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.
Si mund te flas ne 10 minuta mbi relatat e grave nder tre gjenerata, dhe fuqine mahnitese te ketyre lidhjeve qe ka mbajtur gjalle nje vajze kater vjeçare bashke me motren, mamane e gjyshen e saj per pese dite e net ne nje varke te vogel ne detin Kinez mbi 30 vite me pare, lidhje qe rezistuan fuqishem ne jeten e vajzes se vogel dhe nuk e lane kurre -- kjo vajze tani jeton ne San Francisco dhe sot po flet para jush? Kjo histori nuk ka perfunduar. Eshte nje mozaik, pjeset e te cilit akoma po kerkojne perputhen me njera tjetren. Me lejoni t'ju tregoj per disa nga copezat e mozaikut.
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.
Imagjinoni Pjesen e Pare: nje burre qe i ve zjarrin punes se nje jete te tere. Ai eshte poet, dramaturg, nje njeri, jeta e te cilit ishte gjithe kohes e bilancuar mbi nje shprese te vetme. Bashkimi dhe liria e vendit te tij. Imagjinojeni ndersa komunistet hyne ne Saigon, duke u perballuar me faktin se jeta e tij kishte qene nje shpenzim i kote. Fjale pa peshe, perderisa tani miqte talleshin me te. Ai u strehua tek vetmia. Ai vdiq i thyer nga historia. Ai ishte gjyshi im. Une nuk kam arritur ta njon ate. Por jetet tona jane shume me teper se kujtimet tona. Gjyshja ime asnjehere nuk me beri te harroja jeten e tij. Detyra ime ishte te mos lejoja qe jeta e tij te shkonte dem. dhe mesimi im ishte te arrija te mesoja se, vertete, historia u perpoq te na shtypte, por ne rezistuam.
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.
Pjesa tjeter e mozaikut ka te beje me nje varke, heret ne agim qe rreshket pa zhurme ne pafundesine e detit. Mamaja ime, Mai, ishte 18 vjec kur i vdiq babai -- ajo kishte perfunduar ne nje martese me nderhyrje, dhe kishte dy vajza te vogla. Per te, jeta ishte perqendruar vetem ne nje qellim: te arratisej me familjen e saj dhe te fillonte nje jete te re ne Australi. Ishte e paperfytyrueshme per te qe te mos arrinte te realizonte kete qellim. Keshtu, pas nje epopeje qe sfidonte çdo lloj trillimi, qe zgjati kater vjet, nje varke rreshkiti ne det te hapur e maskuar si nje anije peshkimi. Te rriturit i njihnin rreziqet e mundshme. Kishin shume frike nga piratet, perdhunimet dhe vdekja. Si shumica e te rriturve ne varke, dhe mamaja ime kishte me vete nje shishe te vogel me helm. Nese do ta na kapnin, do ta pinim helmin, fillimisht motra dhe une, pastaj mamaja dhe gjyshja.
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.
Kujtimet e mija te para i perkasin varkes -- zhurma e rregullt e motorrit lekundja ne çdo vale qe kalonim, horizonti i hapur dhe i zbrazet. Une nuk i mbaj mend piratet qe erdhen shume here, por qe mashtroheshin nga burrat ne varke, as nuk mbaj mend motorrin qe prishej dhe nuk rregullohej per rreth gjashte ore. Por mbaj mend shume mire dritat e nje platforme nafte ne bregdetin Malaizian dhe nje djale te ri qe ra poshte e vdiq, sepse fundi i udhetimit ishte shume i veshtire per te, dhe mollen e pare qe shijova, mollen qe me dhane burrat ne platformen e naftes. Asnje molle nuk kishte patur te njejten shije.
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.
Pas tre muajsh ne kampin e refugjateve, perfunduam ne Melburn. Pjesa tjeter e mozaikut flet per kater gra te tre gjeneratave te ndryshme qe i japin forme nje jete te re se bashku. Fillimisht u vendosem ne Footscray, nje lagje punetoresh ne periferi ku pjesa me e madhe e banoreve ishin emigrante. ne ndryshim nga zonat periferike te klases se mesme ekzistencen e te cilave une pothuaj e harroja, ne Footscray nuk kishte asnje lloj ideje ne lidhje me te drejtat. Aromat qe vinin nga dyert e dyqaneve ishin nga pjesa tjeter e botes. Dhe copezat e Anglishtes se çale shkembeheshin nga njerez qe kishin nje gje te perbashket, po nisnin cdo gje nga e para.
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."
Mamaja ime punoi ne bujqesi, me pas ne nje fabrike qe montonte pjese makinash, punonte gjashte dite ne jave me dy turne. Dhe nuk e di se si arrinte te gjente kohe te mesonte Anglisht dhe te merrte ca kualifikime ne informatike. Ne ishim te varfra. Shpenzimi qofte dhe i nje dollari ishte i rendesishem dhe shpenzimet per kurse shtese ne Anglisht dhe Matematike ishin te padiskutueshme dhe per to na duhet te hiqnim dore nga ndonje shpenzim tjerer qe zakonisht ishin rrobat e reja; ndaj blinim gjithnje rroba te perdorura. Dy pale çorape per shkolle, qe nje pale te mbulonte vrimat e tjetres. Uniformen e shkolles qe arrinte deri poshte kembeve, sepse duhet te rezistonte per te pakten gjashte vjet. Dhe ndonjehere hasnim kenge perzhitese te "syve me bisht" te aziatikeve dhe ndonjehere lexonim shkrimet mbi mure: "Aziatike, kthehuni ne shtepite tuaja." Ne cilen shtepi te ktheheshim? Dhe diçka ngurtesohej brenda meje. Vendosmeria rritej dhe nje ze i qete brenda meje thoshte: "Une do t'ju parakaloj nje dite."
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.
Mamaja, motra dhe une flinim ne te njejtin krevat. Nena ime ishte e stermunduar cdo nate, por prape se prape ne i tregonim njera tjetres se si kishte kaluar dita dhe degjonim levizjet e gjyshes neper shtepi. Mamaja vuante nga enderrat e keqija nga kujtesa e varkes. Dhe detyra ime ishte te rrija zgjuar derisa ti vinin endrrat e keqija qe te mund ta zgjoja. Ajo hapi nje dyqan kompjuterash pastaj studioi qe te punonte ne sallone bukurie dhe hapi nje biznes te ri. Dhe grate vinin ne sallon me historite e tyre mbi burrat qe nuk mund ti rezistonin tranzicionit, dhe nevrikoseshin e ngurteshin dhe mbi femijet e trazuar qe gjindeshin midis dy boteve.
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.
Kerkuam bursa dhe sponsor. Hapem qendra. Jetova ne bote paralele. Ne njeren, isha nje studente aziatike klasike, e pameshirshme ne kerkesat qe kisha ndaj vetes. Ne tjetren, isha nderthurur ne jete te pasigurta, te trembura tragjikisht nga violenca, nga abuzimi i droges dhe nga izolimi. Por shume njerez u ndihmuan nder vite. Dhe pikerisht per shkak te kesaj pune, kur isha studente juridiku e vitit te fundit, me zgjodhen si Vajza e Re Australiane e Vitit. Dhe u katapultova nga nje pjese e mozaikut ne nje tjeter, dhe pse copezat nuk perputheshin me njera-tjetren.
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."
Tan Le, banore anonime e Footscray, tashme ishte bere Tan Le, refugjate dhe aktiviste sociale, dhe e ftonin te fliste neper vende per te cilat nuk kishte degjuar kurre dhe ne shtepi per te cilat nuk kishte menduar kurre se mund te ekzistonin. Une nuk i njihja protokollet. Une nuk dija si te perdorja thike e pirun. Une nuk dija se si te flisja per vererat. Une nuk dija te flisja per asgje. Doja te strukesha tek rutina dhe rehatija e jetes ne nje periferi te panjohur-- nje gjyshe, nje mama dhe dy vajza qe mbyllnin diten e tyre siç kishin bere per pothuaj 20 vite me rradhe, duke u treguar njera-tjetres historite e dites se tyre dhe dalengadale i zinte gjumi, te treja ne te njejtin krevat. I thashe mamase qe nuk isha ne gjendje te vazhdoja. Ajo me kujtoi se tani une isha ne te njejten moshe qe ishte ajo kur ne u nisem me varke. Te thenit "Jo" asnjehere nuk e kemi marre ne konsiderate. "Thjesht beje" me tha ajo, "dhe mos u sill ndryshe nga ç'je ne te vertete"
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.
Keshtu fillova te flas mbi papunesine e te rinjve dhe arsimimin mbi neglizhencen ndaj te leneve menjane dhe qytetareve qe nuk kishin te drejta Dhe sa me shume flisja me sinqeritet, aq me shume kerkonin qe une te flisja. Takova njerez me lloj lloj historish jete, shume prej tyre benin gjera te cilat i pelqenin, duke jetuar ne kufinjte e mundesive. Dhe kur u diplomova, kuptova se nuk mund te pozicionohesha thjesht ne nje karriere si juriste. Patjeter qe duhet te ekzistonte dhe nje pjese tjeter e mozaikut. Dhe pikerisht ne ate moment kuptova se nuk eshte keq te jesh "nje i huaj", nje i sapoardhur, qe sapo ka filluar te dale ne skene -- biles jo vetem qe nuk eshte keq, por eshte diçka per te cilen duhet te falenderojme, mbase nje dhurate nga varka. Sepse te jesh nje i brendshem, pra brenda sistemit, ndonjehere do te thote dhe te kesh horizonte me te ngushta, dhe te tjeret te pranojme me me shume kollajllik nga fakti se vjen nga e njejta province. Tashme u bene shume vite qe kam dale nga zona ime "e rehatise" dhe kam mesuar se, bota po merr tatepjeten, por jo ashtu siç e imagjinoni ju.
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.
Oportunitete qe me pare as qe mund te imagjinoheshin tani jane inkurajuar pamase. Ndjeja shume energji perreth, nje optimizem te pashpjegueshem, nje perzjerje e cuditshme perulesie dhe guximi. Keshtu pra une ndoqa instinktin tim. Grumbullova rreth meje nje grup te vogel njerezish per te cilet etiketa "Eshte e mundur" perfaqesonte nje sfide te parrezistueshme. Per nje vit ishim pothuaj pa para. Ne fund te çdo dite, une gatuaja nje tenxhere te madhe me supe qe ndanim me njeri tjetrin. Punonim nate e dite. Shume nga idete tona ishin te çmendura, por disa prej tyre ishin brilante, dhe arritem t'ja dalim mbane. Une vendosa te trasferohem ne Amerike pasi bera nje udhetim aty. Perseri instinkti im. Tre muaj pasi isha transferuar, aventura vazhdonte.
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.
Po para se ta mbyll kete fjalim, dua t'ju flas pak per gjyshen time. Ajo u rrit ne nje periudhe kohore kur Konfucianizmi ishte norma sociale dhe nje person Mandarin vendas kishte akoma rendesi. Jeta nuk kishte ndryshuar per shekuj te tere. Babai i vdiq menjehere pasi ajo lindi. Mamaja e rriti e vetme e pa ndihme. Kur mbushi 17 vjec u be gruaja e dyte e nje Mandarini (personi te keq) mamaja e te cilit e rrihte. Pa patur asnje ndihme nga i shoqi, ajo beri buje sepse e paditi burrin dhe mbrojti veten ne gjyq, dhe beri akoma me shume buje fakti se ajo fitoi gjyqin.
(Laughter)
(qeshje)
(Applause)
(duartrokitje)
"It can't be done" was shown to be wrong.
Vertetoi se ne kete rast fjala "Nuk mund te behet" ishte e gabuar.
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."
Une isha duke bere dush ne nje hotel ne Sidnei ne momentin qe ajo vdiq 950 km larg nga Melburni. Dhe ne xhamin e dushit e pashe gjyshen tek rrinte perballe meje. E dija se kishte ardhur per te me thene Lamtumire. Mamaja me telefonoi pak minuta me vone. Disa dite me pas, shkuam ne nje tempull Budist ne Footscray dhe ndenjem ulur perreth arkivolit te saj. I treguam histori dhe i thame se nuk do ta harronim kurre e do te ishim gjithnje me te. Kur arriti mesnata nje murg na u afrua dhe na tha se duhej te mbyllte arkivolin. Atehere mamaja na kerkoi ti preknim doren. Dhe pyeti murgun, "Si ka mundesi qe dora e saj eshte kaq e ngrohte dhe gjithe pjesa tjeter e trupit eshte kaq e ftohte?" "Sepse ju e keni shtrenguar fort doren e saj qe nga mengjesi i sotem," i thote ai. "Nuk e keni lene per asnje moment."
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.
Nese ka nje tradite ne familjen tone, ajo trashegohet nepermjet grave. Duke patur parasysh se cilat ishim dhe se si na ka ndryshuar jeta, tani ne arrijme te kuptojme se burrat qe mund te ndikonin ne jetet tona mund te na kishin penguar e ndikuar per keq. Mposhtja mbase do te kishte trokitur me kollaj. Tani, une deshiroj te kem femije, dhe shpesh mendoj per varken. A ka mundesi qe nje gje e tille ti urohet vetes? Mbase po, pikerisht se mua privilegji me frikeson, ashtu si dhe kollajlliku, ose te drejtat e teperta. A do te mundja valle t'jua jepja jeten e tyre nje cope druri, qe lufton papushim me dallget, me zhurme te vazhdueshme motori, qe shkon drejt horizonteve pafund dhe qe nuk i garanton asgje? Nuk e di. Por nese do te kisha sigurine qe ata do te arrijne t'ja dalin mbare, do ta beja nje gje te tille.
(Applause)
(duartrokitje)
Trevor Neilson: And also, Tan's mother is here today, in the fourth or fifth row.
Trevor Neilson: Mamaja e Tan-it eshte sot ketu me ne ulur ne rreshtin e katert apo te peste.
(Applause)
(duartrokitje)