Meet Phimmasone Kym Owens

We were lucky to catch up with Phimmasone Kym Owens recently and have shared our conversation below.

Phimmasone Kym, we’re thrilled to have you on our platform and we think there is so much folks can learn from you and your story. Something that matters deeply to us is living a life and leading a career filled with purpose and so let’s start by chatting about how you found your purpose.

I’ve been gardening for as long as I can remember. Growing up, my mom and I always had something in the ground—mint, cilantro, green onion and other SE Asian herbs. It was just part of life. Later, I noticed that almost every refugee family I knew gardened too. Even when they did not have a backyard, they grew in the small space of their apartments next to the their parking lot or in small pots on their balcony. They always found a way to grow something that reminded them of home.

At the time, I didn’t realize how powerful that was.

I spent a lot of my early life feeling lost—disconnected from my culture, unsure of where I belonged. I didn’t know I was a refugee until I was much older. My parents didn’t talk about it. Like many families who’ve lived through war and displacement, they stayed quiet and focused on survival. I struggled in school, failed first grade, and carried that with me for years.

But something changed when I went back to college in my forties as a single mom. I was sitting in a social work class at the University of Michigan when a professor asked, “How can you be an agent of change?” That question stirred something deep inside me.

I thought about how gardening had always been a quiet constant in my life—and in the lives of so many other refugees. It wasn’t just about food. It was about memory, healing, identity. That’s when the idea for Refugee Garden Initiatives was born.

I started with one small plot and a big dream: to create a space where refugees could grow culturally familiar foods, earn income, feel seen, and tell their stories. What began as my senior capstone project has grown into a nonprofit with a mission to empower refugees through food, resources, and storytelling.

Today, I work alongside an amazing team—including Violet and Claire, two young female farmers breaking barriers in a male-dominated field. Together, we’re not just farming. We’re preserving traditions, building community, and helping people reconnect with who they are.

Thanks for sharing that. So, before we get any further into our conversation, can you tell our readers a bit about yourself and what you’re working on?

I’m the founder and executive director of Refugee Garden Initiatives (RGI), a nonprofit rooted in the belief that refugees deserve more than survival—they deserve dignity, voice, and the chance to thrive. We empower refugees through food, resources, and storytelling, with farm programs that grow culturally appropriate produce and programs that provide ESL, financial literacy, and wellness education.

But my work goes beyond the farm. I also advocate for refugee voices to be heard in spaces where policies and funding decisions are made—spaces where we are often talked about but rarely included. As someone with lived experience—and who is still navigating the long-term impact of displacement—I believe it’s vital that we speak for ourselves.

The systems in place today are deeply flawed. For many refugees, it takes more than three generations just to access the kinds of opportunities that others are born into. I want to challenge that timeline. I want to create dialogue that pushes back on harmful myths—like the idea that all refugees arrive from war-torn countries with nothing. Many of us were teachers, professionals, homeowners, landowners—people with full lives—until war or disaster stripped everything away.

We didn’t choose to flee. We were forced to start over. And we deserve a chance to rebuild.

That’s what makes RGI so special to me. It’s a place where refugees are not only growing food but reclaiming identity, culture, and power. I work alongside two incredible young female farmers, Violet and Claire, who are also helping redefine who belongs in agriculture and what leadership looks like.

This year, we’re launching a flower bouquet subscription grown by refugee hands, and we’re planning a farm-to-table fundraiser that will share refugee stories alongside Southeast Asian cuisine. Every event, every vegetable, every bouquet is part of a bigger message: that refugee stories matter—and that healing, justice, and community can grow from the soil up.

If you had to pick three qualities that are most important to develop, which three would you say matter most?

Looking back, the three qualities that shaped my journey most were resilience, networking, and storytelling.

Resilience has been at the core of everything. There were many moments where giving up would have been the easier path—but I learned that there’s always more than one way to reach your goal. Flexibility, persistence, and the willingness to try again are what keep you moving forward, especially when the systems in place aren’t built for you.

Networking has opened doors I never imagined. I’ve learned to share my mission with everyone I meet—whether it’s in a formal meeting or a casual conversation. You never know who’s listening or what kind of connection could lead to your next opportunity, partnership, or source of support.

Storytelling is the heartbeat of my work. If you don’t tell your story, someone else will—and they might get it wrong. Owning your narrative, especially as someone with lived experience, is powerful. It creates understanding, builds trust, and changes the way people see entire communities.

My advice to anyone just starting their journey is this: be brave enough to keep going, even when the road isn’t clear. Speak about what matters to you. Build relationships with intention. And never underestimate the impact of your voice—it may be exactly what someone else needs to hear.

What’s been one of your main areas of growth this year?

Over the past 12 months, the biggest area of growth for me has been developing the courage to speak publicly about my personal experiences as a refugee.

For most of my life, I stayed quiet. Like many refugees from my era, I endured the trauma of displacement without ever addressing it. I suppressed the memories—the fear, the loss, the flashbacks—because they were too painful to revisit. Carrying that silence was heavy, and for years, I believed it was the only way to survive.

But in finding the strength to share my story, I also found relief and healing. Telling my truth became a way to honor what I’ve been through and to connect with others who carry similar scars. It has helped me reclaim the parts of myself that were lost in the chaos of resettlement and silence.

Public speaking was once my greatest fear. As an introverted, shy, and anxious person, the thought of standing in front of an audience felt impossible. But I’ve come to understand that storytelling is one of the most powerful tools we have to create change.

As a refugee who has lived in the U.S. since 1981—who now speaks English fluently and holds a degree from the University of Michigan—I have access to spaces where many of my peers are still excluded. I don’t speak for others; I speak with them and alongside them. I include their voices and experiences in every space I enter, because collective advocacy is where true transformation begins.

This journey is no longer just about conquering fear. It’s about choosing truth, building connection, and helping to shift the narrative so that all refugees are seen—not as silent victims, but as resilient people with voices that matter.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://refugeegardeninitiatives.org