‘When people listen, I’ll tell my story’
by Mikayla Frick, American Family Insurance Inclusive Excellence Consultant
I will never forget the day one of my middle school classmates turned around, looked me in the eye, and blurted, “Why don’t you just go back to your country?” after I corrected his wrong answer in a class discussion. Up until then, this country had never felt like anything but mine. Since that day, I’ve continued to discover more and more reasons that have caused me to feel differently.
My family survived a genocide, now known as “the killing fields.” My mom, her parents, and siblings escaped the Khmer Rouge Regime in Cambodia for the United States in the late 1970s. My voice, seat at the table, or any platform I’m given, means little to me without being able to bring this narrative along. This story, and all the events that have come after, have fundamentally transformed me.
While I never intend to speak on behalf of all Cambodian Americans, I recognize my level of privilege that allows me to raise awareness and understanding. My privilege doesn’t just come from being the first generation of my mother’s family to be born and raised in the United States. My dad is white and because of this, in some spaces, I’m viewed as white or “white-passing.” For a long time, this made it difficult for me to find my place in conversations about privilege. I have come to most strongly identify as a woman of color, but I am always aware of the varying levels of both oppression and privilege that fall under the intersectionality umbrella. Thinking critically about my intersectionality has helped me realize that the way others see me impacts how my voice is heard. For this reason, when people listen, I’ll share my story.
This mindset brought me on stage in front of more than 5,000 people this December as the Student Commencement Speaker at the University of Wisconsin-Whitewater.
In my eight minutes, I shared my family’s story and how it’s impacted the way I view the world. I’ve come to learn that the trauma my family has been carrying all these years has significantly changed how they raised me. As an Asian-American, I’m taught to refrain from going against the grain, to refrain from proudly using my voice, and that fear and discomfort are just part of my experience.
What I didn’t tell the audience that day is what it’s like to be a first-generation American and a Cambodian American today. A speech centered on celebration of the next phase of life didn’t feel like the right time to prompt a conversation around that next level. But I believe my audience at American Family Insurance is different, and many of us are primed to seek opportunities to get proximate and have conversations that feel difficult or uncomfortable. So, during the commencement speech, the crowd learned of my family’s journey to the United States, but I didn’t share that the very country that unified us in safe refuge would decades later be the same country to tear us apart.
Most of my family members have not experienced Cambodia since their escape, with the exception of my uncle, who had no choice but to return the country he had not known since childhood. My uncle was deported to Cambodia in the early 2018.
I know the first question that people will ask is, “Why?” But, I won’t answer this question, because that isn’t the point of me sharing my story. I share this with you to help you look at this issue in a new light. I share this to help you understand that this issue impacts people you pass by at the grocery store, people who love the same hobbies as you, and people who work at American Family.
From the day my family arrived, they were disadvantaged. No one spoke English, knew how to get a job, purchase a vehicle, or find a place to live. Individuals stepped in to help connect my family to these necessities on the surface level. But overall, the structure, views, and perceptions of this country seemingly failed them.
The difference in how they were treated as immigrants from the day they arrived has created this space between us and changed our family forever. That fear, that slowly began to be erased as my generation was raised, began receiving higher education, and started to see this country as our own, returned in an instant.
I never thought something so awful could ever happen to my family — a family that already endured so much just to survive. Until I lived it, I never understood the true fear that some are conditioned to carry with them everywhere — fear that my whole family now carries every day. This fear of today’s reality is only heightened by the anger and sadness that is felt when one begins to look at the cycle of this story — to make leaps and bounds forward, only to be taken backward again.
So, in my voice, I now must also speak with the voice of my uncle, children of immigrants, first-generation Americans, and countless others who understand what it feels like to live your life in a world that doesn’t feel like your own.
I find it imperative to carry these pieces no matter where I am, because each of these pieces has fundamentally changed how I work, live, think, and use my voice. Instead of being ashamed or fearful of telling my story, I choose to go against the grain, use my voice, and engage in conversations with others. I know that if I don’t tell it, the story may be erased from American history.
Similarly, I know that many of you have deeply personal, meaningful stories you seek to share. This is what I hope we take the time and courage to do, not just during Womxn’s History Month, but every day.
I have found that even just five minutes of vulnerability can lead to a lifetime of enlightenment. I’ve used my voice, and now I want to hear yours.
