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.
Kako u 10 minuta mogu govoriti o vezama žena triju generacija, o tome kakvu su začuđujuću snagu te njihove veze imale u životu četverogodišnje djevojčice zarobljene sa svojom mlađom sestrom, majkom i bakom pet dana i noći u malom brodu u Kineskom moru prije više od 30 godina, veze koje su zauzele određeno mjesto u životu te male djevojčice i nikada je nisu pustile -- ta malena djevojčica sada živi u San Franciscu i danas vam govori. Ovo nije završena priča. To je slagalica koja se još slaže. Dopustite da vam kažem nešto o pojedinim dijelovima.
Imagine the first piece: a man burning his life's work. He is a poet, a playwright, a man whose whole life had been balanced on the single hope of his country's unity and freedom. Imagine him as the communists enter Saigon -- confronting the fact that his life had been a complete waste. Words, for so long his friends, now mocked him. He retreated into silence. He died broken by history. He is my grandfather. I never knew him in real life. But our lives are much more than our memories. My grandmother never let me forget his life. My duty was not to allow it to have been in vain, and my lesson was to learn that, yes, history tried to crush us, but we endured.
Zamislite prvi dio: čovjek koji pali svoje životno djelo. On je pjesnik, dramski pisac, čovjek čiji je cijeli život bio utemeljen na jedinstvenoj nadi za ujedinjenjem i slobodom njegove zemlje. Zamislite ga dok komunisti ulaze u Saigon, dok se suočava sa činjenicom da je njegov život bio potpuno traćenje vremena. Riječi, tako dugo njegove prijateljice, sada su mu se rugale. Povukao se u tišinu. Umro je slomljen poviješću. On je moj djed. Nikada ga nisam upoznala, no naši su životi mnogo više od naših sjećanja. Moja baka nikada nije dopustila da zaboravim njegov život. Moja je dužnost bila ne dopustiti da bude uzaludno i moja je lekcija bila naučiti da nas je povijest pokušala slomiti, ali mi smo izdržali.
The next piece of the jigsaw is of a boat in the early dawn slipping silently out to sea. My mother, Mai, was 18 when her father died -- already in an arranged marriage, already with two small girls. For her, life had distilled itself into one task: the escape of her family and a new life in Australia. It was inconceivable to her that she would not succeed. So after a four-year saga that defies fiction, a boat slipped out to sea disguised as a fishing vessel. All the adults knew the risks. The greatest fear was of pirates, rape and death. Like most adults on the boat, my mother carried a small bottle of poison. If we were captured, first my sister and I, then she and my grandmother would drink.
Sljedeći je dio slagalice brodić koji u ranu zoru tiho klizi u more. Moja majka Mai imala je 18 godina kad joj je umro otac – već u dogovorenom braku s dvije male djevojčice. Njen život sveo se na jedan zadatak: bijeg njene obitelji i nov život u Australiji. Bilo joj je nezamislivo da ne uspije. Nakon četverogodišnje sage koja premašuje fikciju, brodić je skliznuo u more prerušen u ribarski brod. Svi su odrasli bili svjesni rizika. Najveći strah bio je od gusara, silovanja i smrti. Kao i većina odraslih na brodiću, moja je majka nosila malu bočicu otrova. Da su nas zarobili, prvo bi popile sestra i ja, a onda ona i moja baka.
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.
Moja su prva sjećanja s brodića – postojan ritam motora, pramac koji ulazi u svaki val, prostran i prazan horizont. Ne sjećam se gusara koji su došli mnogo puta, ali su zavarani iznimnom hrabrošću muškaraca s našeg broda, niti se sjećam kako nam je motor otkazao i nije se pokrenuo šest sati. Ali sjećam se svjetla na platformi za podmorsko bušenje na Malezijskoj obali i mladića koji se srušio i umro, kraj putovanja bio je previše za njega. I sjećam se prve jabuke koju sam okusila, a dao mi ju je muškarac s platforme. Nijedna jabuka poslije nije imala isti okus.
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.
Nakon tri mjeseca u izbjegličkom kampu, stigli smo u Melbourne. A sljedeći je dio slagalice o četiri žene unutar triju generacija koje zajedno oblikuju nov život. Nastanile smo se u Footscrayu, radničkom predgrađu koje vrvi slojevima doseljenika. Za razliku od predgrađa nastanjenog srednjim slojem, čijeg postojanja nisam bila svjesna, u Footscrayu nije bilo osjećaja za pravdu. Mirisi s vrata dućana dolazili su iz ostatka svijeta. Ljudi su se sporazumijevali slabim engleskim jezikom i jedno im je bilo zajedničko: kretali su ispočetka.
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."
Moja je majka radila na farmama, zatim na pokretnoj traci s automobilima, radeći šest dana duple smjene. Nekako je pronašla vremena za učenje engleskog jezika i stjecanje informatičkog obrazovanja. Bili smo siromašni. Svi su dolari bili raspodijeljeni i dodatna školarina za engleski i matematiku bila je izdvajana usprkos tome što nam je svašta nedostajalo, poput nove odjeće; uvijek je bila već nošena. Dva para čarapa za školu, svaki kako bi sakrio rupe na drugoj. Školska uniforma do gležnjeva zato što je morala trajati šest godina. I postojali su rijetki, ali ružni napjevi o „kosookima“ i povremeni grafiti: „Azijci, idite kući.“ Kojoj kući? Unutar mene nešto se ukočilo. Oblikovala se odlučnost i tihi glas koji je govorio: „Zaobići ću vas.“
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.
Moja majka, moja sestra i ja spavale smo u istom krevetu. Majka je svake večeri bila iscrpljena, ali smo uvijek jedna drugoj govorile kako nam je prošao dan i slušale kako baka hoda po kući. Moja je majka imala noćne more koje su bile vezane uz brodić, a moj je posao bio da ostanem budna kada joj dođu te noćne more kako bih je mogla probuditi. Otvorila je dućan s računalima, a nakon toga školovala se kako bi bila kozmetičarka i otvorila još jedan posao. Žene su dolazile sa svojim pričama o muškarcima koji nisu mogli prijeći ovamo, bile su ljute i nepopustljive i imale problematičnu djecu koja su bila zarobljena između dva svijeta.
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.
Tražile su se stipendije i sponzori. Osnovani su centri. Živjela sam u paralelnim svjetovima. U jednom, bila sam tipičan azijski student, nemilosrdna prema zahtjevima koje sam si postavila. U drugom sam bila upletena u živote koji su bili neizvjesni, tragično obilježeni nasiljem, drogom i izolacijom. A tijekom godina mnogima smo pomagali. I za taj sam posao na zadnjoj godini pravnog studija bila izabrana za mladu Australku godine. I bila sam katapultirana s jednog dijela slagalice na drugi, a njihovi se rubovi nisu slagali.
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."
Anonimna Tan Le iz Footscraya sada je bila Tan Le, izbjeglica i socijalna aktivistica koja je bila pozvana da govori na mjestima za koje nikada nije čula i u domove koje nije mogla ni zamisliti. Nisam poznavala protokol. Nisam znala kako koristiti pribor za jelo. Nisam znala kako govoriti o vinu. Nisam znala kako govoriti ni o čemu. Željela sam odstupiti od rutine i udobnosti života u neopjevanom predgrađu – baka, majka i dvije kćeri završavaju svoj dan jednako kao što to rade već 20 godina, pričajući jedna drugoj kako je prošao dan, i sve tri još uvijek spavaju u istom krevetu. Rekla sam majci da ja to ne mogu. Podsjetila me je da mi je isto godina kao njoj kad smo se ukrcale na brod. Riječ "ne" nikad nije bila opcija. „Učini to“, rekla je, „i nemoj biti nešto što nisi.“
So I spoke out on youth unemployment and education and the neglect of the marginalized and disenfranchised. 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.
Govorila sam o nezaposlenosti mladih i obrazovanju i zanemarivanju marginaliziranih i obespravljenih. I što sam iskrenije govorila, tražili su da govorim još više. Upoznala sam ljude različitih životnih puteva, i mnogi od njih radili su ono što vole, živeći na granicama mogućnosti. Iako sam bila diplomirala, shvatila sam da mi pravnička karijera nije dovoljna. Tu je morao biti još jedan dio slagalice. I u isto sam vrijeme shvatila da je u redu da budeš autsajder, novopridošlica, novi na sceni – i ne samo da je u redu, već za to treba biti zahvalan, možda je to dar s brodića. Zato što biti insider lako može značiti sužavanje horizonta i lako može značiti prihvaćanje predrasuda vlastitog zavičaja. Sada sam već dovoljno zakoračila van svoje sigurne okoline da znam da se svijet raspada, ali ne na način kojeg se bojite.
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.
Mogućnosti koje ne bi bile dozvoljene, drsko su poticane. Tu je bila energija, neumoljivi optimizam, čudna mješavina poniznosti i odvažnosti. Pa sam slijedila svoju intuiciju i okupila oko sebe malu ekipu ljudi za koju je termin „To se ne može učiniti“ bio neodoljiv izazov. Godinu smo dana bili bez novaca. Na kraju svakog dana kuhala sam ogroman lonac juhe koji smo svi podijelili. Radili smo do kasno u noć. Većina je naših ideja bila luda, ali nekoliko ih je bilo sjajnih i uspjeli smo se probiti. Odlučila sam se preseliti u SAD nakon samo jednog putovanja. Opet moj predosjećaj. Tri mjeseca kasnije preselila sam se i avantura se nastavila.
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.
Prije no što završim, da vam kažem nešto o svojoj baki. Odrasla je u vrijeme kada je konfucijanizam bio društvena norma i lokalni mandarini su bili osobe koje su nešto značile. Život se nije mijenjao stoljećima. Otac joj je umro ubrzo nakon njezina rođenja. Majka ju je sama podizala. Sa 17 je postala druga žena mandarina čija ju je majka tukla. Bez potpore svog muža, bila je senzacija kada ga je dovela na sud i sama vodila slučaj i još je veća senzacija bila kada je pobijedila.
(Laughter)
(smijeh)
(Applause)
(pljesak)
"It can't be done" was shown to be wrong.
„To se ne može učiniti“ pokazalo se netočnim.
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."
Tuširala sam se u hotelskoj sobi u Sydneyu u trenutku kad je ona umrla 950 km dalje u Melbourneu. Pogledala sam kroz zastor tuša i vidjela je kako stoji s druge strane. Znala sam da se došla oprostiti. Moja me majka nazvala nekoliko minuta kasnije. Nekoliko dana poslije otišle smo u budistički hram u Footscrayu i sjele pored njenog lijesa. Pričale smo joj priče i uvjerile ju da smo još uvijek s njom. U ponoć je došao monah i rekao nam da moramo zatvoriti lijes. Majka nas je zamolila da joj opipamo ruku. Upitala je monaha: „Kako to da joj je ruka tako topla, a sve ostalo hladno?“ „Zato što ste je držali od jutra“, rekao je, „niste je pustili.“
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.
Ako postoji snaga u našoj obitelji, ona ide kroz žene. S obzirom na to kakve smo bile i kako nas je život oblikovao, sada vidimo da bi nas muškarci koji su možda mogli ući u naše živote, omeli na našem putu. Olako bismo prihvatile poraz. Sada bih voljela imati svoju djecu, i razmišljam o onom brodu. Tko bi si to ikada poželio? Ipak se bojim privilegije, spokoja i povlastica. Mogu li im dati pramac broda koji hrabro uranja u svaki val, neometan i stabilan zvuk motora, širok horizont koji ništa ne garantira? Ne znam. Ali ako bih im to mogla dati i da znam da će sigurno prebroditi, učinila bih to.
(Applause)
(pljesak)
Trevor Neilson: And also, Tan's mother is here today, in the fourth or fifth row.
Trevor Neilson: S nama je danas i Tanina majka u četvrtom ili petom redu.
(Applause)
(pljesak)