We are Hmong, an ethnic minority that lived high up in the isolated mountains of Laos and have cultivated a unique knowledge of the land, including the Ho Chi Minh trails. During the Vietnam War, the North Vietnamese Army (NVA) used these trails to filter supplies to their troops in South Vietnam. Unable to effectively repel the NVA in this rough terrain, the CIA saw the Hmong as an ally due to their knowledge of the geography and a fiercely independent spirit that detested communism. In 1963, without Congress or the American public’s knowledge, the CIA recruited the Hmong into Special Guerilla Units (SGU) that were tasked with 1) disrupting the NVA’s supply lines by direct engagement, and 2) rescuing American pilots who were shot down while bombing these trails. This paramilitary operation was the largest the CIA had ever conducted up to that point and became known as the Secret War. Towards the end of the war, the total loss of the Hmong population was as high as 30%, including 30,000 - 40,000 soldiers and 2,500 - 3,000 declared Missing in Action. Due to the high loss of Hmong men, boys as young as thirteen were being recruited into the SGU. 

In 1973, the US signed a ceasefire with Vietnam; however, fighting would continue until 1975. By this time the communist forces had taken root in Laos and a civil war raged on with the Hmong caught in the middle. The CIA evacuated top Hmong military personnel, but left the majority of civilians behind to fend for themselves. When Laos fell to communism, the persecution of the Hmong began due to their alliance with the US. Many hid in the jungles for decades, braved the treacherous journey across the Mekong River to Thailand, or submitted to communist rule to avoid being sent “re-education” camps. 

My family chose to brave the journey out of Laos. We spent months in the jungle, eating whatever we could forage, and were constantly hunted by soldiers. Many people lost their lives on the way and entire groups were double-crossed by guides they had paid to get them to safety. We finally made it to Thailand in 1987 and lived in three refugee camps before immigrating to the US in 1989. 

We were resettled in Fresno, California and survived on welfare and the generosity of the surrounding churches. Unable to find jobs and unfamiliar with urban life, my parents were attracted to North Carolina because of the mountains and the plentiful manufacturing jobs. We moved to WNC in 1993 and have been here ever since. They toiled away relentlessly and purchased their home in 1995, giving us a sense of stability for the first time in our lives despite the many challenges along the way. 

Today, we have a large, loving, and boisterous family. I am the third oldest of eight children, and a proud auntie (my favorite role) to 11 nieces and 11 nephews. Family time can be absolutely chaotic because the kids outnumber the adults; but, every now and then, I glance over at my parents to study their expressions amid the chaos. I see absolute joy, pride, happiness, and infinite love radiating through their eyes. To get to this point, it took unimaginable courage, resiliency, and an unwavering resolve to protect what they love the most in this world - their children.

For a deeper dive into the Hmong of North Carolina