In recent years, the presence of Asian voices and faces in Western media and public discourse has notably increased, creating an impression of progress in representation. Yet beneath this growing visibility lies a persistent oversimplification of what it means to be Asian or Asian American. The complex, layered, and often contradictory experiences of many Asian American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) individuals remain marginalized or erased altogether, obscured by a monolithic narrative that fails to capture the rich diversity within the community. As someone who identifies as a Kazakh adoptee, I have felt this disconnect deeply — caught in the uneasy space between belonging and alienation, between a cultural heritage not fully reflected and a dominant narrative that scarcely makes room for difference.
The label “Asian” in the United States has largely been shaped by dominant East Asian experiences, often centered on the Chinese, Japanese, and Korean identities. This narrow lens fails to encompass the myriad cultures, histories, and lived realities of those from South Asia, Southeast Asia, Central Asia, and Pacific Islander backgrounds. For many, like myself, who do not fit neatly into the prevailing East Asian mold—whether due to adoption, multiracial identity, immigration experience, or other factors—the concept of “Asian American” can feel both inclusive and exclusive. It is a paradox where representation exists, but belonging remains tenuous.
During my senior thesis, I sought to explore these liminal spaces by focusing on how non-East Asian, adoptee, multiracial, immigrant, and queer Asian students navigated their identities amidst the heightened awareness brought on by the #StopAsianHate movement. While the movement undeniably raised critical attention to anti-Asian racism, it also unintentionally reinforced a narrow definition of Asian identity that sidelined many voices within the broader AAPI umbrella. Adoptees expressed a dissonance in relating to the movement’s focus, sometimes feeling excluded because their familial and cultural experiences did not align with those typically portrayed. Others from non-East Asian backgrounds questioned if the term “Asian” applied to them at all, revealing the limitations of a collective identity that often feels imposed rather than embraced.
This fragmentation is not just academic or semantic; it has real implications for inclusion, support, and justice. For example, Pacific Islanders, frequently grouped together with Asians in official data and discourse, confront unique forms of discrimination and socio-economic challenges that are often overlooked. Their omission from many conversations about Asian identity and anti-Asian hate points to a broader problem of homogenizing diverse communities, diluting the particular struggles that deserve recognition and tailored responses.
The question of “Who counts as Asian?” is deeply consequential. It influences policy decisions, resource allocation, and the shaping of public narratives. The perception that AAPI individuals are uniformly successful or overrepresented in fields like STEM masks stark disparities affecting groups such as the Hmong, Laotian, and Central Asian communities. Institutions are slowly beginning to acknowledge these gaps, but progress remains uneven. Personal stories illustrate this gap vividly—young people who excel academically yet find no role models or tailored support, invisible in statistics that paint a misleading picture of achievement and opportunity.
In healthcare, leadership, and academia, the invisibility of diverse Asian identities contributes to systemic barriers. When representation is limited, it feeds into a cycle where needs are unmet, voices unheard, and cultural nuances ignored. For me, pursuing a career in healthcare has highlighted how the lack of diverse role models can diminish the sense of belonging and confidence needed to thrive in such demanding environments. This experience resonates widely across other fields where AAPI individuals are seen only through a narrow lens, their complexities and challenges ignored.
The resurgence of anti-immigrant rhetoric in the current political climate has only intensified the urgency of addressing these issues. Despite the global pandemic and societal shifts, communities of color—including AAPI groups—continue to bear the brunt of scapegoating and systemic inequities. Movements like #StopAsianHate have been vital in drawing attention to these realities, but they are just the beginning. There remains a pressing need to deepen conversations around diversity, equity, and inclusion to encompass the full spectrum of Asian identities and experiences.
The path forward requires acknowledging that Asian identities cannot be reduced to a single narrative or stereotype. It demands that we create space for complexity, allowing for stories that embrace difference rather than seeking to erase it. This means recognizing adoptees who do not have the traditional cultural upbringing, honoring multiracial experiences that blend diverse heritages, and elevating voices from underrepresented communities who have long been on the margins. It also means confronting uncomfortable truths within Asian communities themselves, such as the persistence of anti-Blackness, and fostering solidarity that transcends individual group boundaries.
Solidarity is more than shared identity; it is an active commitment to dismantling all forms of racial injustice. It requires listening to and supporting communities beyond our own, understanding how interconnected struggles for justice are. This holistic approach reflects the resilience and resistance of my own ancestors, a people shaped by nomadic traditions, colonial histories, and cultural survival. Their legacy inspires the ongoing work of decolonization and social justice that many within AAPI communities continue today.
The #StopAsianHate movement ignited crucial conversations about racism and discrimination faced by Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders, but it also exposed the urgent need to rethink what it means to be Asian. Only by embracing the multiplicity of identities within the AAPI community can we build inclusive movements that truly represent all voices. This requires ongoing reflection, courage, and a willingness to listen deeply to those still fighting to be seen and heard.
My journey as a Kazakh adoptee navigating American society highlights the power and necessity of expanding our understanding of Asian identities. When we make room for complexity and diversity, we open the door to richer, more authentic narratives that empower individuals and communities alike. In a world grappling with issues of race, belonging, and justice, this broader vision of Asian identity is essential—not only for the future of AAPI communities but for society as a whole.