Jumy Miko

Jumy Miko was born in Myanmar, Jumy is from the Lisu community, an ethnic group whose people have historically lived in Kachin State. Although the Lisu are sometimes grouped under the larger Kachin population, they are separate from the Kachin people. Each has their own respective languages, clothing, traditions, and identity. She compares aspects of Lisu culture to Hmong culture, particularly in the importance placed on family name, how it represents a tribe. Her last name, “Miko”, is not common therefore there are fewer people who share her last name. 

Her family’s story began long before she was born. Her grandfather was a senior pastor who served in Shan State, Myanmar. He traveled from village to village doing missionary work, but religious persecution and conflict from the Burmese military eventually forced him to flee. In 1988, he escaped to Thailand where it was safer. But like many displaced people, he was not recognized as a citizen and lived without official documentation. 

After Jumy was born, her parents left to go work, and she was largely raised by her aunt and other relatives. Eventually, she was cared for by her grandfather, who had traveled across Thailand to bring her from Myanmar to live with him. She grew up alongside him in a small village, often following him around as he did ministry. Her childhood was surrounded by church members, farmland, and the people in her community. 

Her family life, however, was complicated by circumstances beyond her control. Her mother died when she was young. Her father was also not in the picture so as an only child, she often felt as though she were an orphan. Her grandfather became her greatest source of stability and support. He cared not only for her but also for her grandmother, who had suffered a stroke. Her church community also helped raise her. She learned early that family could be something larger than blood. 

The absence of her mother remains one of the most painful parts of her life. Mother’s Day, in particular, is difficult for her because it reminds her of the mother she lost and the relationship she never had the opportunity to experience. Yet, she does not allow the loss to define her future. Reflecting on her childhood, she explains, “That is something I still struggle with on a daily basis but now that I have my own family, I’d just like to give back.”

When her father returned, she left her life with her grandfather to start a new one with her father. Together, they moved to Malaysia, where they heard there was a growing Lisu community. For four years, she lived in a city apartment while her father worked. Although the Malaysian government legally accepted them, she often felt like an outsider among the people around her. She remembers theft and violence and the fear of traveling alone as a young girl. So when the opportunity came to move to the United States, she was hopeful. 

At thirteen, she and her father arrived in Minnesota, where an established Lisu community helped them begin again. But starting over was not easy. She could not speak English and was placed in an ESL class. Even a drinking fountain was unfamiliar; she thought it was a place to wash her hands. Gradually, she learned. 

After high school, she attended Bethel College and studied business accounting. She had originally wanted to become a math teacher, but she worried that teaching would not provide enough financial security. Accounting seemed like the practical choice. It did not make her happy. So she returned to school and earned a master’s degree in education. She became the teacher she had once dreamed of becoming. 

Today, She has taught second and third grade special education. She often works with children whose home lives are uncertain. She understands that what happens at home does not always stay at home. Sometimes it walks into the classroom with a child. She remembers one student whose family situation was unstable. His struggles appeared in his behavior, and school was difficult for him. Instead of seeing only the behavior, she tried to see the child behind it. She was patient. She listened and she noticed him. 

Eventually, he told her she was a good teacher. For her, those words meant more than a simple compliment. They meant that a child who might have gone unnoticed was finally seen. “No matter where you come from, it doesn’t determine your future,” she says. “You have the choice and you’re able to do it.”

She carries this belief beyond her classroom. At the Lisu Church in Forest Lake, she serves in the Sunday School and Sports departments and helps organize community events. She also creates educational materials for Lisu communities, translating English phonics lessons into her language and recording videos so others can learn. 

Her work became even more personal after she visited a Lisu village in India and saw people living without running water or electricity. She left knowing that education was only one part of what her community needed. 

“To me, being Lisu means, I can help those people in need, I can help my people,” she says. “That is my calling to help those who do not have a voice.”

In the next five years, she hopes to help bring Wi-Fi to villages in India so families can communicate with relatives living far away. She also hopes to help people in Myanmar and inspire her students to one day help their own communities. 

Her grandfather, still in Thailand, continues to cheer her on from afar. He taught her that education matters, but he also taught her that language and culture must be carried forward. Now, she is carrying them. She once needed others to build a foundation beneath her. Her relatives, her church, her community, and especially her grandfather gave her somewhere to stand. Today, she is building that foundation for others. “I owe it to my people and my community,” she says. 

Her life reflects a cycle of care. As a child, she depended on relatives, church members, and her grandfather to provide the support her parents could not. As an adult, she has chosen to extend that same care to her students, her Lisu community, and people who lack access to education and resources.