Words of Wisdom from a Refugenius

Words of Wisdom from a Refugenius

An interview with Saymoukda Duangphouxay Vongsay

INTERVIEW AND ILLUSTRATION BY BRENDA TRAN

SAYMOUKDA DUANGPHOUXAY VONGSAY is a Lao American writer on a mission to create tools and spaces for the amplification of refugee voices. A former refugee herself, Saymoukda’s work spans multiple genres including poetry, theater, and experimental cultural production.

In addition to an extensive body of poetry, her notable works include her critically acclaimed play Kung Fu Zombies vs. Cannibals and most recently, her children’s book When Everything Was Everything.

In our conversation, Saymoukda discusses her career, goals as a Lao American artist, challenges that she has faced, and what keeps her going.

When did you decide you were going to be a poet/playwright/activist? Was there a sudden lightbulb moment or was it more of a process?

I’ve been writing since I was maybe eight or nine years old. There was no lightbulb then. I was raised around artists and writing and storytelling came naturally. It was normal in my family to be creative. I wrote short stories and 90% of those plots meandered and went nowhere.

When I was in middle school I started exploring poetry and studying poems written by my favorite poets. I was heavily influenced by Maya Angelou, Lucille Clifton, and Langston Hughes. In high school I kept composition notebooks. I wrote in them constantly. Each book has a name and is a time capsule, really, for those four to five months when I was writing in them.

I got into playwriting because my BFF told me to do it. I joined a collective of playwrights of color—something that some current fellows at The Playwrights’ Center initiated as a way to signal boost each other’s work and voices. I was just one year into learning about the theater world when I was given an opportunity to further explore my voice as a playwright through a playwriting fellowship with Theater Mu. The prize after the two year long fellowship was a full production. That’s how Kung Fu Zombies vs. Cannibals got produced.

Then, in 2017, a publisher approached me, fanned my interest in writing a picture book. It was a beautiful way of having “When Everything Was Everything” live alongside illustrations because it has been a poem for so long. I’m thankful that I got to choose my illustrator. I’ve been a fan of Cori Nakamura Lin’s work for years now and finally had the opportunity.

If there ever was a lightbulb that went off, I’d say that it was about five, six years ago when I was able to define my voice and aesthetic —signal boost Lao refugee narratives using inspiration from comic books, Dolly Parton songs, martial arts films, hiphop culture, and B-rated horror and sci fi films—which may seem like miscombinations but that shit is like, my intrinsic self.

This is my comfort area, my home, and it’s served me well. I’m better empowered because I’m just being me.

How did you manage to take that first big, serious dive into your creative career?

I’ve been serious about my artmaking for almost two decades now but I will say that it was just three years ago that I decided that I was going to shift 60% of my energy and time into my work—this meant resigning from three organizational board of directors and two advisory boards—to refocus on me. I was able to concentrate on my artistic and professional next steps, you know, like the topics I want to excavate in my next creative works and the resources I need access to in order to make it happen. So, in the last three years I was able to do this and received a little over ten grants and fellowships to support my work.

The challenges that I’m facing now and the questions that I’m asking myself are, how am I going to balance being a new mom, teaching adjunct, working part time at the University, and producing/finishing up creative projects? I think that if you’re in it for the long run you’ll have several of these “big” “dives” BACK into your career and those dives could be a change in how you’re approaching your work or experimenting with a different voice or taking an artistic risk.

Besides written and spoken word poetry, you’ve worked in a wide range of other mediums including theater, podcast, film, and even children’s books. How does a multimedia approach help you accomplish your goals as an artist and activist?

It feels natural for me to be multi/ inter-disciplinary. There’s definitely that danger of “jack of all trades; master of none,” but so far so good. My energies have been on theater, poetry, and picture books.

Fortunately for me, I’ve gotten fellowships for those three mediums/ genres. Fellowships are essential to gaining greater access to information and time to focus on your own creative and professional growth.

Being multi/inter-disciplinary also allows me to make my work more accessible to more people. For example, “When Everything Was Everything” started as a poem and was great for people who attended poetry readings in coffee shops.

For people who weren’t into poetry readings in coffee shops, “When Everything Was Everything” also lived on broadsides inside buses, trains, and train platforms as public art for every day people. And now, it’s been reborn into a picture book for children and their grown ups to experience together.

Access is necessary. Being responsive to community is necessary. Otherwise, what good is this work if the ones I’ve created it for aren’t able to experience it? Like, that shit is on me. That’s my responsibility.

Cultural Beauty Pageant scene from the play Hmong Lao Friendship Play (written and performed by Vongsay and May Lee-Yang). Photo by Sean Smuda.

Your work reveals an incredible amount of vulnerability. How do you tap into that valve without doing too much damage to yourself and others?

I’m a crier. I just want to normalize feelings and express a fuller humanity through my work, especially the experiences of former refugees navigating America and all of its accoutrements.

I haven’t always been honest or vulnerable with my writing because maybe I wasn’t sure of my artistic voice. Maybe it’s also because I didn’t have the maturity or experience-language?

So my work is heavily informed and inspired by the experiences of survivors from the Secret War (a proxy war of the Vietnam War). There’s a high level of responsibility because these stories are sacred.

The community has been incredibly giving and no one has come after me. I’m being as gentle as I can but I feel like even the slightest bit of carelessness can tarnish the trust that’s been building.

Throughout your career, I’m sure you’ve had moments of self-doubt. What kind of thoughts did you struggle with and how do you co-exist with or move past them?

About three years ago a friend and mentor said that he didn’t consider me an artist and that all I had going for me was because of my social capital. That was pretty hurtful and disappointing. I identified as an artist. I approached my work rigorously. I didn’t understand why having a supportive community could be a bad thing.

I wondered, “Do I need awards and other recognition to get your respect?” And that’s what I did. I started collecting awards, grants, and fellowships and even more social capital.

After a while, the desire for approval faded. I was growing creatively, learning new shit, re-learning tough shit that I gave up on previously, making new friends, deepening relationships, traveling, eating good, getting bills paid, paying artists. I was doing LIFE.

Outside forces aside, imposter syndrome is real. Sometimes I don’t feel like I belong in certain spaces because I’ve never been invited to imagine myself there, let alone to be there physically.

So, Grace Lee Boggs is my personal patron saint of badassery. Revisiting some of her quotes helps with the imposter syndrome: “You don’t choose the times you live in, but you do choose who you want to be, and you do choose how you want to think.”

Do you ever feel burdened by people seeing you as a spokesperson for Lao Americans or Southeast Asian refugees?

Not at all. The stories of ethnic Lao are not often heard or known in popular culture, in media, in history books. Millions (in Laos, Vietnam, Cambodia) died and they can’t tell their story. I have the capacity to do it, so I’m doing it.

As younger generations of Laotian Americans are born, they become further removed from the diaspora, even though the history is very much a part of their identity. How do you envision them interacting your work?

My first play, produced by Theater Mu in 2013 was Kung Fu Zombies vs. Cannibals. It’s about the secret carpet bombing missions committed by the CIA during the Vietnam War. I wanted to bring up a difficult and complicated history that needed to be discussed and examined.

I wondered how I was going to do this without boring my audience. I decided to be true to myself. ZOMBIES. The zombies stood in for the undetonated bombies buried in Laos. The soundscape was inspired by traditional Lao music, Buddhist chants, and hip-hop; some imagery paid homage to old school martial arts films and anime. Kung Fu Zombies vs. Cannibals was Theater Mu’s highest grossing world premiere, sold out more than ten shows, and over fifty of the tickets sold were to students and young people. Going forward, I hope that my connections to the aftermath of war and affinity for pop culture will continue to help me find ways to connect with younger generations of Laotians (Lao, Mien, Tai Dam, Hmong, Khmu, etc.).

What’s your strategy for making shit happen?

My strength comes from Grace Lee Boggs. My motivation comes from haters. My ability to get shit done comes from my husband Akiem (who takes care of our baby so I can do it). But the heart of the work is knowing what is at stake: erasure.

When do you think your work will be done, if ever?

LMFAO.

Below: Giving a blessing as the Shaman Warrior at the Saint Paul Art Crawl 2017. Photo by Laichee Yang.

Learn more about Saymoukda's work:

Website: saymoukdatherefugenius.com

Facebook: saymoukda.vongsay

Twitter and Instagram: refugenius