WE’RE NOT DONE BUILDING
AANHPI stories deserve to be told through film and the arts, not as an afterthought, but as a foundation. Because storytelling is more than entertainment. It is memory. It is language. It is legacy. It is how we explain ourselves to each other, and how we refuse to be simplified by anyone outside our community. When our stories live on screen, they become undeniable. They become something you can point to and say, this is who we are. This is what we carry. This is what we survived. This is what we celebrate.
That is why the work of the Philadelphia Asian American Film Foundation matters so deeply to me. PAAFF is not just a festival. It is a platform. A home for AANHPI cinema. A gathering place where artists can bring their voices forward with complexity and truth, and where audiences can feel seen in ways that are rare and life-changing. It is culture carried through art. It is community made visible through film.
This past year reminded me that PAAFF is not just something we produce. It is something we protect. Films that hold our histories, our humor, our grief, our joy, our contradictions, our lineage. Films that do not ask for permission to be complex. Films that prove, again and again, that our stories are not side stories. They are American stories.
And stepping into this new year, it is impossible to ignore the reality in front of us. The arts are being stretched. Funding is tightening. Organizations like ours are being asked to do more with less, even as the need for this work becomes more urgent. We are feeling that pressure in real time.
I keep coming back to the truth that leadership requires both hope and clarity. It requires naming what is hard without surrendering to it. As Nani Shin, Executive Director of PAAFF, wrote:
“Today, I am coming to you with honesty and urgency. PAAFF is at a critical moment. Due to the loss of a major corporate sponsor, along with other unexpected cancellations of funding, we are operating in what can only be described as crisis mode. We are working hard to stabilize our organization so we can continue the work our community depends on.”
That is the reality. And the reason it hits so deeply is because our community does need this.
AANHPI storytelling is not a luxury. It is essential. It is one of the clearest ways we stay connected to ourselves and to each other. It is how we pass on memory. How we preserve language. How we translate experiences that are so often flattened by the outside world. When we bring our films into a theater, we are not just watching content. We are witnessing one another.
I think about why PAAFF matters, not just as an institution, but as a turning point in someone’s life.
So many artists have walked into this space carrying stories they were not sure the world had room for. Stories about family and distance. Identity and inheritance. Migration and belonging. Queerness and faith. Loss and laughter. The sacred and the everyday. So many audience members have sat in our theaters and felt something unlock in their chest because they finally saw a version of themselves reflected back. Sometimes the biggest impact is not the premiere, or the applause, or the panel. Sometimes it is the quiet internal shift that happens when someone realizes their story belongs on the screen too.
Kris Mendoza, Board Chair of PAAFF, shared something that captures that feeling perfectly. He wrote:
“Back in 2008, I was a young filmmaker trying to find my voice, and I had a short film selected for PAAFF. Having my work shown here was one of the first times I truly felt seen. It told me that my story mattered and that there was space for voices like mine. That experience stayed with me and helped shape the path I am still on today as a filmmaker and producer.”
This is what PAAFF does. It gives artists a first home. A first audience. A first moment of confidence that lasts far beyond the festival itself. It tells people, you belong here. Your work belongs here. Your voice has a future.
That is why this work cannot slow down. That is why we have to keep building. That is why we have to rally.
Because PAAFF was never meant to be a single moment on the calendar. It is a year-round commitment to AANHPI visibility, opportunity, and cultural memory. A commitment to the filmmakers who are shaping the present, and the young artists who have not even dared to say out loud yet that they want to create. It is an active safeguard against erasure. A promise that we will not allow our narratives to be simplified, misunderstood, or spoken for.
And if we are honest, it is also an act of love.
A love for our artists. A love for our elders. A love for the future generation that deserves to inherit stories that are true. Not polished into palatability, but truthful in their texture.
Looking forward, I feel a deep sense of responsibility to widen the circle. To invite more people into what we are building. To make it easier to support, easier to advocate for, easier to share. To ensure that AANHPI cinema has a home here, not only as celebration, but as infrastructure.
This is a moment for community to step closer, not farther away. To bring someone with you. To reach back and introduce PAAFF to a friend, a colleague, a neighbor who believes in the power of art. To say, I want this to exist. I want this to last. I want these stories to remain accessible.
And I know it can, because I have seen what happens when our community comes together with intention. We do not just celebrate films. We sustain the filmmakers. We create a space where storytellers can take risks and be met with curiosity instead of judgment. We invest in cinema that keeps our culture alive.
So I’m entering this year with my eyes forward.
Not because it is easy, but because it is necessary.
Not because the future is guaranteed, but because it is worth organizing for.
And because the work continues, and our stories deserve to continue with it.
