Hmong graduation parties given for Ph.Ds, not high school diploma

By YungJen Vang and YungJen Vang of Central High School

It wasn’t hard for me to hear my great-uncle, even with dozens of relatives surrounding him, in his small backyard in Sacramento last summer. This was his celebration for my aunt, Mao Vang, who had received her doctoral degree the day before.

One after another, women carried big platters of roasted chicken, fried noodles, and laab –- a ground beef stir fry — to load the long stretch of tables in the yard. Everyone wore suits and ties or bright colored dresses. My immediate family, all eight of us, flew more than 1,880 miles from Minnesota to be there.

My great uncle waved his arms to get our attention. “Everyone be quiet. I have something to ask,” he said.

All eyes were on him. Even the smallest kids were quiet. My great-uncle turned my aunt around like a doll that he wanted to show off. Then he looked at the young people, including me, and asked: “Who’s the next one to get a Ph.D?”

My sisters and I turned to each other in disbelief. I am still a high school student, and my sisters Foua and Coua are college seniors. Both are thinking about getting master’s degrees in environmental studies. But a Ph.D? That requires an undergraduate college degree plus five to six years of specialized study and writing a dissertation that could be as big as a book.

Isn’t this a little much?

Education has been important in my family ever since I was little. I remember my dad telling us every day before we went to school: “You have to get an A in class.”

In grade school, I didn’t find out about my grades until parent-teacher conferences. There I sat with my parents, facing my teacher, awaiting my grade. When I received a B in third grade, my parents scolded me all the way home.

Why in my culture and family is the expectation set so high? Where does this pressure come from? Is it a good thing?

I understand part of it. My dad grew up in the Thailand refugee camps where schools only went to sixth grade. When he came to the United States, he knew a little English and started college at age 25. He had to use a dictionary and translate his work three times — Laotian to Hmong to English — to understand what he was reading and writing.

He finished his degree and got a job as a school counselor. But English continued to be a challenge and he left the field. I understand that he wants more for us.

Lee Pao Xiong, director and professor of the Center for Hmong Studies at Concordia University, says that attitude is common among Hmong parents.

“Hmong parents have always seen education as an opportunity. Education is the key for success and is seen for parents as the number one priority for their children,”Xiong said.

Xiong worries that sometimes the pressure can go too far. He sees it in his own family. His relatives point to him, as my great uncle does with my aunt, and they tell their kids they aren’t doing well enough.

Xiong tells those relatives: “Don’t minimize my cousins and brothers.”

A Ph.D isn’t for everyone, nor is everyone an A student. Everyone can lead in his own way and shouldn’t be discriminated against because of education, Xiong says.

He sometimes holds workshops to help Hmong parents change their perspectives on education and accept that there are different ways to succeed.

Because of Xiong’s prominence in the Hmong community, the Saint Paul police often call him when they have a problem involving young Hmong people. Xiong recently talked to a teen after he was arrested by the police.

Xiong says the boy was with the wrong people because he felt his parents didn’t show him love or affection. They always told him what he was doing wrong in school and with friends. When Xiong spoke to the boy’s father, the man said he yelled because he wants his son to succeed. “I swam the Mekong River just so that he could get a better life,” Xiong said the man told him.

When Xiong told this to the son, the boy cried. “I didn’t know my father loved me that much,” he said. “I didn’t know that he only wanted to see me happy.”

The boy said he would go back to school to do better for his father.

Hearing about this made me think about my uncle Chucha who dropped out of high school last spring. He was a good student, but he fell in love and wanted to get married. He needed a job to support his wife.

He was happy to talk about his decision. “Family and love comes first on my top three. Education comes third, because I can always go back and get an education. What is important now is love. You need love and support from your family and loved ones to do anything,” he said.

Chucha didn’t expect what would happen next. His girlfriend’s parents despised him and closed off connections between them. She found another boyfriend. When my parents found out he had left school, they told us how disappointed they were.

Hmong children who drop out of high school or don’t achieve what is expected from their parents get more pressure from family and society.

The pressure from his family is hard on Chucha: “It is hard to hide the fact that I dropped out. People look down on me and talk about me, but I don’t mind, for I know I can go back and get my diploma. I am not, as they say, a failure in life.”

This fall, Chucha returned to high school, and he plans to start college this winter.

To me, elders in my community sometimes seem more interested in getting bragging rights for themselves than helping us find the career path that will make us happy.

When my great-uncle asked who will get the next Ph.D, I could see my dad nodding his head. He turned toward my sisters and me, and gave us thumbs up. A week later at home my dad asked us: “Why didn’t any of you raise your hands?”

Sometimes what we’re pushed to do may not be what we truly want for ourselves. We may borrow money and spend time on degrees that we don’t really need or want. Also, having a Ph.D sometimes makes relatives more prone to flaunt and boast, leaving people without that kind of education feeling lower and humiliated.

My sister Foua, a senior in college, hasn’t thought about getting a Ph.D yet. “Sometimes the pressure seems as if I am obtaining the Ph.D for the Hmong community,” she said. “I know that my history is with the Hmong as I would like to contribute to … building the future. There are other helpful ways to contribute to the community, but I feel that a Ph.D is a personal investment.”

When I was a young girl, any Hmong young adult who finished high school was honored with the kind of celebration my aunt received when she got her Ph.D. Every new graduate had a pig killed and a “ghost calling” ceremony and honor from relatives, elders, and the community. Now even college isn’t enough to receive that honor. Wouldn’t it be nice to have that honor and recognition from our families for whatever accomplishment means the most to us?