This interview by Radiolab gets pretty real at the end. It draws that line that stands between Victims and Truth Seekers. The interview seeks to dig deeper into the 1975 Yellow Rain that fell in parts of Laos. The controversy behind it, and the consequences of it. The host of Radiolab, interviews a man, Eng Yang, who was in Laos when the rain fell.
The podcast was initially released in September of 2012. After much uproar and upset over the end of the interview, it was amended and rereleased less than 2 months later. This is the amended version.
Here also is the 2 part 1991 New Yorker article that got Radiolab interested in this story in the first place. (if you have a subscription)
Eng Yang’s niece Kao Kalia Yang, who acted as translator for him during the interview, and spoke on behalf of the injustices placed on her people. Born in 1980, in a Thailand refugee camp, right as the world was beginning to open their eyes to the idea of chemical weapons. Her first book, published in 2008, 4 years before this podcast, The Latehomecomer: A Hmong Family Memoir, recounts the Hmong people and her own grandmother’s experience during the Vietnam War. She is a writer, public speaker, and a teacher. Here is a link to her website: http://www.kaokaliayang.com/
After a long week, a long day. After a long shift, a long drive.. after all that, I was able to sleep in, nestled between the undying love of pets. I was able to have a long conversation in bed with my mother. We went to the Saturday Market, not the size of the one in my home town, but filled with PNW artists and people who care to their core about quality. There was live music that reminded me of a Sunday Afternoon pandora station. The smells of coffee and spices filled the air, and everyone smiled. We went down to the dockside and saw the bay full of boats, milling about like runners warming up for a race. As we drew closer the sounds of auld sea shanties could be heard blaring from speakers. And families watched, in the sun, the smell of the sea. We ordered coffee by people proud to make it by hand, no fancy machines, just age old skill. We drank in the small shop, filled with friendly faces, everyone a stranger, but everyone chatting, no one on their computers or iphones. I strolled down the welcoming sidewalk, everyone going somewhere, but no one in a hurry. In the sun, on this Saturday afternoon, I remember how much I love it here..