STAATUS Index: Being AAPI is hard; we're never American enough

Its bad enough that Americans of all ethnicities have a hard time categorizing and recognizing  Asian American issues and individuals, but Filipino Americans fare even worse.

When asked to name a famous Asian American, only 2% of respondents could name Kamala Harris, who ran for President in 2024 and whose ads and news stories and photos were plastered all over media almost 24/7 for almost six months prior to the election.

Two Filipino American entertainers didn't even register a blip: Bruno Mars, whose sold-out  concerts draw hundreds of thousands of fans; and Olivia Rodrigo, who recently hosted Saturday Night Live and whose records run No. 1 on the Billboard charts for weeks on end.

The 2026 Social Tracking of Asian Americans in the US (STAATUS) Index from The Asian American Foundation (TAAF) reveals Americans are divided on AAPI belonging, with 40% questioning the loyalty of Asian Americans to the US (doubling since 2021) and many viewing them as "perpetual foreigners," despite high marks for being hardworking. While 82% place Asian Americans in the top half of the social ladder, only 7% believe they hold "a great deal" of cultural influence.

“Despite our community’s growing power, a significant share of the public is still forming views about America’s fastest-growing racial group with no direct connection or information, said Norman Chen, CEO of TAAF. "This helps to explain the perception gaps that run throughout this report, and has real consequences for our community’s future.”

What it means to be 'American'

The "Loyalty Gap" is perhaps the most stinging revelation in the latest STAATUS Index, serving as a cold reminder that for many in this country, our citizenship comes with an asterisk. 

It’s the statistical proof of a feeling many AAPI folks know in their bones: no matter how long we’ve been here, we are still seen as guests who might leave—or turn—at any moment.

There is a disturbing surge in distrust that should alarm anyone who believes in the American promise. A staggering 40% of Americans now believe that Asian Americans are more loyal to their ancestral homelands than to the United States. This isn't just a baseline level of prejudice; it’s a sentiment that has nearly doubled since 2021, proving that the "perpetual foreigner" trope is being weaponized with renewed vigor in the current political climate.

This surge isn't happening in a vacuum, as the data shows a direct link to the temperature of global politics. The gap is widest among those who view foreign nations, particularly China, as an existential threat to the US In the minds of many, every AAPI neighbor becomes a proxy for a foreign government, turning geopolitical tensions into a personal tax on our sense of belonging and safety.

FYI: Download the full report

The gap also exposes a fundamental disagreement over what it even means to be "truly American." While half of the general public still clings to US birth as the ultimate litmus test for identity, the vast majority of AAPI individuals — especially the younger generation — rightfully reject that narrow definition. This creates a social friction where AAPI citizens feel forced to exhibit "hyper-patriotism" just to be viewed as equal stakeholders in their own country.

Perhaps most disconcerting is the disconnect between how we see ourselves and how the public sees us. 

The US public is divided over who counts as "truly American." As the Supreme Court weighs challenges to birthright citizenship, half of US adults say being born in the US is important to being truly American, while 77% of AAPIs say it is not. AAPIs are also more likely than other groups to rate being white (93%) or being a Christian (84%) as unimportant to American identity.

While the vast majority of AAPI individuals view themselves as fully and proudly American, they are living in a society where their loyalty is treated as a subject of open debate. This "loyalty tax" creates a baseline of psychological exhaustion, leaving many to wonder if the goalposts for "belonging" will simply keep moving further out of reach.

Views of AAPI status differ sharply by race and ethnicity. White Americans see the "model minority" and view the status of Asian Americans in US society as more similar to white people (64%) than to people of color (31%), but most AAPI say "uh-uh" to the harmful stereotype and agree with Black, and Hispanic adults. Nearly 3 in 4 AAPIs (74%) see the status of their own racial group as more similar to people of color than to white people.

Perpetual foreigner

Accordinrg to the latest STAATUS Index, the "perpetual foreigner" trope isn't just alive and well in America — it’s actually gaining steam. Despite decades of contributions to the cultural and economic fabric of this country, the data shows a troubling disconnect in how our neighbors see us.

The numbers tell a story of a community that is respected for its labor but doubted for its loyalty. A staggering 40% of Americans now believe that Asian Americans are more loyal to their ancestral homelands than to the U.S. This isn't just a slight increase; it’s a figure that has nearly doubled since 2021, suggesting that the political climate and global tensions are hitting home in a very personal way for the AAPI community.

While most Americans (82%) are quick to place us on the upper rungs of the social ladder—buying into that tired "model minority" narrative—they aren't exactly seeing us as leaders or cultural movers. Nearly half of the country says Asian Americans have little to no influence on U.S. culture. Even more telling? Almost 50% of people surveyed couldn't name a single famous Asian American. It’s hard to feel like you belong when you’re essentially invisible in the public eye.

The internal toll of this perception is heavy. While the outside world sees "reliable" and "respectful" workers, the AAPI community is living with a baseline of fear. One in three reported experiencing a hate incident in the last year, and 63% say they feel unsafe in their daily lives. 

We are stuck between being viewed as high-achieving "super-citizens" and suspicious outsiders, a duality that leaves many wondering if they will ever truly be seen as "American enough."

Republican-leaning respondents are more likely to express skepticism about AAPI loyalty. This is often tied to "traditional" views of American identity that prioritize birthright and assimilation.

Meanwhile, Democrat-leaning respondents generally score lower on the "loyalty gap" scale but are also more likely to express frustration with the lack of AAPI representation in leadership, highlighting a different kind of political disconnect.

Hate and safety

The STAATUS Index isn't just a collection of data points; it’s a mirror reflecting a harsh reality for Asian Americans. For those of us keeping watch, the latest findings confirm what many in the community feel every time they walk out the door: the shadow of hate hasn't faded.

According to the latest reports from The Asian American Foundation (TAAF), nearly 1 in 2 Asian Americans say they feel unsafe in this country simply because of their race or ethnicity. This isn't a "post-pandemic" recovery; it’s a persistent state of anxiety.

 While the headlines may have moved on, the verbal abuse, racial slurs, and physical threats have not.

The numbers tell a story of a community under pressure. Half of the AAPI community reports feeling unsafe in public spaces. Whether it’s a subway platform or a neighborhood park, that sense of security remains shattered.

Nearly 3 in 10 Asian Americans reported being verbally harassed or abused in the last year. It’s the low-level, constant hum of hostility that defines the daily experience for many.

The Foreigner Trope: The "perpetual foreigner" myth is still alive and kicking. A staggering 40% of Americans still believe Asian Americans are more loyal to their ancestral homelands than to the US.

As tensions between the US and China simmer, it’s Asian Americans who pay the price. The index shows a direct link between political rhetoric and the distrust or "threat" perceived by the general public.

What the STAATUS Index reveals is a profound lack of belonging. For women and the younger generation especially, the "American Dream" is being taxed by a climate of suspicion. We aren't just looking at statistics; we're looking at a community being told, day after day, that they don't quite fit in.

The 2024 and 2025 reports serve as a wake-up call. Awareness might be up, but the reality on the ground — the harassment in our streets and the bias in our systems—proves that the fight for safety and visibility is far from over.

Generational divide

The report notes that 32% of Americans believe AAPI have gained influence in the last five years, with younger Americans (Gen Z) more likely to recognize this shift.

According to the TAAF-sponsored report, there is a sharp generational divide in how Americans define belonging, while the workplace remains a site of "invisible" barriers for AAPI professionals.

The report highlights that Gen Z is leading a shift away from traditional definitions of American identity. Only 23% of Gen Z AAPI respondents believe that being born in the U.S. is essential to being "truly American," compared to 50% of the general public.

This younger cohort is also significantly more likely to recognize AAPI cultural influence in the US, likely due to the rise of AAPI representation in digital media, music, and food. However, Gen Z AAPI individuals also report higher levels of loneliness and a sense of "not belonging" compared to their older counterparts, suggesting that increased visibility has not yet translated into social security.

Bamboo ceiling

Regarding the "bamboo ceiling," the data confirms that stereotypes continue to stall career advancement for AAPI, except for South Asian Americans.

While East and South Asian Americans are rated highly for traits like being "reliable," "respectful," and "hardworking," they receive significantly lower scores for "assertiveness" and "charisma"—traits typically associated with leadership in American corporate culture.

South Asians are more often perceived as more "vocal" or "assertive" than East Asians, which has led to higher representation in certain C-suite roles (e.g., Silicon Valley CEOs).

However, even though aggressiveness is admired among white workers, South Asians who exhibit this trait are viewed as "abrasive" or "difficult to work with" when they do exhibit leadership traits. While they may break the "bamboo ceiling" more often than East Asians, they face a higher "likability penalty" in corporate environments.

This "likability vs. leadership" gap remains a primary driver of the glass ceiling for AAPI workers. Furthermore, while 82% of Americans view AAPI people as being on the upper half of the social ladder, this perception of "success" often masks the lack of actual decision-making power and representation in the C-suite.

View from the Edge

Asian Americans are more worried (44%) than other ethnic groups about the state of the country, Trump and the future, according to the STAATUS survey.

Worry is more top of mind for AAPIs than for other groups. When asked how they feel about life right now, Americans overall most often say hopeful (48%), including white (50%), Black (53%), and Hispanic (44%) adults. AAPIs are the only racial or ethnic group for whom worry (44%) outranks hope (40%).

It is a sad state of affairs that after centuries of being in this country contributing to its culture, technology, economy and medical advancements, the results still shows how much most nonAsian Americans don't know about AAPI people.

However, there is a ray of hope.

The barriers to understanding aren’t just about bias—they’re also about awareness. Most of the American public lacks relationships with Asian Americans, and more than half can’t name a single significant moment in Asian American history. But the data also points to something hopeful: Americans are open to engagement

Engagement also happens out in the community. When asked what would encourage them to visit ethnic neighborhoods like Chinatowns, Manilatowns, Little Indias, Koreatowns, and Little Saigons more often, Americans point to practical draws: More events and local business promotion (40%), new and interesting businesses (32%), and more affordable offerings (28%).

Ethnic celebrations the different Asian New Years, parades and food fairs along with cultural events like the Parol Lantern Festival & Parade, Cherry Blossom Festivals and Holi are ways to invite nonAsians into our communities and to announce our presence. 

It's also important for those AAPI who are in positions of influence or celebrityhood to not be shy about their ethnic heritage to make it crystal clear that AAPI  are here and already an integral part of American society and culture. It behooves all of us to step out of our comfort zones to make sure our voices and issues are heard, whether it be in the voting booth, school board meetings or in corporate board rooms.

Don't be silent.

EDITOR'S NOTE: For additional commentary, news, views and chismis from an AANHPI perspective, follow me on Threads, on X, BlueSky or at the blog Views From the Edge. If you find this perspective interesting, please repost.

Olivia Rodrigo hosts Saturday Night Live

When Olivia Rodrigo steps onto the Studio 8H stage Saturday night, she won’t just be carrying the weight of a double-duty performance; she’ll be carrying the pride of a community that has waited far too long for this moment.

The history of Filipino Americans on Saturday Night Live is surprisingly short. We have to look all the way back to 2012 to find the first: Bruno Mars. 

During his stint as host and musical guest, Mars didn't shy away from his identity, proudly mentioning his Filipino and Puerto Rican roots. It was a milestone that felt like a breakthrough, yet the door didn't exactly swing wide open afterward. 

In fact, of the more than 1000 episodes of SNL, not many Asian Americans have had the hosting job at all. Despite the massive contributions of the community to the arts, the roster of AANHPI hosts remains a small, exclusive club. We’ve seen trailblazers like Jackie Chan and Lucy Liu way back in 2000, followed by a long drought until Aziz Ansari in 2017, followed quickly with Kumail Nanjiani, Awkwafina in 2018, Sandra Oh in 2019 and Simu Liu in 2021.

Now, at the start of AANHPI Heritage Month, Rodrigo has the floor. Let's hope that like Bruno, Olivia uses the opportunity to bring her racial rooots to America's attention. 

For SNL's episode this Saturday she is set to perform her lead single "Drop Dead" and has teased a brand-new, unheard song from her upcoming album, You Seem Pretty Sad For A Girl So In Love.

As for the comedy, fans are looking forward to Rodrigo's recurring role as "Georgina" in a follow-up to her popular "Tiny Ass Bag" sketch. She’s also been seen in promos parodying The Devil Wears Prada, with James Austin Johnson taking on a spot-on Miranda Priestly, suggesting we might see some fashion-forward satire tomorrow night.

For a show that has often been criticized for its lack of diversity, having a Filipina powerhouse lead the penultimate episode of Season 51 isn't just "good timing"—it’s a long-overdue spotlight on the talent that has always been there.

EDITOR'S NOTE: For additional commentary, news, views and chismis from an AANHPI perspective, follow me on Threads, on X, BlueSky or at the blog Views From the Edge. If you find this perspective interesting, please repost.

Filipino Food Month: Filipino food and vegan is not an oxymoron

KQED

Mestiza serves traditional Filipino dishes but a large part of their menu offers plant-based options.

The San Francisco Bay Area is known for its innovation and starting trends that spread out to the rest of the nation especially in the areas of high tech, bioengineering and artificial intelligence. Watch out for this new trend: vegan Filipino food.

The Bay Area is also currently the epicenter of a culinary revolution where heritage meets high-octane plant-based innovation. If you’re looking for the intersection of bold, vinegar-laced Umami and ethical eating, the city’s Filipino vegan scene is delivering in a big way. 

Much of the innovation in this culinary field is centered in SOMA Pilipinas, the  city's official Filipino Cultural Heritage District revolving around Kapwa Kollective and its events with The Sarap Shop.

Anchored in the SOMA Pilipinas cultural district, the Filipino vegan movement isn't just about cutting out meat — it’s a radical reclamation of identity through the lens of kapwa, the core Filipino value of shared inner self and deep interconnectedness.

Through the vibrant, open-air healing space of Kapwa Gardens, the collective is proving that "Filipino food" and "vegan" aren't contradictory terms. Their "OMG! (Oh My Gulay)" initiatives and high-energy pop-up events have become a launchpad for a new generation of chefs. 

We’re seeing a creative explosion where plant-based artisans like The Sarap Shop and  Mestiza reimagine comfort classics—think tofu sisig and vegan ube treats—not as "health food," but as essential cultural preservation.

By centering wellness and sustainability, the Kapwa Kollective is doing more than just feeding the community; they are building a "shared identity" that honors the archipelago’s pre-colonial plant-based roots while navigating the complexities of the modern diaspora. In a city where gentrification often erases culture, this movement is planting a flag for a future that is indigenous, ethical, and incredibly delicious.

RELATED:

• New wave of Filipino American chefs 
• How a Filipino root made Philippine cuisine 'cool'
• Filipino food trucks are gateways to Filipino food.
• Discovering the joy of eating with your hands
• For Filipinos, mealtime fills the belly and feeds the soul
• US foodies celebrate Filiipino Food Month

Filipino American chefs here aren't just removing the meat; they are re-engineering the very soul of the cuisine using mushrooms, soy proteins, and coconut-based fats to achieve that signature "sour and salty" profile.

The essential map

Here are some (not all) of the restaurants taking up the baton of vegan cuisine based on Filipino recipes:

• Mestiza (SOMA): This is Filipino-Mexican fusion with a heavy plant-forward tilt. Their 13-inch lumpia is legendary, trading traditional pork for a savory mix of sweet potato and charred brussels sprouts.
• The Sarap Shop (Spark Social SF): This food truck is the gold standard for "conscious comfort." Their tofu adobo is a masterclass in marination, proving you don’t need the pig to get the punch.
• No Worries (Oakland): A total sanctuary for the dedicated vegan. It’s one of the few spots where the entire menu is safe, offering plant-based versions of heavy-hitters that taste like they came straight from a Lola’s kitchen.
• The Top Ten Filipino Vegan Restaurants in the Bay Area, according to Yelp.

A new flavor profile

• Sisig Redefined: By utilizing chopped king oyster mushrooms and firm tofu, chefs are mimicking the chewy, crispy texture of pork ears perfectly.
• Lumpia Evolution: Expect vegetable-dense fillings enhanced by house-made spiced vinegars that cut through the richness of the fry.
• The Secret Sauce: Coconut milk remains the MVP, providing the creamy base for Bicol Express and various curries that remain naturally vegan.

Sensing the movement towards health options, many of the traditional Filipino restaurants in the Bay Area, which includes the East Bay and South Bay, running the gamut from the high-end Abacá restaurant to the food trucks, often offer vegan choices in their menus. 

Health conscious chefs continue to prove that traditional Filipino flavors aren't tied to specific ingredients, but to the technique and passion of the people behind the line.

EDITOR'S NOTE: For additional commentary, news, views and chismis from an AANHPI perspective, follow me on Threads, on X, BlueSky or at the blog Views From the Edge. If you enjoy this perspective, please repost.

Radical US Supreme Court eviscerates the Voting Rights Act

Communities of color will have a harder time electing one of their own after the SCOTUS ruling.

It’s a dark day for American democracy. In a move that feels like a punch to the gut for those fighting for a seat at the table, the Supreme Court has once again signaled that the Voting Rights Act is more of a suggestion than a shield.

The Court’s 6-3 decision Wednesday in Louisiana v. Callais — decided along the usual ideological fault lines — handed a win to those who want to keep the status quo, and a major loss to the AAPI and Black communities who are just looking for a fair shake in the voting booth.

The 6-3 vote was predictable. The conservative GOP majority ruled again putting personal idealogy above precedent. Chief Justice John Roberts and Justices Clarence Thomas, Samuel Alito, Neil Gorsuch, Brett Kavanaugh, and Amy Coney Barrett were in the majority overwhelming Justices Elena Kagel, Sonia Sotomayor and Ketanji Brown Jackson.

Writing for the majority, Justice Alito essentially argued that Louisiana’s attempt to create a second majority-Black district relied too heavily on race. In the eyes of the conservative wing, trying to fix racial underrepresentation is, ironically, unconstitutional racial stereotyping.

'Colorblind' means blind to reality

We know what this means. Whether it’s the Vietnamese American hubs in the Gulf Coast or the Chinese and Filipino communities in Houston and Atlanta, or the South Asian suburbs in Silicon Valley, it means the Court has given a green light to map-makers to slice and dice our communities until our collective voice is just a whisper. As the dissenters noted, when you stop looking at race in a country where race still defines the political landscape, you aren’t being "colorblind"—you’re just being blind to reality.

Kagan argued that the majority is creating a "Catch-22" for states. If they don't consider race, they violate the Voting Rights Act; if they do, the Court strikes it down as a racial gerrymander.

The dissenters warned that this ruling makes it nearly impossible for minority communities — including our rapidly growing AAPI neighborhoods — to prove that their votes are being diluted. By making the legal bar so high, the Court is effectively telling these communities: "Your growth doesn't equal power."

“The consequences will extend far beyond Louisiana. Asian Americans are the fastest growing racial group in the country, and we are growing fastest in the South, where today’s decision gives legislators the most cover to draw us out of political power that our communities are fighting hard to build," states Asian Law Caucus' Executive Director Aarti Kohli.

“When the Voting Rights Act is undermined, Black voters are harmed first. But the damage won’t stop there. The Supreme Court has gutted one of the last protections we have against racial discrimination in our democracy. It puts the political power of Asian Americans and communities of color at risk," Kohli continued.

By making it harder to use the VRA to protect minority districts, the Court has given a green light to map-makers to slice and dice our communities until our collective voice is just a whisper. As the dissenters noted, when you stop looking at race in a country where race still defines the political landscape, you aren’t being "colorblind"—you’re just being blind to reality.

What does this mean for the 2026 midterms and beyond? For our community, it’s all about the "Cracking," a gerrymandering tactic that splits a cohesive group of voters (based on political party, race, or community interest) across multiple districts to dilute their voting power. By dividing this population, the group becomes a minority in each district, preventing them from electing their preferred candidates.

By making it nearly impossible to challenge maps that divide our growing populations in Texas, Georgia, and Florida, the Court is essentially trying to keep the "bamboo ceiling" firmly attached to the halls of power. When you divide a vibrant AAPI neighborhood across three different districts, you ensure that our specific needs—from language access to anti-hate legislation—never get a champion in Congress.

In California where a quarter of AAPIs in the US reside, the biggest immediate risk is at the city and county levels (like in San Jose, Oakland, or Los Angeles), where "Chinatowns" or "Little Saigons" can be split between districts to dilute their influence.

“We see what this means in practice: communities are unfairly split for partisan gains. A Chinatown carved between three districts," says the Asian Law Caucus. "That is how political power is taken — by design, with impunity, and now with the Supreme Court’s blessing. It means communities of color end up represented by politicians who don’t look like them, don’t know them, and don’t have to listen to them."

AAPI voters are currently considered "influential" in six of California’s 52 congressional districts. The ruling makes it harder to defend these lines if they are challenged as being "too racial" rather than "partisan."

View from the edge

The ruling in Louisiana v. Callais is just the latest blow in a nearly 15-year calculated  campaign by the Roberts Court and the powers that put them on the bench, to dismantle the Voting Rights Act. Legal experts and civil rights leaders often describe this as "death by a thousand cuts."

There is hope because some states -- like California and New York -- are crafting their own Voting Rights Acts but there is already a target on these laws. The conservative wing of the SCOTUS is already signaling that if these state laws focus "too much" on race to fix representation, they might strike those down, too.

So, what does this mean for the 2026 midterms and beyond? For our community, it’s all about the "Cracking," a gerrymandering tactic that splits a cohesive group of voters (based on political party, race, or community interest) across multiple districts to dilute their voting power. By dividing this population, the group becomes a minority in each district, preventing them from ever electing the candidates who might best represent their common interests and perspective.

By making it nearly impossible to challenge maps that divide our growing populations in Texas, Georgia, and Florida, the Court is essentially trying to keep the "bamboo ceiling" firmly attached to the halls of power. When you divide a vibrant AAPI neighborhood across three different districts, you ensure that our specific needs—from language access to anti-hate legislation—never get a champion in Congress.

EDITOR'S NOTE: For additional commentary, news, views and chismis from an AANHPI perspective, follow me on Threads, on X, BlueSky or at the blog Views From the Edge. 

Filipino Food Month: A new wave of Filipino American chefs

SCREEN CAPTURE /TODAY

Tim Flores and Genie Kwon earned a Michelin star for their Chicago restaurant Kasama.

The story of Filipino food in America is no longer about just "making it" — it’s about taking center stage.

For decades, our food was kept in the shadows of "strip mall" stereotypes or hidden away in home kitchens. But today, as Americans' palate catches up to Filipino flavors, a new guard of Filipino American chefs is proudly expanding their clientele beyond the Filipino American community but still treating our heritage with the reverence it has always deserved.

These trailblazers are proving that Filipino cuisine is not a monolith; it is as diverse as the 7,200 islands it comes from and as innovative as the diaspora that carries it forward.

These Filipino American chefs are the reason the "Filipino Food Movement" isn't just a trend. It’s a reckoning. They are reclaiming the narrative, one kinilaw and bibingka at a time, ensuring that the next generation of foodies won't ask why Filipino food isn't popular—they'll just be asking for the next reservation.

From Michelin stars to James Beard sweeps, these are the trailblazers rewriting the rules of the American dining scene.

The Michelin barrier-breakers

Tim Flores & Genie Kwon (Kasama, Chicago): This husband-and-wife duo made history by earning the world’s first Michelin star for a Filipino restaurant. Kasama is a masterclass in duality, operating as a casual bakery by day (famous for their longanisa breakfast sandwich) and a sophisticated tasting menu spot by night.

The James Beard heavyweights

• Lord Maynard Llera (Kuya Lord, Los Angeles): After years of honing his craft in some of LA’s most intense kitchens, Llera won Best Chef: California in 2024. His "elevated garage" concept proved that you don't need a white-tablecloth venue to serve world-class Lucas-style pancit and lechon.

• Aaron Verzosa (Archipelago, Seattle): A 2026 semifinalist for Outstanding Chef, Verzosa is a philosopher in the kitchen. His restaurant uses a "zero-import" philosophy, using only Pacific Northwest ingredients to tell the story of the Filipino diaspora through a progressive, high-concept lens.

• Melissa Miranda (Musang, Seattle): Miranda has turned her restaurant into a community hub. Her approach is "unapologetically Filipino," focusing on childhood memories and community-centered dining that earned her a 2026 Best Chef: Northwest & Pacific semifinalist nod. 

• Tom Cunanan (formerly Bad Saint, Washington D.C.): A 2019 James Beard Award winner who helped spark the surge in fine-dining Filipino cuisine.

The fusion and fine dining vanguard

• Tara Monsod (Animae, San Diego): Monsod is a 2026 James Beard finalist who has brought Filipino flavors into the realm of high-design fine dining. At Animae, she reimagines classics like Beef Short Rib Kare Kare and Tuna Kinilaw for a luxury audience.

• Dale Talde (Talde, NYC): A James Beard nominee and Top Chef contestant recognized for bringing Filipino flavors into mainstream American food.

• Jordan Andino (Flip Sigi, Jersey City & NYC)The mini-chain Flip Sigi, a Filipino taqueria, where he brings flavors from his upbringing and heritage and marries them with popular Mexican cuisine. Popular with HGTV cooking shows.

• Silver Iocovozzi (Neng’s Jr., Asheville): Redefining what "regional" means, Iocovozzi is a 2025 finalist for Best Chef: Southeast. They are the visionary behind "Filipino-Appalachian" cuisine, a unique intersection of heritage and North Carolina terroir.

• Paolo Dungca (Hiraya, Washington D.C.): A 2025 Emerging Chef semifinalist, Dungca is part of the team that brought "modernist Pinoy" to the nation's capital, proving that Filipino food is as versatile as any European tradition.

• Francis Ang (Abacá, San Francisco): A master of "Regional Filipino" meets NorCal seasonality. Ang has created a space where pancit and longanisa feel both nostalgic and avant-garde. A 2023/2024 James Beard Award finalist, Food & Wine Best New Chef (2022), Ang's  "unapologetically San Franciscan" approach shows that our flavors don't just belong in the fine-dining conversation—they are leading it.

• Jade Cunningham (Carabao, Napa Valley): Using her experience at The French Laundry, she has The queen of Filipino-inspired pastry and community-driven pop-ups. Look for her Ube Brioche or seasonal Hand Pies.

RELATED:

• How a Filipino root made Philippine cuisine 'cool'
• Filipino food trucks are gateways to Filipino food.
• Discovering the joy of eating with your hands
• For Filipinos, mealtime fills the belly and feeds the soul
• US foodies celebrate Filiipino Food Month

These chefs aren't just making "exotic" food; they are asserting that Filipino flavors are a fundamental part of the American story.

The days of Filipino food being America's "best-kept secret" are officially over. We are living through a culinary renaissance where chefs are no longer just cooking for their own community—they are demanding (and receiving) the highest honors in the world.

EDITOR'S NOTE: For additional commentary, news, views and chismis from an AANHPI perspective, follow me on Threads, on X, BlueSky or at the blog Views From the Edge. 

How two Asian American engineers became leaders in the cannibis industry

NABIS

Nabis founders at their headquarters in Oakland, California.

The rise of Nabis isn’t just another Silicon Valley success story; it is a masterclass in the immigrant hustle, fueled by the precision of an engineering mindset. 

Founders Vince Ning and Jun S. Lee have built the backbone of California’s legal cannabis industry by treating logistics not as a back-office burden, but as a complex code waiting to be cracked. Their journey reflects a bridge between two worlds: the traditional immigrant values of tireless labor and the modern, high-tech world of scalable software.

As childhood friends, they grew up together in the Northern Virginia area before moving on to work as software engineers in Silicon Valley and eventually founding Nabis, a cannabis distribution company.

FYI: Click here for more details about Nabis

For Ning and Lee, the immigrant experience provided the foundational grit required to enter a volatile market. Ning, a first-generation American born to Chinese immigrants, and Lee, who was born in Seoul, grew up with the understanding that success is earned through systemic problem-solving. This cultural background naturally aligned with their professional training. While others in the early cannabis boom focused on "lifestyle," Ning and Lee saw an architectural flaw that only software could fix. 

"We were 23 years old and had no capital," Lee recalls of their lean beginnings. "In the beginning, we were just in the trenches doing deliveries together... assembling shelves or desks."

Some of the products distributed by Nabis.

Their engineering backgrounds allowed them to approach the industry with cold, hard logic. They didn’t just want to move boxes; they wanted to build an operating system. By applying systems engineering, they created a platform to navigate California’s labyrinth of compliance laws. 

To them, a dispensary order was a packet of data, and the delivery truck was the hardware. 

As Ning explains, "That's just one big math problem to solve, like having every brand shipped to every [retailer]".

"With my background as a technologist, I often think about what new markets would benefit from new, improved technology," says Ning.

Today, Nabis stands as a testament to what happens when immigrant ambition meets technical expertise. Ning and Lee have proven that the "American Dream" in the 21st century often looks like a well-optimized algorithm. 

"I tell Vince all the time if Nabis were to be sold today... I would just do it all over again," Lee says. "I think that’s the life that I’m looking forward to." By honoring their roots and leaning into their identities as builders, they haven't just survived in the cannabis market—they have re-engineered it.

EDITOR'S NOTE: For additional commentary, news, views and chismis from an AANHPI perspective, follow me on Threads, on X, BlueSky or at the blog Views From the Edge. 

Southeast Asians feel targeted by ICE

Minnesota's Southeast Asians protested the actions of federal agents earlier this year.

 

Bounpone Morisath was only five years old when his family fled the aftermath of the secret war in Laos, eventually finding refuge in America in 1980. For 45 years, Bremerton, Washington has been his home. Everything changed on March 11. 

During what Morisath believed was a routine check-in at the ICE office in Seattle, he was suddenly taken into custody. His detention marks a grim shift in diplomatic reality. 

“Donald Trump has made the entire immigrant community his scapegoat to justify horrifying violence, undermine our rights, and tear families apart. That includes Southeast Asian Americans (SEAAs) who have called our country home for decades and who are now being targeted and forced to return to countries that are unsafe or completely unfamiliar to them,” said Rep. Judy Chu, D-CA.

Morisath is a business owner, a husband to a US citizen, and a father to a 21-year-old daughter. But for the last several weeks, the life he built has been traded for a cell at the Northwest ICE Processing Center in Tacoma.

The shadow hanging over Morisath stems from a single afternoon in Alaska 32 years ago. When he was just 18, he was the driver in a vehicle where a friend fired a gun out of a window. While no one was hurt, Morisath pleaded guilty to third-degree assault and mishandling a firearm. 

That 1994 conviction triggered a deportation order in 1995, but because Laos did not have a repatriation agreement with the United States at the time, he was released under an Order of Supervision. He did exactly what the government asked of him for the next three decades, checking in regularly with immigration officials while living a quiet, law-abiding life.

Targeting Southeast Asians

For decades, Laos refused to accept deportees, but that stance began to crumble under intense pressure from the Trump regime, which utilized visa sanctions and a partial travel ban in 2025 to force cooperation. 

By June 2025, the US had implemented these sanctions specifically because Laos was failing to accept back removable nationals. Consequently, Laos began issuing travel documents for the first time in years, turning routine check-ins into traps for Southeast Asian refugees who thought their decades of compliance bought them a measure of safety.

The scale of this enforcement surge is staggering. Between January and October 2025 alone, the administration deported more Southeast Asian Americans in a single fiscal year than any prior administration. 

This included 175 individuals to Laos, 46 to Cambodia, and 676 to Vietnam. Currently, over 15,000 Southeast Asian community members are living under final orders of removal, with at least 4,800 specifically considered nationals of Laos. These numbers represent an invisible crisis for families who have lived in the US since the 1970s and 80s.

Because they sided with the Americans, Southeast Asians from Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam  have had to flee their home countries. They comprise the largest refugee population ever resettled in the United States. In the aftermath of US military interventions in the region, more than 1.2 million refugees were welcomed to the US because they fought alongside the US or were forced to flee genocide, persecution, and violence.

Most resettled into heavily disinvested communities with limited access to resources or support systems while grappling with the lingering trauma of war and displacement. As a result, many Southeast Asian youth made mistakes or were swept into cycles of violence—leading to criminal convictions and incarceration decades ago. Although many have since rebuilt their lives and given back to their communities, many SEAAs continue to face double punishment through deportation for decades-old convictions for which they have already served their time.

These individuals often have US citizen family members, serve as primary caregivers in their families, have no recollection of or meaningful ties to their country of origin, and have deep roots in their local communities in America.

SE Asian Deportation Relief Act

Amidst this crisis, the Southeast Asian Deportation Relief Act of 2026 (SEADRA) has emerged as a critical beacon of hope. 

Reintroduced in early 2026 with renewed urgency, the act aims to provide permanent protection for refugees from Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam who arrived in the U.S. before 2008. If passed, the legislation would essentially bar the deportation of individuals like Morisath, recognizing their unique history as refugees of U.S.-involved conflicts. 

“SEADRA is more than policy; it’s a promise of healing, hope, and a future where Southeast Asian families are no longer torn apart,: said Quyên Đinh, Executive Director of Southeast Asia Resource Action Center. "SEADRA recognizes the full lives that people have built here and refuses to erase them.”

Specifically, the bill would:

• Limit the Department of Homeland Security’s authority to detain or deport Southeast Asian refugees from Cambodia, Laos, and Vietnam who arrived in the United States by 2008;
• Permanently authorize employment eligibility for Southeast Asians with a final order of removal with a five-year renewal period;
• End in-person ICE check-ins and establish five-year intervals between virtual check-ins for Southeast Asians on orders of supervision; and
• Create a pathway for Southeast Asian refugees who have already been deported to return to the US and fight their removal orders.

Crucially, SEADRA would also create a pathway for those already deported to return home to their families, effectively nullifying the "double punishment" of being exiled for decades-old crimes for which they have already served their time.

SEADRA is making its way through the legislative process, facing an uphill battle in a divided Congress still in the control by the Republicans. 

While it has gained significant support from human rights groups and the Congressional Asian Pacific American Caucus (CAPAC), it remains in committee as  advocates and Trump push for a floor vote. 

For Morisath and other refugees from Southeast Asia in similar circumstances, the act’s passage would mean an immediate end to the threat of removal and a restoration of his status as a Lawful Permanent Resident, finally aligning his legal standing with the four decades of life he has invested in this country.

Currently, Morisath sits in detention as a noncitizen with a final order of removal, his Lawful Permanent Resident status long since stripped away by his 1990s conviction. His legal representation, attorney Nicolas Olano of Anchorage, Alaska, is now racing against the clock. 

Olano has filed a motion with the US Department of Justice Immigration Board of Appeals to reopen the 32-year-old case, arguing that the firearm charge should not have been classified as a deportable offense. 

As the administration continues to use aggressive tactics to expel refugees, Morisath’s family and advocates are left wondering if 45 years of American life can be erased by a single mistake from his youth.

"The SEADRA bill would end deportation for Southeast Asians as we know it. In this moment when we’re told to turn against one another, we must choose a different path: we belong here and no one is disposable," said Chhaya Chhoum, Co-Executive Director of Southeast Asian Freedom Network. 

"Our communities have organized, resisted and created new worlds when the old ones failed us. This bill is part of that legacy - a call to love and protect one another, especially now.” 

EDITOR'S NOTE: For additional commentary, news, views and chismis from an AANHPI perspective, follow me on Threads, on X, BlueSky or at the blog Views From the Edge. 

Trump's racism is showing, calls India and China 'hellholes'

GRAPHIC BY FOSSBYTES

Donald Trump no longer even tries to hide his racism anymore. He has once again set the AAPI community on fire, this time by hitting "repost" on a racist, xenophobic screed that labels India and China as "hellholes."

The post, shared on Truth Social, wasn't just a random jab; it was a transcript from Michael Savage’s podcast that took aim at birthright citizenship and the 14th Amendment. 

The rant didn’t stop at the "hellhole" label, either. It painted Indian and Chinese immigrants as "gangsters with laptops" who "step on our flag" while allegedly scamming the U.S. immigration system to bring in their entire families.

Rep. Grace Meng (D-NY) and char of the Congressional Asian Pacific Americans Caucus (CAPAC), warned that amplifying this bigotry "pours fuel on an already dangerous fire" for Asian Americans.

For those of us watching the rise in anti-Asian hate, this rhetoric is a terrifyingly familiar dog whistle.

'Gangsters with laptops'

The reposted tirade accused Indian and Chinese professionals in the US tech industry of being "gangsters with laptops" who do not hire white native-born Americans.

The post targeted Indian immigrants specifically, claiming they lack English proficiency and suggesting an "internal mechanism" exists to favor Indian and Chinese hiring in tech.

The shared text alleged that immigrants from China and India are "stepped on our flag" and use birthright citizenship to "drop a baby in the ninth month...and then bring in all ancestors from India/China."

By accusing pregnant mothers of arriving in the US in their ninth month to "dorp a baby" in order to secure US citizenship. Trump used the podcast to inflame racists who support him to try and pressure the US Supreme Court in a case before them that seeks to challenge the 14th Amendment that guarantees birthright citizenship.

Rep. Pramila Jayapal (D-WA), who was born in India, blasted Trump's comments as "disgusting" and "rooted in white supremacy."

View from the edge

It is not the first time Trump has shown his true colors. Critics argue that Donald Trump's use of phrases like "Kung Flu" or "Chinese Virus" during the COVID-19 pandemic fueled anti-Asian sentiment, contributing to a framatic rise in hate-fueld incidents documented by groups like Stop AAPI Hate.

By consistently linking the virus to China, critics argue Trump encouraged a "Yellow Peril" stereotype, framing Asian Americans as "perpetual foreigners" or disease carriers responsible for the pandemic's impact on the US.

A 2020 report from Stop AAPI Hate described Trump as a major "spreader" of anti-Asian rhetoric, which they linked to a surge in harassment, verbal assaults, and physical attacks against Asian Americans.

The fallout from the most recent tirade wasn't just domestic. The Indian Ministry of External Affairs called the remarks "uninformed" and "in poor taste." Meanwhile, the US Embassy in New Delhi scrambled to do damage control. Rather than a direct apology, Trump issued a statement through the Embass, saying, "India is a great country with a very good friend of mine at the top," referring to Prime Minister Narendra Modi.

Trump's immigration policy reflects his bias while dissuading immigration from "s--thole" countries, primarily from Africa, the Middle Est and the Caribbean, he wished more white immigrants would come from European countries and South Africa.

But for the AAPI community, the damage is already done. When the leader of the country signals that your ancestral homeland is a "hellhole" and your professional success is a "scam," it’s more than just bad politics — it's a target on our backs.

EDITOR'S NOTE: For additional commentary, news, views and chismis from an AANHPI perspective, follow me on Threads, on X, BlueSky or at the blog Views From the Edge.