Content warning for domestic violence.
My Name
The clock on the wall stays suspended in time, the hands still and unmoving as Blia, our Hmong elder, rasps softly in Hmong.
Through a translator, we learn that she is a survivor, someone who cares, someone with a strong sense of justice, and a storyteller.
Our conversation began focused on the elections, voting, and the civic engagement process and slowly turned more personal as Blia talked about her personal life and her life back in Laos.
“As an American citizen, once I got my citizenship, I felt an urge to really help, help everyone, help citizens,” Blia says, sharing that one way to help was through this civic engagement process. “At the same time, I feel that it is the youth as well.”
Back in Laos, Blia says that those who lived in the bigger cities had a right to vote and were able to vote, but those who lived in the countryside didn’t have that chance.
“Now that I live in this big city, I feel that I have more of an opportunity to do that [vote] and I want to do that because I never had the chance to,” Blia says.
According to AlJazeera, Laos currently allows everyone access to vote.
As she spoke more about the voting process in Laos, Blia’s story shifts over to the differences between the U.S. and her life in Laos.
“The most difficult thing [about being in the U.S.] was the culture and being an independent woman,” Blia says. She holds her hands in front of her, fingers clasped together on the table. “I’ve been here since 1990 and the trouble that I’ve encountered has never been with [someone of] another race, but it’s been with the mindset that a lot of Hmong men still have.”
“They think that if I go out by myself, that if I am independent, that I am going to be a bad person,” she shares. “And that’s not the case at all.”
This same toxic mindset is still prominent in many communities, regardless of race. The need to control other people, especially women, as well as the culture of shaming, can be seen in much of our conversations and even legislation.
Blia shifts to share a story about her life in Laos.
“There was a process where everyone was supposed to help each other to build their own house,” Blia says.
She describes it as a community effort done in a rotation. A family in need of a house would find their community gathered together to help build that house and then the next day, the community would help another family build a house, and so forth.
“But when it came to my house, no one came to help me,” Blia says. “I knew that because I was a divorced woman, that there was a lot of stigma behind this identity. I was so enraged by that point that I couldn’t stand it and so I decided that — you know, I’m an able-bodied woman, I can do this myself. And that’s when I decided: I’m going to make this [house] myself.”
And she did. She gathered the wood and bamboo; she climbed on top of the roof and put the house together.
When it came time to immigrate to the U.S., she brought this same tenacity, completing the paperwork for her entire family — even while knowing very little English.
Blia takes a drink of water and stretches her fingers. The clock behind her sits still.
The last story she shares is from her time in Laos, when she was forced to move from village to village as a divorced mother of three. The villagers, she had said, were not friendly to her and had reported her to the police of the village.
“The police had ordered me to come and talk with him. He told me that the villagers had told him, that you are a horrible person, you are the worst person that they’ve ever seen and they want me to arrest you… I’m supposed to arrest you.
“And so there were several things that they were accusing me of. The villagers had accused me of abusing my children, hurting them to the point that they were bleeding out profusely. The second thing that they had accused me of was poisoning my children as well. The third thing they had accused me of was stealing chicken. And the fourth accusation was that I had poisoned my own husband.
“So I told him that because you are the judge in all of this, I’m under your control. I’m under your supervision. You are my guardian. You are practically the lord of the lands. You are the father and mother of this land too. I can’t admit to it because I might die, but at the same time, I can’t deny it because you might believe those rumors.
“If I do anything, I am stuck. I’m not going to be able to do anything at all.
Her shoulders slumps as she shares this story. The police officer, however, believe Blia’s story and encourages her instead of arresting her.
“I was told by this police officer that I shouldn’t fear the authorities, that if I do come to some sort of trouble I should try to get help from them because the ones who have the real power are the people who are elected, the people who can help me are the police officers.”
Blia pauses and shifts the story.
“The police officer had given a letter for me, a document for me to bring over to a judge over at the village. And he had asked me something. He had asked me for my ‘su chao wang young de.’
“Su chao wang young de — I didn’t know what this meant. It was in Lao. So I came and sat down and I was like, how am I so stupid? I don’t understand what they said. I’m here and I’m praying so much, please someone tell me what this means. I don’t understand what they said at all.
“And so I was thinking and thinking and a voice inside my heart, something inside my chest told me all that they’re asking you is your name. That’s all you have to say. And I thought: are you sure that’s what they’re saying?
“I’m having this internal dialogue and so I rushed into that room, into their house, and I’m like; my name is Blia.”
Blia smiles.
“It felt so powerful. I went in there and told them and they said: oh! take this with you and they said: ‘hurry hurry, go back to your house. It’s getting late now. And I ran and I ran and that’s how I got back there.
“And so he told me that injustice is really something that I have to fight and that I have to find those people who understand my situation.”
Understanding, for Blia, is really the key.
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For domestic violence resources, please click through to Stand Point. Stand Point is an organization based in Minnesota that provides legal and advocacy resources for survivors of domestic violence.