
Lately, many of us have been talking about immigration enforcement and the fear and uncertainty it’s creating, especially for communities that are being directly and disproportionately affected. That focus matters. At the same time, I want to name something that often goes unspoken: AANHPI communities are feeling this too.
Across the country, we’ve seen Southeast Asian refugees detained and deported after spending most of their lives in the United States, many of them brought here as children after fleeing war in Vietnam, Laos, or Cambodia. In Minnesota, Hmong families and small business owners have spoken about how renewed enforcement has disrupted daily life and created real fear in their neighborhoods. In other places, raids on Vietnamese-owned nail salons and small businesses have sent shockwaves far beyond the people who were arrested.
And it’s not always large, visible raids. Sometimes it’s people being detained during routine ICE check-ins after years of doing everything they were told to do.
That kind of uncertainty changes how families live. People stay home more. They avoid appointments, and some avoid public transportation altogether. Businesses see fewer customers. Even long-time residents and U.S. citizens begin to wonder where it’s safe to be.
There is also a deeper emotional and historical layer for many AANHPI families. For some, today’s fear echoes older stories—war, displacement, refugee camps, and forced migration. For others, it brings up memories passed down about what happened to Japanese Americans during World War II, when families were removed from their homes and incarcerated simply for who they were.
Those histories do not disappear. They live in families. They live in communities. And they shape how moments like this are felt.
Moments like this remind us how connected our communities really are, and how important it is to show up for one another. Sometimes parts of the story are quieter, easier to overlook, but still important to name out loud.
We’re here.
We’re impacted.
And being seen, especially in moments like this, matters too.


















