My Immigration Story – Tan Le

How can I speak in 10 minutes about the bonds of women over three generations, about how the astonishing
strength of those bonds took hold in the life of a four-year-old girl huddled with her young sister, her mother
and her grandmother for five days and nights in a small boat in the China Sea more than 30 years ago. Bonds
that took hold in the life of that small girl and never let go -- that small girl now living in San Francisco and
speaking to you today. This is not a finished story. It is a jigsaw puzzle still being put together. Let me tell
you about some of the pieces. 
My first memories are from the boat -- the steady beat of the engine, the bow dipping into each wave, the
vast and empty horizon. I don't remember the pirates who came many times, but were bluffed by the bravado
of the men on our boat, or the engine dying and failing to start for six hours. But I do remember the lights on
the oil rig off the Malaysian coast and the young man who collapsed and died, the journey's end too much for
him, and the first apple I tasted, given to me by the men on the rig. No apple has ever tasted the same. 
After three months in a refugee camp, we landed in Melbourne. And the next piece of the jigsaw is about
four women across three generations shaping a new life together. We settled in Footscray, a working-class
suburb whose demographic is layers of immigrants. Unlike the settled middle-class suburbs, whose existence
I was oblivious of, there was no sense of entitlement in Footscray. The smells from shop doors were from the
rest of the world. And the snippets of halting English were exchanged between people who had one thing in
common: They were starting again. 
My mother worked on farms, then on a car assembly line, working six days, double shifts. Somehow, she
found time to study English and gain IT qualifications. We were poor. All the dollars were allocated and
extra tuition in English and mathematics was budgeted for regardless of what missed out, which was usually
new clothes; they were always secondhand. Two pairs of stockings for school, each to hide the holes in the
other. A school uniform down to the ankles, because it had to last for six years. And there were rare but
searing chants of "slit-eye" and the occasional graffiti: "Asian, go home." Go home to where? Something
stiffened inside me. There was a gathering of resolve and a quiet voice saying, "I will bypass you." 
My mother, my sister and I slept in the same bed. My mother was exhausted each night, but we told one
another about our day and listened to the movements of my grandmother around the house. My mother
suffered from nightmares, all about the boat. And my job was to stay awake until her nightmares came so I
could wake her. She opened a computer store, then studied to be a beautician and opened another
business. And the women came with their stories about men who could not make the transition, angry and
inflexible, and troubled children caught between two worlds. 
Grants and sponsors were sought. Centers were established. I lived in parallel worlds. In one, I was the
classic Asian student, relentless in the demands that I made on myself. In the other, I was enmeshed in lives
that were precarious, tragically scarred by violence, drug abuse and isolation. But so many over the years
were helped. And for that work, when I was a final-year law student, I was chosen as the Young Australian
of the Year. And I was catapulted from one piece of the jigsaw to another, and their edges didn't fit. 

Tan Le, anonymous Footscray resident, was now Tan Le, refugee and social activist, invited to speak in
venues she had never heard of and into homes whose existence she could never have imagined. I didn't know
the protocols. I didn't know how to use the cutlery. I didn't know how to talk about wine. I didn't know how
to talk about anything. I wanted to retreat to the routines and comfort of life in an unsung suburb -- a
grandmother, a mother and two daughters ending each day as they had for almost 20 years, telling one
another the story of their day and falling asleep, the three of us still in the same bed. I told my mother I
couldn't do it. She reminded me that I was now the same age she had been when we boarded the boat. "No"
had never been an option. "Just do it," she said, "and don't be what you're not." 
So I spoke out on youth unemployment and education and the neglect of the marginalized . And the more
candidly I spoke, the more I was asked to speak. I met people from all walks of life, so many of them doing
the thing they loved, living on the frontiers of possibility. And even though I finished my degree, I realized I
could not settle into a career in law. There had to be another piece of the jigsaw. And I realized, at the same
time, that it is OK to be an outsider, a recent arrival, new on the scene -- and not just OK, but something to
be thankful for, perhaps a gift from the boat. Because being an insider can so easily mean collapsing the
horizons, can so easily mean accepting the presumptions of your province. I have stepped outside my
comfort zone enough now to know that, yes, the world does fall apart, but not in the way that you fear. 

Possibilities that would not have been allowed were outrageously encouraged. There was an energy there, an
implacable optimism, a strange mixture of humility and daring. So I followed my hunches. I gathered around
me a small team of people for whom the label "It can't be done" was an irresistible challenge. For a year, we
were penniless. At the end of each day, I made a huge pot of soup which we all shared. We worked well into
each night. Most of our ideas were crazy, but a few were brilliant, and we broke through. I made the decision
to move to the US after only one trip. My hunches again. Three months later, I had relocated, and the
adventure has continued. 
Before I close, though, let me tell you about my grandmother. She grew up at a time when Confucianism was
the social norm and the local mandarin was the person who mattered. Life hadn't changed for centuries. Her
father died soon after she was born. Her mother raised her alone. At 17, she became the second wife of a
mandarin whose mother beat her. With no support from her husband, she caused a sensation by taking him to
court and prosecuting her own case, and a far greater sensation when she won. 

I was taking a shower in a hotel room in Sydney the moment she died, 600 miles away, in Melbourne. I
looked through the shower screen and saw her standing on the other side. I knew she had come to say
goodbye. My mother phoned minutes later. A few days later, we went to a Buddhist temple in Footscray and
sat around her casket. We told her stories and assured her that we were still with her. At midnight, the monk
came and told us he had to close the casket. My mother asked us to feel her hand. She asked the monk, "Why
is it that her hand is so warm and the rest of her is so cold?" "Because you have been holding it since this
morning," he said. "You have not let it go." 
If there is a sinew in our family, it runs through the women. Given who we were and how life had shaped
us, we can now see that the men that might have come into our lives would have thwarted us. Defeat would
have come too easily. Now I would like to have my own children, and I wonder about the boat. Who could
ever wish it on their own? Yet I am afraid of privilege, of ease, of entitlement. Can I give them a bow in their
lives, dipping bravely into each wave, the unperturbed
and steady beat of the engine, the vast horizon that
guarantees nothing? I don't know. But if I could give
it and still see them safely through, I would. 

Questions

1) Explain what Tan Le states about the “bonds” of the women in her family.
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2) What do you think Tan Le means when she says “No apple has ever tasted the same”?
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3) Tan Le refers to her immigrant story as a “Jigsaw puzzle still being put together. Let me tell you
about some of the pieces”. What does the metaphor of the Jigsaw represent?
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4) What were the living conditions like after Tan Le’s family settled in Melbourne?
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5) What is Tan Le’s attitude towards her mother’s work ethic? Find a quote that supports your answer.
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6) How has Tan Le’s migrant background shaped who she is today?
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