A Half Century Home:
50 Years of Hmong Resettlement in Eau Claire

Tucked away inside a hallway closet within Trinity Lutheran Church (1314 E. Lexington Blvd., Eau Claire), an archive of stories has been carefully maintained for several decades. There, among boxes and manila folders, are the original photographs of the first Hmong families to call Eau Claire, Wisconsin home.

This church, part of a nationwide endeavor to support the resettlement of political refugees following the Vietnam War, was the first local organization to sponsor a family in Eau Claire — the Moua family.

The Mouas landed at the Chippewa Valley Regional Airport on April 9, 1976. The brisk spring weather was new to them, as was most everything about the United States, including the congregation members who greeted them there.

Their entrance to Eau Claire came one year after the first Hmong resettled in the U.S. Yet, according to ample news reports, most did not know the refugees were Hmong.

Virtually none of the American public knew they were political refugees of the Secret War.

Before the Moua family ever stepped foot in the Chippewa Valley, Americans had already been served a brutal picture of the Vietnam War — with Hmong people and their efforts alongside the U.S., largely cut out.

Despite 2025’s wide recognition as the 50th anniversary of the start of Hmong resettlement in the U.S. and across the globe, many still do not know what brought the Southeast Asia-rooted population to northwestern Wisconsin.

“It is easy for us to give verbal consent to the understanding of loving your neighbor,” said Jack Olson, the lead pastor at Trinity Lutheran during the first wave of Hmong resettlement, of the 50th anniversary.

“But we forget that so easily until sometimes we are confronted by a really down-to-earth, in-your-face opportunity to do that,” he continued. “I think that was what the Hmong entrance into our country provided for us.

“A way to do it; a way to show it; a way to act on what we have said we believe.”

In recognition of our Hmong neighbors who have called Eau Claire and the U.S. home for over 50 years, we turn the dial back — before looking ahead to all that is yet to come.

BEFORE THE SECRET WAR

In the mid-1900s, Vietnam found itself the center of growing geopolitical tension — preceded by decades of colonialism — between Japan and France, as each vied for control over Southeast Asian nations.

After its losses in World War II, Japan largely withdrew from Vietnam. Before France could secure control over the region, the League for the Independence of Vietnam — better known as the Viet Minh, later labeled the “Viet Cong” — swiftly rose up against the French.

Founded in the early 1940s by Ho Chi Minh, a political leader and revolutionary of the time, the Viet Minh sought the independence of Vietnam. These efforts were parallel to that of the Pathet Lao, a communist movement led by northern Vietnamese.

Yet, the people of Vietnam were not all in alignment with the values of communism.

Vietnam was split; some, who sought independence, wanted to become a communist nation. Others favored democratic systems which allowed ideological freedom and were anti-communist.

Following the defeat of the French by the Viet Minh, the 1954 Geneva Accords saw the division of Vietnam into its northern and southern sects, geographically split by the mid-way 17th parallel.

North Vietnam’s forces, primarily the Viet Minh and Communist Pathet Lao, were supported by the Soviet Union and China. South Vietnam’s anti-communist Royal Lao Army was supported by the U.S.

In an effort to halt the communist movement before it could spread further across Southeastern Asia, the U.S. Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) provided military training, weapons and aid to the anti-communist forces.

In 1961, after President John F. Kennedy took office, the CIA sent a team to South Vietnam to evaluate its anti-communist army-backing efforts. Bill Lair, a CIA paramilitary officer at the time, sought the support of rising Hmong military officer Vang Pao, to bolster the anti-communist forces through his own special guerrilla army.

One year later, as the conflict continued, 14 nations — including Vietnam and the U.S. — signed the International Agreement on the Neutrality of Laos in attempts to neutralize the country of foreign troops.

Laos, a landlocked country bordered by Vietnam to the East and Thailand to the West, had become critical to both sides of the war — largely due to the Ho Chi Minh Trail which ran through it.

Communist North Vietnamese forces violated the agreement almost immediately, continuing to utilize the Ho Chi Minh Trail — a complex, 12,000-mile network of paths throughout Southeast Asia — which wound through Laos.

The U.S. recognized the need for additional boots-on-the-ground intervention against the Communists, but the international agreement forbade foreign troops entering Laos.

Even if the U.S. broke the Geneva Accords and sent American troops into Laos, they would not have known the mountainous landscape nearly as well as the Communists.

The Hmong had called these crests and valleys of Laos and Southeast Asia home since the 18th century. As tens of thousands of people — including the Hmong — were displaced from Laos and North Vietnam as a result of the conflict, many too joined the anti-communist effort.

Thus, Vang Pao built what would become the anti-communist forces’ Special Guerrilla Units (SGU). Largely made up of Hmong men, they acted as the secret army on the ground, staving off the Communist Pathet Lao and Viet Minh.

The Secret War had begun.

WAR & DISPLACEMENT

By 1969, now under the promoted Major General Vang Pao, Hmong active forces were nearly 40,000 strong. Yet, deaths and attrition had been abundant during the brutal war effort, such that there were not enough men to continue filling the secret army’s ranks.

As a result, children were then recruited.

Some accounts, including that of lauded photographer Galen Beery who spent 1969-1972 in Laos, said Hmong boys as young as 11 were drafted to the army. Young girls served as nurses, Beery documented.

Joua Thai Vang, 75, was 16 when he became a soldier in the Secret War. Today, he lives in Eau Claire, yet the mountains of Laos and the tons of bombs which rained down from B-52 planes are vivid in his memory.

In an interview at his home, Vang recalled his parents’ deaths which led to his joining the Secret War. He felt he had to act to protect his homeland — and there was little choice otherwise, once the Communists came to Laos.

There were only two paths, Vang said: join the Communists or the anti-communists.

Vang remembers officer Lair and General Vang Pao; he said Hmong soldiers were taught how to take apart the guns provided by the U.S., how to load them and how to shoot.

He recalled digging holes deep enough to sit in with just his head poking out. There, he would sit for hours at a time before moving forward and digging a new hole, with the hope that U.S. bombs — which dropped on and around the Ho Chi Minh Trail — would miss him.

Vang also remembers when the Americans pulled out of Laos and ultimately, when General Vang Pao left too.

At this time, most of the world’s attention was turned to the Vietnam War. By its end, the war had killed some two million civilians on both sides; nearly 60,000 deaths among the U.S. armed forces, more than one million North Vietnamese and over 200,000 South Vietnamese.

The Vietnam War and Secret War ended in 1975 with the fall of Saigon, taken by the North Vietnamese Communists. Peace did not necessarily follow for all who had been involved, including the civilians and soldiers who had been anti-communist.

For the Hmong, many of whom had contributed to the anti-communist war effort with the U.S., targets remained on their heads. They were hunted down, taken to “re-education camps” where they were put into hard labor, or persecuted and killed if they could not escape.

Today, U.S. Hmong veterans of the Secret War do not receive federal veteran benefits — and the acknowledgment that those would represent — though some states have moved to make them eligible for state programs.

“The Hmong probably had the closest relationship with the U.S. government of any other … ethnic group whether in Vietnam and Cambodia, or in Laos,” Refugee Affairs Officer, Mac Al Thompson, said in the 2017 PBS documentary The Hmong and the Secret War. “(The Hmong are) the only group the (Communist) Vietnamese had pretty well singled out.”

Consequently, hundreds of thousands of people in Southeast Asia were displaced. While the Vietnam War and Secret War had officially ended, it birthed a political refugee crisis.

Refugee camps for those fleeing the newly Communist-ruled region were swiftly, if haphazardly, set up — mostly in neighboring Thailand. Getting to Thailand, however, presented yet another perilous journey.

REFUGEE CAMPS & CROSSING THE MEKONG

Before reaching the Thai government’s dozens of refugee camps — a response to the great influx of people fleeing their homelands — Hmong and Laotian refugees first had to complete a dangerous trek to get there.

The Mekong River stretches 3,000 miles, flowing through six southeast Asian countries: China, Myanmar, Laos, Thailand, Cambodia and Vietnam. Critically, it runs along the border of Laos and Thailand, spanning anywhere from one to 13 miles wide in some portions.

Most Hmong, having lived in the mountains of Laos for generations, did not know how to swim. Even if they clung to logs or homemade floatation devices, the Mekong was being monitored and regularly fired upon by Communist forces.

Dr. Chong Chang Her, 63, a retired pastor and owner of Hmong American Insurance Services in Eau Claire, was a teenager when he crossed the Mekong into Thailand.

In June 1979, Her, then 16 years old, had traversed the Laotian jungle for about a month to reach the river. His recollections likely echo that of tens of thousands of other refugees.

“Basically what I did, I just used some bamboo, here,” Her said, pointing to his underarms. Crossing the Mekong took three to four hours, he said, using bamboo for floatation support.

“I (was) alone,” Her added. “(I was) the only lucky one for my family. All my family (was) left behind, even my mom.”

While many would attempt to cross the Mekong by swimming, some were able to pay fishermen whose boats could provide safer passage. Doing so often required payment and brought significant risk of being revealed to the Communists.

Blia Schwahn, 60, a retired community liaison of the Eau Claire Area School District (ECASD), was born in a small farming village in the mountains of Laos.

“Life was simple,” she recalled. “You wake up every day, you go to the farm, you are self-sufficient; you grow your own food, you raise your own animals.”

In the 1970s, her family’s peaceful life was shattered by the war; the sounds of invasive gunshots and bombs echo in Schwahn’s memory.

By 1975, when General Vang Pao and the CIA ended their operation in Laos, Hmong villagers who had assisted them became vulnerable. Schwahn’s father, a civilian informant, decided the family needed to try to escape into Thailand.

Her family were among the thousands who walked to Vientiane, the capital of Laos, located along the Mekong — in hopes of fleeing.

After a traumatic journey to Vientiane and, eventually, paying a fisherman to take their family across the river, Schwahn’s family arrived to the first Hmong refugee camp — Nam Phong, formerly a U.S. military training facility — in 1975.

A few months later, they were moved to the Ban Vinai refugee camp, where they lived until 1979.

The Ban Vinai refugee camp — at its peak — covered about 400 acres and housed over 42,000 refugees, nearly all Hmong. Numerous accounts describe the minimal healthcare available and rampant disease at the camp, which was open through 1992.

A Minnesota Public Radio news broadcast from Ban Vinai in 1986 reported the refugees’ dissipating hopes of ever returning to their homes. Refugees there had largely accepted they would need to leave Southeast Asia, likely to one of the primary countries open to resettling refugees: Australia, Canada, France or the United States.

About 2.5 million Southeast Asian refugees from the Vietnam War were eventually resettled around the world — roughly 100,000 Hmong arrived in the U.S.

“A lot of Hmong people wanted to come to America because of our connection with the Americans — by supporting them during the Vietnam War — and the involvement with the CIA,” Schwahn said.

Her family, after being sponsored through a church in Kankakee, Ill., arrived in the U.S. in the winter of 1979 when Schwahn was 14. In the ‘80s, her family relocated to Eau Claire, where they put roots down — the same city where Schwahn and her husband raised their own children.

THE FIRST WAVE OF RESETTLEMENT

An An article published June 13, 1975, in Eau Claire’s Leader-Telegram newspaper, recorded some of the local efforts made by area churches to assist the global resettlement of refugees to the U.S.

The Eau Claire Council of Lutheran Churches Committed to Community and other Lutheran congregations had joined the “nationwide resettlement of Vietnamese refugees,” the article reads.

It is evident, in local and national coverage of the Vietnam War and political refugee resettlement, that widespread public knowledge of the Hmong was virtually nonexistent.

In most media of the time, refugees were referred to as Vietnamese, with no mention of the Secret War.

“The Council anticipates that five to 10 families may be resettled in Eau Claire,” the Leader-Telegram article continued.

Eau Claire’s Trinity Lutheran Church was the area’s first to sponsor and welcome a refugee family. Then, of course, they did not know the refugees were Hmong.

The Moua family arrived in Eau Claire in the brisk spring of 1976, touching down at the Chippewa Valley Regional Airport. The Mouas — made up of husband and wife, Yong Kay and Houa; baby Va Meng and child Va Yong; Kay’s brother, Lo Pao Moua — were greeted by members of Trinity Lutheran.

Jack Olson, 99, spent his life in the ministry, including the years from 1969-1989 as the lead pastor of Trinity Lutheran.

“When we met the first time, it was at the airport,” he recalled, “and I remember them getting off the plane with all of their worldly goods in two hands. That was it.”

1975-1979 is recognized as the first wave of resettlement for Hmong in the U.S. — which Eau Claire’s Her and Schwahn were part of — with the second occurring from the 1980s-1990s and the final wave from 2004-2005.

According to the United Nations Refugee Agency, the last refugee camp born from the Vietnam War era — Sungai Besi Holding Centre — did not close until August 2005.

The Mouas, with the support of Trinity Lutheran, were also able to welcome more of their family — Houa’s mother, Ma Vue, and her six other children — to Eau Claire in the late 1970s.

Charles Vue, 61, was 13 when he reunited with his sister, Houa, in Eau Claire. He recalled the chill weather and the winter coats members of the congregation had brought to the airport for them.

“It was very embracing,” he recalled. “At the same time, I felt like I was in a confused state (as I did not know) what the future would hold. … I knew I (would) be in a new land where I have to begin everything (again); start from zero.”

Trinity Lutheran showed the family how to apply for Social Security cards, where to go for low-income housing resources, purchase second-hand clothing and more.

Immediately, Vue’s biggest concern was the language barrier between himself, his family and the new community they were in.

Vue knew a couple of English words, he said, but “the ability to communicate was reduced to almost zero.”

Then, it was common to place Hmong children in lower grade levels than is typical for their ages. Vue, for instance, was enrolled in elementary school at the age of 13, due to his language limitations and lack of Western education.

At the time in Laos, formal education was a luxury often reserved for the wealthy or only for the boys in a family — it was not required. In the U.S., this difference alone was a central, significant hurdle for Hmong refugees.

Vue remembers feelings of frustration and anxiety, fueled by the initial inability to communicate with nearly anyone — and the deep desire to be able to.

“I felt like a dummy, someone who can’t understand what’s going on,” Vue recalled. “I wanted to be independent again with my communication. So, I was very frustrated for being too slow in learning English.”

Yet, Vue pushed himself hard during English Language Learners (ELL) classes — now known as Multilanguage Learners classes in local schools — which were introduced to the Eau Claire Area School District (ECASD) as a result of Hmong resettlement.

Mixed feelings came with being placed in ELL classes, Vue said. For him, despite the frustration — which felt torturous for a long time, he said — and separation from the rest of his caucasian classmates, he knew it would be worth it.

Vue credits his persistence and tenacity, through his graduation from Memorial High School and into college, to his parents.

His father, a civilian soldier killed during the Secret War, had asked Vue’s mother to ensure their children were looked after and succeeded in life.

“Once we were in the U.S., my mother saw that education would be a key to unlock opportunity. She would say, ‘to live your dad’s dream, you all should concentrate in school,’ ” Vue said.

“We listened to our father’s wish and our mother’s support,” he said.

Vue would go on to attend UW-Eau Claire, graduating with a degree in social work in 1989. He was the first Hmong person to graduate from the university.

Most of Vue’s siblings, too, earned college degrees — bachelor’s, master’s, PhD and law degrees among them. Perhaps it is no coincidence that more “firsts” have been accomplished within the same family, including Sophia Vuelo, who became Minnesota’s first Hmong American judge in 2017.

When asked if the congregation could have predicted the great achievements Hmong would make — in such a short amount of time — in the U.S., Olson responded honestly: “No, we couldn’t really have imagined that,” he said, “but we are so happy that it happened.”

“They weren’t concerned about just getting by,” Olson said. “They wanted to do more than that.”

THE 1.5 GENERATION & UNDENIABLE, HARD-EARNED PROGRESS

In 1975, the first Hmong to resettle in the U.S. came with lived experiences — from what many refer to as “the old country,” pre-war Southeastern Asia — that their children would not experience themselves.

Hmong elders — their stories and actions — laid the foundation which their children began building upon post-war resettlement.

Those children, born in Southeast Asian refugee camps but growing up in the West, are now adults and part of what many refer to as the “1.5 generation.”

As described by Madison365, a nonprofit news outlet in Wisconsin, “They represent the link between their parents, who lived through the war and are fluent in Hmong, and their children, who were born in America and are fluent in English.”

Down to the data, the forward-moving leaps and bounds made by Hmong people and those part of the 1.5 generation — the bridge between the old country and the new — are evident.

Today, over 60,000 Hmong live in Wisconsin; the dairy state is home to the third-highest Hmong population in the country.

A statistical report published by the University of Wisconsin-Madison [PDF document] in 2024, using data collected over the previous 30 years, showed undeniable progress: In short, more Hmong people are educated and employed now than ever before.

With a closer look at Eau Claire County, Hmong are the second largest ethnic group — only behind caucasians. Data here echoes that of statewide reports and is exemplified by the number of Hmong-owned businesses throughout the area; Hmong educators and students; Hmong homeowners and neighbors.

But numbers don’t paint a full picture.

Eau Claire and Hmong community leaders including Caitlin Lee, Lar Kong Xiong, True Vue, MaiVue Xiong and Chue Xiong spoke to their experiences growing up in Eau Claire — as part of the 1.5 generation — following their family’s resettlement to the area during the 1980s.

Some familiar, if evolved, hurdles from the first wave of resettlement certainly remained, such as language barriers and the Western education system.

Immense pressure to succeed in the U.S. was constant, they shared.

Even through the 1980s, 1990s and early 2000s, the majority of caucasian Eau Claire residents had little knowledge of Hmong culture. Hmong youth both saw and endured these realities, in addition to language barriers; they often acted as translators between their parents, elders and non-Hmong.

Lee, one of ten children, is the only one of her siblings to have been born in Thailand. She can recall brief flashes of her childhood in Ban Vinai; the red dirt of the ground, garbage used as toys.

Following her grandparents, Lee’s parents resettled in the U.S. and moved to Eau Claire in 1981. She noted the recently introduced ELL education programs were a major draw to the Chippewa Valley, as such programs were uncommon at the time.

Many individuals Volume One spoke with could identify the moment they recognized differences between them and their mostly caucasian peers. For Lee, it was a gradual understanding.

“I think a little bit of the consciousness set in (during elementary school),” Lee said, noting she attended EL lessons until about third grade. “It felt different being released (to EL class) because my classmates were still in one classroom and here I was being brought to another.”

For Vue, the realization came during a second grade field trip. “My mom had packed me boiled chicken with sticky rice and in our culture, that’s a sign of love,” Vue said.

“When I was young, I was like, ‘everyone’s eating, like, Lunchables and fruit roll-ups and sandwiches and chips,” she continued, “and here I am with this boiled chicken and rice. I was so embarrassed by it that I didn’t eat it and I threw it away.”

If she could, Vue said she would go back and tell herself not to be embarrassed; that their food is a beautiful thing.

She knew her parents experienced overt racism in the community, Vue said, though she was “one of those fortunate folks” who did not during her childhood. Some of her friends did; particularly Hmong boys.

Xiong recalled growing up in the 1980s and having to learn two cultures at once — Hmong and American.

“All we know is that the elders always said, ‘Yes, we came from Laos and we came from a war-torn era, and we did all the (sacrifices) for you guys. So, we want you guys to do well in school,’ ” Xiong said. “But for us, it’s just kind of like, ‘we’ll do what we can.’ ”

“We were stuck in the in-between,” he said.

Xiong remembers, as will some longtime Eau Clairians, the prevalence of gang violence — including Hmong gangs — in the 1990s and into the early 2000s.

While not unique to the Eau Claire area — a 2002 Leader-Telegram article noted the spread from the West Coast to Minnesota’s Twin Cities area, to Eau Claire in the ‘90s — the gang violence costed lives, was brought into schools, public events and hurt the wider community.

While growing up, Xiong says he, other Hmong children and adults would get chased and attacked by caucasians.

“You realize that it was about your skin color,” he said. “That’s the reason why the gangs happened. To protect our community, our friends and our families.”

“But then my dad was always in the community,” Xiong continued. “He’s always told me, like, ‘you don’t always have to fight people with fists and violence. You can fight them with words, teach them with understanding your culture, your heritage and about where you come from and who you are.’ ”

Xiong’s father, Joua (Joe) Bee Xiong, was — and remains — one of Eau Claire Hmong community’s most significant leaders and community-builders. After serving as a teenager in the Secret War, he resettled in the U.S., later becoming one of the first Hmong police officers; a board member of the Eau Claire Area Hmong Mutual Assistance Association (ECAHMAA); and the first Hmong person to serve in public office in the country, as a member of the Eau Claire City Council.

Today, Xiong is the board president of ECAHMAA and Hmong Wisconsin Chamber of Commerce’s Eau Claire area business manager. He hopes his own children, now in elementary, middle and high school, don’t have to go through the things he did while growing up.

“For me, I’m already seasoned in all that. I should be used to it,” Xiong said. “It’s unfortunate that we have to kind of teach our kids that — like, ‘why did this happen?’ or ‘why did they call me this?’ Then we have to kind of give them a little dose of reality.”

In contrast to their father, who recalled feeling culturally misunderstood by most of his peers and often kept quiet about Hmong traditions, Lar Kong’s children — Tou Bee, Nong Da and Ronin — are intrigued by their family history and excited by the opportunity to learn more.

TODAY’S HMONG AMERICAN YOUTH REDISCOVER & EMBRACE CULTURAL PRIDE

Perhaps one of the most prominent examples of local Hmong youth’s growing interest in their heritage today, is the Siab Zoo Dance Program.

Local high schooler Pearl Xiong, 17, is the program’s co-founder. Created in 2022 when she was a freshman, the Siab Zoo program — inspired by Pearl’s Hmong name, roughly translating to “kind heart” — was perhaps just a matter of time, awaiting the right moment to blossom.

For most of her youth, Pearl and her mother, Pakou Thao, drove to Minnesota weekly so she could participate in competitive Hmong dance.

Rooted in storytelling, Hmong dance has evolved into a highly popular and competitive sport in the U.S., featuring elaborate costumes and Southeast Asian music.

“(I danced) because of the cultural aspect of it,” Pearl said in an interview before dance practice, held at the ECAHMAA building. “I really loved my language and I really loved my culture and everything that came with it. I just wish that I was outspoken about it … when I was (younger).”

Pearl grew up hearing stories of her grandmother’s experience in refugee camps and, similarly to her mother, had the importance of education impressed upon her from a young age.

Pearl hoped the creation of Siab Zoo Dance Program would draw other Hmong girls of all ages together, encouraging them to both embrace their heritage and learn their native language.

As is true with dance programs of many genres, Hmong dance is a competitive community, Pearl said. “But at the end of the day, we have a lot of sportsmanship,” she said. “(We) show each other love, especially since we’re all Hmong.”

In 2022, the program began with about eight girls, taught by Pearl. Within two years, that number more than tripled. In 2025, the program had nearly 60 dancers, several coaches and debuted their first competition team, the Astrid Stars.

Pearl will soon graduate from North High School, also with an associate’s degree in business management from the Chippewa Valley Technical College. She plans to study education or psychology in pursuit of her bachelor’s degree in the near future.

Nong Da, one of Lar Kong Xiong’s children and a local middle schooler, is part of the Astrid Stars team. She first learned about Hmong dance through social media, she said, and found an outlet for her curiosity through the Siab Zoo Dance Program.

“It makes me, like, really proud of myself,” Nong Da said of participating in Hmong dance. “When I’m done, when I’m off the stage, I feel like I’m really proud of myself because I got to show my culture … I have a really big passion for it too.”

At school in Eau Claire, Nong Da also participates in Hmong Club — co-founded by True Vue, her sister Tia Lor and educator Karla Lien — where she has shown some of her dance skills as well. She said kids of all cultures are part of the club and is glad “some schools have (a place for) Hmong culture now.”

UW-Eau Claire now offers several Hmong studies courses and certificates; its first Hmong academic course was introduced in the early 2000s. The ECASD, which has a Hmong Parent Teacher Association, introduced some Hmong-focused elective courses in recent years, including Hmong language classes — making it one of two non-Western foreign languages offered — as well as a Hmong history elective.

Language continues to be a barrier for Hmong in Eau Claire and abroad, especially as the younger generations become further Westernized.

While learning English was one of the most significant hurdles just a few decades ago, Hmong youth now primarily speak English; today, more and more do not speak Hmong at all.

As Dr. Her described, “we need to be proud about ourselves first and then you need to understand who you are.” That includes learning your people’s heritage and, culturally, speaking the language, he added.

What Xiong called the “in-between” experience — Hmong Americans acting as a bridge between centuries-old traditions and the Western culture of today — continues for his children and Eau Claire’s Hmong youth.

Whether it be religious practices, familial histories, or other cultural traditions, the responsibility and commitment to pass on this history rests on their shoulders.

“If you don’t know your history, you don’t know your present time,” Her said. “If you don’t know your present time, you will not be able to prepare for your future.”

ALL THAT HAS BEEN ACCOMPLISHED, ALL THAT IS TO COME

Eau Claire celebrated its first community Hmong New Year event in 1980, held at UW-Eau Claire. It was held annually for decades before taking a multi-era hiatus during and after the COVID-19 pandemic, finally returning in 2024 at the new Sonnentag Center.

The 2025 Eau Claire Hmong New Year welcomed thousands of locals and visitors to The Sonnentag Center for the multi-day event. The New Year celebrates the end of the harvest season while welcoming positive energy into the next, and honors their ancestors.

Attendees from near and far gathered under one roof to experience dozens of food and drink vendors, sports and activities, historical exhibits and — a central event highlight — Hmong dance and singing competitions.

There, vibrant colors, textures and twinkling coins adorned many Hmong, dressed in their traditional best. The Siab Zoo Dance Program performed and mingled with traveling Hmong dance teams; veterans, including Vang, were recognized; community leaders like Xiong and Vue emceed or spoke in front of large crowds of attendees.

At the start of the event, a quartet of Hmong women sang the U.S. National Anthem.

In just 50 years, Hmong Americans have perhaps embodied the idea of the American dream. The intertwined histories of Hmong and the U.S. — stemming back to wartime — were sparked by the pursuit of freedom.

“I know each generation will have their own definition of who and what being Hmong is,” Lar Kong said. “But being Hmong is being brave and being able to overcome all obstacles that we got put in front of us. … To be Hmong is to be free.”

We asked each of the dozen-plus Hmong we interviewed what it means to be Hmong. While responses varied, commonalities emerged.

For many, their identity remains strongly tied to family and culture. Hmong are people of heritage, Vang said.

For others, a life of grappling with and accepting the nuanced history between Hmong and the U.S. has led to a reclamation of their Hmong American identities.

They believe there is beauty and joy in being different from those around you — through language, clothing, food and more. Importantly, these differences add to the vibrancy of a community.

“Nobody has asked me that question,” Schwahn said. “I just want our community to know that we are your friends, we are your neighbors, we are your coworkers; we are here, Eau Claire is our home … and we will not be going anywhere.”