As a Taiwanese American, I stand in solidarity with migrants and asylum seekers targeted by U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) and other violent apparatuses of detention and deportation.
Our community’s presence in the United States is not incidental—it is the result of layered and often painful migrations shaped by militarism, colonial displacement, authoritarian repression, and aspirations of survival and self-determination. Whether arriving as international students denied academic and intellectual freedom under martial law, as laborers seeking mobility across restrictive borders, or as political exiles fleeing the White Terror and Kuomintang (KMT) surveillance, our elders did not come here simply to assimilate into American exceptionalism. Many arrived with sharpened critiques of imperialism—of both the U.S. and the Chinese Nationalist state—and an enduring desire to build new political futures.
Many of our movement ancestors rejected the forced binaries of the Cold War, which demanded silence in exchange for safety and pitted anti-Communist rhetoric against the real work of democracy. We know from our history that so-called “protection” from U.S. militarism often came at the cost of complicity in global regimes of control—over speech, over movement, over identity.
In refusing this logic, our elders laid the groundwork for a politic that centers liberation, not alignment or deference.
I draw strength and clarity from their example—of those who organized Taiwanese independence in exile, who resisted surveillance by both the KMT and the FBI, who found common cause with other diasporas fighting for self-determination. From solidarity with Indigenous nations and Southeast Asian laborers in Taiwan, to coalition-building with Black, Latino, and other Asian American communities in the U.S., our community has long had opportunities to practice transnational solidarity as a moral imperative.
We must remember that ICE does not operate in a vacuum. It is part of the same carceral logic that polices the movement of people, the spread of ideas, and the assertion of identities deemed “dangerous.” It criminalizes poverty and migration, punishes dissent, and pretends to enforce order while in fact sowing fear.
As a Taiwanese American, I refuse to remain silent while our neighbors are torn from their families, detained in inhumane conditions, or deported to persecution. I reject the false narrative that any migrant must prove their worthiness to deserve care or protection. I support visions of safety rooted in community, earnest trust, and mutual care.
And I challenge our community to remember: Taiwan, too, is home to migrant workers who face discrimination, surveillance, and deportation. If we value freedom and democracy, our solidarity must transcend borders and reject nationalism that hinges on exclusion.
I cannot speak for all of us, but I can speak to what I honor most in our legacy: a people who survived displacement and silencing, yet dared to imagine otherwise. Our histories include undocumented students, pro-democracy dissidents, and labor organizers who challenged militarized states and imagined safety beyond detention, and dignity beyond borders.
To stand with migrants is not a deviation from our values—it is their fullest expression. It is an affirmation of our memory, our resilience, and our refusal to be used as pawns in imperial games. We protect our future by refusing to sacrifice others in the name of national belonging. We are the strongest when we show up for others, not despite our history—but because of it.
No one is illegal. No one is disposable. Let us carry forward a politics of memory and liberation worthy of those who came before us; may we do this for those to come next.
身為一位台裔美國人，我與這些被美國移民與海關執法局（ICE）及其他以暴力拘留與驅逐機構針對的移民及尋求庇護者站在一起。
我們（台美）社群之所以在美國生存，不是偶然發發生，而是由軍事化、殖民驅離、威權壓迫，以及對生存與自決的渴望所交織而成的多層次的、常常伴隨著痛苦的移民史。無論是作為在戒嚴體制下無法擁有學術與思想自由的留學生、試圖跨越重重邊界限制以尋求生計的勞工、還是逃離白色恐怖與國民黨監控的政治流亡者，我們的長輩來到這裡，並不是為了盲目地融入美國生活。他們當中許多人對帝國主義，無論是美國還是中華民國政權，有強烈的批判，並渴望建構新的政治遠景。
我們許多社運前輩拒絕接受冷戰時期所強化非黑即白的二元化對立：那種以「沉默換取安全」，將反共言論置於民主實踐之上的選擇。我們的歷史讓我們看清楚；所謂美國軍事保護往往伴隨著代價：一套對全球控制的體系，對言論、對行動、及對身份認同的控管。
我們的前輩透過拒絕這種邏輯，奠定了以解放為核心的政治實踐，而非屈從、依附或效忠的政治。
我從他們的榜樣中汲取力量與明瞭——他們曾在流亡中組織台灣獨立運動，抵抗來自國民黨與FBI的雙重監控，並與其他僑民族群結盟．為自決而奮鬥。從在台灣有原住民族和東南亞移工的團結，到在美國有非裔、拉丁裔及其他亞裔社群的聯盟建立，我們的社群早已將跨國團結作為一種道德上的責任與實踐。
我們必須記得，ICE的行動並非在真空中運作。它正是那套壓迫體系的一部分，它限制人們的行動、打壓思想的傳播，還會把某些身份加上「危險」的標誌。它將貧窮與移民犯罪化，懲罰異議者，假裝維持秩序，實則製造恐懼。
作為台裔美國人，我無法在我們的鄰居被從家中強行帶走，被關押在不人道的環境裡，或被遣返至原逃離之地時，選擇沉默。我拒絕接受任何移民都必須證明自己「值得」才能獲得關懷與保護的謬論。我支持的安全願景，根植於社群的真誠信任與相互照顧。
同時我也提醒我們的社群：台灣同樣是許多移工的家園，他們也正面臨歧視、監控與驅逐的威脅。如果我們真心重視自由與民主，那麼我們的團結就必須跨越國界，拒絕以排外為基礎的國族主義。
我無法代表我們所有人發聲，但我能說我最敬佩我們歷史中那群人，是那些雖然被迫離開家園、被噤聲，卻還是勇敢想像「不一樣的未來」的人。我們的歷史中有非法學生、爭取民主的異議份子，以及挑戰軍事化國家的勞工組織者，他們夢想的是超越拘留的安全，以及超越邊界的尊嚴。
與移民站在一起，不是背離我們的價值，而是最真實地展現這些價值。這是我們對記憶、韌性與拒絕被帝國主義利用的堅持。我們守護未來的方式，就是拒絕以國家為名而犧牲他人。正因為我們的歷史，就在我們在為他人挺身而出時，最為強大。
沒有人是非法的。也沒有人該被丟棄。讓我們帶著記憶與自由的信念前進，不只是為了我們的先人，更是為了將來會來到這裡的人。
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