ASIANS, FROM THE BEGINNING OF our settlement here, have had to write ourselves onto the script of a nation that has, for the most part, excluded our collective histories and occluded our individual voices. Because no one ever “gave America to us,” freely, we have had to collectively find it, rock by rock, wave by wave, one migrant at a time stumbling across the barbed wire of Arizona sands or steadfastly towing our bodies to reach the darkened shore of Rockaway Beach, Queens, or the foggy shores of San Francisco Bay. Yet after we found it, we had to build a city—no, rather a barrio or an enclave upon the rock.