Lilly Simmering
Education is deeply valued in Asian American communities. How many of us have bonded over jokes about just how much our families value it? When I was younger, I didn’t fully understand why.
During my senior year of high school, I secretly applied for a job at Dai Ichi, a local Japanese fast-food restaurant in Fresno, Calif. My parents were furious. They could not understand why I would want a part-time job when I needed to focus on finishing school. For me, though, it was about independence and freedom from the guilt of watching my parents work every day on our family’s strawberry farm just to pay for things like my gas or AP exams.
Sadly, my budding relationship with chicken teriyaki bowls and shrimp tempura came to an end about four months later. I received my admission letter to Pepperdine University and learned that, though I had been admitted early, I still needed to keep my grades up. Apparently, senioritis was not part of the admissions package.
Pepperdine was a wonderful experience. At the time, there had been at least two Hmong American students before me, but only one had graduated. I would become the second and the first Hmong American woman to graduate from Pepperdine.
As my educational journey continued through law school, I began to understand why education mattered so much to my family and community. In many Asian countries, access to education has historically been a privilege rather than a guarantee. A single national exam could determine a young person’s educational and professional opportunities, and wealth or corruption could sometimes influence access.
Twenty-three years later, as I pursue a dual executive MBA through UCLA and the National University of Singapore alongside classmates primarily from Asian countries, I appreciate even more the educational opportunities available to us in the United States.
Education opens doors, but it also opens minds. And both can be powerful and, sometimes, threatening.
At its purest, education is about knowledge: gaining it, earning it, using it and spreading it. And when you think about the many ways we spread knowledge, the connection between education and advocacy becomes clear.
Advocacy is, in many ways, the act of sharing knowledge. It doesn’t always have to be spoken. It can be written. It can be expressed through art or music. Sometimes, advocacy is simply being visible and showing up when it matters.
As JACL announces this year’s National Scholarship recipients, I am excited to see what they will do next. I hope they remember that there is a community watching — ready to cheer them on in their moments of greatness, support them through their hardest moments and learn from the knowledge and experiences they will gain and share.
Our scholarship recipients demonstrated not only financial need but also a commitment to carrying forward the stories of the Japanese American community and opening doors for the Japanese Americans and Asian Americans who will come after them.
So, to each of our scholarship recipients: Congratulations. I wish you every success as you begin this next chapter. Learn as much as you can. Ask questions. Challenge assumptions. Share what you learn. And when you find an open door, remember to hold it open for the AAPI person coming behind you.
And, of course, nothing lower than an A-minus is acceptable.
Just kidding.
Mostly.
Lilly Simmering is executive director of the JACL. She is based in the organization’s Los Angeles office.
Link to past executive director columns here.
