We often see a lack of proper representation for South Asians in mainstream narratives presented in the media, history textbooks, official government statements and documents, and school curricula. But what frequently goes unnoticed is the lack of representation and overgeneralization of the experiences of the South Asian population within medical research, along with their limited access to care. This exhibit explores how intersecting factors such as social stigma, lack of representation in medical research data, the model minority myth, and immigration affect the South Asian community in regards to both physical and mental health, as well as how local community organizations such as Sapna NYC and SAMHIN (South Asian Mental Health Initiative & Network) mobilize community members to destigmatize discussions about mental health and advocate for proper care access.
August 7th, 2015 was supposed to be an ordinary day, especially for families in which parental figures are responsible for providing a shelter full of unconditional love and warmth to their kids. On this day, though, a mother from Queens was involved in a bizarre, unexpected event that would shock the masses: an incident contradictory to society's typical view of mothers as nurturing and protecting.
On August 7th, the sound of wailing was initially heard from four stories high that continuously approached the ground, as the figure of a small infant boy fell and hit the pavement. Drawn outside by the commotion, moments later, neighbors in the building, Rizwan Ahmad and Mazol Ilyayeva, witnessed a horrifying sight. In a state of absolute terror, they immediately called 911 to investigate why a child was covered in blood near a trash can in the courtyard outside the 115th Street apartment building in Richmond Hill. After the police arrived and pronounced the child dead at the scene, both parents of the deceased child were taken to Jamaica Medical Center for questioning and observation. There, after an autopsy, it was revealed that the infant had died from blunt impact of the head and torso with skull fractures and lacerations of his brain, liver and spleen.¹ Rashida Chowdhury, the 21-year-old Bangladeshi immigrant mother, admitted to have thrown her baby out of the bathroom window from her fourth floor apartment building because she perceived that an evil spirit was possessing her child. As per the autopsy and her disturbing confession, Chowdhury was charged with second-degree murder.²
Though this story has all the hallmarks of true crime, its context is much deeper — and more complicated — than headlines alone. My research started when I stumbled upon a New York Times article titled “Bangladeshi Women, Isolated in New York City, Need More Support, Advocates Say,” which detailed this horrifying story. After advocates and social service providers heard about this incident, they turned their attention to the acute scarcity of mental health resources for Bangladeshi immigrant women, which in extreme cases, can result in behavior such as this. Although the case of Rashida Chowdhury was almost a decade ago, and could be written off as just one of the unusual, lurid occurrences that one might see passing through the news, we can also investigate this on a deeper level. Further research shows that this case, and the issues it raised, is just the tip of the iceberg. What can be found in this exhibit is the articulation of a broader pattern of challenges faced by immigrants in New York City influenced by several factors all connected to mental health access in the city. Despite social assumptions and sensationalist media coverage, not all of these incidents happen because of pure malicious intent or poor character.
As I continued on with my research, I found that this was not a matter only concerning the Bangladeshi community, but a significant portion of the South Asian immigrant community. My initial readings made me ask: Why do many South Asian immigrants, especially women, feel isolated in New York City? How does lack of culturally aware mental health support impact communities? And finally, how can immigrant communities organize to help enlighten each other about the importance of mental health while also improving access to resources?
New York City is home to a very diverse population of South Asian communities. Many can be traced back to several countries within the southern subregion of the Asian continent, including Bangladesh, India, Nepal, Sri Lanka, and Pakistan. Some South Asian diasporic communities in New York City also have roots in the Caribbean, also known as Indo-Caribbeans, including Trinidad, Guyana, Jamaica, and Tobago. Not only does this list of countries of origin represent geographic diversity, but it also speaks to the vast variety of religions and languages within these groups. Despite such complexities in South Asian identities, they are often lumped together into one homogenous group — in both data collection, like the census, as well as in public perception — due to historical racism and political convenience. One of the many consequences of conflating these identities is a significant lack of studies to collect health data within different South Asian groups.¹ Likewise, many of the reasons why these communities struggle with their mental health, along with difficulty accessing care, can be rooted back to the history of exclusionary and racist American immigration policies.²
Prior to 1965, American immigration policy was primarily defined by racism and exclusion that shifted targets over time based on current political conditions. The first post-Revolutionary War piece of immigration-related legislation, the 1790 Naturalization Act, made non-white individuals, broadly defined, ineligible for naturalization.³ Legislation in the following decades would seek to specifically limit or bar immigration and naturalization by people from Asian countries, including the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act and the 1888 Scott Act. This system became broadly known as the national origins quota system, and continued to be bolstered by pieces of legislation passed in 1917, 1921, and 1924.⁴ These laws largely favored European immigrants from Western or Scandinavian countries, allotting them a full 55% of all available immigration quota spots, while limiting the entry of Southern and Eastern European immigrants. The 1917 Act, in particular, established an "Asiatic Barred Zone" which spanned the entirety of British India, most of Southeast Asia, and most of the Middle East, banning immigration and naturalization from the countries falling within the zone's borders.⁵
It was not until 1965 when these discriminatory national origin quotas were finally abolished. Signed into law on October 3rd, 1965 by President Lyndon B. Johnson, the Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 removed ethnicity, race, and country of origin as qualifications to receive an immigration visa. Instead of permitting or rejecting immigration based on race or ethnicity alone, the Act shifted the focus of immigration law to family reunification and prioritizing labor/professional skills. Historian Tom Gjelten quotes President Johnson as having said, “'A nation that was built by the immigrants of all lands can ask those who now seek admission: ‘What can you do for our country?'... But we should not be asking, ‘In what country were you born?’”⁶ This legislation was a massive turning point in American history. Its passage had a huge impact on the United States and in nations beyond, particularly for Asian immigrants.⁷
The Immigration and Nationality Act of 1965 prioritized immigrants with direct family ties to current American citizens or those with high levels of education in scientific fields. As such, most South Asian immigrants who were allowed to enter the United States immediately post-1965 were upper-caste professionals, which would eventually fuel many of the stereotypes undergirding the model minority myth. Nonetheless, “unskilled” workers also sought pathways toward legal immigration, creating a growing population of unauthorized immigrants who were employed but lacked the lawful means to immigrate. Many were eventually able to do so due to loopholes in the family reunification rules, as well as through seasonal temporary work visas. The law also didn’t have strong tracking systems for temporary visitors, which resulted in many immigrants who legally entered on tourist or student visas overstaying after their visas expired. The law also highly prioritized family reunification over other factors: the largest portion of visas was set aside for family reunification (75%), while employment (20%) and refugee status (5%) made up the last quarter. This created forms of chain migration, where legal immigrants would sponsor their families to immigrate and then those family members would sponsor more of their family members. As South Asian immigration increased over time, their demographics became more diverse, including documented and undocumented individuals, refugees, and new generations of South Asian Americans.⁸
There were significant differences in class, skills, education, and occupation between the first and second wave of immigrants from South Asia. The success experienced by the first wave of immigrants was used to delegitimize the idea of structural barriers, since "hard work" was all it took to overcome racism and inequality. This idea forms the basis of the model minority myth, a term which was first coined in 1966 by sociologist William Pettersen.¹ It emerged out of the historical context following World War II, when Asian Americans, particularly Japanese Americans, deemed it necessary to become model citizens in order to prove their loyalty to the U.S. and no longer be perceived as dangerous, unpatriotic threats to the nation.¹ This narrative rests upon the idea that failure is a personal flaw, rather than the result of structural forces and systemic discrimination. When such a burdensome narrative is put on the shoulders of an entire community, it pressures ordinary people to conform to those stereotypes. As researchers have since found, the failure to meet these established high expectations is linked to a decline in mental health.
“The model minority myth … mak[es] us as Asians [and] South Asians monoliths. … I’ve had people go, ‘Oh, so your dad’s a doctor? Is he a lawyer? Do you have money? Do you have this? Do you have that? Are you [in] an arranged marriage?’ And just the kind of image that portrays and gives us. But the expectations put on us as being high performing and everyone assumes you’re going to be smart. … I am a black sheep in many ways, not only within my family, but within Asian [and] South Asian culture, being [in my profession], someone who’s not a doctor, who hasn’t gone the professional, traditional, educational route. So, it’s very harmful, that too, for those communities within the Asian diaspora who have come to the United States. … [M]any of them come from impoverished and underrepresented communities and the expectations put on them to produce or the types of jobs and menial labor they have to take on as a result is really a very poisonous mythos to have out there.”
– US-born woman of Indian origin in her early 40s⁹
Several studies show the link between the model minority myth about Asian communities and impact on mental health. For example, a study conducted by researchers Changyue Li, Linda Serra Hagedorn, and Hang Cui involved 573 Asian American and Asian international college students and focused on the role of citizenship status, making it one of the first studies to draw this connection.¹⁰ In the results of this study, several Asian American students reported that they faced far more academic stereotypes than their international peers and this led to the deterioration of their mental health. However, there was not a notable impact on international students. For South and Southeast Asian students specifically, they did experience academic stereotypes which caused them distress, but their experience with character-based stereotypes was much more common. Ultimately, the study found that “Asian American students are more likely to feel pressure from academic expectations, while international students face different challenges depending on their regional background.”¹¹ Overall, it is apparent that Asian communities’ experiences, whether in a profession or in an educational setting, have always been shaped by racial discrimination and exclusionary immigration policies.
“As a South Asian student, I can relate to much of the pressure South Asian students across the country face. A close friend of mine, whose family immigrated to the United States from India, reluctantly signs up for rigorous coursework at school and participates in competitive STEM tournaments every year despite having little interest in those activities. His real talent lies in art… He confided in me that his immigrant parents, who grew up in parts of India where opportunities were scarce and competition was cut-throat, kept pushing him to get perfect grades and become a doctor, seeing art as an unlikely option for his success. My friend’s story is not unique: countless South Asian students across the country, each with their own circumstances and experiences, reflect the same effects of constant pressure to excel and achieve, with little regard for their feelings.”
— Yahya Usman, a volunteer at SAMHIN¹²
Asian communities' experiences in the United States have been deeply shaped by racial discrimination, exclusionary immigration policies, and xenophobia. But the model minority myth and its attached factors are not the only thing determining mental health outcomes. Immigration court systems in the U.S. have also been notorious for treating South Asians unjustly. Many applicants from the region, including asylum seekers and immigrants who currently live in the U.S. but need further documentation, constantly have to face systemic barriers in the U.S. court systems, including issues of language access and newer policies that seek to fast-track deportation.¹ When a court system fails to accommodate the linguistic diversity within South Asian groups who speak several different languages, such as Hindi, Urdu, Bengali, Tamil, and others, it’s harder for immigrants, particularly asylum seekers, to present their claims. This increases deportation rates, which also frequently leads to family separation.
As shown in this letter, linguistic barriers are a massive, prevalent issue for the immigrants in these communities. The lack of cultural competency within U.S. immigration court systems means that cultural differences specific to South Asians, such as gender norms and language barriers, are constantly ignored. Inadequate efforts to take proper action and bridge these cultural gaps has been a large contributing factor to the deteriorating mental health of these marginalized groups. Without proper resources and treatment that acknowledge these differences, South Asians have a lesser feeling of belonging with others within the United States, feeling like outsiders instead, no matter how hard they try to fit in.
These struggles are common to many different immigrant groups. For example, SapnaNYC’s Mental Health Community Needs Assessment, which mainly centered around South Asian immigrant women, found that many of them were not aware of their rights, what resources were available to them, or how they could advocate for their mental health needs. One of the Bangladeshi women who was interviewed as part of this research admitted:
“When I first came from Bangladesh, I didn’t know anything, didn’t understand anything… what should I do, where should I go.”²
Linguistic barriers, cultural stigma, and the overwhelming experience of the immigration process are all major factors which prevent many South Asian immigrants from learning crucial information about mental health and services.
South Asia is a region of incredible significance for the history of world religions, as the birthplace of four of the world's main religions: Hinduism, Buddhism, Sikhism, and Jainism. Today, countless people hailing from and living in South Asia or in the diaspora practice the seven major religions of the world: Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, Buddhism, Sikhism, and Jainism. Some also practice Zoroastrianism, whose followers can be found in India.¹ As discussed in the prior sections, South Asians are a very diverse group in terms of country of origin, cultural traditions, and religious backgrounds. Their population has been growing over time within the United States and in New York City post-1965, with its longest periods of growth occurring between 1990 and 2000.
Despite constantly being lumped together in one group politically and in mainstream narratives, the South Asian community is incredibly diverse. Many hail from countries such as India, Bangladesh, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bhutan, and the Maldives,² while others within the Indo-Caribbean diaspora come from Guyana or Trinidad.³ There is also diversity in regards to citizenship status: some are legal or illegal immigrants, while others are refugees, citizens who went through the naturalization process, or were born in the United States.
Such diversity in countries of origin, culture, religion, language, and citizenship status means that there are many unique cultural practices and beliefs within a supposedly homogenous ethnic community. Many of these practices and cultural exports from South Asia are revered and have been adopted by other Americans, including food, yoga, classical music, Bollywood, clothing styles, jewelry, and more. This was made possible by immigrants carrying their cultural identities with them as they migrated to the United States. However, this did not just include celebratory and joyful traditions. They also carried cultural stigmas and internalized social expectations within their hearts, affecting both themselves and others within the community. These burdens have contributed to the fact that a huge portion of this population experiences unique health disparities.
Several studies have shown that South Asian immigrants experience high rates of declining mental health and increased frequency of mental health disorders — issues which often go completely unaddressed and untreated, since many individuals fear the social stigma that comes with having a mental disorder and also seeking mental help.⁴ Immigrant groups can also experience psychological distress due to the pressures of immigration and assimilation. One of the examples, as mentioned in prior sections, is the difficulty that many South Asian immigrants have in obtaining legal status, while simultaneously being criminalized by or lacking visibility in the system itself. Their rights are suppressed in a number of ways, such as how many South Asian women experience abuse and exploitation in domestic work. LGBTQ+ members of the South Asian community are also commonly mistreated and face stigma around their identities — from both their community and society, creating multiple barriers that can keep them from getting mental health support.
Research has also shown that South Asian immigrant women have higher rates of mental health disorders and are more susceptible to depression, anxiety, insomnia, certain mental illnesses, eating-related psychopathology, postpartum depression, and deliberate self-harm.⁵ In some cases, many of these women even experience episodes that result in them harming the people around them — like Rashida Chowdhury, whose story initially sparked my interest in this topic. South Asian women are more susceptible to harbor mental health disorders like the ones listed above because of strict gender roles and expectations, the weight of familial responsibilities, criticism from family about their weight or appearance, bicultural stress, and the heavy burden of representing their family’s honor and values.
Mental health disorders are not the only issues that plague the South Asian community; culturally specific factors can be indicators of physical health issues, too. South Asians are at much higher risk for cardiovascular disease and Type 2 diabetes than many other populations. This is caused not only by complex biological factors (an example being that research shows the population usually stores more visceral and liver fat even when they have normal BMIs, which leads to diseases like Type 2 diabetes and fatty liver disease), but also socioeconomic and cultural factors.⁶ Such complex and intersectional factors that affect both mental health and physical health require targeted awareness and proper attention, in addition to grappling with the fact that discussions about mental health are considered taboo within many South Asian cultures.
It is vital to provide culturally appropriate preventative care for these diseases, and a key step in that process is making sure South Asians are represented within medical research. Asian subgroups are constantly aggregated as a monolithic unit, despite the complexity and diversity in the populations. and South Asians in particular are frequently under-sampled in medical research and studies.⁷ The pie charts above illustrate that the participants in the clinical trials that are evaluated by the U.S. Food and Drug Association (FDA) to bring new drugs and treatments to the market are majority non-Hispanic White participants, with a small minority of Asian respondents involved. Another example of South Asians' underrepresentation in medical research is apparent in how there is no published data on schizophrenia and bipolar disorders among South Asians in the United States, despite the fact that many individuals within this community suffer from these disorders. Mental health-related incidents regularly go un-reported due to the social and cultural bias that surrounds speaking up about mental health within these communities.⁸
Cultural attitudes about mental health play a significant role on how people can gain access to care, as well as how much of a detrimental effect it has in their lives. In South Asian cultures specifically, there is a towering barrier of stigma surrounding discussions about mental health, which can prevent people from getting help. According to a 2010 study, South Asians college students utilize mental health services at significantly lower rates and have poorer attitudes towards psychological counseling than Caucasian college students, and stigma is a major factor.¹ The same study also implies that U.S. South Asians tend to experience and express higher stigma towards mental illness than other groups.² In addition to the cultural stigma around mental health, struggles are also frequently dismissed in religious households because they believe faith will fix everything. Religion can cause people to dismiss mental health struggles as being “as little as feelings;” therefore, it is unnecessary to get treatment for “mere feelings.”
“Over time, constant pressure to perform can lead to perfectionism, anxiety, and burnout. Students may hide their struggles because they fear being perceived as ungrateful or weak, leading to many struggles persisting long-term. Another factor is the stigma surrounding mental health in many South Asian communities. Mental health struggles may be dismissed as a lack of discipline or resilience, preventing many students from receiving support due to the fear of it poorly reflecting their family.”
— Yahya Usman, a volunteer at SAMHIN³
Discussions about mental health are also crucial because there is a demonstrated connection between high rates of mental illnesses and various kinds of chronic illness within this ethnic group. In other words, mental health also affects physical health, and mental health disorders can be a significant determining factor in the causation of biological illnesses. For example, many South Asians have reported that they experience psychological distress that manifests as physical symptoms like insomnia, chronic pain, and stomach issues.⁴ The fact that individuals within this ethnic group regularly suppress their feelings and feel scared to open up about their mental struggles is extremely detrimental to their well-being, contributing to physical illnesses and sickness along with worsened mental health. It also leads to harmful behavior that can be extreme in some cases, including self-harm, suicide, and sometimes even murder.⁵
As someone part of the community myself, I can also resonate with the social stigma and cultural attitudes towards mental health. I grew up hearing beliefs such as, “you don’t need to worry about mental health, what you need to do instead is focus on your studies and career”, “you don’t need therapy when you have Allah,” “it’s just because you’re always on your phone,” and “how can you be stressed or depressed when you have a roof over your head and eat three meals a day? You’re already privileged enough to live in America, what more do you want?”
Or, if someone is neurodivergent or suspects that they are and want to seek a diagnosis, they could be met with the response of shame and disappointment from their parents and hear something like, “what will people say?”
When I would hear such things, I would always think: Why is it that this has been the norm for generations on end? For people who work and work until their bodies bend and break, who spend years shaping their masks in front of others for validation, only for belligerence to take its place? For the same people that have yet to mend themselves to tear others down instead of guiding them with their own experience on the same issues? For anyone to finally open up about struggles that have been plaguing them for years, only to hear, “God gave you everything, how could you feel this way?” or “Just keep praying to God, everything will be fixed soon,” leaving you feeling defeated. You realize that your words didn’t even reach the ears of whoever you thought was listening to you and thought would support you through anything; instead, you were met with complete dismissal of your struggles.
“In many South Asian families, functioning often becomes the primary marker of well-being. Being able to study, work, and meet responsibilities is commonly taken as evidence that someone is doing okay. In many ways, this makes sense, as functioning can reflect stability, discipline, and the ability to engage with life. At the same time, it is possible to perform well while experiencing significant stress, anxiety, or emotional exhaustion. When functioning becomes the only lens through which well-being is understood, internal distress can be easily overlooked.… Struggle does not always look like falling behind. Sometimes, it looks like continuing to move forward while carrying more than feels manageable. Distress beneath the surface deserves just as much attention as experiences that are more visible. Recognizing this is not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength. It can be the first step toward understanding yourself more fully.”
— Aanya Jajoo, in SAMHIN’s blog “The Quiet Exhaustion Behind Keeping Up”⁶
The unfortunate reality is that situations like these are experienced by millions of people every single day. Individuals face lack of concern, disappointment from their family and loved ones, and disbelief about the extent of their struggles. However, this exhibit’s purpose is to also show the resilience of these people who go through such experiences. While there are many people who fall into despair, there are also those who have summoned the courage to start breaking down the stigma towards mental health. Their bravery, even in small ways, helps to bridge the gap between South Asians and access to mental health care.
The previous section discussed the social stigma behind mental health and discussions about it within the South Asian community, unveiling some of the complexity of it. But what happens once the stigma is shattered? Even when some community members have broken through the social stigma surrounding mental health, another barrier remains: ease of access. Unfortunately, in many cases, access to both physical and mental healthcare — not even to mention care that is also culturally appropriate — is almost completely unattainable. Instead of medical aid, they’re met with unwanted interventions from carceral authorities; often police officers, that in some cases, react violently against individuals suffering through mental health crises. This was the case for Jabez Chakraborty, who was 22 years old when he was gravely injured after being shot four times by a NYPD officer on January 26, 2026 in Briarwood, Queens.¹
Many people's negative experiences with policing is exactly why the family of Jabez Chakraborty, who was diagnosed with schizophrenia at age 20, refused to call 911. Jabez frequently struggled with psychotic episodes and severe depression. As the effects of his schizophrenia became too heavy of a burden, Jabez attempted suicide by consuming bleach in mid-December. Jabez's family knew calling 911 would bring consequences but needed some sort of emergency response, so they tried the city's non-police Suicide and Crisis hotline (988). However, despite their hopes for resources and support, they were refused proper treatment. Every time the Chakraborty family attempted to get professional and affordable care for Jabez, such as placing him in long-term, inpatient psychiatric treatment at a city hospital or getting him in an intensive daily treatment program, they were turned away or put on a never-ending waiting list.
“We reached out for mental health help because we wanted medical professionals — not police — to respond. We tried to follow the system the way it’s supposed to work, but instead we were sent through delays and bureaucratic hurdles that ended with our son being shot in our own home. We were asking for care. We never imagined it would lead to this.”
— Statement from Jabez Chakraborty’s family
According to New York Lawyers for the Public Interest, 24 individuals have been killed by the NYPD while experiencing a mental health crisis.² This is an outcome that the Chakraborty family absolutely wanted to avoid, fearing that an incident might escalate and require a response from an authority that could easily turn violent. However, mental health crises are rarely predictable and the responses of those around someone in crisis are almost always split-second decisions. Though the Zucker Hillside program did finally accept Jabez into its daily psychiatric treatment program, by the time they did, it was too late.
On February 13, Jabez was arraigned in the courtroom of Queens Supreme Justice Jessica Earle-Gargan after being charged with first-degree attempted assault after having a psychotic episode on the morning of January 26, 2026. This episode caused him to smash glasses against the wall, leaving his sister, Naomi, with no choice but to call 911 to intervene. Before the cops arrived, Jabez managed to calm down. After the police officers stepped inside the Chakraborty house, he again became agitated and aggressive, pulling out a large kitchen knife and approaching the cops with speed. One of the officers then shot him four times. After being shot, Jabez stumbled, falling back onto his family's couch with critical wounds throughout his body.
Thankfully, Jabez lived, though he spent weeks recovering from his gunshot wounds at Jamaica Hospital. This incident sparked massive outrage by local activist groups, especially Desis Rising Up & Moving (DRUM), a South Asian advocacy group in NYC. In response to Jabez’s injuries, DRUM condemned the NYPD’s actions and their historical tendency to resort to gun violence. They highlighted the fact that the Chakraborty family had asked for help and resources for a known mental health struggle and instead had received violence, and demanded that prosecutors drop all charges against him.³ Activists, his family, and reporters have also pointed out the incompetence of the mental health system and how it failed to protect Jabez Chakraborty in his most critical time of need. Though the 988 hotline is a valuable resource, it is understaffed and not properly equipped to deal with all emergency situations. In response to experiences like this one, many advocates have voiced the need for the city to replace armed police response to mental health crises with unarmed peer-led mental health responders.⁴
Migration, intergenerational trauma, gender roles, stigma embedded within the culture, American legal systems and its attitudes towards South Asian populations, and the medical industry itself: these are all things that have an apparent connection to impacting the mental health of South Asian communities. This impact is not straightforward nor definite, but rather complex and full of diverse experiences; individuals do not share the same experiences and cannot be defined by a singular, dominant narrative. As such, it is of utmost importance that there should be more personalized, accessible mental health support for these communities, which is exactly what community organizing by South Asians has attempted to accomplish. I want to conclude this exhibit by discussing two 501(c)(3) nonprofit organizations who do just that: SAMHIN and Sapna NYC.
Both of these organizations work to address the stigma and taboo with mental illness within the South Asian community. They organize to improve the mental wellness of the community through educational programs with the goal of raising awareness as well as increasing access to care. While both serve the broader South Asian community, Sapna NYC predominantly serves low-income immigrant women and families in the Bronx, empowering women to become change-makers in their communities. They also engage in cross-racial solidarity through coalition-building and intersectional programming by specifically working with other BIPOC-led community based organizations that address the struggles faced by working-class immigrants of color.
Sapna NYC was formerly known as the Westchester Square Partnership. It was founded in 2008 in response to the amount of South Asian immigrant women being affected by isolation, unemployment, and poverty, and the concern that low-level depression in the Bronx related to these issues was rising at an alarming rate. Recognizing these issues, Dr. Alison Karasz received a grant from the National Institute of Health in 2007 to research the needs of South Asian immigrant women and to develop culturally competent interventions for depression treatment. The earliest stages of the project took place in the waiting room of a small Bronx health center in which several researchers, psychologists, doctors, and community members worked together. The researchers found that South Asian immigrant women needed essential services and access to care. As an intervention, Dr. Karasz and Dr. Jean Burg formed Sapna NYC, which would be a new kind of non-profit organization: one that would integrate both scientific research and clinical skills, alongside community and participatory research.¹ Sapna’s programs are developed and evaluated based on participatory research, a type of scientific method where targeted community members play a key role in decision-making. At Sapna, this can look like deciding what specific programs are necessary, providing feedback on needed changes, and assisting the organization's leaders with peer health worker support.²
Rila Chowdhury is one of Sapna NYC’s members, and being within this community-driven collective has empowered her throughout her journey from being a newly-arrived immigrant to a U.S. citizen. When she first came to America with her husband in 2013, Rila left her family and friends behind. She was fully dependent on her husband, which left her with nothing once he unfortunately passed away in 2017. Throughout difficult moments in her life like this one, Rila found comfort in going to Sapna and participating in their workshop offerings, such as English classes, a babysitting co-op program, a citizenship class, the Lead Action group, and more. The support she received from Sapna NYC and her own courage and resilience meant that she was not only able to gain a space that felt like a new home, pulling her away from isolation that could have consumed her during unimaginably difficult experiences— the loss of her familiar country, her family and friends, and her husband — but she was also able to pass her citizenship exam on July 24, 2019. It was a nerve-wracking event for her, but she managed to push through her anxiety because of the family, warmth, support, and encouragement that she gained at Sapna.³
“Sapna NYC is like our family. We’re surrounded by family and that feels good. Sometimes when I’m down, I’ll head to Sapna and talk to people, and feel as if I’m with my family. That’s what I like about Sapna. They stand by people who are sad, lonely, in pain or struggling. And they’re always ready to help.”
— Rila Chowdhury
Sapna's programming also deals with physical health, not just mental health and social interventions. Researchers there examined the results from mainstream weight loss programs such as the National Diabetes Prevention Program (DPP), and found that the research and the programs were not culturally appropriate or effective for the South Asian community. In response, they developed their own completely Bengali CDC-accredited DPP in the Bronx, combining efforts in preventing or managing diabetes with building leadership skills and social networks for women impacted by such diseases.⁴
“I suffered from knee pain for four years. I had a lot of problems – the doctor said I needed surgery. Hearing that, I joined APPLE and lost 15 pounds. My knee pain has improved, and my life has become a lot easier,”
— Lafi, one of the APPLE Program graduates
Both Sapna NYC and SAMHIN offer several other essential programs that are designed to meet the needs of the South Asian community. One such program is the Mukti Initiative, which was launched in 2021 to address the mental health needs in the community by providing community workshops in languages like English, Bengali, Hindi, and Urdu. Some of the workshops involve free, fully confidential counseling to people. These workshops aim to address the many issues that community members face and that have a significant impact on their lives, such as isolation, stress management, depression, and mental health disorders. Along with mental health services, Sapna also offers workshops and programs designed to educate community members on physical illnesses like diabetes and cancer, and provide them with information on prevention and treatment.
“In addition to working on empowering our community through direct programming, we also believe strongly in working to raise the voices of our women. Given that many of the women we work with are vulnerable due to their gender, religion, immigration status, socio-economic group, and health we recognize that advocating for themselves isn’t necessarily feasible. As such, we work with other organizations and agencies to represent the needs and beliefs of our community. Sapna leadership is committed to advocating for the rights of our women and for augmenting their voices and relaying their concerns to our city, state, and national representatives.”
— Sapna NYC¹
The word “Sapna” in Sapna NYC refers to “dream” in many South Asian languages; it is a fitting name for this community organization that has given many South Asians the resources needed to achieve those dreams. These individuals may have once been shackled by internalized pressures and social stigmas of their cultures, but with the programs, assistance, and spaces for community-building that have been established by Sapna NYC, those shackles have started to fall away. They will continue to break — through their own bravery and resilience.
It takes so much courage to step up, to become leaders in our communities, and to make an attempt to destigmatize something that’s been taught throughout generations. It also takes a lot of courage to be willing to make time to learn from the ones who are willing to step up, and to eventually join their mission. Every one of these individuals has always had the potential to pursue and achieve their dreams; even when they were held back or put through unfortunate circumstances. Women, in particular, have been prevented from following their dreams throughout much of history, and gender oppression is still a major issue to this day. But Sapna NYC offers a space for community action to come to fruition. It provides a place where their dreams can finally take flight and be symbols of inspiration for others to look up to as they experience their own struggles with mental and physical health. It can give them courage to seek help, to speak up, and to keep dreaming.
ABC7 New York 24/7 Eyewitness News. “Mother Charged in Death of Queens Infant.” ABC7 News, August 8, 2015. https://abc7ny.com/post/mother-charged-in-death-of-queens-infant/909767/.
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— “Apple & SAATHI Diabetes Program Graduation.” Sapna NYC, 2017. https://sapnanyc.org/apple-saathi-diabetes-program-graduation/.
— "Our Mission & History.” Sapna NYC, 2015. https://sapnanyc.org/our-mission-history/.
— “Our Approach.” Sapna NYC, 2019. https://sapnanyc.org/our-approach/.
— “Rila’s Path to Citizenship,” Sapna NYC, 2019. https://sapnanyc.org/rilas-path-to-citizenship/.
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