Nestled up on the second floor of the Museum of History and Industry (MOHAI), at the intersection of Seattle’s futures and pasts, sits the exhibit, “Reframing Seattle’s Southeast Asian Histories”, curated by Thanh Tan. I approach the display, cognizant of my own family’s ties to Southeast Asia by way of Burma/Myanmar. I have come to learn that Burma/Myanmar tends to be overlooked; I am learning to trust that somehow, in the space between us, we will see each other.
This assemblage of pieces and stories emerged from Tan’s 2025 tenure in the Curator’s Fellowship at MOHAI, which accepts applications annually. The exhibit takes as its point of departure a collection of photos acquired from the Seattle Post-Intelligencer (Seattle P-I), focused on events related to Southeast Asia during the latter half of the 20th century.
War marks the origins of this chapter of migration from Southeast Asia to Washington state, from the 1960s onwards. I am met with an image of protestors, challenging state violence and facing troopers as they block Interstate 5 at the Roanoke interchange; an assortment of militaristic apparel; and a detailed map indicating combat engagements and major actors shaping Southeast Asia at the time.
During our interview, Tan wonders how the imprint of war can mask the “humanity or complexity” of conflicts as they are experienced in everyday life. I am invited to witness these pieces as a glimpse into what was happening over five decades ago. In this moment, I am asking what could become of Burma/Myanmar, a country currently embroiled in civil war, the smoldering remnants of one of the longest running conflicts in living memory. What do we do when a sense of homeland is placed in question? How does this shape our everyday lives?
My perspective shifts to the next panel, where I see images of arrivals to Washington state. Tan remarks upon the “in-betweenness” present in these archives—images evidencing nuanced tensions between Southeast Asian communities, even in the diaspora; the lives of young arrivals cut short. These images refuse the flattening of arrival stories, they confront us to move beyond “nostalgia”; nor are they “just a celebration”, depicting grateful arrivals and their bootstrapped success in a new land.
The complex textures that migration brings to everyday life become more evident when one considers the exchanges unfolding across generations. I note the issue of Ðất Mới, the “first Vietnamese-language newspaper” in the US, published in 1975 with funding from Washington state. Tan shares that despite this support, the newspaper did not have its own office; it was started in the Filipino Community Center, whose own establishment can be traced to the formation of the Filipino Community of Seattle in 1935. Most arrivals from Burma/Myanmar to Washington state occurred after 2005. I myself am writing this piece as a part of intergenerational exchanges that have been occurring over decades in the International District. What is learned between those who have been present and those who are arriving?
This leads me to what could be considered a closing segment of the exhibit; I walk to the end of the clear case housing the display. And then I see my friends. Friends who have become chosen family. Friends with whom I have created poetry together, making our own music, daring to bring pieces of ourselves to what we do. We are learning how our movements together are fluid; illuminating what it is that we’ve been equipped with to get through this. Who we are can have teeth; we do not need to remain in a fictive past, nor do we need to pummel into an untethered future. We get to choose when the elements of our pasts matter and when we get to just be. But if we do not engage with our stories, we do not know the materials we are working with; we do not realize just how connected where we came from is tied to where we are going.
I ask Thanh, considering those who have bills to pay, family and loved ones to take care of, how do we even get started? “Ask your family members for any fragments of anything they remember.” Where else might these memories exist? In the newspapers? How do our stories connect us to others? Can you look at digital collections? Maybe you will find people you grew up with. Talk to an archivist, librarians. Perhaps this is the opening to “think critically together, beyond what we see in the image, [to] acknowledge what we know to be true, but sometimes the things that we don’t know and that we’re not clear about.” What becomes possible when the archives and repertoires of our everyday lives become points of learning for what is to come?
“Reframing Seattle’s Southeast Asian Histories”, will be on display at MOHAI through September 20, 2026.
