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 da vam ispričam u 10 minuta o vezama žena 3 različite generacije, i kako je neverovatna snaga tih veza obeležila život četvorogodišnje devojčice koja je u grčevitom zagrljaju sa svojom sestrom, majkom i bakom provela pet dana i noći u jednom brodiću usred Kineskog mora pre više od 30 godina. Veze koje su obeležile život te devojčice nisu je nikada više napustile. Ta devojčica danas živi u San Francisku i priča vam ovu priču. Ova priča još uvek nema kraj. Ona je kao još nedovršen mozaik. Volela bih da vam opišem neke delove mozaika.
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 deo: čoveka koji spaljuje svoje životno delo. On je pesnik i dramski pisac, čovek čiji je ceo život bio zasnovan na želji za slobodom i ujedinjenjem njegove domovine. Zamislite ga dok komunisti ulaze u Sajgon, suočenog sa činjenicom da je ceo njegov životni trud bio uzaludan. Reči koje su mu tako dugo bile bliske, postadoše tuđe. Povukao se u tišinu. Umro je slomljen istorijom. To je bio moj deda. Nisam ga upoznala za života. Ali naši životi su mnogo više nego zbir sećanja. Baka nije dozvolila da zaboravim njegov život. Dužnost mi je bila da ne prihvatim uzaludnost i da naučim lekciju da iako je istorija pokušala da nas slomi, 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.
Drugi deo mozaika je brodić koji u ranu zoru tiho klizi u more. Moja majka, Mai, je imala 18 godina kad joj je umro otac. Već je bila u ugovorenom braku, i gajila dve male devojčice. Ceo njen život se sveo na jedan zadatak: izbeći sa ostatkom porodice i početi novi život u Australiji. Ona nije ni pojmila mogućnost neuspeha. Posle četiri godine života nalik romanu, brodić je skliznuo u more kamufliran kao za ribolov. Svi odrasli su bili svesni rizika. Najveća opasnost su bili gusari, silovanje i smrt. Kao i ostali odrasli na brodu moja majka je nosila bočicu otrova. Da su nas zarobili, prvo bismo ga 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 prva sećanja su sa tog broda - postojan zvuk motora, pramac koji zaronjava u svaki talas, ogroman i prazan horizont. Ne sećam se gusara koji su napali više puta, i bili prevareni neustrašivošću ljudi sa našeg broda. Ne sećam se ni kad je motor zamro i nije se mogao šest sati pokrenuti. Ali se sećam svetlosti sa naftne platforme pored obale Malezije i mladića koji se onesvestio i umro, za njega je kraj puta stigao prerano. Sećam se prve jabuke koju sam ikad okusila, koju su mi darovali radnici na platformi. Nijedna jabuka posle nije imala isti ukus.
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.
Posle tri meseca u izbegličkom kampu, stigli smo u Melburn. Sledeći deo mozaika je o četiri žene iz tri generacije koje zajedno zasnivaju novi život. Smestili smo se u Futskraju, radničkom predgrađu šarolikog imigrantskog stanovništva. Za razliku od sređenih četvrti srednje klase, za koje nisam ni znala da postoje, u Futskraju nije bilo povlašćenih. Širili su se mirisi sa raznih strana sveta. Ljudi su se sporazumevali nesigurnim i isprekidanim engleskim jezikom i jedno im je bilo zajedničko: svi su počinjali 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 majka je prvo radila na farmama, a onda u jednom automobilskom pogonu, duple smene šest dana nedeljno. Uspela je da nađe vreme da nauči engleski i savlada rad na kompjuteru. Bili smo siromašni. Novac je prebrojavan do poslednje pare, ali nikada nije zafalio za dodatne časove engleskog i matematike, iako je to značilo da nam je često ponešto nedostajalo, najčešće nova odeća - uvek smo dobijale nešto već nošeno. Dva para čarapa za školu, kako se ne bi videle rupe. Školska kecelja do članaka, jer je morala da istraje šest godina. I čuli su se retki ali uvredljivi komentari o "žutaćima" i poneki grafit: „Azijati, vratite se kući.“ Vratiti se... kojoj kući? Nešto se u meni ledilo, pojavilo se seme jedne odluke i tihi glas u meni je rekao: "I vas ću prevazići."
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.
Mama, sestra i ja smo spavale u istom krevetu. Mama je svako veče dolazila iscrpljena, ali uvek bismo pričale jedna drugoj kako nam je prošao dan i slušale baku kako radi po kući. Mama je imala noćne more uvek o onom putovanju brodom, i ja sam bila zadužena da bdim i probudim je kad započnu. Uspela je da otvori radnju za računare, a posle se školovala za kozmetičarku i otvorila je još jednu firmu. Klijentkinje su joj pričale o svojim muževima koji nisu uspeli da se prilagode novom životu, i postali ogorčeni i nepopustljivi, i o deci razapetoj između dva sveta.
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.
Tražili smo sponzore i zajmove. Osnivali centre za pomoć. Živela sam u dva paralelna sveta. U prvom sam bila tipična azijska studentkinja, koja je stalno od sebe zahtevala više. U drugom sam bila upletena u nesigurne živote obeležene nasiljem, drogom i izolacijom. Ali mnogima smo vremenom uspeli da pomognemo. Za taj trud sam, kao apsolventkinja prava bila izabrana za mladu Australlijanku godine. Nagrada je bila katapult ka sledećem deliću mozaika koji se nije baš dobro uklapao.
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 Li iz Futskraja je sada postala Tan Li, aktivistkinja za izbeglice, pozivana da govori na mestima za koje nikad nije čula i u kuće kakve nije ni sanjala da postoje. Nisam znala ništa o protokolima. Nisam znala da koristim pribor za jelo. Nisam znala da razgovaram o vinu. Nisam ni o čemu znala da razgovaram. Žudela sam da se vratim u rutinu i udobnost života u anonimnom predgrađu - tamo gde bi baka, mama i dve ćerke završavale dan kao i prethodnih 20 godina, pričom o tome kako je im protekao dan i odlazile da spavaju sve tri još uvek u istom krevetu. Rekla sam mami da ne mogu više. Podsetila me je da mi je isto godina kao njoj kad smo se ukrcale na onaj brod. "Ne mogu" nikad nije bila opcija. "Stisni zube i uradi to" rekla je, "i nemoj da budeš ono 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.
Nastavila sam da pričam o nezaposlenosti i obrazovanju, o nebrizi za marginalizovane i obespravljene. Što sam otvorenije govorila, sve češće su me zvali da govorim. Sretala sam ljude različitih životnih puteva, i mnogi od njih su radili ono što vole, idući do granica mogućnosti. Iako sam već diplomirala, shvatila sam da mi pravnička karijera nije dovoljna. Morao je da postoji još jedan deo mozaika. Shvatila sam takođe da nije problem biti autsajder, neko ko je tek stigao, neko nov - i ne samo da nije problem, nego da može da bude prednost, možda je to bio poklon onog broda. Zato što biti insajder može lako da znači prihvatanje granica, i olako prelaženje preko predrasuda sopstvenog zavičaja. Sad kad sam dovoljno dugo van mog ličnog udobnog kutka, znam da svet ide nagore, ali ne onako kako se pribojavamo.
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 kojih do tada nije bilo su sada dobijale podršku. Postojala je neka nova energija, nezaustavljiv optimizam, čudna mešavina skromnosti i smelosti. Tako da sam poslušala svoju intuiciju i okupila oko sebe malu grupu ljudi za koju je etiketa "nije moguće" predstavljala neodoljiv izazov. Cele jedne godine nismo ništa zaradili. Na kraju svakog dana napravila bih veliki lonac čorbe koju bismo zajedno jeli. Radili smo do kasno u noć. Većina naših ideja su bile lude, ali neke su bile briljantne, i uspeli smo da se probijemo. Odlučila sam da se preselim u Ameriku posle samo jedne posete. Opet moja intuicija. Tri meseca kasnije sam se preselila, 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.
Pre nego što završim volela bih da vam kažem nešto o mojoj baki. Ona je odrasla u vreme kad je konfučijanizam bio socijalna norma i lokalni mandarin je bio osoba od značaja. Život se nije menjao vekovima. Otac joj je umro ubrzo nakon njenog rođenja. Majka ju je odgajala sama. U sedamnaestoj je postala druga žena mandarina čija ju je majka tukla. Nije imala podršku muža, i izazvalo je senzaciju to što ga je izvela pred sud gde je zastupala samu sebe, i još veću senzaciju kad je spor i dobila.
(Laughter)
(Smeh)
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
"It can't be done" was shown to be wrong.
"Nije moguće" se dokazalo kao pogrešno.
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."
Bila sam pod tušem u jednoj hotelskoj sobi u Sidneju u momentu kad je umrla u Melburnu, 1000 kilometara daleko. Pogledala sam kroz staklo kabine i videla je kako stoji sa druge strane. Znala sam da je došla da se oprosti. Par minuta kasnije pozvala me je mama. Nakon nekoliko dana, otišle smo u budistički hram u Futskraju i sedele pored njenog kovčega. Pričale smo joj priče i uverile je da smo još uvek uz nju. U ponoć je došao monah i rekao da mora da zatvori kovčeg. Mama nas je zamolila da joj dodirnemo ruku i upitala monaha: "Kako to da joj je ruka tako topla, a ostatak tela tako hladan?" "Zato što ste je držali ceo dan," rekao je. "Niste je pustili ni za trenutak."
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 ima snage u našoj porodici, nose je žene. Gledajući odakle smo došle i kako nas je život oblikovao, sada možemo da vidimo da bi nas muškarci koje bismo eventualno srele, usporili na našem putu. Olako bismo prihvatile poraz. Sada bih volela da imam svoju decu, i razmišljam o onom brodu. Ko bi to poželeo nekom svom? Ali zazirem od privilegija, od lagodnosti, od povlastica. Da li smem da ih ostavim na pramcu broda koji hrabro uranja u talase, nošen sigurnim ritmom motora, ka široko otvorenom horizontu u kome, pak, nema garancija? Ne znam. Ali kada bih mogla to da im dam, a da znam da će to sigurno da prebrode, svakako bih.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)
Trevor Neilson: And also, Tan's mother is here today, in the fourth or fifth row.
Trevor Nilson: Samo da znate, Tanina mama je danas sa nama, sedi u petom redu.
(Applause)
(Aplauz)