| Nhiatong “Charles” Lor A boy soldier for the U.S.A.: His past and present |
| Heidi M. Pascual* Publisher & Editor * 2006 Journalist of the Year for the State of Wisconsin (U.S.-SBA) |
What started as an internal fight for power soon blossomed into the larger Second IndoChina War, or the Vietnam Conflict, as similar in-
fighting between local communists and existing governments in Cambodia and Vietnam was taking place. The period was 1959 to 1975.
During the Vietnam War, the United States was involved heavily not only in South Vietnam, but also in Laos and Cambodia. Such
involvement in Laos was termed the “Secret War” because officially, the U.S. was not present in the ongoing Laotian conflict. But North
Vietnam established the Ho Chi Minh Trail on Laotian territory, a logistical system that provided manpower and materiel to the communists in
South Vietnam and Laos. The United States’ Central Intelligence Agency recruited and trained thousands of Hmong men (and some boys) to
disrupt North Vietnamese operations in Laos. Nhiatong Lor was one of them.
It was 1969.
Boy Soldier
“My father was a soldier in the Royal Lao Army,” Nhiatong Lor said in a recent interview with Asian Wisconzine. “He took me to where he
worked and I admired him and was proud of what he was. He passed away in 1967 when the communists (Pathet Lao) took over their camp.”
Lor felt it was in his blood to follow in his father’s footsteps, considering that Laos was in a state of civil war at that time, and they (Hmong) had
very few career choices: to become a soldier, a farmer, or a teacher. He was only 12 years old then, but he clearly understood why his father
died. “He died because of democracy; because of his country.”
It was this same belief that made him leave his mother and older sister to train with a special guerilla unit to fight the local communists
and the North Vietnamese forces that supported them. At his young age, Lor said he believed his recruiter, a Hmong soldier working for the
CIA, who said they were needed by their country. “He said that we needed to protect our village, protect our parents, and protect our country.”
Lor was initially assigned to stay in the barracks, preparing packages of basic necessities (food, water and medicine) to be sent to the front
lines. Later, he underwent training in the use of weapons, once in Laos, and at another time, in Thailand. Due to his youth and size, however,
Lor was having a hard time carrying large weapons. “At that time, I was very small and I wasn’t strong enough, so I could not carry an M-16,”
Lor said. “It was heavy; but I could carry a carbine which was smaller and lighter.”
Holding a gun for the first time didn’t frighten Lor. In fact, he felt a sense of honor at the chance to serve his country. He remembered
doing target shooting, as well as learning about military regulations, discipline, and ways to protect himself while in the battlefield. “When the
military leaders thought I was ready, they sent me to the front lines,” Lor said. “It was scary to see people dying around me.” The weapons of
the enemy seemed too powerful at times, he intimated.
But it was not only bullets that killed Lor’s fellow Hmong soldiers in the battlefield. “At times we were submerged in water for a very long
time,” he recalled. “Some soldiers died because they became ill and couldn’t walk anymore. Sometimes we had no clean water to drink.” The
boy soldier was lucky to survive, although he didn’t expect to get out of the “secret war” alive.
Lor recalled that General Vang Pao, the Hmong’s highest ranking military man, saw him twice in the front lines and castigated his
company leader for sending a boy soldier to fight seasoned communists. The general sent him back to Long Cheng, the Lao-Hmong military
center. “I was sent back but when they didn’t have enough men on the front lines, I would be sent back to fight again,” he said.
The boy soldier was one of about 10 children in Company 211, composed of close to 100 soldiers, 90 percent of whom were Hmong. “We
were there to fight the communists and to help America maintain democracy.”
Retired U.S. Army Major Steven Schofield met Lor for the first time in 1969, and took the 1969 photo which is part of this article.
Schofield worked as a medic during the Vietnam War and was stationed in Laos. In an email to this writer, Schofield wrote: “Nhiatong, like
many Hmong boys, was put on the front lines battling well trained North Vietnamese Army (NVA) regular troops. It is a wonder he survived the
next six years of fighting, (from the time I took the photo until the end of fighting in 1975.)”
It was also Schofield who, when interviewed by the Sheboygan Press for a documentary titled, “Brothers in Arms,” (a narrative on the
Hmong role in the Secret War and a history of the Lao-Hmong-U.S. Veterans Memorial in Sheboygan) said that the three missions of the
Hmong during that war were to rescue downed U.S. American pilots; to disrupt Vietnamese supply lines along the crucial Ho Chi Minh Trail;
and to protect the U.S. radars in the Laotian mountains.
Schofield, in the same documentary, confirmed that after the U.S. pullout from Laos, the Hmong population was decimated. He
estimated that 20 percent of about 150 million Hmong died as a result of the war.
As the world knows, with the pullout of the American forces from the IndoChina peninsula, the Vietnam War ended in 1975 and the
communists emerged victorious in the region. The Pathet Lao rose to power in Laos, and the Hmong were targeted for persecution.
Lor remembered going back to Long Cheng, finding that their highest-ranking military leaders, including Gen. Vang Pao, had been flown to
Thailand as the Americans pulled out of Laos. The Pathet Lao arrived in civilian clothes so as not to scare the people, Lor said. “They talked
to the people, saying ‘We go all together; your country is our country, the same country.’” After identifying higher-ranking Hmong military men,
the Pathet Lao gathered them and sent them to “training.” “They took them to ‘training,’ but they never came back,” Lor said, certain that they
had been killed. “They got our leaders.”
Fortunately, Lor was not suspected as a former soldier for the CIA, because of his youth and his size. “I was too small and too young to be
suspected as a soldier,” Lor said with a grin, “so I survived that moment.” He went back to his village, began farming, and in 1976, married his
village-mate, Paoyoua. Shortly thereafter, Lor realized that the Pathet Lao was focused on getting rid of the Hmong population, whom the
communists considered “traitors” because of their association with the U.S. during the war. He decided he had to take his family to Thailand,
like so many other families who were also forced to escape.
“We planned our escape, and since our village was far from the Mekong River, we lived in the jungle for three years,” Lor recalled, his
wife adding details as he spoke. “We moved from one place to another often, sometimes every day, sometimes, every month. It depended on
the situation. The communists were coming after us Hmong, so we knew we couldn’t stay in one place; we had to go to different places.”
Lor remembered eating “everything in the jungle” after consuming the last of their rice supply. “We shot animals, and we ate everything from
the tree. Anything edible, we ate.”
During their three years of living in the Laotian jungles, Lor witnessed many old and very young people perish. Many of them died
hungry,” he lamented. “Many got sick and then died, too.”
One night in March 1979, the Lor family, together with a few other Hmong families, reached the bank of Mekong River and waited until a spot
was clear of Pathet Lao soldiers. “We had to make sure nobody could see us, so we were careful to try to cross the river, five or six people at a
time,” Lor recalled. “We put bamboo poles under our arms (as floaters). My two other cousins knew how to swim, but my wife and my wife’s
mom didn’t know how to swim. So after putting the bamboo under their arms we tied them with us and we swam and pulled them as we swam.”
Lor added that usually, an individual can cross the Mekong River in about an hour, but with an added load, like people who cannot swim, the
process would take several hours. “It took me six hours — from 9 o’clock until 3 o’clock in the morning — to cross to the other side. It was very
difficult.”
He said that many Hmong escapees who couldn’t swim and decided to go back to the jungle either landed in jail or were killed outright.
Many actually drowned.
After reaching Thailand, it took the swimmers a few hours to regain composure. When the Thai police arrived, Lor’s group was taken to
the police station and later transferred to a refugee camp. “My family lived there for seven onths,” Lor said, describing their “home” as “one
room in a long building.” As refugees, they depended mostly on aid from the outside world for food and other basic needs.
Lor and his family eventually left Thailand for the U.S. in November 1979, a short wait compared to thousands of other Hmong families
who waited many years before getting their travel documents. “The American guy who did the interviewing in our refugee camp knew me as a
boy soldier in Long Cheng, that’s why,” Lor said with a smile. In a way, it was another stroke of luck.
Those who, like Lor, were lucky enough to escape Laos after 1975 were relocated to different countries, including the United States. As
refugees, the Hmong were forced to start their lives over again in a strange land, and their fight for survival was another tough battle that took
them years to win.
A stranger in a strange land
“We landed in Denver, because we were sponsored by Charles Vang, a cousin of my wife,” Lor said. “But I call him brother, that’s our
culture. He helped us start our life there, apply for welfare, and find an apartment.”
It wasn’t easy for Lor and his wife because they didn’t speak any English; didn’t have a diploma; and didn’t have relevant skills to get
meaningful jobs in America. “We had to walk long distances to go to the store to buy our food because we didn’t have transportation then,” Lor
said, “and because we didn’t speak nor understand English, we usually gave the whole booklet of food stamps to the cashier, who would just
get the food stamps needed and then give the booklet back to us.” He also remembered getting lost several times while taking a bus,
sometimes missing a day’s work, and going home tired and frustrated because nothing had been accomplished.
Lor started working in the housekeeping department of a local hotel. His most unforgettable moment there was when his supervisor got
upset with him because he didn’t know what to get when she said, “Get the dustpan and the broom.” He did all his assigned work that
particular day with a heavy heart, and when his work was done, he couldn’t help but cry as he sat by one of the hotel stairs. He said he
thought about his homeland, his family and wondered how they could survive in a strange land, owning nothing and knowing nothing. His
supervisor saw him and sat beside him, patted his shoulders and said words Lor couldn’t understand. But the days after that incident were
different. “After that, she was nice to me,” Lor said. “When she wanted me to do something, she would show me how to do it. I didn’t have a
problem with her anymore, and I worked there for two years.”
The beginning of a better life
A Laotian cousin helped Lor register for a job service program, an ESL class, and a machine-shop class. Lor recognized that he was not
good in English, but he was very good with his hands. “I worked very hard in my machine-shop class; my skills were very accurate, very good,
so my teacher really liked me,” Lor stated proudly. “He had a friend who owned a little shop, a family business of three people. My teacher
sent me to him to work for him. At that time, he paid me $3.50 per hour. In the hotel where I worked before, they paid me $3.25 per hour. My
new boss gave me quarter more. After only three weeks, he gave me $4.50 per hour. He said I was a hardworker, that I came to work early, and
when it’s winter, I shoveled the driveway. He also said, ‘Oh, you have a family.’ He thought that $3.50 is not enough for a living.” Meanwhile,
his wife began to work in an electronic assembly firm. He worked in this shop for four years before the family moved to Milwaukee to join
another cousin.
He said he was told that the education system was better in Wisconsin than Colorado for his children. Lor and his wife decided to go back
to school to become more proficient in English. “I took classes at Milwaukee Area Technical College,” he said, and the course included
listening, reading, and writing. The couple also became employed in companies where their acquired skills and experience were needed.
During the next 20 years, Lor thrived while his family grew. The couple raised six children, all born in the U.S.A., who are themselves on their
way to success. The couple acquired some property and became involved in some business ventures, including a small auto repair shop. He
also partnered with cousin Charles Vang in a real estate business that made him a “property manager” but which eventually had to be given
up because of his full-time job. With these added skills in business management, confidence in himself and a growing Hmong population in
Madison, Lor decided to buy a grocery along Fish Hatchery Road in 2005, which he renamed “Madison Oriental Market.” He resigned from his
job and became his own boss.
“I am now very happy,” Lor said, showing his store and explaining its growth. He said his customers tell him that his store has more and
varied items now than ever before. “I go to different places to get these things: in Chicago, in Minnesota, and I also order stuff from California.”
Lor admitted he gets headaches sometimes, but the pressure is less than when he was working for someone else. He also convinced his wife to
resign from her work (18 years as a machine operator in Milwaukee) and help him in the business. “I needed help here because when I go out
to buy stuff, I needed someone I could trust to handle the cash register.”
Lor has come a long way, indeed. While reflecting on that night he was crying on the stairs, he also thought of what he has become two
decades later.
Remembering other soldiers “left behind”
Looking at Lor today, no one can guess that he was once a boy soldier. He doesn’t have scars to prove it; but the scars were left inside.
They have been healed but are not, and would never be, forgotten. When he wears his uniform to attend the annual Lao-Hmong-U.S.
Veterans Memorial Day in Sheboygan, Wis., his painful past becomes fresh again.
“We gather there every year to remember those who died fighting for freedom and democracy in our land,” Lor said. “The Lao-Hmong-U.
S. Memorial is a reminder to all about the sacrifices that the Hmong made during the Vietnam War.”’ Proud of his past as a boy soldier, Lor
displays on his uniform two medals he earned, for heroism and bravery during the Vietnam War.
Was fighting with the United States against the communists all worth his life’s struggle? “Yes; I have no regrets,” Lor said sincerely. “I love
freedom and democracy. This is my country now. I am very happy that I came to America. Here, I can do anything I want to do, and I can be
the person I want to be.”
fighting between local communists and existing governments in Cambodia and Vietnam was taking place. The period was 1959 to 1975.
During the Vietnam War, the United States was involved heavily not only in South Vietnam, but also in Laos and Cambodia. Such
involvement in Laos was termed the “Secret War” because officially, the U.S. was not present in the ongoing Laotian conflict. But North
Vietnam established the Ho Chi Minh Trail on Laotian territory, a logistical system that provided manpower and materiel to the communists in
South Vietnam and Laos. The United States’ Central Intelligence Agency recruited and trained thousands of Hmong men (and some boys) to
disrupt North Vietnamese operations in Laos. Nhiatong Lor was one of them.
It was 1969.
Boy Soldier
“My father was a soldier in the Royal Lao Army,” Nhiatong Lor said in a recent interview with Asian Wisconzine. “He took me to where he
worked and I admired him and was proud of what he was. He passed away in 1967 when the communists (Pathet Lao) took over their camp.”
Lor felt it was in his blood to follow in his father’s footsteps, considering that Laos was in a state of civil war at that time, and they (Hmong) had
very few career choices: to become a soldier, a farmer, or a teacher. He was only 12 years old then, but he clearly understood why his father
died. “He died because of democracy; because of his country.”
It was this same belief that made him leave his mother and older sister to train with a special guerilla unit to fight the local communists
and the North Vietnamese forces that supported them. At his young age, Lor said he believed his recruiter, a Hmong soldier working for the
CIA, who said they were needed by their country. “He said that we needed to protect our village, protect our parents, and protect our country.”
Lor was initially assigned to stay in the barracks, preparing packages of basic necessities (food, water and medicine) to be sent to the front
lines. Later, he underwent training in the use of weapons, once in Laos, and at another time, in Thailand. Due to his youth and size, however,
Lor was having a hard time carrying large weapons. “At that time, I was very small and I wasn’t strong enough, so I could not carry an M-16,”
Lor said. “It was heavy; but I could carry a carbine which was smaller and lighter.”
Holding a gun for the first time didn’t frighten Lor. In fact, he felt a sense of honor at the chance to serve his country. He remembered
doing target shooting, as well as learning about military regulations, discipline, and ways to protect himself while in the battlefield. “When the
military leaders thought I was ready, they sent me to the front lines,” Lor said. “It was scary to see people dying around me.” The weapons of
the enemy seemed too powerful at times, he intimated.
But it was not only bullets that killed Lor’s fellow Hmong soldiers in the battlefield. “At times we were submerged in water for a very long
time,” he recalled. “Some soldiers died because they became ill and couldn’t walk anymore. Sometimes we had no clean water to drink.” The
boy soldier was lucky to survive, although he didn’t expect to get out of the “secret war” alive.
Lor recalled that General Vang Pao, the Hmong’s highest ranking military man, saw him twice in the front lines and castigated his
company leader for sending a boy soldier to fight seasoned communists. The general sent him back to Long Cheng, the Lao-Hmong military
center. “I was sent back but when they didn’t have enough men on the front lines, I would be sent back to fight again,” he said.
The boy soldier was one of about 10 children in Company 211, composed of close to 100 soldiers, 90 percent of whom were Hmong. “We
were there to fight the communists and to help America maintain democracy.”
Retired U.S. Army Major Steven Schofield met Lor for the first time in 1969, and took the 1969 photo which is part of this article.
Schofield worked as a medic during the Vietnam War and was stationed in Laos. In an email to this writer, Schofield wrote: “Nhiatong, like
many Hmong boys, was put on the front lines battling well trained North Vietnamese Army (NVA) regular troops. It is a wonder he survived the
next six years of fighting, (from the time I took the photo until the end of fighting in 1975.)”
It was also Schofield who, when interviewed by the Sheboygan Press for a documentary titled, “Brothers in Arms,” (a narrative on the
Hmong role in the Secret War and a history of the Lao-Hmong-U.S. Veterans Memorial in Sheboygan) said that the three missions of the
Hmong during that war were to rescue downed U.S. American pilots; to disrupt Vietnamese supply lines along the crucial Ho Chi Minh Trail;
and to protect the U.S. radars in the Laotian mountains.
Schofield, in the same documentary, confirmed that after the U.S. pullout from Laos, the Hmong population was decimated. He
estimated that 20 percent of about 150 million Hmong died as a result of the war.
As the world knows, with the pullout of the American forces from the IndoChina peninsula, the Vietnam War ended in 1975 and the
communists emerged victorious in the region. The Pathet Lao rose to power in Laos, and the Hmong were targeted for persecution.
Lor remembered going back to Long Cheng, finding that their highest-ranking military leaders, including Gen. Vang Pao, had been flown to
Thailand as the Americans pulled out of Laos. The Pathet Lao arrived in civilian clothes so as not to scare the people, Lor said. “They talked
to the people, saying ‘We go all together; your country is our country, the same country.’” After identifying higher-ranking Hmong military men,
the Pathet Lao gathered them and sent them to “training.” “They took them to ‘training,’ but they never came back,” Lor said, certain that they
had been killed. “They got our leaders.”
Fortunately, Lor was not suspected as a former soldier for the CIA, because of his youth and his size. “I was too small and too young to be
suspected as a soldier,” Lor said with a grin, “so I survived that moment.” He went back to his village, began farming, and in 1976, married his
village-mate, Paoyoua. Shortly thereafter, Lor realized that the Pathet Lao was focused on getting rid of the Hmong population, whom the
communists considered “traitors” because of their association with the U.S. during the war. He decided he had to take his family to Thailand,
like so many other families who were also forced to escape.
“We planned our escape, and since our village was far from the Mekong River, we lived in the jungle for three years,” Lor recalled, his
wife adding details as he spoke. “We moved from one place to another often, sometimes every day, sometimes, every month. It depended on
the situation. The communists were coming after us Hmong, so we knew we couldn’t stay in one place; we had to go to different places.”
Lor remembered eating “everything in the jungle” after consuming the last of their rice supply. “We shot animals, and we ate everything from
the tree. Anything edible, we ate.”
During their three years of living in the Laotian jungles, Lor witnessed many old and very young people perish. Many of them died
hungry,” he lamented. “Many got sick and then died, too.”
One night in March 1979, the Lor family, together with a few other Hmong families, reached the bank of Mekong River and waited until a spot
was clear of Pathet Lao soldiers. “We had to make sure nobody could see us, so we were careful to try to cross the river, five or six people at a
time,” Lor recalled. “We put bamboo poles under our arms (as floaters). My two other cousins knew how to swim, but my wife and my wife’s
mom didn’t know how to swim. So after putting the bamboo under their arms we tied them with us and we swam and pulled them as we swam.”
Lor added that usually, an individual can cross the Mekong River in about an hour, but with an added load, like people who cannot swim, the
process would take several hours. “It took me six hours — from 9 o’clock until 3 o’clock in the morning — to cross to the other side. It was very
difficult.”
He said that many Hmong escapees who couldn’t swim and decided to go back to the jungle either landed in jail or were killed outright.
Many actually drowned.
After reaching Thailand, it took the swimmers a few hours to regain composure. When the Thai police arrived, Lor’s group was taken to
the police station and later transferred to a refugee camp. “My family lived there for seven onths,” Lor said, describing their “home” as “one
room in a long building.” As refugees, they depended mostly on aid from the outside world for food and other basic needs.
Lor and his family eventually left Thailand for the U.S. in November 1979, a short wait compared to thousands of other Hmong families
who waited many years before getting their travel documents. “The American guy who did the interviewing in our refugee camp knew me as a
boy soldier in Long Cheng, that’s why,” Lor said with a smile. In a way, it was another stroke of luck.
Those who, like Lor, were lucky enough to escape Laos after 1975 were relocated to different countries, including the United States. As
refugees, the Hmong were forced to start their lives over again in a strange land, and their fight for survival was another tough battle that took
them years to win.
A stranger in a strange land
“We landed in Denver, because we were sponsored by Charles Vang, a cousin of my wife,” Lor said. “But I call him brother, that’s our
culture. He helped us start our life there, apply for welfare, and find an apartment.”
It wasn’t easy for Lor and his wife because they didn’t speak any English; didn’t have a diploma; and didn’t have relevant skills to get
meaningful jobs in America. “We had to walk long distances to go to the store to buy our food because we didn’t have transportation then,” Lor
said, “and because we didn’t speak nor understand English, we usually gave the whole booklet of food stamps to the cashier, who would just
get the food stamps needed and then give the booklet back to us.” He also remembered getting lost several times while taking a bus,
sometimes missing a day’s work, and going home tired and frustrated because nothing had been accomplished.
Lor started working in the housekeeping department of a local hotel. His most unforgettable moment there was when his supervisor got
upset with him because he didn’t know what to get when she said, “Get the dustpan and the broom.” He did all his assigned work that
particular day with a heavy heart, and when his work was done, he couldn’t help but cry as he sat by one of the hotel stairs. He said he
thought about his homeland, his family and wondered how they could survive in a strange land, owning nothing and knowing nothing. His
supervisor saw him and sat beside him, patted his shoulders and said words Lor couldn’t understand. But the days after that incident were
different. “After that, she was nice to me,” Lor said. “When she wanted me to do something, she would show me how to do it. I didn’t have a
problem with her anymore, and I worked there for two years.”
The beginning of a better life
A Laotian cousin helped Lor register for a job service program, an ESL class, and a machine-shop class. Lor recognized that he was not
good in English, but he was very good with his hands. “I worked very hard in my machine-shop class; my skills were very accurate, very good,
so my teacher really liked me,” Lor stated proudly. “He had a friend who owned a little shop, a family business of three people. My teacher
sent me to him to work for him. At that time, he paid me $3.50 per hour. In the hotel where I worked before, they paid me $3.25 per hour. My
new boss gave me quarter more. After only three weeks, he gave me $4.50 per hour. He said I was a hardworker, that I came to work early, and
when it’s winter, I shoveled the driveway. He also said, ‘Oh, you have a family.’ He thought that $3.50 is not enough for a living.” Meanwhile,
his wife began to work in an electronic assembly firm. He worked in this shop for four years before the family moved to Milwaukee to join
another cousin.
He said he was told that the education system was better in Wisconsin than Colorado for his children. Lor and his wife decided to go back
to school to become more proficient in English. “I took classes at Milwaukee Area Technical College,” he said, and the course included
listening, reading, and writing. The couple also became employed in companies where their acquired skills and experience were needed.
During the next 20 years, Lor thrived while his family grew. The couple raised six children, all born in the U.S.A., who are themselves on their
way to success. The couple acquired some property and became involved in some business ventures, including a small auto repair shop. He
also partnered with cousin Charles Vang in a real estate business that made him a “property manager” but which eventually had to be given
up because of his full-time job. With these added skills in business management, confidence in himself and a growing Hmong population in
Madison, Lor decided to buy a grocery along Fish Hatchery Road in 2005, which he renamed “Madison Oriental Market.” He resigned from his
job and became his own boss.
“I am now very happy,” Lor said, showing his store and explaining its growth. He said his customers tell him that his store has more and
varied items now than ever before. “I go to different places to get these things: in Chicago, in Minnesota, and I also order stuff from California.”
Lor admitted he gets headaches sometimes, but the pressure is less than when he was working for someone else. He also convinced his wife to
resign from her work (18 years as a machine operator in Milwaukee) and help him in the business. “I needed help here because when I go out
to buy stuff, I needed someone I could trust to handle the cash register.”
Lor has come a long way, indeed. While reflecting on that night he was crying on the stairs, he also thought of what he has become two
decades later.
Remembering other soldiers “left behind”
Looking at Lor today, no one can guess that he was once a boy soldier. He doesn’t have scars to prove it; but the scars were left inside.
They have been healed but are not, and would never be, forgotten. When he wears his uniform to attend the annual Lao-Hmong-U.S.
Veterans Memorial Day in Sheboygan, Wis., his painful past becomes fresh again.
“We gather there every year to remember those who died fighting for freedom and democracy in our land,” Lor said. “The Lao-Hmong-U.
S. Memorial is a reminder to all about the sacrifices that the Hmong made during the Vietnam War.”’ Proud of his past as a boy soldier, Lor
displays on his uniform two medals he earned, for heroism and bravery during the Vietnam War.
Was fighting with the United States against the communists all worth his life’s struggle? “Yes; I have no regrets,” Lor said sincerely. “I love
freedom and democracy. This is my country now. I am very happy that I came to America. Here, I can do anything I want to do, and I can be
the person I want to be.”
At 52, Nhiatong “Charles” Lor stands barely 5 feet tall and
he considers himself “small,” but his life story as a former Hmong
soldier who was recruited to fight the communists at age 12 is
huge — in scope, importance, and relevance — for both Asians
and Americans.
His story is Asian Wisconzine’s tribute to American veterans of
war in general, and to Hmong veterans in particular. It is our
special offering for November, when all Americans remember
those who gave their lives in the name of freedom and democracy
in the world.
Background:
Laos became independent in 1953 after many years of French
occupation. Thereafter, three contending groups clearly sought
power: the neutralists, the right-wing party, and the Lao Patriotic
Front (Pathet Lao).
he considers himself “small,” but his life story as a former Hmong
soldier who was recruited to fight the communists at age 12 is
huge — in scope, importance, and relevance — for both Asians
and Americans.
His story is Asian Wisconzine’s tribute to American veterans of
war in general, and to Hmong veterans in particular. It is our
special offering for November, when all Americans remember
those who gave their lives in the name of freedom and democracy
in the world.
Background:
Laos became independent in 1953 after many years of French
occupation. Thereafter, three contending groups clearly sought
power: the neutralists, the right-wing party, and the Lao Patriotic
Front (Pathet Lao).
Nhiatong “Charles” Lor (above r) at the Wisconsin State Capitol; Lor
(left photo, r, taken by Steve Schofield, US Army Ret.) in 1969 as a boy
soldier in Laos.
(left photo, r, taken by Steve Schofield, US Army Ret.) in 1969 as a boy
soldier in Laos.
