By Celine Fang

As America approaches its 250th anniversary, communities across the country are telling their stories. Every day, social media introduces us to people, organizations, historical events, and contributions that many have never heard about before. In many ways, this reflects the makeup of a young and diverse nation. America is not one story. It is made up of countless stories brought by people from different backgrounds, cultures, and experiences.

Recognition has value. Forgotten stories should be told. Contributions should be acknowledged. Communities should be seen. Yet recognition alone is not enough. If every group spends its energy proving that it suffered, contributed, or deserves attention, we may miss a more important question: what responsibility comes with being part of America’s future?

Many immigrants, especially those who came from China and other parts of Asia, were shaped by experiences very different from those of people who grew up in America. Traditional Chinese society was influenced by thousands of years of imperial and feudal systems where hierarchy, family duty, social order, and obedience to authority were deeply valued. The twentieth century added war, revolution, political campaigns, economic hardship, reform, migration, and rapid modernization. The Chinese national anthem itself begins with a call to rise up and resist being enslaved. That mindset was born from survival, struggle, sacrifice, and the urgency to build a new future.

Many immigrants of a certain generation grew up hearing stories of collective punishment and severe consequences for failure. Historical dramas often depicted entire families suffering because of the actions of one person. We experienced public criticism, classroom punishment, standing behind the classroom for not paying attention, being compared with other students, and being reminded constantly by parents what we should become and what we should avoid. Success was not viewed as an individual achievement but as something that reflected on the family. Careers often depended on both competence and relationships. The lesson was frequently to work hard, avoid mistakes, and not attract unnecessary attention.

When people immigrate, they do not leave these experiences behind. They bring their strengths, fears, assumptions, and habits into schools, workplaces, community organizations, and civic life. Many continue to think: do not stand out, do not make trouble, wait and see what others do first. If nobody else is speaking up, perhaps it is safer not to. If family members back home would not understand a decision, perhaps it is better to avoid it.

There is also an immigration gap that is often overlooked. The descendants of earlier immigrants, including those whose families arrived during the railroad era and other early periods of American history, have lived through generations of American development. Their families experienced wars, economic growth, social change, and civic participation as part of the American story. Their sense of belonging developed over time.

Newer immigrants often arrive with deep personal, emotional, cultural, and economic ties to their countries of origin. The difference is not loyalty. It is often ownership. Some people already see themselves as part of the American story. Others are still learning what it means to become stakeholders rather than simply participants.

This difference also appears in parenting. Many immigrant parents continue to guide, remind, monitor, and sometimes nag their children because that is what responsible parenting looked like in the environment they came from. Other parents allow their children greater freedom to explore, make mistakes, develop friendships, discover interests, and find their own paths. Children who are given that freedom often grow up with diverse circles of friends, become comfortable speaking up, and learn through trial and error how to navigate different environments. Children raised under closer supervision often develop discipline, responsibility, and academic strength, but may also become more cautious about risk, leadership, and visibility. These differences are not necessarily right or wrong. They are inherited habits.

This helps explain why many Asian Americans gather around heritage celebrations, professional associations, chambers of commerce, advocacy efforts, or political representation. These all have value. Yet many have not fully thought of themselves as stakeholders in the broader American project. Their relationship with America is often measured through recognition: we contributed, we sacrificed, we helped build this country, therefore our contributions should be recognized.

Recognition matters. History matters. Contributions matter. But recognition alone does not create confidence, leadership, civic participation, or ownership.

The workplace offers another example. Many immigrants were taught not to speak unless they had something meaningful to say. They learned to value preparation, technical expertise, discipline, and analytical thinking. These habits often produce excellent students, researchers, engineers, healthcare professionals, accountants, scientists, and analysts.

Leadership requires additional skills. It often requires speaking before all the answers are known, sharing ideas in brainstorming sessions, taking initiative, building consensus, accepting responsibility, and seeing oneself as accountable for outcomes. Many people assume leadership means being bold, loud, charismatic, or highly visible because those are the leaders they notice most. Yet today’s organizations require many forms of leadership. Thoughtful leaders, collaborative leaders, service-oriented leaders, and bridge-builders are equally important.

Some differences are even more subtle. In certain cultures, natural appearance is valued and there is less emphasis on cosmetics, personal branding, networking, fashion, or self-promotion. In other environments, presentation is highly competitive. People invest considerable effort into how they dress, communicate, present themselves, and build relationships. These differences are not always discrimination or inclusion issues. Sometimes they are simply differences in expectations and professional norms. Not every challenge is evidence of exclusion. Sometimes it is an invitation to learn, adapt, and develop additional skills.

The same challenge appears in discussions of history. Some historians have become advocates. Passion is understandable, but history and advocacy are not the same thing. History seeks understanding. Advocacy seeks change. Problems arise when every historical story becomes a modern political argument or when historical events are judged entirely through today’s standards. Instead of helping people understand where they came from, history becomes a tool for mobilizing people around grievances.

A similar concern exists in journalism. Journalism is intended to help people understand who, what, when, where, and what happened. Yet some media increasingly mix reporting with personal feelings, conclusions, and activism. Readers receive not only information but also judgment. While this may energize some audiences, it can also deepen division and reduce trust.

Community organizations face similar questions. Chinatown leaders often express frustration about how outsiders view their neighborhoods and communities. Some concerns are legitimate. At the same time, stewardship requires more than criticizing outside perceptions.

A Chinatown grocery store with dried squid hanging outside may feel familiar, nostalgic, and comforting to people who grew up with those sights and smells. To others, it may feel unusual or even questionable. Neither reaction is necessarily right or wrong. They simply reflect different experiences. In a shared society, we can preserve what is meaningful to us while remaining mindful of how others experience the same environment. Respect works in both directions. Preserving culture and considering the experience of others are not mutually exclusive.

Even cultural misunderstandings are sometimes more complicated than they first appear. We often ask why children imitate kung fu movements, make “ching chong” sounds, or mimic what they think Asian culture looks like. Some situations are clearly disrespectful. Others may simply reflect the limited references available to them. If their primary exposure to Asian culture comes from lion dances, martial arts demonstrations, taiji movements, traditional costumes, festival performances, and languages they do not understand, those become the images they remember. Broader understanding requires broader interaction.

America’s culture also allows something unfamiliar to many immigrants: ordinary people openly criticize leaders, institutions, and decisions. No leader is liked by everyone. No decision is understood by everyone. People judge based on their own experiences, knowledge, and perspectives. This freedom can feel messy, but it is part of a society where participation is expected.

As America turns 250, many commemorative efforts naturally become institutional. Governments, museums, counties, and organizations invite a few highly qualified people to speak while everyone else listens. These events play an important role, but most attendees remain spectators. They arrive, listen, applaud, and leave.

Other events become centered on visibility. Organizations seek recognition. Individuals seek attention. Speakers seek audiences. People worry about whose name appears first, whose logo is larger, who stands in the center of the poster, or how many institutions can be listed as co-hosts.

That is not what we are trying to build.

Our national gathering is not simply about saying “Happy Birthday America.” It is not a stage for performers seeking fame, a platform for personalities seeking attention, or a competition for organizational visibility. It is also not only for Asians. We are inviting Asians and non-Asians into a shared experience.

Our focus is the participant experience. We want people to come away with real content, real conversations, real reflection, and real value. The program is intentionally designed as a multi-track experience because these issues are interconnected. Culture, leadership, workforce development, civic participation, communication, belonging, mentorship, personal growth, and stakeholder thinking cannot be addressed through a single speech or panel discussion.

Participants engage through guided conversations, leadership discussions, workforce development topics, civic experiences, museum exploration, mentorship opportunities, networking, and small-group interactions. The purpose is not simply to learn about history, but to better understand ourselves, better understand America, and better understand how we can contribute constructively in our workplaces, communities, and civic life.

These reflections are not intended as another criticism. Some observations may feel uncomfortable because human nature rarely welcomes self-examination. It is easier to point outward than inward. Yet the purpose is not to make people angry, sad, defensive, or guilty.

The purpose is to move forward.

Without deeper understanding, conversations about identity, recognition, grievances, belonging, and history can become like a blurry static screen. People see fragments of the picture but cannot clearly see what comes next.

Our goal is to move beyond the static. We bring together knowledge, experience, mentors, practitioners, and guided conversations so people can become awakened—not angry; informed—not resentful; thoughtful—not divided. We want participants to realize, understand, and then take practical next steps with confidence.

America’s 250th anniversary is not only an opportunity to look backward. It is an opportunity to ask what kind of citizens, leaders, neighbors, mentors, and stakeholders we want to become.

The habits we inherited helped bring us to where we are today.

The future we choose will determine where we go next.