Eddy Zheng on Breath, Hope and Healing with New Breath Foundation

President and Founder of New Breath Foundation Eddy Zheng shares his personal story and experiences navigating incarceration and detention for 21 years, and how hope, healing and breath, led him to create a foundation focused on dismantling institutions of policing, incarceration and deportation. 

The foundation is unapologetically committed to building long-term power in Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander (AANHPI) communities, as well as cross-racial solidarity to build collective liberation for all.

Full Show Notes: https://philanthropynw.org/podcast/eddy-zheng?utm_source=Podcast_Platform&utm_medium=Referral&utm_campaign=Can_We_Talk_About_Season_2

Transcript

Eddy
We have to go back to our breath, right? So, that's where I say, where is the abundance coming from? You know, our breath allows us the opportunity to have hope, right? And part of that is, I always share with people that we must be willing to engage in a personal revolution before embarking on a collective liberation.

Nancy (Host)
From the Giving Practice at Philanthropy Northwest, this is Can We Talk About a project, to normalize the messiness of leading for racial equity in philanthropy and reflect on what it takes to create lasting transformation. In season two, our hosts explore what it looks like for philanthropy to advance racial equity on the ground, where the work can look quite different depending on the context—whether it's place, issue area, or community served. In a world where our contexts are constantly shifting, we're asking guests to practice vulnerability, explore sticky topics, and look for learning. What we ask of you is to do the same. Hello!

Abby
 Hello, everyone! Welcome to Can We Talk About A Project at Philanthropy Northwest, where we normalize the messiness of leading for racial equity in philanthropy. I'm Abby Sarmac, a senior advisor with the Giving Practice at Philanthropy Northwest, and I'm honored to be joined by Eddy Zheng. Eddy is the first formerly incarcerated juvenile lifer to serve as founder and president of a philanthropic foundation, the New Breath Foundation. A quick note about New Breath, for those who aren't already familiar: New Breath was founded in 2017 by Eddy as a community-led national public foundation, and is unapologetically committed to building long-term power in Asian American, Native Hawaiian, and Pacific Islander (AANHPI) communities. They are dismantling institutions of policing, incarceration, and deportation to create real safety in our country. As a Filipino American, Eddy, I am honored. Thank you so much for joining me today.

Eddy
Well, thank you, Abby, and happy New Breath, everyone.

Abby
Happy New Breath, everyone. Love it. Alright, Eddy, you have a compelling personal story, and I would just love to hear more. Could you share more about your personal journey and the story of how New Breath began?

Eddy
Well, before I do that, I just want to share that when we inhale our breath, that’s what connects all of us, right? Because that breath sustains our life. And sometimes, you know, we take that breath for granted, right? So, I remind myself not to do that, and to really appreciate the breath that allows me to be alive and free. I love that. I remember when I was 10 years old and living in Guangzhou, China. I had a pretty sheltered and carefree life at the time because, even during that period, which was 1980, I felt our family was fairly well-off in comparison to the other people around us. That was also the first time I met my grandparents, who had been in the United States for about four decades. Wow. And so when they came back to China for the first time after the normalization of relations between the U.S. and Chinese governments, I was able to see them. And when they came to Guangzhou, they came with a perspective from the United States, right? Sure.

And when they saw our living conditions, they felt that there was no future for me or my two siblings. So, they decided to ask our parents, "Why don’t you come to the United States?" It was through that process that my parents made the decision to immigrate to the U.S. I didn’t have a choice about leaving, right? I was a kid.

So, there was a lot of talk about the American Dream, about how the U.S. was going to be so different, so much better. I didn’t anticipate what was waiting for me. In 1982, my family of five immigrated to Oakland, California, and we were living in a two-bedroom apartment near Chinatown with seven people. I thought, "Wow, this is not what I was expecting," because I had a more spacious home in China than what we had in the U.S. For me, it was already very challenging to be uprooted from the country I knew and placed into a new environment.

I started trying to acculturate and embrace this new environment, this new country. Immediately, there were three barriers: one was the language barrier, the second was cultural differences, and the third was the generation gap between me and my parents and grandparents. These experiences really shaped how I showed up, as a kid, in a new country. It was very challenging to adjust because I went from a very structured and sheltered environment to one that was full of uncertainties. And that uncertainty continued throughout my life.

We did our best as new immigrants. We were fairly well-off in China, but once we arrived in the U.S., we became poor in a sense. My parents had to work, and they also enrolled in adult school to learn English, and the same went for my older brother and sister. So, when I got home, nobody was home. I couldn’t ask my parents for help with my English because none of us spoke English, and I couldn’t ask for help with the growing pains of being a teenager in a new country. So, I went out on the streets and connected with others in similar situations.

I tried to adjust, and for the first couple of years, things were okay. But then, I became a chronic truant, got kicked out of school, and started hanging out with people on the streets, engaging in general delinquency—things I shouldn’t have been doing. At the age of 16, I ended up committing a crime. I was part of a robbery with two of my friends, and we were arrested. I was charged as an adult and sentenced to life in prison with the possibility of parole.

Abby
Oh my gosh, at 16?

Eddy
Yeah. Navigating the criminal legal system was extremely challenging, especially without resources, a clear understanding of the law, or any connection to organizations that might have been helpful at the time. So, we ended up going through that process on our own. One of the biggest challenges was that my parents didn’t want to share my incarceration with anyone, because of cultural shame. They didn’t want to lose face.

For 14 years while I was incarcerated, they didn’t tell any of our relatives or friends that I was in prison. This experience led to a lot of uncertainties as I navigated the prison industrial complex. That’s part of the story—surviving, right? I learned how to survive inside, and eventually, I focused on getting an education—learning how to read and write. Eventually, I became well-read and a critical thinker, which allowed me to take responsibility for my actions and ultimately forgive myself for the harm I had caused. This was essential for moving forward in the rehabilitation and healing process.

I’m very grateful that my parents, despite the shame they experienced, never gave up on me and always supported me. Through that support, I was able to cultivate relationships both on the inside and outside that allowed me to engage in the process of becoming mentally free.

To me, the story of being an immigrant and ending up in the school-to-prison pipeline didn’t stop when I was granted parole after 19 years. Because I wasn’t a U.S. citizen, I was detained on the day of my release and sent into the deportation process in federal detention. I spent 23 months in a detention center, fighting my case. Despite all the support I received, I still lost my case. By the time I was released, I had spent 21 years incarcerated, and the government couldn’t deport me because they couldn’t obtain a travel document from the Chinese government. So, they released me under supervision after 21 years inside.

Part of what allowed me to regain my physical freedom was connecting with my chi—the energy, the life force. The chi I’m talking about isn’t just the breath that sustains life; it’s also about culture, history, and identity. Through this journey, I was able to understand the importance of Ethnic Studies and Asian American Studies, which helped me heal intergenerational trauma. I connected with other people’s chi, meaning not only did I need to connect with my own breath, culture, history, and identity, but also with the chi of other people of color. On a basic level, it’s about humanizing each other.

Going through this process of incarceration, I was always searching for my sense of belonging, and that belonging is connected to the purpose of life. Once I solidified my purpose—to serve youth and the community—I became very clear, post-incarceration, about what I wanted to do.

I recognized that in the larger ecosystem of the prison industrial complex, Asian Americans, Native Hawaiians, and Pacific Islanders are often invisible—minorities within minorities. One thing I hold onto is this idea of tyranny in small numbers because while we’re not overrepresented in the prison industrial complex like Black, Brown, and Indigenous communities, our numbers have steadily increased over the past 30 years. So, the question becomes: how do we address this challenge? How do we create culturally competent resources to support the healing of these individuals, reduce recidivism, and create healed people instead of perpetuating a cycle of hurt people hurting others? It’s not only about holding individuals accountable, but also holding the system accountable at the same time.

Abby
Oh my gosh, Eddy, I think we're done. I think we're done. We got you. What an amazing, amazing story. Thank you so much for sharing some of those details. Just a couple of reflections back—I'm just struck by it in a way that feels almost like these little nested levels of invisibilization, right? Like that piece about your parents not talking about when you were incarcerated—like, you were invisibilized in your family, yet they ended up also being a key area of support for you, right? But also for our community, for the AANHPI community, for the formerly incarcerated community. They're invisibilized in our society broadly. If you're looking at the investments—funding investments in money, investments in resources—that invisibilization challenge we face as individuals and as a people, as a community, feels pretty strong in the story you're telling.

I also love to hear a bit more about the story you mentioned earlier when we were planning this call, around the Ethnic Studies program. I feel like the San Quentin Ethnic Studies program really ties together what you were talking about—the themes of grounding, not just in your own identity, your own culture, your own power, but in the culture and power of others, and building that. It also seems like it bridged you leaving incarceration and leveraging that experience into New Breath Foundation and what you're doing today. Could you talk a little more about how that program started, how that transition happened, and how it led to where you are today?

Eddy
You know, one of the moments in my life when I felt abundance was when I was in solitary confinement at San Quentin State Prison. I say that because I really remember—it was the winter of 2002, and in the Bay Area, there was this incredibly cold weather. Some of the unhoused people actually froze to death. I remember that, yeah. At the time, I was in a six-by-nine cell. As I sat there, thinking to myself in the cell, I felt like one of the wealthiest and richest people in the world. Wow. I felt that way because, even though I was isolated in solitary confinement, I had a mattress, a blanket, clothes, food, books, and writing utensils. I was physically and mentally strong and healthy, and I had a huge support system right outside the prison. So, when I felt that way, I thought, "I have nothing to complain about."

Part of the reason I felt that way is because of my journey of engaging in critical thinking and education. When I was younger, I always heard my parents emphasize the importance of education, and other educators always talked about the power of knowledge. But I didn't really grasp that at the time. I didn't internalize it, because there were too many external things influencing my behavior as an immigrant coming to this country. I didn't understand the true meaning of the importance of education.

So, it was through my incarceration that I had to learn how to read and write. Eventually, I was exposed to the opportunity to cultivate critical thinking. For me, that process looked like starting with a Chinese-English dictionary, using word power, writing things down repeatedly, and asking my peers to help me with enunciation and practice. Through that process, I eventually earned my GED. That boosted my self-esteem and confidence. And then, I participated in an in-prison program where I earned my Associate of Arts degree.

From there, I started to become well-read, and through that process, I gained a deeper understanding of other people’s cultures and histories and how those informed their identities. That gave me a better understanding of systemic racism, anti-Blackness, and the shared systemic oppression we all experience. Unfortunately, there weren't many opportunities for people to learn about Asian American and Pacific Islander history and culture. So, my friends and I were trying to figure out how we could advocate for opportunities to learn about each other’s cultures, history, and identity.

We put together a proposal to the educational department, asking them to incorporate these topics into the college curriculum. As a result, we started engaging people from the outside—volunteers, educators—and even people inside who participated in the program. We began having very robust and sometimes heated dialogues about how people directly impacted by incarceration should have the opportunity to decide what we want to learn and how we want to learn it—led by us, instead of being told what we should learn.

But that wasn’t the case. We were put in solitary confinement because of signing that proposal. And this really connected for me to the idea that knowledge is power. But what we weren’t told is that when you exercise that power, those in power will not let you share it. They will use whatever means necessary to keep you from doing so. So, that's why we ended up in solitary confinement. But this sparked a community response—educators, activists, students, and others from the AANHPI communities stood up, saying that this was a violation of our First Amendment rights. They formed the Asian Prisoner Support Committee to advocate for me and two of my friends to be released from solitary confinement.

Through that process, I really recognized the importance of history—the sense of history. Ethnic Studies and Asian American Studies were fought for in 1968 at San Francisco State University by the Third World Liberation Front. The year after, the same fight led to the establishment of these programs at UC Berkeley. The more we are able to learn about each other’s culture and history, the better we understand that we have more in common than differences.

Through that process, we also had the opportunity to raise awareness about the model minority myth. Earlier, I mentioned how people who are incarcerated, impacted by the criminal legal system and immigration system, are often invisibilized. That invisibilization connects directly to the model minority myth. It creates a culture of shame in the AANHPI community. We don’t talk about the “bad things” in our community. We always want to present a better front. We want to be seen as more American than Americans, as the "good immigrants" versus the "bad immigrants." We want to be the honorary whites, distancing ourselves from other people of color who continue to experience systemic oppression and violence.

Abby
Right, right. What I’m loving here is how I’m hearing in your story—and in the story of New Breath—it leads us straight to New Breath’s mission. You know, the idea of highlighting these disparities. I think I remember reading in some of your work that only 0.2% of funding goes towards AANHPI communities. There’s a real disparity in philanthropy in terms of where resources are going. This is an incredibly culturally rich community with so many resources, but it’s a drop in the bucket compared to other communities. Every community has challenges that need addressing. And I also love how, in a way, your story is helping to shift narratives. This whole idea around immigration and the model minority myth—it’s a multifaceted narrative, just like every other community’s. And I love that New Breath Foundation is really focused on this, for the AANHPI community and the formerly incarcerated community.

Is there anything else we haven’t touched on yet around New Breath’s mission and what you aim to do as a foundation?

Eddy
Part of it is about creating a seat at the philanthropic table, right? Like I mentioned earlier, when the Third World Liberation Front happened in 1968, that’s just one example of why we’ve had to continuously fight for equity and equality—especially when it comes to being treated equally in our social safety nets. New Breath Foundation focuses on transforming the lives of Asian Americans, Native Hawaiians, and Pacific Islanders who are directly impacted by incarceration, deportation, and systemic violence in the U.S. Our three pillars are hope and healing, keeping families together, and movement building.

Part of that focus is on the belief that as long as we are breathing, there is hope—and that gives us the opportunity to heal. One of the values I really hold onto is the importance of racial solidarity. When you look at philanthropy, only 20 cents out of every $100 in funding goes to the AANHPI community. The people and organizations we work with—especially those addressing the criminal legal and deportation systems—receive pennies out of that. That’s why we show up: we want to support those who are directly impacted by those systems, not from the perspective of knowing what’s best for them, but following their leadership.

Abby
I really love that you brought up this idea of proximity—proximity to pain, proximity to community. This issue of proximity has been so important to this movement. I’d love to hear more from you about New Breath Foundation’s proximity to community. How does that actually manifest? For our audience of institutional philanthropies and grantmakers, if they wanted to emulate this model of being more proximate to pain, being more proximate to community, what could they do? What have you done that others might also consider?

Eddy
Well, for me, really, my presence—the fact that I am the first Asian American formerly incarcerated juvenile lifer to start a public charity foundation—is about narrative change. It’s also about representing the people who are directly impacted, giving them the opportunity to create solutions to better show up and support our communities.
 
 

Sometimes, people get caught up in fancy titles, but I’ve been in the free world for almost 18 years now. As soon as I was released under supervision from Immigration and Customs Enforcement detention, I immersed myself in violence prevention and youth empowerment work in the Bay Area. At the same time, I was raising awareness nationally about the detrimental impact of mass incarceration, deportation, and violence on AANHPI communities. In the process of this work, I was able to build relationships and nurture trust—not only with the AANHPI community, but with other people of color communities, because we share a common struggle.

I come from the grassroots community, and I have experience leading organizations such as the Asian Prisoner Support Committee, which started with an all-volunteer base driven by the commitment to support those impacted by incarceration. We quickly realized how little understanding there is around the issues of mass incarceration and deportation, especially for the AANHPI community, particularly the Southeast Asian communities, who are directly impacted by this double punishment of incarceration and deportation.

That’s one piece of it. Secondly, I feel that we have strong connections with the people and organizations doing the work. These relationships are crucial as we continue our efforts. That’s why our funding is invitation-only—we invite the people we know who are doing great work in the community to partner with us.

To ensure our work is community-centered, we’ve established a Community Advisory Committee, mostly made up of formerly incarcerated individuals and others directly impacted by the system. We also have staff who came from these communities, and our board members support people who are currently and formerly incarcerated. The people in our community are the experts, so they make recommendations about which organizations they know, on a national level, that are doing impactful work.

As we continue to increase our giving and build relationships with our grantee partners, they also make recommendations about other organizations they work with and trust. This is how we aim to center the voices of those doing the work on the ground. Our approach is deeply rooted in trust-based philanthropy practices and participatory grantmaking. These strategies allow us to focus on following the lead of people on the ground.

I remember reflecting on an experience I had when I was first navigating the prison system. I had the opportunity to participate in a sweat lodge ceremony with Native Americans inside. I gave them a pinch of tobacco and really understood the spirituality of Native Americans and the land we are still on. I recall the intense heat during the sweat, which was unbearable at first. The sweat lodge leader encouraged us to bury our noses in the earth, literally, and breathe in deeply.

So, I buried my nose in the earth, and Mother Earth took care of me. As I did this, I felt a sense of nurturing, trust, and relief. It allowed me to breathe in a way I had never experienced before. Normally, we take our breath for granted, but when under intense pressure, we truly feel how important it is.

This experience shapes how we approach New Breath Foundation’s work—especially in how we engage with our grantee partners and distribute resources. We’re rooted in that deep understanding, symbolized by burying my nose in Mother Earth. Without our grantee partners, who are doing the hard work on the ground and trusting us to support them, the New Breath Foundation would not exist.

When we established our $10 million "We Got Us Fund" in 2021, the goal was to focus on building capacity, building power, and strengthening the infrastructure of grassroots organizations. Part of this involved giving grantees six-figure general operating support without asking for detailed reporting. That was such a breath of fresh air for all the grantee partners we engaged with. We told them, "We’ll do the reporting for you. We just need to sit down and have a conversation about some of the successes, impacts, and challenges so we can continue to support you."

In addition to direct grants, we also provide coaching, support, and evaluation resources to help organizations understand their sustainability and create access to further opportunities. We’re partners, not just funders.

From the other perspective, we also continue to build relationships with our funding partners. As an intermediary, a public charity foundation, not only do we need to cultivate and nurture trust with our grantee partners, but we also need to do the same with our institutional funding partners. They provide the resources that allow us to give general operating support to the organizations doing critical work. It’s a team effort that requires ongoing learning and consistent healing—from the grassroots communities to the funding institutions. That’s how New Breath shows up in the work we do.

Abby
I love it. There are so many amazing themes here. One element of the lived experience—or lived expertise—that I hadn’t really thought about is the importance of intermediary organizations in grantmaking, especially those that are both funders and fundraisers. You literally have the lived experience of your funded partners because you're also in the fundraising role. You’re living every day between two worlds, navigating power dynamics that exist above, below, and within. It’s fascinating and important to think about intermediary organizations, and it makes me wonder about challenges.

For example, some of the grantmakers we advise are primarily focused on the grantmaking side, and don’t have much experience with the fundraising side. They might see New Breath, or other intermediaries, as a barrier. They may wonder, "Why can’t we just work directly with the community?" How would you respond to that kind of question?

Eddy
That’s actually something I had to address when I first started the foundation from scratch—it was just a vision. As I engaged potential donors—individual donors, as well as institutional donors—the question always came up: "If I fund you, I’m taking money away from other organizations."

What I told them was, "You can fund both us and them, but you just need to increase the distribution of resources." Instead of the normal 5% distribution requirement, why not increase your giving? Some progressive foundations do increase their giving to 10% or 13%, but that’s rare. The money is still there. The fear is that funders want to ensure they’re providing resources in perpetuity, thinking ahead 10 years for challenges, but people are dying right now. There are trillions of dollars just sitting there, accumulating, while people are struggling today.

Another question I often hear is, "Why do I have to fund you and not just fund them directly?" My response is simple: "You’ve never funded them to begin with."

So why not? Great! Fund them directly. But you don’t have the relationships with these communities that we do. Let me help you expand your reach and increase your impact. It’s not about who gets credit—if you want all the credit, you can have it. For me, the key is making sure I cultivate the necessary resources to support the people who are struggling, doing the work with limited resources.

Intermediaries or bridging foundations, like ours, have different roles to play. At New Breath, we’re in a sweet spot because we’ve earned the trust of the people doing the work on the ground, and we’ve also earned the trust of institutional partners who believe in our work.

That’s why it’s important for us to carefully consider what we choose to do and how we show up. When we make those choices, we do so with integrity.

I remember attending a philanthropic award ceremony where some CEOs and directors from large tech companies said, "What we learned is just write a check and get out of the way." And that’s true if your organization is extractive, constantly making organizations submit pages of reports. We do need accountability for the resources we distribute, but there’s a difference between accountability and oppression.

For those in those extractive spaces, yes, write the check and move out of the way. But the ideal situation is that you not only write a check but are willing to engage with communities—to understand why you're supporting them, and to be present with them. Be willing to listen and learn, without asserting power dynamics that say, "We’re your funders and you have to do this for us because we’re giving you this money."

That’s the good practice—being engaged, not just transactional.

Abby
Exactly. It’s an invitation for folks who haven’t already thought about that: If you’re going to be transactional, then yes, write the check and move on. But ideally, are you willing to show up and be part of the community—to co-create solutions? That’s a different question. And maybe, if I’m hearing you correctly, this is New Breath’s ideal approach—and what would actually transform the field: showing up that way. Right?

Eddy
I mean, we're very grateful. Even though we are newer, I still say that we are in that startup mode in a way, because when I first started the foundation, I didn't want… I mean, you know, one, I didn’t have an endowment; two, I didn’t inherit a whole bunch of wealth. Yeah. So, you know, three, I feel that we came in with the idea of not hoarding money. We just want to distribute resources, which means that, you know, many of my mentors and OGS in the philanthropic field have shared with me, "Eddy, if you don’t have an endowment or you don’t create one, that means you have to fundraise all the time." And the question around that is: What happens if you can fundraise, but people don’t give you money to support the work that you’re doing? For me, it's like, "Well, if people don’t support me or the foundation, then maybe we should just fold. We don't have to be here if we are not making a positive impact on our community, but if we are, then we should continue. We need to cultivate and think about different strategies."

You know, I mean, I don’t mind having an endowment, but I don’t want to be that organization that distributes 5%. Can we be more creative and think about what we can do? You know, as we see, many of the foundations, even some of the family foundations and public foundations, are really scaling down in a lot of areas, right? They focus on following trends, what is trendy to fund, but that doesn’t really address the root cause. Right? So I’m very grateful to be in different spaces, like, you know, with the California Criminal Justice Fund, the School, and other foundations coming together, saying, "Hey, what can we do to monitor, learn, and show up collectively for our community?"

Abby
I love some of the stuff you’re sharing. Just reflecting back on what you said, it’s getting me excited about the idea. You’re talking about Chi and breath, and this actually brings me back to thinking about East Asian medicine and traditional Chinese medicine, where chi, energy, and breath—and maybe even money and other resources—are really only contributing to life if they're moving. You can't just hold your breath. You can’t just hoard money, you can’t hoard chi. That doesn’t make you more alive, right? You’ve got to keep it moving. So, in a way, if we reframed our roles in philanthropy as cultivating movement—of all of these resources, of breath, of money, of goodwill, of time—that would be so life-giving. Anyway, it’s inspiring. I hadn’t thought about it that way before, but it's something that New Breath has really helped me understand.

I had a question for you, too, looking into the future. We’ve looked at some of your individual stories and the mechanics of how New Breath does its amazing work, but I’d love to focus on the future. What do you think is needed to address these challenges? What are you most excited about in the coming year? Where do you feel energy, potential, momentum—some real movement?

Eddy
Like, today is the election, right? Local and national elections. There’s a lot of anxiety, a lot of excitement, a lot of apprehension around the state of our country. And I think for me, it’s really about holding that space with this idea of abundance—an abundance of opportunities for us to really evaluate where we are as individuals, and our connection to our family and our community. Personally, locally, and globally in that space.

I always think about the idea of connection to chi, where there is no separation of humanity. We know that genocide is still happening in different parts of the world, right? It’s happening, and a lot of foreign policies are still really creating intergenerational trauma. So we have to come back to our breath, right? So, that’s where I say the abundance comes from. Our breath allows us the opportunity to have hope.

Part of that is something I always share with people: We must be willing to engage in a personal revolution before embarking on our collective liberation. So, what I’m excited about in the upcoming year is that we have the opportunity to really identify how we can do better—not only for the present, but at the same time create more tools, opportunities, and structures for future generations.

For New Breath Foundation, our immediate goal is to finish the distribution of that $10 million. So far, we’ve distributed $6.9 million. Hopefully, next year, we’ll have the opportunity to continue to build with institutional partners or individual donors who can help us finish that distribution goal. Secondly, we’ll continue to invest in this narrative change.

As we’re talking about abundance and opportunities, not only are we focusing on addressing the inequity in the distribution of resources within philanthropic institutions, but we’re also very aware of the same challenges within the Native American, Black, and Brown communities, right? And many times, you know, poor white communities are also part of that space. So for us, it’s about: How do we continue to address anti-Blackness, which shows up in our daily lives and is consistently perpetuated? How do we address anti-Asian violence, anti-immigrant, anti-refugee violence, and all these different challenges that we encounter under the sheer system of oppression—right, of white supremacy, systemic racism, and patriarchy?

So those are the things we are holding, and these are the opportunities where we can stay laser-focused. So it’s about narrative change. I’m also exploring how to focus on the sustainability of New Breath Foundation and exploring the importance of creating a fund to really hold spaces for racial solidarity work on a national level.

The other thing that our grantee partners in the Southeast Asian community on the national level are working on next year is the healing movement. It focuses on the 50th anniversary of the end of the US wars in Southeast Asia. They’ve created a campaign called the SEAR campaign (Southeast Asian Relief and Responsibility Campaign), where the Southeast Asian community is coming together to say to the federal government, "How do we right the wrongs that were done 50 years ago?" Refugees who came to this country are still being criminalized and deported. They still haven’t had the culturally competent opportunities and resources to heal from the generational trauma they experienced. So in support of that—I’m excited about how we must continue to show up for each other.

Abby
Exactly, the challenges are always there, but our community is always there to come together to address them.

Eddy
The other thing I want to uplift is that, you know, I’m very grateful to have the opportunity to start a foundation from scratch and to have the impact that we’ve been able to create. That’s really a testament to the amazing team at New Breath Foundation. And I have to say, I’m the only cis male out of the six staff members in the organization. So, I’m very mindful of the power dynamic, right? Just as president and founder of the foundation. But what I’ve learned is that they all came with so much lived experience and many skills. Without them and the work they do, and the sacrifices they make, we wouldn’t be here. All of the board members who came from different expert areas have also really supported me and the foundation, making sure that we show up the right way—especially our Community Advisory Committee members, many of whom are still fighting deportation orders and trying to address gender-based violence.

Here’s what I want to say to close: What we’re really trying to focus on at New Breath Foundation is the connection to chi—culture, history, identity—and how we center collective learning as a way to engage in the path of collective healing. By tapping into each other’s chi, we allow the opportunity to heal. When our healing is rooted in racial solidarity work, that’s how we embark on the journey of collective liberation. We are doing this internally and externally, and we hope that with this opportunity, we’ll continue to share our experiences and learn from other philanthropic institutions, individuals, and especially the people doing the work on the ground. They are the ones who give us the opportunity to have a seat at the table.

Abby
I love that. Thank you so much. That’s like the next podcast, right? Podcast 2.0 with Eddy will be about hope and healing, right? And what that looks like, and that path. I love it. Thank you so much.

Eddy
Well, I appreciate the opportunity to share and engage. Excellent.

Nancy (Host)
Can We Talk About is a podcast by Philanthropy Northwest, written and produced by Aya Tsuruta and Emily Daman, with audio engineering support from Jesse McKeown at Podfly and graphic design by Asha Hossein. We'll be releasing season two episodes throughout the fall, so make sure you’re following us on your favorite podcasting platform to stay up to date. A huge thank you to Katie Hong, Robin Martin, and Abby Sarmac for hosting this season, and to the Ford Foundation for making this project possible.