned about the Secret War at the dinner table surrounded by my elders. After sharing a meal of rice, boiled chicken with homegrown herbs and stir fried vegetables, the women would clean the tables and wash the dishes. They would catch up on present day life while the men reminisced of an old life before and during the war. I would hear stories of hundreds of Hmong men sacrificing their lives to save one American pilot. I would hear stories about how quick Hmong soldiers were because of their stature. Or how my great grandfather was blessed because he was able to capture a magical rhino that allowed him to live to be 111 years old. These stories have stayed with me.

In middle school I would make the connection that the Secret War I knew was what everyone else called the Vietnam War. Never once did I hear my stories in the classroom. The history of my people was invisible in the school’s curriculum. Oftentimes, the stories and histories of those who are not White, European descents, are ignored.

Dr. Noreen Naseem Rodriguez writes, “The recognition of these histories through inclusion in the school curriculum and the popular imagination, could be a powerful way to disrupt normative Whiteness and xenophobia.”

Former Governor Bob Ray had another powerful way to disrupt the status quo. In July 1975, President Ford wrote to every governor asking for their help to resettle Southeast Asian refugees. Governor Bob Ray responded to this call. Many didn’t agree with his decision to resettle refugees in Iowa, but he chose to humanize and empathize with those he knew very little about. Because of Governor Bob Ray, Iowa is the first and only state in the U.S. with a federally funded refugee resettlement program.

Iowa is more rich because of the people who have come to make this place home. People who have come from all over the world. Southeast Asia. Central America. The Middle East. Eastern Europe. Africa. Even other parts of America. We get to experience all kinds of food and culture because someone was brave enough to use their power and privilege to say, “I see you. Welcome home.” This is the legacy of Bob Ray.

Kuv txiv yog Nhrwv Meem Hawj. My dad is Meng Her. He never made it back for his dad. None of the young men made it back. None got to say goodbye, I love you. And for over 40 years, my dad has lived with the shame of not returning for his dad, of knowing his dad died alone in the jungles with no family. It’s taken him a long time, but his resilience and grit remind him that he did what his dad wanted for him. He did fall in love. He is a father to four children and a grandfather to two. He has outlived his own father in earthly years. He has survived a heart attack and most recently, recovered from COVID-19.

Kuv niam yog Mai Kwm Hawj. My mom is May Ku Her. She is the eldest daughter of a Shaman Master, Soua Dao Ku. She taught me how to make extraordinary things from the ordinary. 

Kuv yawg yog Txawj Kaus Hawj. My grandfather is Cher Kao Her. Today and everyday, I honor his legacy. 

Kuv yog Hmoob. I am Hmong. I am the daughter of refugees. And I am a freedom fighter.

By Christine Her | May, 2021