SACRAMENTO, Calif — At the sprawling Hmong New Year celebrations here in November, tens of thousands of American Hmong came to celebrate ancient customs — and perhaps find a mate for themselves or their children.
Hmong of all ages lined up to toss tennis balls to those of the opposite sex — a classic icebreaker and conversation sparker.
As women played catch, many wondered: How big a "wedding gift" will my future in-laws be willing to pay?
Men tossing the balls likely asked themselves: If she's the love of my life, how much will it cost to marry her?
In traditional Hmong culture, the families of a bride and groom negotiate a "wedding gift," "dowry" or "ceremony price" that has averaged $5,000 to $8,000, and has gone as high as $25,000 for a Hmong bride who graduated from Stanford.
Wedding gifts are paid by the groom's family to the bride's parents. The custom has been honored for centuries and serves as a sort of a marriage insurance policy. If a couple divorces and elders decide it's the bride's fault, her family has to return the money. That way, everyone on the bride's side has a vested interest in making the union a lasting one.
The cash also honors a bride's parents for sacrifices they've made in raising a good person whose reputation may enhance the status of the clan she's marrying into.
But as more Hmong become Americanized the rising gift price has triggered feuds and controversy.
Hmong elders report cases of couples who elope because their parents can't agree on the gift price. Others speak of Hmong who ignore the gift price. And heartbreaking stories have surfaced of young Hmong who tried to commit suicide when marriage negotiations collapsed.
To minimize the strife caused by rising gift prices, a national Hmong council representing all 18 clans or Hmong family groups hammered out a code that caps the price at $5,000, plus another $800 for other wedding expenses, such as food.
The cap was published in the first-ever "Hmong Traditional Culture Procedural Guide," a 31-page booklet unveiled in July 2005 at a gathering of 500 Hmong leaders in Fresno, Calif.
Tony Lao distributes copies of the codes at his Lo Market in Sacramento. Lao, who has married off three daughters and a son, was one of the first Hmong to propose banning the gift price altogether — but his efforts were thwarted by clan elders.
The tradition is so rooted in Hmong culture that even some well-assimilated Hmong resent the idea of being told what to do when it comes to their daughters.
"My daughters are worth more than $5,000," declared Fong Thao, a bookkeeper with 13 children — 10 of them girls.
"Not everyone is created equal," said Thao, 43, whose two married daughters each commanded a $7,000 dowry. "Sometimes it's not negotiable. If your daughter is a good person, well-educated and follows all the rules, some parents ask for more than $10,000. If you have a gang daughter, you will get nothing."
Some don't agree with a wedding gift at all. Chang Vang, a 23-year-old Sacramento warehouse worker whose marriage plans collapsed under the weight of gift price negotiations, said he will marry with or without his family's support.
Chang Vang has been dating his girlfriend for a year and a half and is ready to get a marriage license, he said. His fiancee's family won't abide by the cap and is asking $6,000 for the gift price plus $800 for expenses.
The bride-to-be's mother, Ker Lo, contends the gift price should be higher because she says raising this daughter was her biggest challenge. "I had her in Thailand and I had no milk, so I worked harder than the children I had in America," said Lo. "I cry a lot over this. If they do not come back and finish the wedding, then they do not value me as a mother."
Regardless of the price, the tradition has always meant each clan has a stake in the success of each marriage. Many believe that without lengthy negotiations and monetary investments, easy marriages make for easy divorces.
Tony Vang, a Fresno State education professor and the first Hmong elected to a California school board, said that when his daughter married last year he didn't bother to ask for money.
"I figured, this is a poor couple, they have their master's degrees but they're just starting new jobs and new lives. We should understand we live in 21st century America," Tony Vang said. "The challenge our kids face is different than it was 30 years ago in Laos."