In this story, Kirin Macapugay — the founder of APICA: Asian Pacific Islander Community Actions and a co-founder of IKAT: Indigenous Knowledge, Art, and Truth — discusses her origin story as a community organizer, social worker, and professor. Read on for her perspectives on her indigenous Filipino American identity, mental health and the impact of hate, racial solidarity, holding on to hope in the face of injustice, and more!
I was fortunate to grow up in a very loving home, with parents who are still together to this day, and I've always had a roof over my head. However, I did grow up in Paradise Hills in the 90s, when Asian and Pacific Islander gang-related activity was at its height. I have survived two shootings in my lifetime. One was in 1994, when I was 17. I was outside with 7 other friends when a car pulled up and parked across the street. A young man came out, pointed a gun and shot at us. One of my friends got hit by a ricocheting bullet in the back of his head – it missed piercing his skull by about half a millimeter. My origin story as the community organizer, activist, and educator that I am now really started with that event.
The next week, I was pulled out of class by a plainclothes Filipino police officer. I thought he would help out in some way, but instead, he questioned me about what my friends and I were doing outside. It felt like an interrogation. There were no teachers or counselors who stayed in the room with me; my parents didn’t even know I was pulled out of class. I was in 11th grade.
At the time, my family didn’t have the resources to send me straight to university, so I attended Southwestern College, then transferred to SDSU. That was a huge culture shock. I was used to being around so many Brown and Black folks, people of color. When I met people from other neighborhoods, I learned that they didn't go through the kind of circumstances and trauma that I did.
I studied psychology to answer questions like, “Why do people hurt each other? Why would we want to hurt ourselves, hurt our people?” I initially wanted to be a therapist, but in my senior year, I took a social work class. It was the first time that we talked about systemic racism and cultural pluralism. I fell in love with this external, macro-level analysis, which was very different from my psychology classes’ focus on individual and biological factors. In graduate school, I joined the first cohort of MSW (Master’s in Social Work) students that chose to concentrate in community organizing.
So much of my work stems from what I grew up with, and the resources our communities have and don’t have. I doubt the guy who shot at us could afford after-school programs, sports, music classes, etc. Our parents were working 24/7; we were all latchkey kids. We had little to no safe, affordable outlets. The more education I received, the more I wanted to learn: how can I prevent future generations of kids from experiencing this kind of trauma?
I know people still see gangs negatively. They’re not a positive thing, but it’s important to examine why gangs exist and what social functions they serve. At the time that many young Asians joined gangs, there was also a rise in Black and Latino gangs. A lot of times, fights would break out, so gangs formed to protect their members from other groups. Because of that tension between ethnic groups, I'm now part of and support groups like Made in Paradise Hills and Asian Solidarity Collective, where we purposely work in solidarity with our Black and Brown neighbors. As we uplift our own Asian American and Pacific Islander communities, how can we do so in a way that honors the struggles other people face? How do we move forward together?
We also asked Professor Macapugay various other questions. Here are her answers (edited for length/clarity):
1. What does your identity as an indigenous person and Filipino-American mean to you? How do you celebrate and pass on your culture/traditions, and what role does IKAT play in creating community?
My parents raised me to be confident in our identity and culture. My grandmother had traditional tribal tattoos, which only the eldest women of the family are allowed to have. Growing up, my friends would see that and react with surprise. I didn't appreciate the significance of those tattoos at the time, but I appreciate my culture and upbringing so much more as a mother. The more I think about it, the more I realize how much that plays into the work I do. My auntie was one of the first commissioners to represent our Kalinga tribe in the National Commission on Indigenous Peoples in the Philippines. She also helped draft parts of the Philippines Indigenous Peoples’ Rights Act of 1997. I come from a long line of matriarchs and women who worked in activism. They inspired me to become the only Filipina (and one of just four Asian women) currently holding public office in San Diego. I'm used to spaces where I’m the only woman or person of color. It used to make me feel off in many spaces, and still can sometimes, but I no longer quiet the parts of me to suit others. I believe that when we embrace our identities and the things that make us different, other people will see their value, too.
Part of the main reason we formed IKAT was to educate people on what it means to be indigenous and issues that affect indigenous peoples. For example, there are non-Igorot Filipino Americans and Canadians who misappropriate our tattoos. They lack a strong sense of identity, so they adopt the most Filipino thing they can think of, not realizing it belongs to a unique, distinct culture that isn’t theirs. My grandfather only received those tattoos after he survived World War II, contributed to the community, and was deemed “worthy” of the honor by tribal elders.
Another major purpose of IKAT stems from the discrimination that my parents’ and grandparents’ generation faced. In the Philippines, Igorot people fought against the Spanish, so we were never conquered by them and were able to preserve our culture and heritage. However, that separated us from other Filipinos and gave rise to a narrative that Igorots are uneducated savages, which is obviously false. My grandparents were part of the first generation to receive formal schooling in Kalinga and Bontoc, and they valued it. In fact, my grandmother was willing to sell off her centuries-old heirloom beads so that my mom and aunties could go to college. That’s why a driving force behind much of my community work is to ensure access to higher education. Education is a right, but we treat it like a privilege.
But that discrimination against Igorot people still exists today. In junior high, I remember a Filipino friend said, “Oh, that guy looks messy like an Igorot.” I said, “You know I’m Igorot though, right?” And she said, “No, you’re not; you’re pretty!” It’s microaggressions like that. And just last year, we worked on a worldwide campaign because the Philippines’ Department of Education was still using harmful, offensive images of Igorot people in K-12 textbooks. These negative stereotypes result in some Igorots choosing not to identify as such. Their children often want to know more about their culture, though, so we also formed IKAT as a space for indigenous people to connect and build community.
2. What drew you to a career as a professor? Do you have a particular philosophy or style of teaching?
Actually, becoming a professor was never my life plan. In college, I did work at Juvenile court schools, Bonita High, and Penn Elementary, but I’ve worked in nonprofits and civic engagement for most of my career. Before I started teaching, I founded Asian Pacific Islander Community Actions, and worked in a myriad of places like Paradise Valley Hospital, the Union of Pan Asian Communities, Jacobs Center, Operation Homefront, La Maestra, Operation Samahan, and Partners for Progress. I was part of campaigns to push the minimum wage to $15, advocate for greater budget allocations across the county, and increase voter registration in Black and Brown communities.
In 2014, a friend asked me to teach an SDSU class because they needed a macro social work professor. I agreed, and the next thing I knew, I was teaching as an adjunct. In 2017, I earned a full-time tenured position at San Diego City College. I love teaching at City College. Many of my students are formerly incarcerated, aged out of foster care, undocumented, single parents, veterans, formerly or currently homeless, and yet show up because they want to not just better themselves, they want to strengthen their communities.
I see my students as learning partners. It’s my job to give them the theories, practices, and skills to name what they’ve experienced and transform that into action in our communities. It's a very hands-on field I teach, and I encourage my students to bring their knowledge and experiences to help apply what we learn in the classroom. I believe in making higher education a more democratic process.
3. On top of being a professor, you’re a mother, activist, community organizer, state-appointed commissioner, and so much more. How do you balance it all?
It’s a very careful balancing act with my work, doctoral classes, and family time. This isn’t something I advocate, but it works for me: every minute of my day is accounted for. I’m big on time management. Working out helps, too. I’m a competitive bodybuilder, so making time to breathe and focus on my health helps me stay balanced. I’ve also learned to say “no,” set my boundaries, and guard my energy and time. I prioritize the needs of my students, my husband and kids, and myself as a student.
4. We know you’ll be hosting a forum on mental health and the impact of hate on 9/17. How did this event come together? What can we, as members of the AAPI community, do to begin to heal from the effects of the pandemic and anti-AAPI racism?
Our community – and most honestly, most communities of color – often has a hard time acknowledging or talking about mental health. In 2018, I got together with some friends who do public and mental health work. We decided to hold an event to talk about mental health in the Filipino community. We expected only 30-40 folks to show up. There were 100 attendees. We discussed the difference between regular mental health and a chronic mental health concern. Families are sometimes ill-equipped to support their loved ones, so we wanted to foster these conversations and education.
The conversation arose again because of the pandemic and the rise in API hate. Many API businesses were about to close their doors due to vandalism and losing customers. There was a lot of fear. It sparked tension between communities because the media kept only portraying the attacks by Black people on Asians, when the majority of attackers aren’t Black people. Conservative APIs argued that the response should be greater policing, which I don't agree with, as it would only hurt our and other communities. At least three API San Diegans were killed by law enforcement during mental health crises, and I was part of groups who tried to elevate conversations around this, to form ways we can respond to our folks when in crisis. I'm also part of FIERCE, a statewide coalition of Filipinx organizations that just passed two laws throughout the state to enforce de-escalation and provide alternatives to police during mental health crises. I'm the Vice Chair of the California Commission on Asian Pacific Islander Affairs' Higher Ed Committee, as well. As a Commission, we advocated with the Asian Pacific Islander Legislative Caucus and countless others for the API Equity Budget, the first of its kind in California.
Our forum is a space for people to come together and talk again and receive the information and resources to help them process fear and anxiety. We’re calling it our “Community Care Series.” We’re hoping to hold another mental health forum in the Spring, specifically for our high school and college students. This is work we started before, but now we have the additional lens of the pandemic and the hate that we've experienced.
Note: The San Diego Union-Tribune published an article (https://www.sandiegouniontribune.com/local/story/2022-09-17/from-racism-to-multi-generational-struggles-asian-americans-discuss-struggles-during-the-pandemic) on the forum that Professor Macapugay co-hosted; click on the link to learn more!
5. What role do you think racial solidarity plays in social justice movements? How do you believe we can best unite to address common enemies like white supremacy and power structures?
Backtracking a bit, it's important to understand the origins of the model minority myth. At the height of the civil rights movement in the 60s, sociologist Daniel Patrick Moynihan released the Moynihan Report. It blamed the rampant poverty that Black communities experienced on their “moral deficit,” ignoring the impact of the economy and systemic racism. A couple of months after that, another report was released on the success of Japanese American families, claiming that “disproves” the existence of racism in this country. That's how the model minority myth started. AAPIs became the wedge driven between Black folks, our folks, other people of color, and other marginalized groups. It was purposely done to prevent us from uniting.
The history is critical to note because now, we have to actively combat narratives of white supremacy and Black vs. Asian attacks. Groups like Asian Solidarity Collective are doing that work. It’s also important to have conversations with peers, and to show up in solidarity with others and with the nearby movements. You have a very important voice – don’t be afraid to use it. There are so many ways to get involved.
I think it's also really important to tie our issues together. For example, a lot of people think that immigration is a Latinx issue. However, APIs have the fastest-growing number of deportations. The Asian Prisoner Support Committee, for example, is a group of formerly incarcerated folks who also work on immigration because incarcerated undocumented folks are often deported once they’ve served their time. United States veterans are being deported, too, because joining the military doesn’t grant citizenship. Groups like the ACLU are doing critical work to shed light on these intersectional issues.
Hate is just one aspect of the many things that we face. Immigration, poverty, lack of resources – all of it is connected to what other groups are facing. We can't only be concerned with racism when we realize that it affects us, too. And it has affected us ever since the Chinese Exclusion Act in the 1800s. To help further the dialogue, people can learn and be cognizant of that history. More importantly, to further legislation and resources, people can join and support wonderful organizations like the San Diego API Coalition and Asian Solidarity Collective.
6. As you work to combat these broad, societal-level problems, do you ever feel discouraged or frustrated with America’s current rate of progress? If so, how do you try to stay hopeful and motivated?
It’s important to remember that this country has a legacy of 400 years of imperialism. It’s a country built on stolen land by stolen bodies, which takes time to undo.
When I started API community work back in 2001, our Sikh community was being attacked and blamed in the aftermath of 9/11. To support them, I helped form the Alliance for Asian Pacific Islander Americans. At the time, there were very few socially, racially, and economically progressive Asians. That’s changed drastically since then.
We can’t win all the time, but we need to be willing to try. We recently led a campaign to support nearly 900 elder, people of color residents living in one of Rancho Penasquitos’s few low-income housing complexes. We lost that fight. It’s been replaced with luxury condos with a few units considered affordable, in line with city ordinances. Even though the outcome wasn’t what we wanted, we still organized with the residents. We brought them to City Hall to talk to City Council, with their walkers and everything. That’s a win to me. And after the 2016 presidential election, I was part of another coalition that organized one of the biggest marches in downtown called Justice Can't Wait. Thousands of us marched for environmental, health, racial justice, immigration and workers’ rights issues.
Yes, it can feel frustrating, but to me, the beauty of being an educator and an organizer is meeting people who are willing to push the work forward. I’m fortunate to be surrounded by beautiful friends and colleagues, and that’s what sustains me. As long as there are people with the same heart and passion, it’ll be OK. The change may not happen as quickly as we would like, but it still happens if we move forward together.
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