WHY I GIVE WHAT I CAN TO REFUGEE AND MIGRANT FAMILIES

My parents and I were uprooted from the only life that we’ve ever known in 1982. It was, and still is, a difficult transition.

I am the son of refugee parents who escaped the atrocities of the Khmer Rouge regime in Cambodia in the late 1970s and early 1980s. My parents brought and carried with them the fear and horror that they lived through, and had post-traumatic stress disorder from those terrifying events they witnessed and survived. Their traumas were never addressed when they were dropped in the community of City Heights that was dealing with its own oppression from law enforcement’s biased and racist laws and tactics. I inherited those unaddressed traumas, and didn’t have the tools to deal with my emotions or regulate how I interacted with people. On top of that, I grew up in a community ignored by policy makers and targeted by the police.

I experienced my own uprooting when I was thrown into a foreign land in my early teens, the land of the carceral system. Just as my parents were, I was thrown into an unfamiliar place and left to fend for myself. Being bullied by my peers and authority figures, along with a lack of counseling and mentoring, led me to respond the only way I was taught — with more violence. I was incarcerated for 22 years from my early teens until well into adulthood, for weapon possession and assault charges — actions I felt I needed to take to keep myself safe. I am one out of the hundreds if not thousands of

Southeast Asians who still suffer from the hands of police aggression. We still get harassed by those black and white vehicles with flashing red and blue lights. We still are uprooted from our homes and warehoused in jails and prisons. I still suffer from anxiety at the sight of a patrol car or officer of the law. I can’t honestly say it’ll ever go away. Although I have been through therapy for the PTSD that I have suffered from my time as a youth living in City Heights, those memories and experiences will never go away.

The violent shootings in Asian communities at Monterey Park and Half Moon Bay in January will also haunt the survivors and families for a lifetime. Without proper community care, unresolved traumas can lead to more violence and isolation, just as it did for my parents and me. Having a gun pointed at you leaves you helpless and angry, as I experienced many times as a youth growing up in City Heights.

For some of us, policing will never be the answer to gun violence. They may not be the only solution, but Asian gangs were formed out of necessity, so that we could find safety, community and resources, especially for and as refugees and the children of immigrants. But a system of policing and gang enhancement sentences doubly punish us for creating the resources we are deprived of. What we need is the care that the state refuses to invest in. I am proof that community love and care will be the answer to violence — now I am a community organizer against mass incarceration, an advocate for reentry services and a sociology undergraduate student at San Diego State. What has helped alleviate much of the trauma that caused my antisocial behaviors as a youth is the amount of understanding and forgiveness that I have received from my community — the love and care that my community has provided.

I was lucky to be able to seek and find therapy at very minimal costs to me, but that is not the case for many. My parents are examples of that.

My father lived and dealt with his trauma up until his passing in 2010. He suffered from a deep paranoia of authority because of his experiences with the Khmer Rouge, and it was only exacerbated by public safety policies that offered police instead of community care services like mental health care. The stakes are too high for us to lose more members of our families and communities.

We must adequately fund solutions that get at the root of the violence, not perpetuate it. We need resources for housing, mental health care, support for those released from prison, those seeking political asylum and multiple youth drop-in centers. More funding for law enforcement and surveillance technology will only lead to more harassment in our communities, which ultimately leads to the mass incarceration of our peoples, our loved ones. The cycle of violence and trauma will continue.

I am lucky to be working with Asian Solidarity Collective, organizing with folks who are still and formerly incarcerated, and giving back what I can to refugee and migrant families. The organization will host its seventh annual fundraising gala this Sunday at the United Domestic Workers office in 4855 Seminole Drive from 3 to 8 p.m. Visit bit.ly/ASC7thGala to donate or purchase tickets.

We must dedicate our funds to much needed programs and resources that are easily accessible to the community. We must address the stigma behind seeking help to those most vulnerable in our communities. The time is now. No more lives should be lost. We must prevent what is preventable.

Having a gun pointed at you leaves you helpless and angry, as I experienced many times as a youth growing up in City Heights. But the love and care that my community has provided has helped relieve the trauma that I experienced as a result.