Over the past week, I’ve been brooding like many of you over President Trump’s racist comments about “the squad’ – referring to four women of color in Congress. What has been particularly frightening was that Trump used that all too common phrase many of us who have lived in America, but are perpetually perceived as foreigners, have ungraciously received: “Go back to the country you came from.”
For me, it has brought back vivid memories of my childhood and what prompted me to pursue a career in nonprofit advocacy, philanthropy, and public service.
Back in those days, my mom worked in a local flea market in Savannah, Ga., and often had to tolerate such behavior. In those days, there were few Asian immigrants in Georgia. We felt vulnerable and alone, so we remained quiet. It hardly mattered that we were naturalized citizens: We were not Americans in the eyes of some. We could never lighten our skin or change our “distinct” features like dark hair and dark eyes, and we definitely couldn’t mask our strong “accents.”
Trump’s tweets and the chanting at his North Carolina rally last week — where supporters said, “Send her back” when he referred to the Somali-born Congresswoman Ilhan Omar of Minnesota — reminded me of what I sought and never found during my entire childhood — a sense of belonging.
Those experiences profoundly shaped who I am today and what I sought to do in my career, which was to ultimately advocate for the civil and human rights of communities of color. When I led Obama’s White House Initiative on Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders, I often spoke about this notion that Asian-Americans are perceived as perpetual foreigners that has led to discrimination and harassment. And that for several centuries, through laws and brutal force, white Americans, mostly male, have defined what “American” means, which didn’t include me, or many of you.
Now that I hold a leadership role in philanthropy, I’m struck by what I don’t hear from foundation leaders. I’ve been reading one op-ed after another by journalists, intellectuals, lawyers, and others, providing their rebuke, disdain, and incredulousness at what President Trump has said and what Republican leaders have not said. These are compelling and appropriate. We are in dangerous territory with a president who readily mimics crass, everyday behavior of bigots; and we are in very dangerous territory when leaders of our country, no matter their party affiliation, condone this behavior with their silence.
But why are philanthropic leaders similarly not speaking out in droves? Because it involves the president? Members of Congress? Because it’s simply a partisan conflict or too political? Many of us forcefully condemned the president’s comments post-Charlottesville and his anti-human travel ban and family-separation policies. Grant makers around the country have galvanized extraordinary resources to ensure a fair, accurate, and robust census count in 2020, to ensure that we count everyone, citizen and noncitizen, because that is what the U.S. constitution mandates.
Is this any different?
As a woman of color, I’m struck by how vulnerable our four female members of Congress must feel right now. Not that they are not fierce or outspoken; that is hardly the case. Maybe it is me projecting — reliving that experience as a young child, standing by my mom, in one of the many flea markets in the rural south. Two lone women of color: my mom, the silent defender, and me, guilty by association, together, enduring incredible discomfort and the potential risk to our safety.
Who Is American?
We are in different times, I hope. Our four female members of Congress have a strong network of support to weather this storm. Times have most definitely changed since Patsy Mink and Shirley Chisholm walked the halls of Congress as the lone women of color. But what is philanthropy willing to weather? What are we willing to tolerate?
I heard a call to action last week at the United Philanthropy Forum conference — a gathering that brought together nearly 80 regional and national philanthropy associations that represent more than 7,000 grant makers across the country. That call to action went like this: Philanthropy can lead, through our dollars, actions, and voice, an important national dialogue on who is American.
This was an important rallying cry for all of us. No doubt, there are foundations, donors, and organizations, like Grantmakers Concerned With Immigrants and Refugees, that have been at the forefront of supporting immigrants. With anti-immigrant sentiment at an all-time high, these times call for philanthropywide engagement no matter your funding priority.
I look forward in the coming days and weeks to seeing foundation CEOs step forward to lead a national dialogue on who is American.
We — individuals and institutions alike — who represent a sphere of society that at its essence stands for joy and love can and should redefine who is American to be inclusive of all individuals, regardless of country origin or racial background.
And with each passing day, leadership in philanthropy reflects the changing demographics of this country, which makes it even more imperative to be leading such a dialogue.
Today we have both an opportunity and an obligation to lend our growing influence, to vehemently refute and discount these stale, tired, and racist notions of what it means to be American, and to be outspoken about our values of supporting all individuals — many of whom are our grantees — to lead safe, healthy, and prosperous lives in this country and around the world.
For, as they say, we are “all immigrants” to this land; and if anyone should be making such statements like “Go back to where you came from,” it shouldn’t be the president; it should be the native peoples of this land.
Philanthropy holds a place of stature and privilege in our society – for better or for worse — and for that reason, among others, we must take risks and step out of our comfort zone. These racist comments and the hateful acts they continue to foster remind us that the alternative — such as silence or lack of leadership — is not an option.
Kiran Ahuja is chief executive of Philanthropy Northwest, a network of grant makers in six states. She previously worked in the Obama administration as chief of staff at the U.S. Office of Personnel Management and as executive director of the White House Initiative on Asian Americans and Pacific Islanders.
