The Summit will feature a marketplace-style exhibit hall where organizations will host tables and present their top issues directly to attendees — how those issues affect their community, and what they believe should be done about it. We will hear from not just from the AANHPI community but from non-impacted community allies as well.

The day also features keynote speakers and panel discussions on advocacy and coalition building, including a session on the Minnesota Model for building trust and cooperation across cultures and sectors. Tabling sessions, a working lunch with cultural entertainment, and a closing panel focused on turning the day’s conversations into shared action round out the agenda. The Unity Summit aims to leave every participant with concrete next steps and new cross-sector relationships heading into the midterm elections and beyond.

Your voice belongs at the table. So join us in Sacramento on October 7th, 2026. Sign up on our Interest List.

A central focus of the convention was the changing landscape of Asian American reporting. Sessions encouraged journalists to move beyond episodic coverage and produce deeper, more nuanced reporting that reflects the diversity, complexity, and lived experiences of AAPI communities. Throughout the conference, speakers emphasized that authentic relationships with communities are essential to accurate and meaningful journalism.

During one of the convention’s featured sessions, Asian American Unity Coalition presented: “From Crisis to Coalition: Lessons from the Front Lines.” Anjuli Cameron, CEO of SEWA-AIFW, and Ted Fong, Executive Director of AAUC, examined how Minnesota’s cross-sector coalition responded during Operation Metro Surge by bringing together immigrant organizations, elected officials, faith leaders, legal advocates, and community organizations to protect civil rights. Participants explored practical lessons in coalition building and discussed how journalists can better understand and report on communities responding to crisis through collective action.

Anjuli Cameron, CEO of SEWA-AIFW and Ted Fong, Executive Director of AAUC, gave a presentation on the Minnesota Model of Cross-Sector Coalition Building.

Artificial intelligence emerged as another dominant topic. Presenters explored the responsible use of AI, demonstrating how newsrooms can use AI to improve research, transcription, translation, and production workflows while maintaining strict editorial oversight. The consensus was that AI should enhance, not replace, the judgment, ethics, and accountability of professional journalists.

The convention also highlighted the industry’s transition toward digital-first storytelling, with sessions examining video, podcasts, newsletters, mobile platforms, and social media strategies for reaching younger audiences. Speakers emphasized that while distribution platforms continue to evolve, strong reporting and compelling storytelling remain journalism’s greatest assets.

The opening session showcased the enduring value of investigative and local journalism through a discussion of the Baltimore Banner’s Pulitzer Prize-winning investigation into Baltimore’s overdose crisis. The panel demonstrated how local accountability reporting can expose systemic failures and create lasting public impact.

Other sessions focused on reporting with community expertise, encouraging journalists to build trust with the people they cover rather than simply reporting from outside their communities. Workshops on misinformation and verification provided practical tools for fact-checking, authenticating AI-generated images and videos, and strengthening public confidence through transparency and rigorous verification practices.

Recognizing the pressures facing today’s newsrooms, AAJA also devoted significant attention to journalist safety and resilience, addressing burnout, trauma, mental health, layoffs, and career sustainability in an increasingly demanding profession.

AAUC and Cambodian American Partnership of MN sponsored the Welcome Reception.

Veteran journalist Ann Curry was among the convention’s most influential voices. BOMBSHELL, the documentary she narrated, examined how the U.S. government shaped public narratives surrounding the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Following the screening, Curry joined director Ben Loeterman, producer Gaia De Simoni, photojournalist Darrell Miho, and moderator David Ono for a thoughtful discussion on historical framing, media responsibility, and the journalist’s obligation to pursue truth.

Curry also headlined the Gala Scholarship & Awards Banquet, where she received AAJA’s 2026 Visibility Award. In a conversation with MSNBC anchor Richard Lui, she reflected on identity, storytelling, and journalism’s public service mission. She urged journalists to fight for stories that matter most and reminded attendees that reporters must strive to be “worthy of a profession like journalism,” one that carries the profound responsibility of telling other people’s stories.

Closing the convention, outgoing AAJA President Nicole Dungca summarized the gathering’s purpose: “As the media industry continues to change rapidly, and journalism and democracy around the world are under pressure, AAJA’s role in supporting and connecting AAPI journalists is more necessary than ever.” Her remarks reflected the convention’s overarching message: while technology and newsrooms continue to evolve, journalism’s future will be defined by integrity, innovation, and trusted reporting.

Read AAJA’s coverage of the AAJA2026.

This Fourth of July held particular significance because it marked the nation’s 250th anniversary. Each year, Independence Day is observed through events that honor the founding of the United States. As Americans celebrated with fireworks and flags, immigrant families also reflected on the freedom to embrace both the country that offered them opportunity and the cultures that shaped their identity. This dual heritage is not a contradiction; it is one of America’s enduring strengths.

Every immigrant family carries two precious pieces of luggage: dreams for the future and memories of the past. The challenge and privilege is carrying both without leaving either behind. When I came to America, I was seeking more than better opportunities. Like millions of immigrants before me, my spouse and I pursued the American Dream: a life where hard work, education, and determination could open doors for our children and offer them possibilities beyond what we had imagined.

We also hoped our children would stay connected to their parents’ heritage. Rather than a burden, heritage is a foundation that helps young people build confidence in a changing world. When children understand their family’s history, they often develop a stronger sense of identity and resilience. They also come to appreciate sacrifice, perseverance, and gratitude as vital parts of the legacy they inherit.

Reflecting on my journey from India to America, I recognize that much of my life has been devoted to building bridges between two countries I deeply value. One gave me my roots; the other gave my family the opportunity to grow. Like many immigrants, I arrived in the United States carrying far more than a suitcase. I brought memories of family gatherings, vibrant festivals, deep respect for elders, and a belief that education and hard work can transform lives. These values became the foundation upon which we built our American dream.
In today’s rapidly evolving world, some believe that success in America requires immigrants to leave behind the customs, languages, and traditions of their homeland. I respectfully disagree. My experience has shown that the American Dream is most meaningful when immigrant families preserve their cultural heritage while fully embracing the values and opportunities of the United States.

As an immigrant from India who has spent decades building a life in America, I have experienced this balance firsthand. The United States provided my family with opportunities that previous generations could only envision, rewarding hard work, education, and perseverance. At the same time, the values that guided our journey—respect for elders, commitment to family, service to the community, and the importance of education—were deeply rooted in the culture we brought with us.

Parents have an important responsibility to preserve and pass forward these values. We want our children to succeed in their adopted country, excel academically, build meaningful careers, and participate fully in American life. At the same time, we hope they will understand their grandparents’ stories, honor family traditions, and appreciate the sacrifices that made their opportunities possible. This should not be seen as a choice between two identities, but as an opportunity to help our children embrace both with confidence.

During my return to India after nine years, I observed a country that had undergone substantial transformation. Modern highways, digital payment systems, and technological innovation were increasingly evident, while families continued to gather for festivals, honor elders, and preserve longstanding traditions. The visit underscored an important lesson: progress and heritage are not mutually exclusive; a society can advance while remaining firmly rooted in the cultural values that define it.

The same principle applies in the United States. Our children and grandchildren can thrive in one of the world’s most innovative nations while maintaining a meaningful connection to the cultures that shaped their families. Speaking another language, observing cultural traditions, or preparing traditional foods does not diminish one’s American identity. Rather, these practices contribute to the richness and strength of American society.
Throughout my years of community service, I have observed that cultural celebrations foster connection rather than division. When neighbors gain a deeper understanding of one another’s traditions, misconceptions diminish and meaningful relationships develop. In this way, diversity becomes more than an ideal; it becomes a shared and lived experience.

In today’s fast-paced digital environment, I am concerned that family stories are increasingly being displaced by social media, and that meaningful conversations around the dinner table are becoming less frequent. Heritage is not preserved by chance; it must be shared with intention. Parents and grandparents should not assume that the next generation will naturally absorb these values. We must tell our stories, explain our traditions, and actively invite our children to participate in them.

This responsibility does not rest solely with immigrant families. Schools, community organizations, and civic leaders also play an important role by promoting cultural understanding and creating environments in which every family’s history is recognized and valued. The American Dream has never required individuals to erase their past. Rather, it has invited them to contribute their talents, traditions, and aspirations to a nation shaped by immigrants from around the world. This remains one of America’s greatest strengths.
If we want future generations to be successful, compassionate, and grounded, we should not ask them to choose between their heritage and their American identity. Instead, we should encourage them to value both. These identities are not in conflict; they complement and strengthen one another. As I reflect on my own journey, I believe my generation did more than pursue opportunity—we built bridges between cultures. My hope is that our children will continue crossing those bridges with confidence and pride, carrying forward the best of both worlds. In my view, which is the American Dream worth preserving.

As the United States approaches the 250th anniversary of its independence, communities across the country are preparing to commemorate this historic milestone. Yet for many Asian Americans, the emotions surrounding this anniversary are complex. While the nation celebrates 250 years of freedom, democracy, and self-determination, Asian Americans continue to navigate the legacies of exclusion, unequal access to citizenship, and ongoing challenges related to immigration and belonging.

Asian presence in the United States dates back centuries, but for much of American history, Asians were legally barred from naturalization. The Chinese Exclusion Act, the Asiatic Barred Zone, and other discriminatory immigration policies prevented generations of Asian immigrants from becoming citizens, owning property, or fully participating in civic life. It was not until the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 that large-scale Asian immigration became possible, reshaping the demographic landscape of the country.

Today, Asian Americans are one of the fastest-growing racial groups in the United States. Yet many still face prolonged waits—sometimes decades long—to obtain permanent residency or citizenship due to quota backlogs. At the same time, recent ICE enforcement actions and heightened anxieties around immigration have created fear and uncertainty for many families. In this climate, the idea of celebrating 250 years of independence can feel emotionally complicated.

Still, this anniversary offers Asian Americans a powerful opportunity: to assert our belonging, highlight our contributions, and claim our place in the American story.

Asian Americans have shaped the nation in countless ways, building railroads, cultivating farms, serving in the military, advancing science and technology, enriching arts and culture, and strengthening communities. From early pioneers to today’s leaders in business, medicine, education, and public service, Asian Americans have helped define what America is and what it can become.

The 250th anniversary invites us to tell these stories boldly and unapologetically. It is a moment to remind the nation that Asian Americans are not newcomers to the American narrative—we are contributors, innovators, and bridge-builders whose experiences reflect both the struggles and the aspirations of the country.

AAUC, in partnership with other community organizations, is preparing a celebration later this year that will honor this dual reality: the pride of being part of America’s ongoing journey, and the responsibility to advocate for a more inclusive future. The event will highlight Asian American history, honor community leaders, and create space for dialogue about immigration, equity, and civic participation.

At a time when global conflicts and domestic tensions have subdued the national mood, Asian Americans can use this anniversary to promote unity, understanding, and shared purpose. We can uplift stories of resilience—of families who overcame exclusion, of immigrants who waited years for citizenship, of youth who are shaping the future with confidence and creativity.

Most importantly, we can affirm a simple truth: Asian Americans belong here. Our histories, our labor, our cultures, and our dreams are woven into the fabric of the nation. The 250th anniversary is not just a commemoration of the past, it is an invitation to shape the next chapter of America’s story.

The recent gathering held by Twin Cities Nonviolence was one of the most powerful community experiences I have been part of in a long time. What stood out most was not only the stories themselves, but the trust that formed among people who came from very different communities. Over the course of nearly five hours, through patient listening and honest storytelling, that trust grew stronger. By the end of the evening, it felt as if everyone in the room had taken a step closer to one another.

A Gathering Built on Civic Alignment and Shared Humanity

The meeting was organized around the 12 Practices of Civic Alignment. Instead of a single panel, each practice featured two or three speakers who shared how their communities responded to the recent ICE operations. The structure encouraged people to slow down, listen, and understand the experiences of others. It created a rhythm that allowed trust to build naturally.

Speakers talked about Operation Metro Surge and Operation PARRIS, and how these actions affected families across the Twin Cities. But the heart of the evening was not the operations themselves. It was the way communities responded — quickly, creatively, and with deep compassion.

The Weight of History at Fort Snelling

One of the most emotional parts of the gathering was the discussion about Fort Snelling. This is sacred Dakota land and a place marked by historical trauma. Hearing that ICE detainees, including U.S. citizens, were being held there again was painful for many. Native American speakers talked about how this reopened old wounds, but they also shared how their communities stepped forward to support immigrant families. Their presence reminded everyone that the struggles of today are connected to the struggles of the past.

Somali and African Communities Mobilizing with Compassion

Speakers from the Somali community described how fear spread quickly when ICE actions began. Families stayed indoors. Parents worried about sending their children to school. Elders were unsure whom to trust. But the community did not stay frozen. They organized phone trees, shared information, and created safe spaces where people could gather and learn about their rights.

Members of the African immigrant community shared similar stories. Churches, youth groups, and elders stepped in to help families navigate the uncertainty. They offered transportation, legal referrals, and emotional support. Their testimony showed how quickly communities can mobilize when they trust one another and when they feel responsible for one another’s safety.

Constitutional Observers and the Power of Presence

The constitutional observers offered a different perspective. They described monitoring ICE activity, documenting interactions, and making sure people’s rights were protected. Their presence was steady and calm. They were not there to confront anyone. They were there to witness, to record, and to make sure people were treated fairly. Their work became another example of nonviolence in action.

A Five-Hour Experience That Built Connection

What made the gathering so powerful was the time people gave to one another. Five hours of storytelling is not something we experience often. People stayed because they wanted to understand. They stayed because they cared. And as the evening went on, the room felt more connected. The trust that formed was not forced. It grew naturally through compassion, creativity, and the willingness to listen.

A Closing That Brought Everyone Together

The evening ended in a way that captured the spirit of the entire gathering. Everyone stood, joined hands, and sang the Beatles’ “All You Need Is Love,” which is also the theme song of Twin Cities Nonviolence. The simple act of holding hands and singing together made the feeling of connectedness even more immersive. It was a moment of warmth and unity that carried the message of the night into the heart.

Moving Forward Together

The gathering closed with a shared sense of purpose. Speakers talked about what is needed going forward: stronger cross-community coordination, trauma-informed support, legal education, and continued advocacy. But they also emphasized something deeper — the importance of staying connected. Trust is built through presence, honesty, and shared struggle. This gathering showed that when communities come together with open hearts, they can respond to fear with courage and to uncertainty with unity.

It was a reminder that nonviolence is not passive. It is active, steady, and rooted in the belief that every person deserves dignity and safety. And it showed that even in difficult times, people can choose compassion and connection.

Looking Ahead: Join Us at the June Unity Summit

We hope to carry the same spirit of trust and connection into the AAUC Unity Summit this June. We are excited to welcome St. Paul Mayor Kaohly Her, Minneapolis Mayor Jacob Frey, and leaders from Twin Cities Nonviolence, Minnesota 8 (MN8), Center for Asian and Pacific Islanders (CAPI), Twin Cities Indivisible, Communities Organizing Power and Action for Latinos (COPAL), Asian Economic Development Association (AEDA), Coalition of Asian American Leaders (CAAL), Hmong American Partnership (HAP), SEWA–Asian Indian Family Wellness (SEWA-AIFW), the Minnesota Council of Nonprofits (MCN), and the Minnesota Council of Asian Americans (MNCAA).

This Summit brings together many of the voices shaping Minnesota’s civic landscape. It is a rare opportunity to learn, connect, and build momentum with leaders who are doing the work every day.

We invite you to explore the Summit and make plans to attend. Your presence will strengthen the community we are building together. This is the moment to step forward and rise with us in June. Visit Unity Summit event page.

At a time when communities across the nation are grappling with division, misinformation, and the lingering impact of past crises, the Asian American Unity Coalition (AAUC) is offering something rare: a hands-on, immersive, youth-centered experience designed not just to inspire, but to equip the next generation of leaders with the tools to build real, lasting coalitions.

On June 27–28, the AAUC Unity Summit returns with a bold theme, “From Crisis to Coalition.” Unlike traditional conferences that rely on panels and speeches alone, this Summit stands out for its experiential design. Participants won’t just hear about community challenges; they will step directly into the stories, neighborhoods, and lived experiences of those affected by one of the most consequential issues of the past decade: the impact of ICE enforcement on immigrant communities.

Register Today | Visit Event Page

A Bus Tour That Brings Reality Into Focus

Day 1 begins with a signature experience that sets this Summit apart: a guided bus tour to communities that were deeply affected by ICE actions. This is not a sightseeing trip. It is a moving classroom, one that brings participants face-to-face with the human consequences of policy, fear, and resilience. The visits include:

HmongTown Marketplace

Karmel Mall

DHH Church

Youth participants will meet local leaders, families, and advocates who lived through the crisis. They will hear how communities organized, supported one another, and fought to protect their neighbors. For many young attendees, this will be the first time they witness how grassroots leadership emerges in moments of urgency.

This immersive approach transforms abstract issues into personal understanding. It helps young people see that leadership is not theoretical—it is lived, practiced, and often born out of necessity.

Learning From Communities That Overcame Crisis

On Day 2, the Summit shifts from witnessing to learning. Participants will gather with community organizations that successfully navigated and overcame the challenges posed by ICE enforcement. These groups will share their strategies, missteps, and breakthroughs—offering a rare, honest look at what it takes to mobilize people, build trust, and sustain momentum.

This is where the Summit’s theme comes alive: crisis is not the end of the story. It can be the beginning of unity.

The Coalition Lab: A Major Life Skill for Youth Leaders

The highlight of Day 2 is the Coalition Lab, an interactive workshop where youth participants learn how to build coalitions—one of the most essential and overlooked leadership skills of our time.

In the Lab, students will:

• Practice identifying shared goals across diverse groups
• Learn how to navigate differences and build consensus
• Work through real-world scenarios drawn from the Day 1 community visits
• Collaborate with peers from different backgrounds, cultures, and perspectives

This is not a lecture. It is a hands-on, problem-solving environment where young people learn by doing. They leave not only inspired, but equipped—with practical tools they can use in school, community organizations, and future careers.

Why This Summit Matters Now

AAUC’s tagline—Diversity, Unity, Equality—captures the essence of the organization’s mission. In a time when many communities feel fragmented, the Summit offers a model for how to reconnect, collaborate, and build shared purpose.

For youth, the experience is transformative. They gain:

• A deeper understanding of community issues
• Direct exposure to grassroots leadership
• Practical coalition-building skills
• A network of peers and mentors
• A sense of agency and belonging

For community partners, the Summit is a chance to invest in the next generation of leaders who will shape the future of civic engagement.

A Call to Young Leaders

The AAUC Unity Summit is more than an event, it is a launchpad. It invites young people to step into their power, learn from real communities, and practice the skills that will define tomorrow’s leaders.

On June 27–28, the journey from crisis to coalition begins. The only question is: Will you be on the bus?

Register Today | Visit Event Page

Vietnam

Hanna began with Vietnam, the war that perhaps most durably shaped the Americans’ pessimistic view of war and later the demographic map of cities across the U.S. “First, you have the justification, which was to stop the spread of communism,” Jack said. “Then you have escalation, and then came the overwhelming military deployments.” Millions of soldiers and civilians died. The Khmer Rouge’s rise and the resulting killing fields became a catastrophe in itself, claiming two million Cambodian lives. This produced its own wave of refugees in the years that followed.

“Once you go into a country that is not your own to fight a war, you have to develop alliances and relationships with the people in the community there,” Hanna said. “And if you lose the war and retreat, those people are at risk.” The obligation to those allies was real, he argued, but the plan to honor it was almost entirely absent. “We had no specific plan how to assist them thereafter.”

What emerged from that failure of planning was the U.S. Refugee Act of 1980 and the creation of the Office of Refugee Resettlement, the modern framework for absorbing displaced populations, built not from foresight but from a moral reckoning after the fact. “That began the system, so to speak, of how we have these immigrants come to the United States and be absorbed and acclimated,” The system has improved over the decades, he acknowledged, but it remains far short of what a best-case response would look like.

Somalia

Somalia, Hanna said, represented a somewhat different kind of intervention, one driven as much by humanitarian crisis as by ideology. A devastating famine and a civil war had torn the country apart by the early 1990s, and the United States entered in 1992 ostensibly to stabilize the situation. But he was careful not to reduce it to simple altruism. “Many times there are other factors involved that are above and beyond just ideological political matters, including corruption, including famine, and other countries’ ulterior motives for their own political and economic purposes.”

The result was nearly 98,000 Somali immigrants eventually making their way to the United States, with the largest concentration settling in Minnesota, a fact that would loom over the broader discussion of the ICE incursions (the topic that AAUC upcoming summit in Minneapolis plans to address). What distinguished the Somali community, he argued, was the degree to which it had organized itself. “There was a high rate of naturalization that occurred for them, and that is very, very unique, and I think a reflection of the strength of the self-organization that the community has gone through.” It was a point that would echo later, when Kim Sin held up the Somali community as a model his own Cambodian community was still striving to emulate.

Iraq and Afghanistan

Hanna grouped the post-9/11 wars in Iraq and Afghanistan together, not because they were identical, but because they shared a common origin point and a common pattern of consequences. Both were launched in the wake of September 11, 2001, though the justifications diverged sharply.

The Iraq War, he said, was sold to the American public and to Congress on the claim that Saddam Hussein possessed weapons of mass destruction. “Did not exist,” Hanna said flatly. “A complete failure as far as the justification is concerned.” The humanitarian consequences were staggering: over 600,000 Iraqis killed, millions more displaced. American forces withdrew in 2011, only to return in 2013 and 2014 when the vacuum they left was filled by ISIS. “We still have about 2,000 troops there,” he noted, a presence that continues without a clear endgame, two decades after the original invasion.

Afghanistan presented what Hanna called a more defensible justification, given Al-Qaeda’s operational presence there following 9/11. But the outcome was similarly grim. Over 100,000 Afghan civilians died, along with 2,400 Americans. And the withdrawal, when it finally came in August 2021, was chaotic. The Taliban moved swiftly to consolidate power, and the Afghans who had spent years cooperating with American forces — translators, administrators, soldiers, civil society leaders — were left acutely exposed. “The consequence was disastrous,” Hanna said. “And we still suffer the consequences of that political, economic, and military defeat.”

More than 190,000 Afghans eventually immigrated to the United States on the grounds that they had assisted American efforts and that the U.S. bore a moral and legal obligation to protect them from Taliban retribution. But Hanna argued that obligation has since been abandoned. “Sadly, in my opinion, America has failed with regard to the obligations it has to the Afghans,” he said. “And now is not letting any of them in, and just this past week has decided to send them to the Congo.”

Syria

Hanna saved Syria for last, describing it as personal as it is the country of his own heritage. A civil war that ground on from 2011 to 2025 produced what he called one of the largest refugee crises in recent history: 13 million people displaced, 7 million of them driven across international borders. “It was one of the largest groups of refugees since WWII,” he said. The United States absorbed approximately 50,000 of those community members, a fraction of the total, and a number that has now effectively been reduced to zero under the current administration. “That has been practically completely terminated,” Hanna said, “as it is with the Afghans, since the new administration has come into power.”

Taken together, he argued, these four cases, and the dozens of other interventions that Fong would display in a closing slide, reveal something important about the relationship between American foreign policy and American demographics. “These are just some of the examples of what’s occurred in the past,” Hanna said. “There are common experiences. America goes into these wars, and what are the consequences of us leaving — and in many instances having failed military efforts — and the refugees and immigrants it creates? The lessons are there, if we choose to learn from them.”

Kim Sin’s Story

After Jack provided the historical context, the town hall’s guest speaker offered the human story behind it. Kim Sin is the co-founder of the Cambodian American Partnership of Minnesota and a longtime community advocate based in Rochester. He was three years old when his family fled Cambodia.

Describing his earliest memories of the camp on the Thai-Cambodian border, he said, “I thought that was my home. Then I got very curious, wanting to know why I could not leave the barbed wire fence.” His mother’s answer came slowly and heavily, Cambodia was under the Khmer Rouge, and because his father had been a soldier, the entire family would have been executed had they stayed. “My family had to take a risk and escape,” Sin said. “All the educated, all the wealthy, all the people with knowledge were executed because they were considered a risk and a rebellion against the new government. That’s why we are here.”

Sin spent three years moving between camps before being flown to the Philippines for six months of medical screening and processing. The camps were orderly in their way, governed by permission slips and barbed wire, rationed food and routine uncertainty. “Me and my sister would have to line up, holding the same bowl, and we would get a rice porridge,” he recalled. “My mom would sit in the sun, waiting for food distribution.” There was no school. There was no stability. There was only the next camp, and then the next.

Aid workers showed refugees American films, glimpses of a country that seemed almost fantastical. “It showed, like, it was heaven on earth,” Sin said with a laugh. “Big houses, mansions, luxury cars. I was just praying to come to the U.S.” He paused. “When I got to the U.S., the perspective that Hollywood portrayed was not the way that I imagined.”

Arriving in America

Kim was six years old when he landed in Rochester, Minnesota, speaking not a word of English. The support systems of the early 1980s were, by his account, almost nonexistent. “We didn’t have a really supported system in place back in the early 80s,” he said. “It was new to the U.S. government, they didn’t even have any structure.”

Families were required to report to government offices every three months to maintain healthcare and cash assistance, with little guidance on how to navigate those bureaucracies. Transportation was a constant problem. “We didn’t know how to use a taxi. We didn’t know how to use the transportation that a city offers. There was no one to help and guide our community.” Grocery stores were out of reach. The housing they were placed in was cheap, but it was also isolated. “They kind of threw us into a community,” Sin said. “They put us in the worst of the worst.”

Those who needed help getting to a doctor’s appointment had to pay out of pocket for assistance, a crushing burden. “If you had six people in your family, you’d have to pay more. The most would be $100, the least $40. But back in the 80s, that was a lot of money.” Even small costs added up to impossible math for families with no income, no language, and no map of the system they’d landed in.

And then there was the matter of who Sin was at home versus who he was expected to become at school. “I had to live in two cultures,” he said. “My parents were trying to pull me not to stray away from Cambodian culture, but at school, my peers, the environment — it was pulling me to live and be an American. It was very, very tough.”

The Weight That Carries Forward

Fong asked Sin to explain intergenerational trauma, which comes up in a lot of conversations he has with the Southeast Asian American community.

“A lot of the parents and grandparents were experiencing the Khmer Rouge War,” he said. “They saw people getting killed in front of them, family members executed in front of them. So coming to a new country, even though the kids are growing up here or born here, there’s a lot of restrictions.” The fear that had kept parents alive in Cambodia, including hypervigilance, secrecy, distrust, followed them into American living rooms and didn’t know how to stop. “The trauma of their past experience during the Khmer Rouge War carried on with them.”

When children pushed back, as American children do, parents often couldn’t distinguish normal adolescent independence from genuine danger. “They fear of losing their kid. They hear about kidnapping, people getting murdered in America. So the trauma just keeps going.” The result was a growing distance between generations, and within that distance, damage. “There’s a gap that keeps on pushing and pushing, and there’s tension, and there’s abuse in that, where the father feels the kid is not giving them respect. And when they come to a new country, the respect is gone.”

Fathers who had been engineers, lawyers, or government officials in Cambodia arrived in America to find that none of it transferred. “Doctors, lawyers, engineers — when they come here, they end up cleaning toilets, doing housekeeping work, because their status in Cambodia did not carry over,” Sin said. “Knowing that their status as a toilet cleaner is an embarrassment for them, it was tough. They feel degraded.” Without professional standing, without language, without a pathway back to the life they had known, some turned to alcohol, gambling, or worse. Their children watched. “Parents become alcoholic, they have gambling issues, and that makes it harder for the younger generation — they’re being pulled and prevented from moving on.”

Yen Marshall, the AAUC’s board president, joined the conversation. She and her family fled Vietnam by boat. “Depending on how we left that situation, we have a different view on how to kind of move forward,” she said. But she also described a dynamic that played out in households across every immigrant community on the call: children who learned English faster than their parents suddenly found the family’s power structure quietly, uncomfortably reversed. “In a short time, your kids know more than you, they’d be your translator when you go and ask for help. With that table turned around, the frustration builds, and when they’re not doing things the way that you feel they should, the conflict inside the house is huge.” Her father, who had run his own business in Vietnam and employed multiple people, arrived in America washing dishes in a restaurant. The shame and disorientation of that fall, she said, had nowhere to go. “There’s no way for them to communicate it out.”

The consequences showed up in statistics that still trouble Sin today. “In the 80s and 90s, there was a high number of suicides. We see a lot of young generation, they shot themselves, they couldn’t deal with the issues at home.” Girls dropped out of school, became pregnant in junior high. Boys joined gangs. “They were using a high number of drugs that was causing them to be suicidal, and some of them overdosed. Some of them died in their cars, sleeping in the car.” He paused. “That was a big issue within our community.”

Fong asked about the comparison to other Southeast Asian immigrant communities and whether Cambodians had fared differently than Vietnamese or Hmong Americans. Sin didn’t soften his answer. “We are considered the lowest and least educated community. The last time I got the report, 58% of Cambodians are failing in school.” He attributed part of this to a wound that is uniquely Cambodian.

Michael Siv, a Sacramento-based advocate and filmmaker whose own family fled Cambodia, joined the conversation, offering this grim distinction, “The Khmer Rouge is our own people. A quarter of the population massacred. There’s not a lot of dialogue about when your own kind just massacred your whole country.” He drew a pointed contrast with other refugee communities. “The Hmong can blame America, they can blame Laos or the Vietnamese government. But for Cambodians, nobody really talks about it. Your own people pretty much just massacred your whole country. So, there’s a mistrust in creating that conversation.” That silence, he argued, has made the communal reckoning necessary for healing almost impossible to begin, and has contributed to a fragmentation that distinguishes the Cambodian American experience from that of other Southeast Asian communities. Sin agreed: “It’s very hard and emotional for the elderly to share. A lot of tears. A lot of complication. We try, slowly, to get them to share their feeling about their past.”

What Healing Looks Like

Fong turned the conversation toward recovery, asking what communities and organizations are doing to address the psychological burden carried across generations. The responses from around the call converged on a single word: community.

Charlene Reyes, 19, a Sacramento member of the youth organization Young and Rooted and the daughter of immigrant parents said, “I can’t say much about what the older generation is doing to find healing,” she said. “But I know that even in the younger generation, kids my age, kids younger than me, they are affected by our parents’ past and the trauma they went through. It’ll always be with us, throughout the generations.” What has helped, she said, is simply not being alone in it. “A lot of kids of immigrants — I’m first generation, my mom was an immigrant, my dad’s an immigrant — it shows that there’s a lot of people, a lot of kids, that have parents that are like that. I’ve seen it help a lot of these kids. I’ve seen it help myself. To know that we all have the same sort of struggles, similar enough that we can understand each other without even talking about it.”

Yen Marshall echoed that, drawing on her own experience as a boat refugee from Vietnam. She described a particular burden that many first-generation immigrants carry but rarely name: survivor’s guilt. “A lot of people died on that journey leaving,” she said. “Being the survivors, we felt very lucky already. But what about all those who died and couldn’t make it?” That guilt, she argued, became a kind of fuel. “Part of the immigrants, the generation that came here, felt that it was their responsibility to make a difference, not just in their own lives, their family, but the community surrounding them.” Building up the community, she said, was how many first-generation immigrants processed what they had survived. But communication remained the great obstacle. The trauma left people frustrated and inarticulate, unable to express what they carried. “There’s no way for them to communicate it out.”

What she came back to, ultimately, was the same thing Charlene had said, and the same thing Kim Sin had said: the need for places where people can simply be together without explaining themselves. “Community is a place to unwind, to reconnect, to take a breather — even from your own family,” Marshall said. “Building a strong community where new immigrants, or even older immigrants who’ve been here for a while, can reach out and lean on you — I think that’s one of the best ways to move forward.”

Building the Basket Back

Sin closed the meeting with a message that was honest about the scale of the problem and clear-eyed about what it will take. The Cambodian community, he said, is like “a broken basket, we’re trying to weave that basket back together, but it’s just hard to pull that bamboo string back. It’s going to take many, many generations.”

His own model of leadership, he explained, is rooted in this: “I don’t need your money, but I need your participation. That’s the difference.” Through the Rochester Cultural Center, which he helped found, and through his work connecting with Somali, Vietnamese, and Hmong leaders across Minnesota, he has been studying what makes other communities resilient. “I see why they are so successful. It’s because they know how to support each other. And that’s what our Cambodian community needs.”

He saved his most direct words for the broader audience — for the non-immigrants and policymakers and fellow advocates on the call. “It’s hard to live in a situation where your family’s not educated, where your family doesn’t have the resources. We need to help them in a way that lets them move forward and be able to live the American dream.” He thanked AAUC for reaching out and asking the simple question: what can we do to help your community? “Coming together is so important,” Sin said. “I’m just one person. But how do I build new leadership. That is the challenge I see.”

In closing, Fong reinforced a broader argument that America has never fully accounted for the human cost of its foreign wars. A slide he shared at the close of the session catalogued dozens of military interventions over the past 60 years, from the Dominican Republic in 1965 to the current conflict in Iran. He called it, with sarcasm, “the U.S. military resume.” “We don’t really factor in the cost of refugee displacement when we enter these wars,” he said. “Each of these has produced displaced populations, people with varied stories and circumstances, coming to America.”

April 27, 2026

The White House
1600 Pennsylvania Avenue NW
Washington, DC 20500

Subject: Formal Protest of the Rhetoric Harmful to Asian American Communities and Our National Interests

Dear Sir/Madam –

We, the Asian American Unity Coalition (AAUC), representing Indian American, Chinese American, and broader Asian American communities, issue this formal letter of protest in response to the rhetoric endorsed by the White House on April 23, 2026.

The promotion of Michael Savage’s remarks, which characterize India as a “hellhole” and suggest that legal and birthright citizenship for Asian Americans are tools of subversion, represent more than a political disagreement. It is a direct assault on the dignity of millions of citizens and a strategic blunder that undermines the economic and national security of the United States.

The Economic Reality vs. The Rhetoric of Exclusion

The claim that Indian and Chinese immigrants lack English proficiency or engage in exclusionary hiring practices is demonstrably false. Indian Americans have the highest median household income of any ethnic group in the U.S. (approximately $150,000), and Chinese Americans contribute significantly to a STEM workforce that drives American innovation. The technologies created by these groups, especially in the Silicon Valley, are keeping our country on the top of the technology ladder. To disparage the very demographic that forms the backbone of the U.S. technology sector at a time when global competition for talent is at its peak is an act of economic self-sabotage.

The “Great Talent Flip” and National Security

By signaling that legal residency and birthright citizenship are no longer secure, this administration is accelerating “The Great Talent Flip.” When the “Individual Survival Rubric” for highly skilled professionals includes facing state-sanctioned xenophobia, the United States ceases to be the world’s premier destination for innovation. This hostility serves as a recruitment tool for our competitors, driving top-tier talent toward China and other emerging powers, and ensuring that the next generation of breakthroughs happens outside our borders.

The Middle Power Paradox and Diplomatic Erosion

The description of India, a critical strategic partner, as a “hellhole” creates an untenable “Middle Power Paradox.” The administration cannot expect to tether middle powers to U.S. interests while simultaneously insulting their sovereignty and their diaspora. Such rhetoric increases the “Cost of Strategic Alignment” for our allies, forcing them to seek sovereignty through non-alignment or regional blocs, thereby hastening a “Hegemonic Sunset” where American influence is diminished.

The Undermining of the American “Source Code”

The attack on birthright citizenship is an attack on the “Civilizational Source Code” of the United States. For over a century, the guarantee of citizenship by birth has been the bedrock of American social cohesion. To suggest that the children of immigrants are “anchor babies” creates a climate of “Tactical Chaos,” where legal residents are left to wonder if the rules of the game will be rewritten overnight. This does not “Restore the Rule of Law.” It replaces it with ideological exclusion.

Conclusion

We demand an immediate retraction of these endorsements and a formal apology to the Indian and Chinese American communities. We also call upon the mainstream media to rigorously fact-check these claims and highlight the catastrophic long-term risks of driving global talent away from our shores.

The “2026 Economic Shift” should be defined by American excellence and strategic coherence, not by tactical chaos and the alienation of our most productive citizens. We are not “guests” in this country, we are the infrastructure of its future.

Sincerely,

Yen Marshall
President
Asian American Unity Coalition

Dr. SK Lo
Board Chair
Asian American Unity Coalition

Moderated by John C. Yang, President and Executive Director of Asian Americans Advancing Justice, the webinar convened experts from five major civil rights organizations to examine voter purges, polling place intimidation, landmark Supreme Court cases, and the erosion of the federal Voting Rights Act.

Yang opened by saying, “At its core, this is about whether all of us as eligible voters, regardless of who they are and regardless of where they live, have a fair and equal opportunity to have their voices heard.” For the Asian American community specifically, the threat is concrete: roughly two in five Asian American voters rely on mail and early voting options now under legal attack, and face language barriers that make polling place assistance an essential lifeline.

Voter Purges and the Attack on the Rolls

Taifa Smith Butler, President of Demos, organized systemic barriers into three categories she called “roles, polls, and trolls.” On voter rolls, she described aggressive and inconsistently applied purges disproportionately harming voters of color, young people, and low-income voters. Georgia conducted one of the largest voter purges in its history last August, removing nearly half a million people due to inactivity. Alabama and Florida have similarly purged voters dangerously close to election cycles.

Butler flagged an emerging federal threat: the government’s efforts to obtain unredacted voter registration files from states to build a national database. “This, I believe, is another effort that we have to watch, that the federal government might try to use the rolls to actually do mass purges,” she warned, while crediting states like California for successfully pushing back in court.

Intimidation at the Polls and the Right to an Assistor

Tom Saenz, President and General Counsel of MALDEF, addressed the threat of voter intimidation, including the possibility of federal agents being deployed near polling places. “We cannot dismiss the possibility that even the federal government through executive order or otherwise may engage in activities including deploying immigration agents or other federal agents at or near polling places,” he said. Private individuals, potentially encouraged by White House rhetoric, could also appear at polling sites in security uniforms or openly carrying firearms.

Saenz also defended Section 208 of the Voting Rights Act, which guarantees every voter not literate in English the right to bring an assistor of their choice to the polls, pushing back on any suggestion that the administration’s executive order making English the official language could override it. “Section 208 of the Voting Rights Act, as duly enacted congressional legislation, cannot be overruled by an executive order of any kind from the president,” he said flatly.

His organization’s own case, Arkansas United, illustrates how thoroughly that right is being dismantled. MALDEF challenged an Arkansas law limiting any single assistor to helping no more than six voters. The Eighth Circuit rejected every legal vehicle available to enforce Section 208. “Every avenue is foreclosed to guarantee and protect the rights granted under the Voting Rights Act,” Saenz said. The case now awaits Supreme Court review.

The Supreme Court and the Future of the VRA

Adriel Cepeda Derieux, Deputy Director of the ACLU’s Voting Rights Project, delivered the briefing’s most urgent news: the Supreme Court may be days away from issuing one of the most consequential voting rights rulings since the civil rights era in Louisiana v. Callais. At the heart of the case is whether remedying racial discrimination under Section 2 of the Voting Rights Act is itself discriminatory.

“If the court rules against voters, it would be a profound setback for multi-racial democracy. It could roll back protections and strip voters of one of their core and meaningful legal defenses for over 60 years,” Cepeda Derieux said. She urged voters not to be deterred regardless of the outcome, noting that electoral maps for November have largely already been set.

On ICE presence at polling places, a fear growing in AAPI and immigrant communities, she drew a firm legal line. “Any deployment of ICE or any law enforcement officers for the purpose of intimidating voters or interfering with the right to vote would be unlawful,” she said, encouraging voters to remain calm and know their rights.

Native Voters and the Threat to Mail Ballots

Jacqueline De León, Senior Staff Attorney at the Native American Rights Fund, described two cases with potentially devastating consequences for Native voters. In Turtle Mountain v. Howe, the Eighth Circuit ruled that private plaintiffs have no right of action under the Voting Rights Act, meaning individuals harmed by racial discrimination could not bring their own cases. “If affirmed, Turtle Mountain would effectively leave the Voting Rights Act an empty shell,” DeLeon said.

A companion case, Watson v. Republican National Committee, threatens the ability to count mail ballots received after Election Day in over a dozen states. For Native voters in remote Alaskan villages, the consequences could be total disenfranchisement. “In some villages, the number of ballots that arrived after election day was over 50%,” DeLeon said. She also dissected the SAVE Act’s nominal inclusion of tribal IDs as a “disingenuous attempt at inclusion when really it’s about exclusion” — tribal IDs lack the place of birth and expiration date the law requires. For remote Native voters, presenting documents in person could require a thousand-mile journey. “Native voters that are disproportionately impoverished, that lack access to roadworthy vehicles, are just certainly not going to be able to make this trip,” she said.

State Voting Rights Acts: Going on Offense

Lordes Rousado, President and General Counsel of Latino Justice PRLDEF, offered the most forward-looking perspective, describing a push to pass state-level voting rights acts as an offensive strategy against federal erosion. Her organization collaborated with the Legal Defense Fund, the Asian American Legal Defense and Education Fund (AALDEF), the Campaign Legal Center, and the Harvard Election Law Clinic to develop model state voting rights legislation released in January.

“The states can, and I would say, must be laboratories for democracy and create rights that go beyond the federal minimums,” Rousado said. The model act includes pre-clearance provisions, protections against vote dilution and wrongful purges, translated materials for language minority voters, and remedies for voters facing intimidation. Rousado pointed to a recent New York victory as proof of concept, where a successful challenge under the state VRA resulted in redrawn maps that restored the voting power of Black, Latino, and Asian voters in Nassau County. Voting rights laws are now on the books in at least eight states, with active legislation in nine others.

The SAVE Act and the Myth of Voter Fraud

The SAVE Act, requiring documentary proof of citizenship to register or vote, drew sustained criticism as a solution in search of a problem. Rousado offered a personal example: her 83-year-old Cuban American mother, a citizen and dedicated voter since the 1960s, currently lacks a valid passport and cannot locate her citizenship papers. “My mother could be disenfranchised by this act when she’s been a citizen and voting since the 1960s,” she said. More than 21 million Americans currently lack ready access to a passport or birth certificate.

Saenz went further, calling the voter fraud narrative driving such legislation a “canard.” “Voter fraud is non-existent in this country and has been for 50 years,” he said, pointing to the first Trump administration’s quietly disbanded voter fraud commission that “could not prove anything.” He reframed the real problem: “The fact is the problem in this country is not over-participation of ineligible folks in voting. It is under-participation of fully eligible voters.”

A Message to Reporters

Closing the briefing, panelists converged on a unified message to journalists on the call: see the full scope of what is happening and name it accurately. Butler urged the media to resist false election security narratives. Cepeda Derieux asked reporters to connect the dots. “This is a broad, very far-reaching, multifront effort to shrink who can participate in our democracy,” she said. DeLeon kept the focus on race. “The shrinking of the electorate is often along racial lines, and I think too often we lose that narrative,” she said. Rousado called for human storytelling: “Uplift the individual stories of people who encounter difficulties in voting. The more those stories are told, the more people will understand that it is a big deal.”

Yang offered a closing summary that distilled the morning’s message: “Restrictions to voting is literally anti-democratic. The purpose of a democracy is to be able to vote, and anytime you are disallowing voting on the basis of imagined problems, that should be called out.”

On March 28, the Minnesota State Capitol in St. Paul was transformed into a sea of voices, signs, and songs as the latest No Kings rally drew an estimated 150,000 participants to the Capitol Mall and surrounding streets. This third rally, now expanded to include No War and No ICE themes, was part of a nationwide movement that has grown exponentially over the past year, from 2 to 3 million participants in March 2025, to 4 million in October, and now an estimated 8 million across the country. The discontent is swelling, even if the impact on federal policies remains minimal.

My husband and I began our journey at the U.S. Bank Stadium Green Line station in Minneapolis, joined by a friend attending his first rally. The train was already buzzing with anticipation, packed with people carrying homemade signs directed at the president. By the third stop, the train was so full that no additional passengers could board. I felt a pang of sympathy for those left behind, unable to join the collective march toward the Capitol.

When we arrived at the station closest to the Capitol, we stepped into a throng of humanity. Marchers had been converging for hours from multiple directions, and the Mall itself was overflowing, more than 60,000 packed shoulder to shoulder, with tens of thousands more filling the fringes. The sheer scale was breathtaking, a testament to the urgency felt across Minnesota and beyond.

On March 28, 150,000 people protested in St. Paul, MN. Nationwide, more than 8 million people took to the streets, marking one of the largest single-day protests in US history. Photo by SK Lo

As latecomers, we remained at the edges of the gathering. From there, the speeches were difficult to hear clearly, but the presence of national figures was undeniable. Senator Bernie Sanders, Representative Ilhan Omar, and others addressed the crowd, while Bruce Springsteen’s performance added cultural resonance. Even from the margins, the spirit of the rally was unmistakable: peaceful resistance, collective defiance, and a shared determination to stand against authoritarianism, war, and ICE enforcement.

For me, the rally carried profound personal meaning. It was the second No Kings rally I had attended. The first was in October in our suburban neighborhood, but this one felt different. The sheer scale, the unity of purpose, and the energy of the crowd rekindled a pride in being Minnesotan that I had not felt in over fifty years. Standing alongside my husband and our friend, I felt part of something larger, something historic.

We left before the rally concluded, unable to push closer to the center of the Mall. Instead, we found respite in a local restaurant, one of many affected by the surge in activity across the Twin Cities. Conversations there reflected the day’s themes: frustration with federal policies, concern for immigrant communities, and hope that collective action could bring change.

Indivisible Twin Cities was the main organizer in Minnapolis-St. Paul. They will be speaking at the AAUC Unity Summit on June 28, 2026. Visit the Unity Summit event page for more information.

Yet, the rally also revealed a sobering reality. While mainstream populations dominated the crowd, minority ethnic groups were noticeably underrepresented. Many expressed fear of surveillance, worried that cameras capturing their presence could later be used against them. This absence was striking, given that minority communities often bear the brunt of discriminatory federal policies. Their hesitation underscores the challenges of building truly inclusive movements in an era of heightened scrutiny.

The No Kings, No War, No ICE rally was more than a protest; it was a declaration of values. It reminded us that democracy thrives when ordinary people take to the streets, raise their voices, and demand accountability. For Minnesota, it was a moment of unity and defiance, a reaffirmation that civic pride and resistance can coexist. And for me personally, it was a day that rekindled pride in my state, my community, and the power of collective action.