July 4th: A special day for Hmong veterans

By Sharon Cohen

ST. PAUL, Minnesota (AP): His arms are creased with scars that are jagged like lightning bolts, reminders of his days as a soldier in the steaming jungles of Laos. His chest glistens with gold medals, testament to his years of bravery.

Fa Sue Vang still wears camouflage fatigues, snaps a crisp salute and remembers names and dates from the Vietnam War. That's when he was a young soldier, one of tens of thousands of Hmong recruited by the Central Intelligence Agency for covert military action in Laos.

Win or lose, America said, it would remember and take care of them.

Now, 25 years after war's end, many Hmong veterans feel the nation is finally doing just that: They will celebrate this Fourth of July with a reward for their loyalty to America, a prize they had sought for decades -- a new chance to become U.S. citizens.

For Fa Sue Vang, it is a sign of acceptance.

"I still feel that I am an outsider here," the wiry 61-year- old veteran says through a translator. "But when I become a citizen, then I can be a real American."

Hmong veterans can now take advantage of a new law waiving a requirement that those seeking to become citizens pass the test in English. It took nearly 10 years to get the bill to the president's desk, a delay attributed partly to the secrecy of the Hmong's wartime mission and their slow assimilation into America.

The English-speaking rule had long been a roadblock for the Hmong, who have little formal education and speak a language that didn't have a written form until several decades ago.

"These people grew up with war. They didn't have time to go to school," says Cherzong Vang, president of the Minnesota chapter of the Lao Veterans of America and a former commander of a guerrilla unit. "When the adults died, the children had to pick up the gun and fight."

Citizenship will allow Hmong veterans and their spouses the right to vote and carry a U.S. passport. But it also gives them something even more precious, says Philip Smith, Washington, D.C., director of the Lao veterans group.

"What this was all about was to be recognized and honored by the country they sacrificed for," Smith says, "and that really is the most important thing."

"They deserve this because they gave the best years of their lives to fighting on behalf of the United States," he adds. "They are not going to die in limbo as a people without a country."

They had a country once, before the war. The Hmong were a tribal society, most of them living in small villages, working as farmers.

Recruited by the CIA, the Hmong knew the mountains and roads of northern Laos better than anyone. They set up ambushes by the dark of the moon along the Ho Chi Minh Trail, the North Vietnamese supply line into South Vietnam. They saved American lives. They guarded U.S. intelligence sites.

They worked long and hard.

"For 15 years, I was never off for one day," Cher Pao Pha, a 74-year-old decorated veteran, says through a translator.

And the risks they faced, Smith says, were enormous: Baby- faced soldiers as young as 12 were flown into battle by Air America, the CIA's clandestine airline. They rescued U.S. pilots; one mission could mean the loss of 100 Hmong lives. Their pay for this duty was paltry: as little as US$3 a month, the cash flown in by the bundle on Air America planes.

"We wanted to become America's friend," says Cherzong Vang, whose left leg still bears scars from a grenade. "They told us that if they win, they would build us schools and roads and hospitals."

"We didn't know much about American history but we knew the good things," he adds. "They had won World War I and World War II. Vietnam is such a small country. We thought America would win. We were wrong."

But the Hmong say American advisers promised that even if the United States did not prevail, they would help their allies.

"They said they would take us back to some place where there is democracy and freedom and we would get citizenship and be treated like American people," says Xang Lor, who served alongside the U.S. Special Forces.

But after the United States pulled out, most of the Hmong were left behind to face the communists. And, Smith says, they paid a heavy price.

"Not only were they an ethnic minority, but they were traitors who sided with the Americans," he says. "They were enemies of the state. They were liquidated. Their villages were shelled, burned to the ground."

According to Smith, 20,000 to 30,000 Hmong died in battle during the Vietnam War. Afterward, he says, tens of thousands more were killed.

Hmong who survived tell harrowing tales of persecution and punishment.

Among them is Xang Lor, a former major, who unfolds a computer printout of an interview conducted by a UN refugee committee that summarizes in dry detail the history of his excruciating odyssey.

Now 75, his oak-brown face deeply creased by the years, he rubs a hand through silver hair cropped short in military fashion and his eyes glisten with sadness as he recalls eight years of prison, hard labor and a communist reeducation camp.

His captors knocked his teeth out and beat him unconscious; one attack lasted for 13 straight hours. He ended up being tied up and marched deep into a jungle where his guards opened fire on him.

Speaking in Hmong, Lor points to where the shots grazed his ear and forehead, then wounded him in the back and hand. Awash in blood, he was left for dead in the jungle.

By 1986, he had made it to the United States. But at 61, there were so many obstacles -- a new culture, new customs, a new language.

"I could not learn English," he says. "I could not go to school. I feel sad for myself because I could not support my family."

The plight of the Hmong first stirred Smith about a decade ago when he was a congressional staffer who met many veterans while visiting refugee camps along the Mekong River in Thailand.

He was appalled by their treatment and decided to help. But persuading Congress to relax its citizenship restrictions was no easy task.

"Even after the end of the Vietnam War, the role of the Hmong was not understood by most policymakers," Smith says. "Yes, people knew they were our allies, but they had no idea the strategic role they played."

So Smith worked to get CIA and Defense Department records declassified along with secret government-commissioned reports by the RAND Corporation, a think tank.

The Hmong, meanwhile, were busy trying to get on their feet in a world where much was alien to them -- including political lobbying. "The Hmong had no technocrats, no doctors, no lawyers, no entrepreneurs," Smith says. "They were a tribal, agrarian, semi-nomadic people."

By 1990, the veterans group had formed, and a year later their push for citizenship was championed by Rep. Bruce Vento, Democrat-Minnesota, who introduced the bill in the House of Representatives. He now sees its passage as he prepares to retire because of lung cancer.

But accomplishing that was a slow process. In the beginning, the bill had just a handful of cosponsors; by the time President Bill Clinton signed it into law in May, there were more than 100.

The law does not give Hmong soldiers veterans' benefits. It limits citizenship to those who served with the U.S. covert forces; those people can take the test with a translator.

As many as 65,000 Hmong veterans live in the United States -- the Minneapolis-St. Paul area has a large population -- and some already are U.S. citizens, Smith says.

But, he says, tens of thousands of Hmong combat veterans have languished in limbo as aliens, and this law can remedy that.

The law limits to 45,000 the number of Hmong who can become citizens in this way. They must apply within 18 months.

In recent years, many Hmong veterans have been on the front lines pushing for this law, traveling in uniform by the thousands to Capitol Hill, visiting the Vietnam Veterans Memorial.

Many are now in their twilight years, eager to be embraced by the country they took up arms for long ago.

Among them is Xang Lor, a man who hasn't seen a battlefield in decades, but still has the heart and soul of a soldier.

"The day I become a citizen, then I call myself American," he says. "If there are any more wars, I would be willing to stand up for this country again."