Hmongstory Legacy

The Ghost of Phou Pha Lang

hmongstorylegacy@gmail.com (Hmongstory Legacy) — Tue, 27 May 2025 07:35:17 GMT

A-26 Navigator's Unforgettable Encounter with Tallman,

the Hmong Hero of Laos

In the hushed, undeclared war fought over the unforgiving highlands and deep jungles of Laos during the Vietnam War, an old warrior was given new teeth. The Douglas A-26 Invader, a twin-engine attack bomber forged in the crucible of World War II, was resurrected and fiercely reborn as the A-26A Nimrod.

From 1966 to 1969, these formidable aircraft, flown by dedicated Air Commando crews, became a sharp instrument in the desperate effort to stem the flow of men and materiel down the Ho Chi Minh Trail. This was no conventional air campaign; it was a highly specialized, often nocturnal, battle of wits and firepower waged against a tenacious and ghost-like enemy.

The journey of the A-26 to its "Nimrod" call sign above Southeast Asia was a long and storied one. It had first tasted combat in the closing years of World War II, quickly lauded as a potent light attack bomber. After the war, it remained a stalwart of the U.S. Air Force's light bombardment squadrons. A notable designation change occurred in 1948: after the Martin B-26 Marauder was retired, the Douglas A-26 Invader was re-designated the B-26B to prevent confusion. In this new guise, it saw extensive action during the Korean War, primarily mastering the challenging night interdiction role, flying over 12,000 sorties.

The early 1960s saw the B-26 find a new calling in the shadowy world of special operations, including early, discreet missions in Southeast Asia. However, the demanding operational environment and the relentless stress of combat took their toll on the aging airframes. A critical structural issue emerged: wing spar fatigue, dangerously exacerbated by heavy ordnance loads and the punishing impact of operations from rough, often makeshift, airstrips. A series of tragic, fatal crashes attributed to wing failure in 1963 and early 1964 necessitated the withdrawal of the existing B-26s from combat in the region.

Yet, the unique capabilities of the airframe—its endurance, payload, and inherent toughness—were too valuable to abandon. In 1963, even as the older models faced their operational nadir, the Air Force contracted On Mark Engineering Company to undertake a comprehensive rebuild and modification program. This was no mere refurbishment; it was a radical transformation. The resulting aircraft, initially designated B-26K, featured completely redesigned and significantly strengthened wings, powerful Pratt & Whitney R-2800-52W water-injected engines providing a surge of new power, permanent wingtip fuel tanks for extended reach, eight hardpoints under the wings for a versatile weapons load, a standardized nose bristling with eight .50 caliber machine guns, and an updated cockpit with improved avionics.

When these revitalized machines were deployed to Southeast Asia for Operation Big Eagle in June 1966, the designation was officially changed again, this time to A-26A. There were two compelling reasons for this: first, the extensive On Mark modifications had effectively reconfigured the aircraft as a dedicated attack weapon system, making the 'A' (for Attack) prefix more accurately descriptive of its intended role than 'B' (for Bomber).

A Headquarters Air Force memorandum from March 29, 1965, supported this reclassification. Second, a sensitive diplomatic agreement with the government of Thailand prohibited the basing of "bombers" on Thai soil. As the A-26As were to be stationed at Nakhon Phanom RTAFB in Thailand, the 'A' designation deftly navigated this political constraint. Once in theater, the pilots adopted "Nimrod" as their radio call sign, a name that quickly became the aircraft's evocative and widely recognized moniker.

It was into this intense, demanding chapter that Major Frank Hayes (Ret.), then a young navigator, found himself immersed. In 1966, he was part of Operation Big Eagle. His Air Commando unit was already seasoned, having flown the A-26 in various capacities for years. In the fall of 1966, their operations gained a critical new dimension as they began direct coordination with General Vang Pao’s Hmong forces, tapping into his invaluable intelligence network. This crucial collaboration brought American aircrews into contact with remarkable, brave individuals on the ground, none more indelibly etched in memory, perhaps, than the man known by the callsign: Tallman.

Tallman’s true name was Moua Choung. Unusually tall for a Hmong, the callsign was a fitting descriptor. He had learned English from missionary workers, a skill whose origins were a quiet mystery at the time, but which enabled him to become an irreplaceable bridge between cultures and fighting forces. Recommended by General Vang Pao himself, Moua Choung was the very first Hmong Forward Air Guide. His connections were deep; he was a trusted friend and translator for Edgar "Pop" Buell when the legendary American aid worker first set foot in Laos. Moua Choung established a vital, clandestine base on a formidable mountain called Phou Pha Lang, just south of Sam Neua city—so perilously close to enemy territory that on a clear day, one could glimpse the Sam Neua valley from its summit. From this precarious outpost, he orchestrated his road watch teams – small, daring groups of men who monitored enemy truck traffic along the vital arteries of routes 6 and 7. Initially, their reports detailed numbers and movements; later, their role escalated to the high-stakes task of calling in air strikes. The intelligence that flowed from Tallman's network was described by observer Ernest Kuhn as nothing short of "tremendous."

His mountain base, however, inadvertently became a magnet for local villagers, a sanctuary for those desperate to escape communist control. They began flocking to Phou Pha Lang, and this growing civilian presence, while understandable, threatened the operational secrecy vital to Moua Choung’s intelligence work. It was a delicate, complex situation that American personnel, including CIA case officers and AID workers like Kuhn, attempted to manage, gently assisting civilians to move to safer areas so as not to overburden or compromise Moua Choung’s critical mission.

It was against this backdrop of relentless danger, high-stakes intelligence, and profound human complexities that Major Hayes experienced his unforgettable encounter with Tallman. "This was our first mission using Tallman," Major Hayes recounts, the memory cutting through the intervening decades with crystalline clarity. As the navigator, Hayes was the voice connecting the A-26A to the ground. For at least an hour that night, the fate of his aircraft and its mission was inextricably linked to Tallman's calm, steady instructions relayed over the FM radio. "I asked if he had any information on the position of enemy AAA and any truck traffic. Trucks were our primary target."

Tallman’s reply was unhesitating and direct: "He said he would direct us, so we followed his instructions." What unfolded was a remarkable demonstration of trust and unconventional guidance, a disembodied voice leading them with uncanny precision through the black, mountainous expanse. "His directions went like this, 'my man say you head north'." And north they flew, into the unknown. After intervals of five, ten, sometimes fifteen minutes, a new instruction would pierce the static: "my man say head west." This tense ballet continued for perhaps 45 minutes, the A-26A venturing deeper and deeper into the Laotian upcountry, its flight path dictated by the whispers from Tallman’s unseen, courageous operatives on the unforgiving ground below.

Then, the sharp intake of breath, the moment of imminent action. "After some time, he called and said, 'my man say you over truck'."

The A-26A unleashed its parachute flares. "One flare ignited in the trees and the other over a road in a valley, and smack over a truck," Hayes recalls. But the enemy was swift. The truck driver, reacting with desperate speed, "took off and went into a village a few klicks away."

Hayes relayed the frustrating development to Tallman: they had found the truck, but it had vanished into the sanctuary of a village. Tallman’s response was chilling in its precision: "my man say, 'the truck is under the second house from the east on the north side of the road'."

Despite the startling accuracy of the intelligence, the A-26A crew made the difficult but ethically sound decision. "I replied, 'Thanks, but we won't strike it in the village'."

The reply that came back from Tallman, relaying his operative's sentiment, resonated with a quiet, profound gravity: "my man say thank you, his house." The faceless informant on the ground, Tallman’s “man,” with a courage that defies easy comprehension, had pinpointed the enemy vehicle even though it meant identifying his own home as the collateral, the potential sacrifice.

But Tallman’s work for the night was not yet done. He then directed the A-26A west, guiding them toward another target using an ingenious sequence of friendly ground fires, small beacons of resistance in a vast, hostile darkness.

The extraordinary skill and profound bravery Major Hayes witnessed that night were hallmarks of Moua Choung. But Tallman's invaluable contributions to the war effort were to be tragically, and abruptly, silenced.

In the first week of December 1966, a loss that reverberated deeply through the American and Hmong operations in northern Laos occurred. Moua Choung was returning up the treacherous slopes to his headquarters on Phou Pha Lang with his team. The day was cloaked in a disorienting fog and chilling rain. As they ascended the familiar trail, they were attacked – ambushed, or perhaps, in a cruel twist of fate, mistakenly identified as the enemy. Moua Choung was killed.

The official account from the Hmong men positioned on the mountain peak was one of tragic error: they claimed they hadn’t recognized Moua Choung and his team in the poor visibility, believing them to be an enemy force probing their defenses, and had opened fire without confirming their identity. Two or three Hmong who bore some responsibility were brought back to Sam Thong. Upon their arrival, according to Ernest Kuhn, raw grief and anger erupted as mobs descended upon them, beating them brutally until military police managed to intervene and pull them away.

They were reportedly imprisoned for several months and then quietly released; definitive proof of a deliberate assassination, amidst the fog of war and local complexities, could not be established. However, Kuhn also noted that Long Chieng and Sam Thong were cauldrons of rumor and suspicion, rife with whispers of internal power struggles, simmering clan rivalries, and clandestine plots. Moua Choung was becoming an increasingly popular and influential figure, and his death under such opaque and violent circumstances only fed the theories of deadly intrigue.

Despite the shadows clinging to the circumstances of his death, Moua Choung's immense service and sacrifice were not, and would not be, forgotten. He was posthumously awarded the Legion of Merit, a testament to his exceptional contributions. The medal was presented to his widow, Maisee Vue, by the then U.S. Ambassador to Laos, William H. Sullivan, at Long Cheng, a moment of solemn recognition. In a final, poignant salute from the skies he had helped to make safer for friendly forces, the U.S. Air Force flew a missing man formation in his honor.

Major Hayes often shares his Tallman story when he speaks to students, using the film Gran Torino as a powerful analogy to bridge the cultural and historical distance. He explains how Clint Eastwood's character in the film comes to understand and respect his Hmong neighbors, learning of their history as steadfast allies of the Americans—a history unknown to so many. Knowing the full, heartbreaking story of Moua Choung – his dedicated service, his quiet bravery, his profound impact, and his untimely, tragic end – lends an even deeper layer of meaning and sorrow to Major Hayes' vivid account. Tallman, the calm voice on the radio, the first Hmong Forward Air Guide, was more than an asset; he was a hero. His courage resonated from the mist-shrouded mountain tops of Laos to the cramped cockpits of the A-26As slicing through the darkness, an unforgettable man who played a crucial, perilous, and ultimately heartbreaking role in a war fought in shadows.

Bill Lair: Dispatches From the Edges of a Hidden Conflict

Mon, 26 May 2025 20:02:24 GMT

Lair: Alliances, Sacrifice, Hidden War.

The landscape of covert operations is, by its very nature, one of shadows and calculated ambiguities. Yet, within this realm of clandestine engagement, certain individuals emerge whose actions illuminate the intricate mechanics and profound human costs of proxy wars. William "Bill" Lair was one such figure, an American intelligence officer whose extensive career in Southeast Asia, particularly his deep and often unconventional entanglement in Laos's "Secret War," offers a stark, unvarnished look at the ground-level realities of Cold War strategy. This account aims to dissect Lair's operational philosophy and his unique relationships, providing a detailed historical record without romanticizing conflict or attempting to encompass the rich and multifaceted identity of the Hmong people, whose narrative extends far beyond this particular historical intersection.

Born on July 4, 1924, in Hilton, Oklahoma, William Lair’s formative years were a study in adaptation and resilience, shaped by the harsh economic climate of the Great Depression and a childhood marked by frequent relocation and financial strain. These early experiences forged a pragmatic self-reliance that would define his later work. Growing up in the Texas Panhandle, amidst the rough-and-tumble of ranching and early oil boomtowns like Borger, Lair developed a keen sense of observation and a capacity for problem-solving in challenging environments. He absorbed critical lessons from his mother, who relentlessly pursued education for her children despite being widowed, and from his grandfather, a quintessential Western figure who imparted the subtle art of influencing people through rapport rather than direct command – a skill Lair later deemed essential for any effective intelligence officer. This upbringing fostered an early, genuine empathy for "primitive" people, a quality that would uniquely position him in cross-cultural intelligence work.

The outbreak of World War II served as Lair's brutal proving ground. He enlisted in 1942, choosing the armored force, a decision he credited to a recruiter's pitch about its elite nature. His service in the 3rd Armored Division in Europe exposed him to relentless combat, from the hedgerows of Normandy to the brutal winter fighting of the Battle of the Bulge. Lair’s experience as part of a mortar platoon in a tank battalion offered a unique vantage point on the war’s mechanics and survival. He witnessed firsthand the stark reality that "motivation is everything" in combat, and that small, cohesive units operating with initiative often outperformed larger, more conventional forces. He recounted a memorable instance where his three-man squad, exploiting surprise and a sergeant's German language skills, managed to capture 35 German soldiers, demonstrating the power of unconventional tactics over brute force. These direct, often visceral, lessons in adaptability, unit cohesion, and pragmatic improvisation in the face of chaos became the bedrock of his later operational philosophy.

Following his graduation from Texas A&M in 1950, with the Korean War looming, Lair sought a path that blended his wartime experience with his desire to counter communist expansion without being drawn into conventional ground combat. He found this opportunity in the newly formed Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), joining as part of its first class of Junior Officer Trainees (JOTs). His intensive paramilitary training equipped him with specialized skills, and despite his expressed preference for other regions, Lair was assigned to Southeast Asia in 1951. This posting, initially under the cover of the Southeast Asia Supply Company (SEA Supply), would define the majority of his career.

Lair's early years in Thailand were marked by a deliberate and comprehensive immersion in the local culture. He swiftly learned Thai and actively embraced the challenging living conditions of his Thai counterparts, a stark contrast to the detachment often observed in Western advisors. This direct engagement fostered a profound level of trust and respect, earning him a reputation among the Thai as "the man who never lies". A pivotal achievement of this period was his instrumental role in establishing and developing the Police Aerial Reinforcement Unit (PARU) alongside Captain Saneh Sittiphan of the Thai National Police. Lair eschewed traditional hierarchical advisory models, instead cultivating a truly "collegial style" of partnership. He championed the recruitment of officers from the enlisted ranks based on merit and demonstrated motivation, rather than social standing—a radical departure from established Thai military norms—which significantly enhanced the unit's effectiveness and esprit de corps. His commitment to this partnership was underscored by his unique status as a commissioned officer in the Thai National Police, a symbolic act that deepened his integration and solidified trust. Further cementing his ties to the nation, Lair married Chalern Savetsila, a Thai woman from a prominent family, providing him with invaluable cultural insights and a network that would prove crucial in navigating complex political landscapes.

The 1957 coup d'état in Thailand, which saw General Sarit Thanarat assume power, presented an immediate existential threat to PARU due to its close association with the ousted General Phao. Despite the ensuing political upheaval and initial attempts by the new military government to dismantle the unit, Lair, working in concert with his trusted Thai colleague Pranet Ritruechai, meticulously navigated this treacherous political environment. Their persistent efforts, bolstered by subtle royal endorsement and PARU's undeniable operational effectiveness, ultimately secured the unit's survival. The unit was subsequently rebranded as the Police Aerial Reinforcement Unit (PARU), a less politically charged designation that allowed it to continue its work. Lair's professional bond with Pranet Ritruechai matured into a profound personal friendship, characterized by "unconditional mutual trust" and a shared understanding of PARU's unique mission. This deep rapport allowed them to operate with remarkable autonomy, making decisions and executing actions that served both Thai and U.S. interests, even if it meant navigating around traditional bureaucratic channels or official directives.

As the geopolitical situation in Southeast Asia continued its inexorable decline, Lair's specialized expertise became critically important. In late 1960 and early 1961, amidst the escalating chaos in neighboring Laos, he astutely recognized the inherent weaknesses of the Royal Lao Army. He proposed a bold and unconventional strategy: arming and training the Hmong hill tribes as an indigenous guerrilla force to counter the expanding influence of the Pathet Lao and their North Vietnamese allies. This initiative marked the true genesis of the U.S. involvement in what would become known as the "Secret War" in Laos. Lair quickly established a profound and enduring working relationship with General Vang Pao (GVP), the charismatic Hmong leader. Lair viewed Vang Pao as the ideal figure to mobilize and lead his people, emphasizing the critical importance of empowering local leadership rather than imposing American command structures. Lair's operational philosophy in Laos remained consistent: maintain a low U.S. profile, directly support indigenous forces, and focus on flexible guerrilla tactics to effectively tie down larger North Vietnamese units. He meticulously oversaw the rapid expansion and training of Hmong irregulars, provided essential logistical support through innovative methods, and even initiated a pioneering program to train Hmong pilots for close air support, anticipating the long-term need for Hmong self-sufficiency in air operations. He consistently ensured that the Hmong's primary motivation stemmed from their determination to protect themselves and their families from Pathet Lao and North Vietnamese oppression, rather than any externally imposed ideology.

However, as the Vietnam War intensified and the broader U.S. commitment in the region escalated, Lair found his operational philosophy increasingly at odds with Washington's evolving directives. This tension was particularly pronounced under Ambassador William Sullivan, who arrived in Laos in December 1964. Sullivan and the broader U.S. foreign policy establishment began pushing for more conventional military engagements and a larger, more overt American presence. Lair consistently voiced his concerns that this strategic shift would undermine the effective guerrilla warfare strategy he had painstakingly built, leading to unsustainable casualties among the Hmong. He maintained that the U.S. was fundamentally misjudging the nature of the conflict and the capabilities of its allies, losing sight of the core principles of irregular warfare.

A stark and personally distressing illustration of this strategic divergence was the disastrous Battle of Nam Bac in late 1967 and early 1968. Despite Lair's emphatic warnings against a fixed, conventional defense—arguing it would create a "very inviting target" for the North Vietnamese Army due to logistical vulnerabilities—the U.S. country team reportedly chose to proceed. The outcome was catastrophic: six Lao battalions were decimated, marking the largest single loss for the Royal Lao Army. This event profoundly distressed Lair, who felt his strategic judgment had been ignored. The accelerating "conventionalization" of the war in Laos, coupled with the increasing disregard for his unique expertise, ultimately contributed to Lair's decision to depart Laos in 1968. He concluded that the original, effective concept of guerrilla warfare was being abandoned in favor of a conventional approach ill-suited to the rugged terrain and the nuanced nature of the conflict.

Following a tour at CIA Headquarters in the U.S., Lair returned to Bangkok in 1970 as Deputy Chief for Special Activities. In this role, he continued to leverage his extensive network and profound understanding of Thai politics to facilitate critical operations, including negotiating the terms of expanded Thai military involvement in Laos. He also played a key role in significant counter-narcotics efforts, notably orchestrating the covert capture of major drug lord Lo Sing Han within Thailand, a testament to his enduring ability to operate effectively and discreetly at the highest levels of foreign liaison. William Lair remained in Thailand until his retirement from the CIA in 1977.

In his retirement, Lair reflected candidly on the "victories and defeats" of his long and impactful career. While acknowledging the tragic ultimate outcome for many Hmong following the fall of Laos, he also recognized the success in containing the conflict within Laos, thereby preventing its spillover into Thailand, a primary objective for the Thai government. He maintained that the most important lesson from his decades of operational experience was the immense potential of local populations to manage their own challenges, provided they had the requisite motivation and appropriate external support. His philosophy, rooted in the belief that "we don't solve it" for them, but rather enable them, became a guiding principle he articulated consistently throughout his life.

Lair's legacy: a master of surrogate warfare, built on cultural understanding, deep trust, and unconventional pragmatism.

References

Lair, J. W. (n.d.-a). Interview with Bill Lair (S. Maxner, Interviewer). The Vietnam Archive at Texas Tech University.
Lair, J. W., & Ahern, T. L., Jr. (n.d.-b). An "excellent idea!": Leading surrogate warfare in Southeast Asia, 1951-1970 - A personal account. Center for the Study of Intelligence, Central Intelligence Agency.

America’s Forgotten Warriors: Why the Hmong Deserve to Be Recognized as U.S. Veterans

Sat, 19 Apr 2025 04:59:04 GMT

Exposing the truth behind MN Senator Andrew Lang’s comments and why America must finally honor its Hmong allies from the Secret War.

Minnesota State Senator Andrew Lang’s recent comments dismissing Hmong fighters as “mercenaries” and denying their claim to veteran status are not only historically inaccurate—they’re morally indefensible. Speaking about a bill that would grant state-level veteran recognition to Hmong soldiers who served in the CIA’s Secret War in Laos, Lang claimed, “They’re not veterans… They worked as mercenaries for the CIA… They never wore a U.S. uniform” ( Willmar Radio, 2025 ).

His remarks reflect a troubling misunderstanding of what it means to serve—and who gets to be honored for that service. Let’s set the record straight.

The Hmong Fought for America, Not for Money

To call the Hmong “mercenaries” is to completely ignore the reality of their sacrifice. The CIA trained, armed, and commanded tens of thousands of Hmong fighters during the 1960s and ’70s to help stop North Vietnamese forces in Laos. These men weren’t chasing profit—they were defending their homes, villages, and families from communist aggression, all while carrying out U.S. missions.

Their work was dangerous, strategic, and vital. They rescued downed American pilots. They fought on the front lines of a war the U.S. government didn’t want the public to know about. They paid for that loyalty with their lives.

Uniform or Not, Their Service Was Real

Senator Lang argues that because the Hmong didn’t wear a U.S. uniform or swear an oath to the Constitution, they shouldn't be considered veterans. That’s bureaucratic nonsense. The measure of a veteran is not the uniform—it’s the service.

History is full of examples of foreign nationals who fought under U.S. command and were later recognized:

Filipino soldiers in World War II fought under General Douglas MacArthur without wearing U.S. uniforms or taking formal oaths. Decades later, they were granted veteran recognition and benefits by Congress.
Montagnards , another indigenous group in Vietnam, also fought alongside U.S. forces. Though few received formal status, many Americans who served with them have lobbied for their recognition.
Korean Augmentees to the U.S. Army (KATUSA) have served integrated into American military units since the Korean War. Though not U.S. citizens, their service is honored and recorded because they fought under American command.

What all these groups share with the Hmong is this: they put their lives on the line for American military objectives, followed U.S. orders, and fought beside U.S. personnel. The Hmong sacrificed more than most. Over 20,000 Hmong soldiers were killed in combat, 50,000 civilians lost their lives, and 120,000 were displaced—all in service of a war America directed but never officially acknowledged.

If anything, their loyalty under covert, high-risk conditions deserves more recognition—not less.

Recognition Isn’t Political—It’s Moral

This isn’t a new political trend. The Hmong community has been asking for recognition for decades. What’s changed now is urgency. As reported by AsAmNews , fewer than 1,000 Hmong veterans remain alive in Minnesota. They are aging, in need of care, and still waiting for the basic dignity that recognition would bring.

The Minnesota bill wouldn’t even grant full federal VA benefits. It would simply allow aging Hmong veterans access to state veterans’ homes, burial honors, and other modest forms of support. This is the bare minimum for men who gave everything for a war the U.S. fought in the shadows.

Many American Veterans Stand With the Hmong

Senator Lang claimed some Vietnam veterans asked him to oppose this bill. But he does not speak for all veterans.

In fact, many American soldiers who served in Southeast Asia have publicly supported Hmong recognition. Why? Because they know what the Hmong did. U.S. pilots owe their lives to Hmong rescue teams. American soldiers benefitted from Hmong intelligence and frontline combat efforts. Veterans who understand the war know the truth: the Hmong earned their place.

Comparing the Hmong to Shia Militias Is Offensive

Senator Lang compared Hmong fighters to Iraqi Shia militias—groups that at times fought against American forces. This is not just inaccurate—it’s insulting. The Hmong never turned against America. They stayed loyal for over a decade, fought to the very end, and were hunted and killed when the U.S. pulled out of Laos in 1975.

Even then, many fled to the U.S. and rebuilt their lives as loyal citizens. Their children now serve in the U.S. military, run businesses, and contribute to American society. They are not enemies. They are part of the American story.

Final Word: It’s Time to Honor the Promise

America asked the Hmong to fight. The Hmong delivered. When the war ended, we abandoned them. The least we can do now is offer them the recognition and respect they’ve earned.

Senator Lang’s statements reflect a narrow view of military service and an outdated understanding of what it means to be a veteran. This isn’t about uniforms or legal status. It’s about sacrifice. It’s about truth. And it’s about keeping our word.

If America is to have any honor, it must honor the Hmong.

Sources

Willmar Radio. (2025, April 10). Lang says Hmong fighters were mercenaries, not soldiers. Link
Lee, T. (2025, April 10). Hmong American soldiers from Secret War in Laos seek recognition, benefits. AsAmNews. Link
U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs. (2009). Filipino Veterans Equity Compensation Fund.
MacDicken, K. (2015). The Montagnards and America’s Broken Promises. Foreign Policy.
U.S. Army. (2021). KATUSA Program Overview. U.S. Army Garrison-Humphreys.

Galen Beery Digital Repository

Tue, 12 Mar 2024 20:49:04 GMT

Creating the Galen Beery collection

In 2021, we decided to digitally save the photos and documents we've collected over the years. We worked with California State University-Fresno and the Fresno State Library to create the Galen Beery Digital Repository; the first of many. This collection serves as a permanent place for people to learn about Galen Beery and his humanitarian work in Laos during the Secret War.

Galen, a conscientious objector with a minister father and a member of a historic peace church, went to Laos in 1962 to volunteer with the International Voluntary Services (IVS), an organization that inspired the creation of the Peace Corps by President John F. Kennedy.

He spent his early years in Vientiane, Pakse, and the southern Laotian panhandle. In 1967, he joined USAID and in 1969, took over as secretary for Edgar M. "Pop" Buell's secretary, Carol Mills, in Sam Thong. Beery worked with the Hmong and other ethnic minorities in Laos from 1969 until he left in 1972.

His collection, documenting his time in Laos from 1969-1972, includes the evacuation of civilians and the relocation of USAID operations.

You can explore the Galen Beery Collection on the Fresno State Library's website .

Slash and Burn Farming

hmongstorylegacy@gmail.com (Hmongstory Legacy) — Mon, 19 Sep 2022 06:07:58 GMT

The Hmong living in Laos primarily practiced Slash & Burn Farming. It is a very labor-intensive method involving manual labor to chop and clear a whole mountain side, burning the trees and then the ashes become the fertilizer without much developed irrigation systems.

The Hmong grew hill rice which yields much less harvests than lowland rice. After two or three years when the fields are no longer productive, they must find richer areas to grow crops. The people from the village pack up and move to another area to rebuild their village and grow crops on more fertile land. This would require them to travel a short distance to the next region to build a new village. Sometimes, they would need to travel further if the neighboring areas were not appealing to them or occupied by others. However, it is uncommon for a whole village to pack up and leave altogether. They relocated independently from family to family, and it is common for a household to remain in one location for 10 to 15 years.

Village Life Crops

Three of the major crops that the Hmong cultivated were rice, corn, and opium. They learned to cultivate these crops after living in China. Corn and rice were planted and harvested during different seasons: corn was harvested during the rainy season and rice was harvested during the dry season. This allowed for more productive use of their land. Thereby providing a reliable supply of food. If a family did not produce a good harvest of rice in one year, they will have security of harvesting the corn crop. This meant that the Hmong worked year-round and were able to schedule New Year rituals and festivities during the very last days of December.

Opium, however, was historically harvested in China where the Hmong learned how to cultivate the crop. The mass production of opium occurred in Laos after the French imposed a new tax law in Laos, which required the Hmong to use opium as a tax payment.

Animal Husbandry

Livestock were a valued commodity for the Hmong. Horses, cattle, and goats were kept outside in their stables; pigs and chickens in their cribs; and dogs were allowed to roam freely. Sometimes chickens were raised in an open space, which allowed them to roam. A cock was usually tied near the house where he served as an alarm clock. The Hmong also hunted animals in the surrounding forest for food and for game. They used crossbows and traps before being introduced to the musket guns. Those who had money could afford guns to hunt. Boys would learn to hunt and trap squirrels, rats, and birds. As men, they hunt and trap deer, wild boars, bears, and tigers.

A Typical Annual Agricultural Schedule

January and February:

Prepare farming tools to clear the fields

MARCH AND APRIL:

Clear the fields for burning in May

MAY:

Right before the rainy season in the summer, the fields are burned, and the ashes become fertilizer for the coming planting season; grains are prepared while the fields are burned so they can plant in the summer and be ready for harvesting in the late fall

SUMMER:

Planting season

FALL:

Harvesting season. This is the most critical and demanding time of year with so much to do.

Harvest must be completed by the beginning of December to ensure the family can survive the following year.

DECEMBER:

Harvesting is complete and the end of the month is reserved for New Year rituals and festivities

Early Tensions with Communism

Sun, 18 Sep 2022 06:12:51 GMT

After the defeat of Japan in WW II, Japanese forces in Indochina surrendered, and nationalist movements rose to resist the return of French colonialism. In Laos, three brother princes, Phetsarath, Souvanna Phouma, and Souphanouvong, headed the Lao Issara (Free Laos) movement, which demandedfull Lao independence.

Lo Fay Dang, Touby Lyfoung’s uncle on his mother’s side and one-time competitor for the title of Tasseng of Keng Khuai, immediately joined the Lao Issara. Although, Touby Lyfoung, along with King Sisavang Vong, felt that Laos needed a gradual transition to independence, under the protection of France. They felt that the achievement of an abrupt independence would leave Laos in a weak state, easy to be taken over by stronger neighbors such as Thailand or Vietnam.

In October 1945, the Lao Issara formed a new government and attempted to dismiss the king. Prince Souphanouvong was appointed minister of defense. He formed a new army with help from the Vietminh and Chinese army. However, the Vietminh had to fight their own war with the French and the Chinese army had to retreat back to China, leaving the Lao Issara army alone to fight the French.

In December 1945, the Lao Issara government in Vientiane sent an army to take over Luang Prabang and depose the king. It was supposed to join up with a Vietminh force coming from Vietnam. Before the two armies could join forces, Touby Lyfoung and the Hmong, Royalist Lao troops, and the French defeated the Vietminh force. Then they defeated the Lao Issara force, saving Luang Prabang and the king.

By April 1946, the French had retaken control of Vientiane and Luang Prabang, and the Lao Issara had fled to exile in Thailand. In 1949, the Lao Issara split between Communists and non-Communists, and it was disbanded. The Communist faction, under Prince Souphanouvong, became part of the Pathet Lao (Lao Nation), close allies with the Vietminh of North Vietnam.

The Pathet Lao was a subsidiary of the Vietminh. Its army was trained, armed, and led by North Vietnamese army officers. It fought side by side with North Vietnamese soldiers. In 1953, the French was defeated at Dien Bien Phu. Pathet Lao and Vietminh forces started moving into Laos to fight the French and Royal Lao government. These forces took control of eastern Laos and gained a foothold in the country.

In the Geneva Accord of 1954, foreign forces were required to leave Laos, but the Vietminh never did. In 1957, a coalition government was formed, including the Pathet Lao, but it fell apart in 1959. For the next decade and a half, the Vietminh and Pathet Lao would go on to sign two more Geneva Agreements that they would break and the Pathet Lao would join two more failed Laotian coalition governments. Laos was too important for the Vietminh to let go, and the Pathet Lao was not interested in sharing the governing of Laos with anyone else.

SOURCE:

Lyfoung, Touby with Dr. Touxa Lyfoung. Touby Lyfoung: An authentic account of the life of a Hmong man in the troubled land of Laos.

Momentum

Thu, 15 Sep 2022 19:31:27 GMT

My Hmong brothers and sisters, I know sometimes you feel powerless, don’t know what to do…

You’re stuck in place with nowhere to go. Then I want you to remember this word:

MOMENTUM.

Our parents and grandparents were stuck on the mountains of Laos, subsisting on daily labors, backbreaking each day in the fields only to feed the family for the night, day after day, month after month, year after year.

Then the U.S. and Thai governments saw us and said:

Look how strong, how enduring they are, yet so ignorant of the world. We’ll use them as a sword to fight our war, as a shield to deflect our enemy’s weapons, as a wall to halt our enemy’s advance.

We’ll call this: Operation Momentum.

So we were conscripted, taught to read and write, trained to fight and fly, and we have been gaining MOMENTUM ever since,

like a rock rolling down a mountain slope, like a river surging toward the sea…

And here we are, from preliterate mountain tribespeople to nurses, doctors, teachers, superintendents, lawyers, legislators, builders, architects, actors, producers, and yes...poets, writers… in the mere span of fifty years.

That’s MOMENTUM!

So when you’re stuck,

remember you are

M O M E N T U M…

Hmong and the French during WWII

Mon, 05 Sep 2022 21:41:00 GMT

During World War II, Japanese soldiers who occupied Laos and Indochina let the French administrators and soldiers rule as they had for fifty years. These local French administrators were working for the French government of Marshal Petain, which was a puppet government of Japan’s ally, Germany. Japanese and French lived side by side until March 1945.

On March 4th, French resistance soldiers under General De Gaulle flew from their base in India, parachuted into Laos, and contacted Hmong leader Touby Lyfoung.

Touby Lyfoung was Tasseng of Keng Khuai, who oversaw sixty villages in Nong Het district. The French troops requested Hmong guides to help them in their effort to launch guerrilla warfare against the Japanese. They told him there were French commandos like them being inserted throughout Indochina to take it back from the Japanese. Touby Lyfoung agreed and provided Hmong men as guides for the French soldiers.

On March 9th, Japanese troops took control over the country and tried to arrest and disarm all French administrators and soldiers. At the same time, there were nationalist uprisings throughout Indochina. In Laos, the Lao Issara (Free Laos) movement rose to resist French colonialism and declared Lao independence. At Nong Het, the local French commander destroyed his own supplies, hid his wife and children with local Hmong, and fled into the jungle to join the French commandos.

On March 24th, three hundred Japanese soldiers passed through Nong Het, leaving thirty soldiers to man the Nong Het post, before continuing to the Plain of Jars. In April, Touby Lyfoung was arrested by the local Japanese commander and was asked if he had hidden the French weapons, supplies, and money. After three days of questioning, he was released, but he realized that he was in danger, so he fled with his family and relatives into the jungle.

While Touby Lyfoung was hiding in the jungle, Lo Fay Dang, Touby Lyfoung’s uncle and one-time competitor for Tasseng of Keng Khuai, was put in charge at Nong Het. Lo Fay Dang did not like the French and was well-connected to the Japanese. When Touby Lyfoung heard that Lo Fay Dang’s men and Japanese soldiers were torturing his relatives for information, he fled even deeper into the jungle, where he and his family remained for four months.

Lyfoung, Touby with Dr. Touxa Lyfoung. Touby Lyfoung:

An authentic account of the life of a Hmong man in the troubled land of Laos.

Piece written by: Soul Vang

Opium and The Hmong

Mon, 05 Sep 2022 05:40:20 GMT

THE POLITICS OF OPIUM

For the Hmong, the main aim of poppy cultivation has always been commercial. It is the ideal crop that could be sold for cash, especially silver bars and coins in the old days before paper money came into use. How much yield a grower gets each year depends on the quality of the soil, the size and altitude of the field, and how many workers a household has. Apart from cash, opium is exchanged for necessities such as salt and clothing materials. Some is used for smoking by village addicts, but their number is usually very low due to strong social stigma against opium addiction in Hmong society. Sometimes, it is used as poison to commit suicide, especially by Hmong women, but it is never used as part of Hmong rituals like rice or domestic animals.

Until the 1950’s before the advent of cars and roads, which made it possible to go to markets at the nearest towns, Chinese trading caravans used to sell goods to remote Hmong villages, using horses as transport. The Hmong, in turn, sold or exchanged their opium to these caravanners so that growers had no need to travel anywhere to sell their opium. For this reason, Hmong who migrated to Laos from China often settled along these trading routes. In fact, there are stories about young Hmong men (e.g. Touby Lyfoung’s grand-father) who migrated south, while serving as porters for Chinese traders. After making Laos a “protectorate” of France in October 1893, the French levied a head tax (se taub hau neeg) on all male residents of the country, ages between 19 and 60, to fund operations. For the Lao in the lowlands, this tax was set at 2 piastres (2 txiaj kis) per person per year (payable in cash or kind e.g. domestic animals), along with 20 days of corvee or free labour given to the authorities. For the Khamu, Hmong and other minorities, it was one piaster and 10 days of free labour. In 1896, this tax was increased and payable only in cash.

The problem for the Hmong was that Lao local officials/princes also collected their own taxes. In addition, Hmong chiefs who acted as tax collectors for the Lao and French authorities also levied their own tax and corvee labour to get their own money and to have village people doing farm work for them. All these different levels of taxation and corruption greatly inflated the amount of taxes people had to pay each year. Many of the poorer Hmong could not pay, and there are stories of some having to sell or pawn children to richer Hmong to borrow money for their tax obligations. Due to this financial burden, the Hmong had to increase their opium cultivation as the only means to get money to pay for their family needs and their taxes. Even those who previously did not grow opium now had to do it.

The impact of this severe official taxation is that the Hmong rose up in rebellion known as RogVwm or “Mad Men’s War” under the leadership of Pachay Vue (Paj Cai Vwj). Aided by Hmong messianic beliefs, the rebellion lasted from 1918 to 1921 – starting first in Vietnam and quickly spreading to all of northern Laos. The French had to bring colonial troops from other parts of Indochina to put it down. Today, Pachay is still celebrated by the Hmong of Laos and Vietnam as a revolutionary hero.

In 1947, the first Hmong deputy elected from Xieng Khouang to the Lao National Assembly in Vientiane, Mr Toulia Lyfoung, lobbied against this head tax and it was abolished, thus finally releasing the Hmong and other Lao citizens of this heavy burden.

HOW THE POPPY IS GROWN

In the traditional Hmong economy, no family would grow only one kind of crop as this would not meet all the family’s needs. Rice grows best in lower altitudes, so rice fields are often located lower down the mountain slope, away from maize and poppy fields. If a family grows all three major crops, then rice, maize and opium would be integrated into the annual farming cycle. Each family would give equal attention to them, although, the labor requirement may differ from one crop to another. Rice and opium has been found to need the same labor intensity (about 220 mandays per hectare), with maize about one two thirds less (80 mandays/hectare).

Maize (or corn) and poppy usually share the same field as both are suited for the same soil, altitude and weather conditions, with maize being grown first. All fields are worked by hands as they are often too steep and growers have no machinery to use. The scheduling of labour for each crop depends on the weather and how many workers are available. Maize fields (teb pob kws) are cleared (luaj teb) in January and February, followed by burning (hlawv teb) in March. Maize planting (cog pob kws) takes place in April, and weeding (dob nroj) in May.

The first corn cobs are harvested (ntais pob kws) in June-July, and by September all harvesting should be completed. August sees the preparation of the maize fields for poppy growing, starting with hoeing (faus teb yeeb) – turning up every inch of the soil manually with a hoe (hlau) and burying the dry maize stalks and weeds under. Early sowing of the poppy seeds (tseb yeeb) begins in September and should finish by October, a time when the Hmong are also busy harvesting rice.

November and December are spent weeding (dob yeeb) the poppy seedlings and young plants, a time when the Hmong also celebrate the New Year. Using a three-bladed small knife (riam yeeb), workers will tap the opium pods (hlais yeeb) and collect their sap (sau yeeb) with a scraping blade (duav yeeb) in January and February. Once collected, the sap (yeeb nyoos) from all the tappings is put together in a small container and allowed to dry. The year’s harvest is then wrapped in bamboo papers to be stored for safe-keeping and sale. The process completes with growers collecting poppy seeds (muab noob yeeb) in March to be used for the following year, and the next cycle of cultivation starts all over once more.

D. Feingold, “Opium and Politics in Laos”, in N. S. Adams and A. W. McCoy eds. Laos: War and Revolution (NY: Harper Colophon Books, 1970), p. 329.

Although they grow the drug, less than 10% of the Hmong are addicted to opium,. See J. Westermeyer,

“Use of Alcohol and Opium by the Meo of Laos”, American Journal of Psychiatry, 1971, 127 (8), p.1021.

G. Evans, A Short History of Laos, the Land in Between (Crows Nest: Allen and Unwin, 2002), p. 46.

M. Stuart-Fox, A History of Laos (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1997), p. 32

The People Beneath a Moon Before the River

Mon, 05 Sep 2022 01:57:15 GMT

After long months of wandering without knowing how the river will unfold for them, they’re people beneath a moon before the river preparing to settle for the night and to pray to their ancestors for a safe crossing, like a crossing over a bridge into the clouds. They ask in their prayers that the river will be one which the water will open up to the land and let them pass without fear of the unknown dead.

Their journey is like a journey towards the sun; often the way towards it is not the way back to the home they long for or remember nor will it be a way to return to the days in which they could sleep quietly before smelling the sacred and delicious first - harvested rice. They know the way they have come will be a way of memories etching deep into their minds and hearts.

Before they rest to watch the silence of the river reflected above in the night sky, they would tell tales to quiet their children. They would tell, as if there were no war, the tale of a goddess who journeys to the moon searching for a pond in which her lover was held captive. But the children grow weary, maybe they’re themselves captives, of the long travel and soon fall asleep, before the story ends.

But of all these tales they have not forgotten to include those who would shoot them for the silver bars they wear around their waists. Some of them might not be able to hear of the tale about themselves meeting the river: for they do not know if their ancestral spirits will take them across the river through a bridge made by the river.

For use by permission from author.