Roots of Resilience: The Hmong Heritage of Sunisa Lee

When Sunisa Lee vaulted to Olympic gold in Tokyo, she did not merely win a medal for the United States—she carried the hopes, history, and identity of a community that had never seen one of its own reach such heights. Her triumph, etched into the record books as the first Hmong American to compete in the Olympics and win gold in the all-around, is inseparable from the cultural soil that nurtured her. To understand Sunisa Lee as an athlete is to understand the Hmong people: their journey from the mountains of Laos to refugee camps in Thailand, their resettlement in the United States, and the unyielding values that have sustained them through generations of hardship.

The Hmong are an ethnic group with deep roots in southern China, but their most recent history is defined by the Secret War in Laos during the Vietnam War era. Allied with the United States, many Hmong fought against communist forces, only to face brutal retaliation when the war ended. Thousands fled across the Mekong River to refugee camps in Thailand, and eventually to countries like the United States, France, and Australia. Sunisa Lee’s own family made that journey. Her parents, Yeev Thoj and John Lee, emigrated from Laos as refugees, settling in St. Paul, Minnesota—home to one of the largest Hmong populations in America. This legacy of resilience, of building a new life from nothing, became the bedrock of Sunisa’s character.

In the Hmong worldview, strength is not merely physical; it is collective, spiritual, and intergenerational. Elders pass down stories of survival—navigating jungles and rivers under cover of darkness, holding onto language and rituals in foreign lands. For Sunisa, these stories were never abstract. They were whispered at family gatherings, woven into the cloth of traditional paj ntaub embroidery, and felt in every meal her mother prepared. This heritage instilled in her a quiet but fierce determination, a refusal to quit even when the odds—becoming an elite gymnast from a non-traditional background—seemed insurmountable.

The Hmong community in St. Paul is tight-knit, with cultural centers, festivals, and mutual support networks that replicate the village structures left behind. Sunisa grew up attending Hmong New Year celebrations, learning traditional dances, and eating dishes like laab and pho. These experiences taught her that identity is not a solitary possession but a shared inheritance. When she walked onto the Olympic floor, she carried not just her own ambition but the collective hope of a diaspora.

Cultural Values as an Athletic Foundation

The values that define Hmong culture—hard work, humility, respect for elders, and deep community bonds—are not merely platitudes. They are lived principles that shape daily life. Hard work is perhaps the most visible in Sunisa’s career. While many elite gymnasts come from club systems with dedicated gyms and private coaching, Sunisa trained at Midwest Gymnastics in Little Canada, Minnesota, a modest facility compared to the national powerhouses. Her coaches, Jess Graba and his wife, Alison, recall a gymnast who never complained, who would stay late to drill a skill, and who approached each practice with an almost stoic focus. This work ethic is a direct reflection of Hmong cultural teachings: effort is an offering to the family and community.

Discipline Rooted in Tradition

In Hmong culture, children are taught from a young age that their actions reflect on the entire family. This sense of accountability fosters a discipline that goes beyond self-motivation—it becomes a moral obligation. Sunisa’s training regimen mirrored this principle. She woke early, maintained a strict diet, and logged countless hours perfecting routines without external pressure. Jess Graba often noted that Sunisa’s self-discipline exceeded that of most athletes he had coached, and he attributed it to the values instilled at home. She would not skip a conditioning drill even when exhausted, because skipping meant letting down the team and, symbolically, her community.

Humility in Triumph

Of equal importance is humility. In Hmong culture, boasting or seeking individual glory is frowned upon. Accomplishments are seen as the fruit of collective support—the result of parents’ sacrifices, elders’ prayers, and community encouragement. Sunisa Lee’s interviews consistently reflect this modesty. She deflects praise to her family, her coaches, and her teammates. When she won gold, she spoke not of her own greatness but of her gratitude to those who believed in her. This humility, far from diminishing her achievements, makes her more relatable and admired. After the Olympics, she quietly donated money to youth gymnastics programs in St. Paul without fanfare—an act that aligns perfectly with Hmong values of giving back without seeking recognition.

The Role of Spiritual Beliefs

Hmong spirituality, which blends animism, ancestor veneration, and elements of Buddhism and Christianity, also plays a subtle role in Sunisa’s mental approach. Elders in her family performed traditional ceremonies for protection and success before major competitions. Offerings of food and incense were made to ancestral spirits, seeking their blessing. While Sunisa herself is Christian, she respects and participates in these rituals, seeing them as a bridge between generations. This spiritual grounding provides a sense of calm and purpose—a reminder that her performance is part of a larger cosmic story, not just a personal achievement.

Family as the Unbreakable Core

Family is the core of Hmong identity. Everything an individual does reflects on the family name, and in turn, the family provides unwavering support. Sunisa’s journey is a testament to this bond. In 2019, while she was preparing for the Olympic trials, her father, John Lee, suffered a serious accident—a fall from a tree while helping a neighbor that left him paralyzed from the chest down. The family’s world tilted. Sunisa considered quitting gymnastics to help care for him. But her father insisted she continue. He told her, “You’ve worked so hard for this. Don’t stop now.” That moment became a turning point. Every routine, every beam routine, every landing was now for him.

Her mother, Yeev Thoj, also sacrificed immensely. She worked long hours as a personal care aide while managing the household. When Sunisa needed to travel to competitions, her mother would take unpaid leave. The extended Hmong community in St. Paul rallied too. They organized fundraisers, prepared meals, and offered childcare for Sunisa’s siblings. This network of care gave Sunisa the stability to focus on her sport. In her victory speech after the Olympics, she said, “My family means everything. They are the reason I’m here.” For Hmong viewers around the world, that acknowledgment was profoundly meaningful—a public honoring of values that are often invisible in mainstream media.

The Lee family’s story is not unique within the Hmong community, but it illustrates the collective nature of success. John Lee worked as a paramedic before his accident; Yeev Thoj’s job as a personal care aide required physical stamina. When John was injured, the family’s income dropped, yet they never considered taking Sunisa out of gymnastics. Instead, they tightened their budget and relied on community fundraisers. One local Hmong organization raised nearly $20,000 through small donations—many of which came from families who themselves lived modestly. This generosity was not transactional; it was an expression of the Hmong principle that everyone’s success is a shared harvest.

Public Figure, Cultural Ambassador, and Role Model

Sunisa Lee’s cultural background has made her more than an athlete; she is a symbol of possibility. Before her, few young Hmong Americans had role models in mainstream sports. She has become a bridge between the Hmong community and the broader American public. When she appeared on magazine covers, in interviews with NBC and The New York Times, and on social media, she consistently wears her heritage with pride. She has spoken about navigating the tension between traditional Hmong expectations and American individualism, and about the pride she feels when young Hmong girls tell her they aspire to be like her.

Advocacy is a natural extension of her platform. She has partnered with organizations that support Asian and immigrant communities, and she uses her voice to highlight the contributions of immigrants to the United States. In an interview with NBC News, she said, “I want people to know that Hmong people are here and we can do anything.” Her visibility challenges stereotypes about Asian Americans being passive or only successful in academic fields. She is a dynamic, powerful, and joyful presence—a testament to how diversity strengthens elite sports.

Cultural Expression Through Athletics

Her influence extends to fashion and culture. At the 2021 Olympics, she wore a custom leotard with colors inspired by traditional Hmong attire—vibrant blues and greens with intricate patterns reminiscent of paj ntaub embroidery. She often incorporates cultural elements into her public appearances, from traditional Hmong jewelry to subtle nods in her hairstyles. Young Hmong artists have created fan art featuring her with traditional tribal necklaces and headpieces. This organic cultural representation—where the athlete embodies and celebrates her roots without being forced—resonates far beyond gymnastics. It sends a powerful message to young people: you do not have to shed your identity to succeed on the world stage.

Representation in Media and Education

Sunisa’s impact has rippled into classrooms and community centers. Hmong educators report that her success has sparked increased interest in gymnastics among Hmong youth, and has encouraged parents to support their children in non-traditional career paths. Schools in St. Paul have incorporated her story into curriculum materials about immigrant contributions and Olympics history. The Hmong Cultural Center in St. Paul has featured exhibits on Sunisa alongside artifacts from the Secret War, drawing connections between past struggles and contemporary achievement. Her face appears on murals in the city’s Frogtown neighborhood, a predominantly Hmong area. This visibility is not fleeting; it is a permanent marker that “one of us” can stand at the pinnacle of global sports.

One of the most compelling aspects of Sunisa Lee’s public narrative is how she navigates multiple identities: American, Hmong, immigrant daughter, elite athlete. In her interviews, she describes feeling caught between worlds—full assimilation isn’t quite possible when her family speaks Hmong at home and traditional ceremonies mark life events, yet she is fully American in her ambitions and experiences. This dual consciousness, described by the scholar W.E.B. Du Bois as “double consciousness,” is familiar to many children of immigrants. Sunisa’s openness about this internal landscape has given voice to a generation that often feels pressured to choose between cultures.

She has spoken about moments when her Hmong identity felt like a source of shame—when she had to explain her name, her food, her family’s traditions to classmates. But through gymnastics, she found a way to transform that difference into strength. The discipline required to master a beam routine is not unlike the discipline needed to preserve a language and culture in a new land. Her success tells young Hmong Americans: your heritage is not something to hide; it is something to launch from. This message is especially critical in a political climate where immigrant communities sometimes face hostility. Sunisa’s gold medal is an irrefutable rebuttal to the idea that diversity weakens the nation—it strengthens it.

Code-Switching and Authenticity

Like many bilingual children, Sunisa learned to code-switch between Hmong and English depending on her audience. In the gym, she spoke English with coaches and teammates; at home, she switched to Hmong with her parents. This linguistic agility gave her a unique ability to read people and adapt, a skill that served her well under the pressure of Olympic competition. She has said that speaking Hmong connects her to a deeper emotional center—when she is nervous, her mother’s voice in Hmong calms her. This bilingual identity is not a split but a synthesis. It allows her to draw on the strengths of both cultures: the collectivist, ancestral wisdom of the Hmong and the individualist, ambitious drive of American culture.

Broader Implications: Representation and Change in Sports

Sports have long been a mirror for societal values and a platform for change. Sunisa Lee’s story is part of a larger movement toward recognizing and celebrating diverse identities in athletics. The Hmong community, which numbers about 300,000 in the United States, has often been overlooked in conversations about Asian American representation. Lee’s success has brought attention to the community’s history and contributions, prompting news features, academic profiles, and even curriculum changes in schools. Her Olympic gold is a powerful counter-narrative to the invisibility that many minority groups face.

Representation matters because it reshapes aspirations. When a child from a refugee family sees someone who looks like them standing on the Olympic podium, they internalize a new possibility. A study from the University of California found that visible role models significantly increase the achievement of individuals from underrepresented groups. Sunisa Lee is that role model for Hmong children, but also for all children of immigrants. She embodies the idea that cultural heritage is not a barrier but a foundation. Her discipline, her grace under pressure, and her ability to thrive in a sport that demands perfection—all of these qualities are anchored in her Hmong identity.

Changing the Face of Gymnastics

Moreover, Lee’s presence challenges the athletic establishment to diversify its pipeline. Gymnastics, in particular, has been criticized for its narrow, often exclusionary ideal of the “perfect” athlete—usually white, wealthy, and able to access top-tier training from a young age. Sunisa’s path was different. She did not come from a multigenerational tradition of gymnasts. Her parents had no knowledge of the sport’s intricacies. But community resources, a supportive coach who adjusted his methods to her needs, and sheer grit allowed her to break through. This story underscores the need for sports organizations to invest in talent from untraditional backgrounds. The NCAA’s gymnastics programs have seen increased diversity in recent years, and Sunisa’s decision to compete for Auburn University further broadened the sport’s audience. At Auburn, she brought a new fan base of Hmong students and alumni to gymnastics meets, creating a more inclusive atmosphere.

The Power of Role Models in Immigrant Communities

For immigrant families, the pressure to assimilate can sometimes mean discarding cultural traditions in favor of mainstream norms. Sunisa’s success offers an alternative narrative: cultural preservation and athletic excellence are not mutually exclusive. Community leaders in St. Paul have noted that after her win, more Hmong parents enrolled their children in sports programs outside of the traditional soccer and martial arts. Gymnastics, swimming, and track saw increases in Hmong participation. This ripple effect is measurable. A 2022 survey by the St. Paul Parks and Recreation Department reported a 15% increase in Hmong youth participation in after-school sports programs compared to the previous year. Sunisa’s name was frequently cited as an inspiration by those families.

Conclusion: A Legacy Beyond the Medal

Sunisa Lee’s Olympic gold was not the end of a story; it was a beginning. Her cultural background—the Hmong heritage of resilience, family loyalty, and quiet determination—shaped her athletic identity from the first handstand to the final dismount. She did not simply overcome obstacles; she transformed them into engines of excellence. Her journey offers a masterclass in how cultural values can be harnessed to achieve extraordinary goals, and it challenges coaches, educators, and sports administrators to see diversity not as a hurdle but as a wellspring of strength.

For the Hmong community, Sunisa Lee is a living ancestor of possibility. She has opened doors that were locked, shattered ceilings that seemed made of stone, and done so with a humility that honors every refugee who crossed a river in the dark. Her legacy will be measured not just in medals but in the young Hmong girls and boys who now dare to dream of the Olympic podium. She has proven that identity—fully embraced, unapologetically worn—is the most powerful foundation an athlete can have. And in a world hungry for authentic stories, Sunisa Lee’s story resonates as a powerful reminder of what it means to be both deeply rooted and soaring high.

For further reading on Hmong history and cultural values, explore resources from the Hmong Cultural Center. For more on Sunisa Lee’s Olympic journey, see her official Olympics profile and an in-depth ESPN feature. For a broader perspective on Hmong American identity, this Smithsonian article provides historical context, and a NPR piece explores the community’s reaction to her victory.