Daniel Yoon remembers how he felt last March when he heard about the spa shootings in Atlanta. He was angry. He was confused. Most importantly, he was searching for fellow Asian Americans to grieve with. The problem was, Yoon didn’t know where to look.
“I was sure I’d have to livestream to Chicago, San Francisco or New York,” he says.
Courtesy of API Middle Tennessee The vigil took place in the heart of the city, and for some Asian Americans, it was the first time they felt a sense of community in Nashville.
To his surprise, Yoon was wrong. Five days after the attack, local Asian and immigrant-centered groups joined forces to organize a vigil for the eight people who were shot and killed at their workplace, including six women of Asian descent.
Yoon, who’s lived in Nashville for 12 years, was stunned by the turnout. Hundreds of Asians from all different backgrounds gathered in the heart of the city. It was the first time Yoon, a Korean adoptee from Kentucky, felt a sense of belonging here.
“I think there’s a growing attention and desire for the Asian American community to get together and feel supported,” Yoon says. “I want to see it succeed, and I want it to succeed for all Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders, not just for a few of us.”
Last March is among many examples of community members coming together in Nashville during the pandemic. Not only have new groups formed, but decades-old organizations started collaborating with each other for the first time.
The speed and scale of which Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders are uniting is also a story of resilience. All of this unfolded at a time when many people who identify as Asian grappled with isolation and fear amid a wave of anti-Asian hate, some of which was tied to the COVID-19 outbreak. From March 2020 to this past September, more than 10,000 attacks were reported in the U.S., according to Stop AAPI Hate, a group that’s been tracking such incidents.
Joseph Gutierrez, a Filipino American, helped organize the vigil. He believes the pandemic has been a turning point for Asians in Nashville.
“I think that for members of the Asian and Pacific Islander community in the South, there has been a need to compartmentalize their identity, shelving their history and culture,” Gutierrez says. “But we’re beginning to recognize that there is a real cost to that, so we’re seeking out places to connect and belong.”
‘Asian American is a socio-political identity with power’
While small, Nashville’s Asian scene is still vibrant. The city is home to the Japanese Consulate, Hindu and Buddhist temples, pan-Asian grocery stores. Neighborhoods like White Bridge and Antioch are studded with Korean, Vietnamese, Indian and Thai restaurants.
Still, many people admit finding each other takes active effort. Not only are there fewer than 29,000 Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders in Nashville, they’re scattered across the city. For years, many have relied on Facebook groups, potlucks in private homes, religious spaces and cultural organizations to feel a sense of community.
When Gutierrez moved to Nashville in 2014, he wondered if there was a better way.
“A lot of people, like myself, were recognizing that there wasn’t a place to feel like you were connected to people,” he says.
That’s when he and 14 others established API Middle Tennessee, a nonprofit aimed at uplifting Asian voices while working toward racial justice. This past year, the group has been hosting a monthly happy hour, promoting local Asian-owned businesses and helping community members register to vote.
The term, “Asian American,” was coined in 1968 by student activists looking to unify different Asian communities.
“Asian American is a socio-political identity with power,” Gutierrez says. “We have to come together around it. That’s particularly meaningful here in the South when numbers are so small.”
‘It’s never going to be the same again as before the pandemic’
Part of the momentum stems from the fact that Nashville’s Asian community is steadily growing. Since 2010, the population has expanded by over 19,000 people. The rate is even faster in surrounding counties like Williamson and Rutherford.
On the other hand, it’s also part of the challenge. Nashville’s Asian population is diverse, with Indian, Chinese and Vietnamese groups being among the biggest, according to the 2019 census. The broader community also represents a wide range of priorities. Multigenerational American families may not have the same concerns as refugees or international college students.
Gutierrez adds, it’s partly why his group dropped “American” from their name to be more inclusive of different immigration statuses. “I’m acutely aware of that and recognize the differences,” he says. “But at the same time, we have to come together for something, and we can only figure that out when people get together.”
API Middle Tennessee isn’t the only group that’s formed in recent years. Back in 2016, the Sticky Rice Collective launched for Asian artists and entrepreneurs.
Courtesy of May Hwen May Hwen, founder of the Sticky Rice Collective, and friends at an event for the organization.
“I wanted to create a supportive space for people to be unapologetically themselves as an Asian American, to tell their own unique story and not be afraid that other people can’t relate to them,” says founder May Hwen, who’s Taiwanese American.
More recently, this past November, the Tennessee chapter of the National Association of Asian American Professionals returned after being inactive for several years.
Ketsana Vilaylack, the local NAAAP president, says she and former members felt a sense of urgency to relaunch after hearing reports of anti-Asian attacks from both their communities and in the news.
“It’s important to embrace the fact that it’s never going to be the same again as before the pandemic,” Vilaylack, a Laotian American, says. “It taught us perseverance, resilience, compassion, love and to embrace each other no matter what.”
‘We’re not shy to speak out, protect our community or ask for respect’
For the past two years, the Chinese community felt particularly threatened by the wave of bigotry over the virus’ origins. In response, the Greater Nashville Chinese Association began to mobilize with other Asian groups for the first time to organize protests and workshops.
“We’ve evolved,” Christine Lai, the president of GNCA, explains. “Now we’re reaching out. We’re proactive. And we’re not shy to speak out, protect our community or ask for respect.”
The organization dates back to the 1980s, when a Chinese American doctor began hosting recurring cookouts for people to get together. For a long time, GNCA’s main function was to organize social gatherings to celebrate Chinese traditions.
“We were an island within a city,” Lai says. Now, members are tracking legislation and brainstorming ways to help the city. GNCA’s WeChat group, a Chinese messaging app, has never been so active, she adds.
“It’s kind of a mixed feeling,” Lai says. “Nobody likes COVID, but it did bring out the best of our people.”
‘We realized if we work together, we have so much more potential’
Atul Malhotra moved to Nashville 15 years from his native India. The first few months were lonely, Malhotra remembers, until he met another Indian American while shopping at Walmart. That’s how Malhotra first learned about the India Association of Nashville, which he was president of for the last two years.
Courtesy Sumit Pruthi and Zheng Prince Huang In the summer of 2020, by request of the India Association of Nashville, the Korean Veterans Memorial Bridge was lit up with the colors of the Indian flag (top photo). Then, partly inspired by IAN’s move for visibility on such an iconic Nashville site, this February, the Greater Nashville Chinese Association requested the bridge be lit up gold and red for Lunar New Year (bottom photo).
Formed in 1962, IAN has amassed over 10,000 members. But Nashville is also home to smaller organizations that reflect India’s regional diversity.
“We were so disintegrated,” Malhotra says about the different Indian groups based in Nashville. “But when COVID hit, we said, regardless you’re from the north, south, east or west, let’s get together and do something for the community.”
So, last September, IAN, along with groups representing Nashville’s Jain, Marathi, Gujarati, Bengali, Telugu, Sikh and Kerala communities, organized the India Fair. The event fundraised for people suffering from COVID-19 through performances, food, games and Henna tattoos.
“We realized if we work together, we have so much more potential, and we can help the community in much bigger ways,” he says. “India Fair is just the beginning.”
‘I want Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders to join other people of color’
Over the course of the pandemic, Asian American advocates say they learned that forming community isn’t just fun. It’s one that bears great responsibility to help each other feel safe, heard and valued. They want to live in a city that makes them feel that way too.
Terry Vo, the president of API Middle Tennessee, looks to the Latino and Muslim communities for inspiration. Although the Asian population is relatively smaller than those groups, Vo is optimistic.
“Being Asian in the South, community is going to look different in how we gather and find each other,” Vo says. “But we’re showing it can exist in a different way.”
That’s also spurred more robust conversations around what success would look like for the Asian community and how to get there. Would it mean more Asian Americans running for office? Or building a gathering place like Plaza Mariachi? Or more Asian American history being taught in schools?
For Yoon, all these discussions are happening while he’s learning to embrace his Korean heritage and Asian American identity. But he says, one thing is already clear.
“I’m not going to be satisfied by an Asian American judge or CEO. Representation or tokenism isn’t my aspiration,” Yoon says. “I want Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders to join other people of color in this city and truly be powerful.”
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