I love Chinatown but I don’t live there. If you know me, you know I probably spend more time at Red’s Place and Lion’s Den than I should. But I’m not hanging in Chinatown for the food, the drinks, or the knick-knacks. I love Chinatown for what it represents. Chinatown is a place built by us, for us — a testament to our history and our resilience. Now that the Asian community extends far beyond Chinatown, we need our voices and values to reflect that.
The 1906 earthquake reduced Chinatown to rubble. San Francisco’s city government, which then viewed Chinese people as little better than rats, sought to banish our community from valuable downtown land to the city’s southeast fringes. But we decided to carve our destiny. Brick by brick, the people of Chinatown rebuilt the buildings by hand. Then, we organized. Day and night, Chinese took shifts occupying these reborn buildings to resist eviction. By day, folks pooled what little money they had to lobby City Hall. Through sheer will and the hands of many, Chinatown rose again from the ashes, standing firmly where it does today.
But we remained second-class citizens. Men toiled in low-wage jobs, underpaid, and treated as less than human. Women, including daughters of those who rebuilt Chinatown, were prostituted on its streets —sometimes serving the very politicians promising to preserve our community. As that next generation labored in restaurants, bars, and brothels, they impressed upon their children: “You must become a doctor, engineer — anything but this.” And so the next generation joined the ranks of Civil Rights leaders, fighting alongside all people of color. They fought for the right to buy homes in white neighborhoods, the right to equal pay and opportunity in the workplace, and the right to higher education through affirmative action. And such triumphs bolstered a new wave of Asian immigrants — South Asians, Filipinos, and others — drawn to San Francisco and the promise of “Old Gold Mountain.”
We’ve bought homes on San Francisco’s west and south sides, and now dominate in Visitacion Valley and Portola.
Chinatown then became home to one of the city’s most vulnerable populations: A generation of monolingual Chinese seniors aging in place. Their hard work and sacrifices had propelled multiple generations to success, yet many now resided in decrepit public housing. But again, our community rose to the challenge and organized under the leadership of Rose Pak, for whom the Chinatown subway station was posthumously named. We advocated for the construction and renovation of the Ping Yuens, large public housing complexes built to house this very population.
During the Covid-19 pandemic, adversity struck again. Our schools shut down and Board of Education then Vice President Allison Collins offered no reopening plan while claiming Asian-Americans were the equivalent of house slaves, complicit with white supremacy. She insisted that our “white adjacency would keep us safe “while Asian hate attacks shot up 500 percent citywide. In 2021, when an Asian elder was murdered on a morning walk, then District Attorney Chesa Boudin dismissed the incident as a “temper tantrum.” And so again, we organized. In unprecedented numbers, Asians in San Francisco voted to recall far-left school board commissioners and the district attorney. We flexed our political heft, commanding the attention of every candidate running for mayor in 2024.
Asian-Americans will continue to be one of the most important voter demographics in San Francisco and beyond. Our deep belief in the American Dream — especially among immigrants — fuels this influence. Nationally, we have the fastest economic and population growth rate, alongside the highest median income. Asian-Americans now make up one-third of San Francisco’s population. Yet a glance at Chinatown’s election data reveals fewer than 2,000 Chinese ballots requested in 2024. Chinatown residents — especially those in public housing — have long been among the city’s most reliable voters. But this number tells a deeper story: the generation of monolingual Chinese seniors who once defined Chinatown is dwindling.
Why? We’ve expanded. We’ve bought homes on San Francisco’s west and south sides. We moved into previously all-white areas like the historically Irish Sunset and St. Francis Wood. And we now dominate neighborhoods like Visitacion Valley and Portola, where Asians now exceed 50 percent of residents. We’ve become the doctors, engineers, and professionals our parents dreamed we would. Downtown, young Asian professionals pay steep rents in high rises to walk to their offices at Google, Bank of America, and Salesforce. Many elders, including Rose Pak, have passed. Yet Chinatown stood strong for over 150 years. In the words of District Attorney Brooke Jenkins, who succeeded Boudin after he was recalled, “The story of San Francisco’s Asian community is woven into the fabric of our city’s shared history.”
Etched in the bricks of Chinatown is the beginning of San Francisco’s Asian-American story — one that started in oppression but rose through resilience. The city first tried to confine us there like a ghetto, then tried to take it away from us. But every time, we fought back. We organized, we rebuilt, and we carved our own destiny. Brick by brick, generation by generation, we turned survival into strength and struggle into success. We built businesses, bought homes, and claimed our place in this city, and we now hold the power to shape its future. So no, we don’t just live in Chinatown anymore — look how far we’ve come. And we should be damn proud of that.
Forrest Liu is an Asian-American community organizer and activist who works to stop Asian hate.