PHONE: (651)592.5702 EMAIL: projecthmongbooks@gmail.com
Pang Hlub Xiong was born and raised in Eau Claire, Wisconsin to a family of seven daughters and one son. She is a proud graduate of the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Xiong shared the joys and enthusiasm of kindergarten for five years and is currently a third grade teacher in the Twin Cities Metro area. She received her Master of Literacy Education degree at Hamline University, where she was also the recipient of the 2014 Educator Award.
Xiong was also awarded the 2014 Exemplary Educator by the National Association of Multicultural Education in Tucson, Arizona.
Despite her lack of physical connections with her parents' homeland of Laos and Thailand, Xiong is deeply rooted in her Hmong heritage. Growing up, Xiong was very conflicted about her identity as she navigated the taboos and struggles of being bicultural. Home was where she was expected to be an obedient Hmong daughter and school was where she learned to be American. Being "too American" at home was disrespectful, and being Hmong wasn't acceptable at school. She carefully learned the balancing act and separated home and school. It wasn't until college where she finally affirmed that she was in fact, an eclectic combination of both, Hmong-American.
Though Xiong never believed herself to be a writer, her passion for a multicultural education motivated her to create books in order to provide students with a more equitable learning experience.
From Pang Hlub Xiong:
I was of the generation that naively bought into mainstream society and was persuaded to belittle our cultures and traditions. We were made to believe that being bicultural and bilingual was a handicap, thus so many of us became embarrassed and ashamed of our traditions and cultures and quickly tossed them aside. Though understanding and being able to navigate through American culture are both survival skills, I also strongly believe in knowing who we are as a people, as a culture. Hmong people have such a deep, rich culture that is in jeopardy of disappearing. Our children and students will know what we teach them—we ought to teach them to be proud of their grandfather’s bravery, their grandmother’s delicate stitchings, their mother’s unparalleled pho broth, their father’s fancy soccer footwork, along with the fact that their bilingual and bicultural skills are a valuable asset.
We must not forget who we are or where we came from.
Meet the Author
Tears suddenly streamed down my face as I sat in lecture for History 244: Introduction to Southeast Asia, staring blankly at the picture of the Mekong River projected on the screen. I’m not sure if they were tears of anger and hurt or relief that the education system finally validated my history. The Mekong really did exist beyond the stories that my parents told me. It looked so calm, so innocent. Did it really have the power to determine the fates of so many? Did that thing really have the power to make my invincible father fear and loathe water so much? They were bittersweet tears, tears of happiness, tears of confusion, tears of pain, tears for the struggles that my parents, siblings, grandparents, and relatives all endured.
In the summer of 2012, thirty years after my parents had conquered the Mekong, I finally achieved my paradoxical dream of standing face to face with the monster that claimed so many innocent lives simply looking for refuge. As I looked out at the fishing ferries floating down the Mekong River, with the sound of the muddied water crashing below me and cicadas chirping intermittently, I wasn't sure how to feel. Were there really dragons below? Just where did mom and dad cross? I couldn't even begin to imagine the horrors that this river has seen. It was so surreal to be looking at something so pivotal in the lives of so many.
I stood on Thai soil, surprisingly calm, looking past the Mekong River to the place that my family had once escaped from. I will never know exactly what happened here, but the quiver in my mother's voice and the look in my father's eye are enough to tell me that I am better off not knowing all the details. I will never know the exact strength my mother and father have to have lived through all that they did.
How lucky I am to be where I am today.
More...
Having actually experienced life in Thailand, I finally had a better understanding of why kuv niam is the way she is when it came to certain things.
1.) Kuv niam's dishes are hardly as clean as we'd like as she just simply rinses it off with a splash of water—salt and rice still caked on it! As I learned in the rural northern villages of Thailand, water is rather scarce. Trash bins are permanently parked under faucets to capture any escaping droplets. There's no telling when water might suddenly stop. Sometimes, water doesn't return for days. People conserve water as it really is a precious commodity. A plate with a couple of rice grains still caked on is the least of anyone’s concerns.
2.) I have never understood Hmong directions. "It'll take you half an afternoon to walk there. Follow the road, down the big hill, past two wooden bridges and a big tree. Go past the corn fields and the little old lady selling buns on the corner. Follow the little dirt path until you pass two Hmong villages and see three cow pastures. Your destination is just beyond the big red rock." After a few days in the rural parts of Thailand, I gained a whole new appreciation for such articulate directions. In the rural parts, there literally is just one road to follow. Hmong elders have a unique talent of capturing landmarks in their photographic memories and distinguishing between the undistinguishable rolling mountainsides.
Knowledge→Tolerance→Appreciation→ ☺ ☺
The Road to Self-Discovery
