Asian American Heritage Month Brings Somberness and Solidarity

Notes from the Frontlines highlights the stories, needs, and solidarity of organizations on the frontlines in the struggle for a multiracial and equitable democracy in the United States. Each installment will explore how organizations are responding to the current political landscape—and what the entire nonprofit and philanthropic ecosystem can do to support them.

In January, as the Southern California wildfires claimed lives, damaged neighborhoods, and destabilized small businesses, I visited the office of the South Asian Network (SAN) in a part of Los Angeles known as Little Bangladesh, an official designation that community leaders and residents had advocated for, to reflect the contributions of working-class Bangladeshi immigrants in downtown LA.

SAN’s office, which works to advance the health, emotional and mental wellbeing, as well as the civil rights of South Asian communities, was abuzz with activity. While some staff, ranging from social justice veterans to recent college graduates, were connecting community members affected by the fires with government resources, others were protecting and defending South Asian immigrants from the Donald Trump administration’s mass deportations. During a community gathering later that evening, SAN’s Executive Director Shakeel Syed, emphasized how grassroots groups would need deeper solidarity, long-term investments, and robust programming to meet the moment.

Community-based groups like SAN, particularly those located in Asian American neighborhoods, have become a critical resource of vital information, benefits, and care. But they are currently facing unprecedented challenges, ranging from the loss of federal and foundation funds to unwarranted scrutiny and the weight of nonstop crisis response.

Anti-Asian Hate and Violence

As the first 100 days of the Trump administration was drawing to a close, SAN sustained another blow. The Department of Justice (DOJ) notified Syed that a three-year federal grant for community education to prevent and address anti-Asian hate had been abruptly terminated.

“The Department has changed its priorities with respect to discretionary grant funding to focus on, among other things, more directly supporting certain law enforcement operations, combatting violent crime, protecting American children, and supporting American victims of trafficking and sexual assault, and better coordinating law enforcement efforts at all levels of government,” the termination notice read.

“What are we, as an organization, as a community, doing to prepare for the family that are being left behind?”

SAN is not the only group among its peer organizations to lose federal funding. Stop AAPI Hate, an organization that documents bias against Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders, reported that its $2 million grant had been rescinded, as did Atlanta-based Raksha, Inc., one of the only South Asian–staffed organizations in the South. In all, the DOJ terminated over 350 grants worth $811 million to nonprofits that focus on preventing gun violence prevention, victim hotlines, anti-hate, and other forms of trauma.

It is hard to understand how addressing anti-Asian hate and violence is misaligned with the federal mandate to protect American children. Since the pandemic, Asian American community members have reported an uptick in bullying, harassment, and targeted violence. According to Stop AAPI Hate, there has also been a surge in anti-Asian online hate since the November 2024 election, with the main targets being South Asian communities accused of threatening “white livelihood.”

“The abrupt termination of our grant strips our communities of essential protections and leaves us more vulnerable at a time when hate is rampant and rising,” Syed told me. “Without this critical funding, we expect a surge in hate-fueled discrimination and violence—not just against South Asian communities, but across all minority communities.”

The Deportation Dragnet

Around the country, nonprofit staff and organizers are working on multiple levels of crisis response: supporting those who could be, or are, impacted by deportations, while also tending to the family members left behind. Given that one in seven Asian immigrants in the United States is undocumented, community leaders know that the impact of the Trump administration’s arbitrary and cruel deportation policy will be devastating.

In Pennsylvania, Robin Gurung, the executive director of Asian Refugees United was fielding calls and requests from Nepali-speaking Bhutanese refugees. They were being picked up by Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) agents and held in detention without access to lawyers or a hearing.

Perhaps most distressing is the attempts by the Trump Administration to erase public memory.

Gurung told me that the community was unprepared for such targeting by ICE. After all, Nepali-speaking Bhutanese community members entered the United States through a formal refugee resettlement program that started in 2007 under President George W. Bush. But as urgent requests came in, Gurung realized the need to shift priorities, from youth empowerment to immigration defense, redirecting its limited resources to provide legal, emotional, and advocacy support for affected families.

“We were unprepared for the scale of detention and deportation impacts, but we have been working tirelessly to provide legal referrals, translation services, community education, emotional and advocacy support, and mobilization efforts without dedicated funding,” he said in our interview.

Perhaps most distressing is the attempts by the Trump Administration to erase public memory.

To date, the Department of Homeland Security (DHS) has detained at least 60 Bhutanese refugees and deported about two dozen people who allegedly possessed criminal records. According to community leaders, many of the refugees were not afforded due process, access to counsel, or an opportunity to appeal their deportation orders. A solidarity statement signed by over 50 groups notes that the deported are now essentially stateless. They are survivors of ethnic cleansing in Bhutan in the 1990s and had spent over 15 years in refugee camps in Nepal before being resettled to Australia, Canada, Denmark, New Zealand, the Netherlands, Norway, the UK, and the US, as part of a program through the Office of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees. Bhutan is now expelling US-deported refugees to Nepal.

In Rhode Island, the Providence Youth Student Movement organized a rally against deportations at Wat Thorikaram, the first Cambodian Buddhist temple in the United States. In an interview with Rhode Island PBS, two Southeast Asian leaders, Sarath Suong and Theary Voeul, shared that community members are concerned about themselves and their families.

They also noted the particular poignancy of the crisis, given that this year marks the 50th anniversary of the American War in Vietnam and the ensuing classification of Vietnamese, Cambodian, Laotian, and the Hmong people as refugees who resettled in the United States. This historical context is not lost on community members who are again facing questions of survival.

Voeul shared with PBS the types of concerns people have: “How do I get my loved one out of the detention center? How do I prepare for deportation? What will happen to my spouse and my children when I do get deported? Those are hard questions to answer. What are we, as an organization, as a community, doing to prepare for the family that are being left behind?”

Cultural and Historical Erasure

Recently, I spoke with a group of Asian American lawyers, organizers, and advocates who moved to Washington, DC, in the early 2000s to work at emerging Asian American nonprofit groups and in government agencies with a singular goal: Ensure that federal programs, policies, and legislation no longer ignored and erased the experiences of Asian American and Pacific Islander communities.

Many of us traversed the line between the nonprofit and government sectors, transferring knowledge and connections to increase our communities’ collective power. Asian American federal employees, with the support of nonprofit organizations and community members, helped to build infrastructure within the government to recognize the needs, contributions, and challenges facing these communities.

After 9/11, a number of us who worked at various civil rights offices within the federal government, supported an interagency working group to address the racial backlash. Others advocated for improved data and research on Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) communities and pushed for adequate representation of AAPI community leaders on commissions and taskforces, including the White House Initiative on Asian Americans, Native Hawaiians, and Pacific Islanders; and the Census Bureau’s National Advisory Committee.

These initiatives allowed us to gain footholds in the massive bureaucracy of the federal government, created pathways for community groups to hold government agencies accountable, and influenced policy decisions.

To be seen in all of our complexities is a way to remember who we are and to belong to the broader American story—past, present, and future.

Under the Trump administration, many of these initiatives have been eliminated. Federal agencies are removing web pages and websites with data, research, and vital information for Asian American communities that stakeholders have used for decades to better understand and respond to our communities’ needs. Many of the taskforces and committees that focused on Asian American and Pacific Islander communities have been dismantled.

Perhaps most distressing is the attempts by the Trump administration to erase public memory. The Densho Project, which documents the testimonies of Japanese Americans unjustly incarcerated during World War II, found out in March that the US Army  had erased from its website information about the 442nd Regimental Combat Team, the Japanese American unit that became one of the most decorated in US military history. While the US Army republished the page, after public protest, it removed references to Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders, which is now simply listed as a “Key Military Unit.”

The US Army claimed that it was complying with President Trump’s anti-DEI executive order. It had also removed lesson plans about the Tuskegee Airmen, Black pilots who served in World War II, and Women Airforce Service Pilots.

Stripping racial context away from Asian American histories means that we lose more than just accuracy, according to Naomi Ostwald Kawamura, the executive director of Densho. “We also lose our ability to understand why these events happened, how communities were impacted, and what lessons we are meant to carry forward,” she told me. “From exclusion laws to post-9/11 surveillance, the Asian American experience has been fundamentally shaped by race. When we erase that context, we risk forgetting how deeply connected these histories are and how they continue to shape injustices today.”

A Somber Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month

This May, community members are marking Asian American and Pacific Islander Heritage Month with a tone of somberness and an awareness of the importance of solidarity.

By June or July, the Supreme Court will decide on the constitutionality of Trump’s executive order ending birthright citizenship, which has been blocked by three federal courts already. During oral arguments earlier in May, numerous Asian American organizations and legal groups joined Latino organizations and legal groups to argue that Trump’s executive order is unconstitutional, citing the 1898 case brought by Wong Kim Ark, which paved the way for birthright citizenship.

Other expressions of solidarity during this month come from Asian American support of Palestinian rights. Cathi Choi, the executive director of Women Cross DMZ, an organization that mobilizes for peace in Korea, reacted in particular to the news about Yunseo Chung, a green card holder and Columbia University student who was being threatened for detention and deportation by the US government because of her involvement in Palestinian solidarity movements.

“As a Columbia alum and Korean American feminist peace advocate, the state’s prosecution and targeting of Yunseo feels deeply personal,” Choi told me. “We must protect Yunseo and all the young Asian and Korean Americans who overwhelmingly express solidarity with Palestine. Our work to end the Korean War is connected to all efforts to end wars, genocide, and militarism.”

Chung is one of many students being targeted for visa revocation and deportation by the government. In March, a federal judge ordered that ICE is temporarily blocked from detaining Chung.

While much of the attention has been focused on the federal level, it is important to note that some states are following suit. In May, legislators in the Texas House of Representatives passed HB 17, allowing the governor to ban residents and entities from certain countries, determined by the state, from buying property. Currently, those countries are China, Iran, North Korea, and Russia. The bill is rooted in the history of anti-Asian land bans that prevented community members from owning property in the early part of the 20th century.

Lily Trieu, the executive director of Asian Texans for Justice, has been monitoring these legislative efforts in her state for years. “[HB] 17 in Texas is a prime example of how the Trump presidency has pushed the right towards a radical rejection of all immigrants,” she told me. “Asian Texans for Justice is committed to doing everything we can to mobilize our community to push back.”

For Asian American communities, exclusion, invisibility, and discrimination are all parts of our story. That is why many Asian American activists, artists, writers, and academics are focused on preserving our cultural and historical experiences. To be seen in all of our complexities is a way to remember who we are and to belong to the broader American story—past, present, and future. Yet right now, the Asian American quest for belonging poses a challenge.

At a recent event, State of Solidarity: Movement Lessons from the First 100 Days, hosted by SolidarityIs at the Building Movement Project, Nancy Nguyen from VietLead posed a provocative but necessary question: “How are we in the United States trying to figure out how to join forces to push against the acceleration of authoritarianism towards something that is different from what we have now? That’s the question of our generation.”

Asian Americans are finding that answering this question requires a deeper connection to our ancestral histories, a commitment to transformative solidarity practice, and a willingness to confront this time with courageous truth-telling.