As an Asian American, I never felt comfortable sharing my feelings of not belonging — until now
Courtesy of Rachael (Suhyoung) Kong
Korean American student Rachael (Suhyoung) Kong writes about her experiences with racism and the recent rise in anti-Asian hate crimes in the U.S.
Growing up in a mostly homogenous population in South Korea, I didn’t know racism existed. When my family first moved to America in 2010, I wasn’t aware that your skin tone often determined how others perceived you and your community. I learned that my shade of sandy beige or “yellow” meant that despite having spent most of my life here, many people will never see me as an “authentic” American.
I see this lack of acceptance of Asian Americans quite plainly in the recent rise in anti-Asian hate crimes in the U.S. Fueled by xenophobic rhetoric like the “Chinese virus” or “kung flu” from former President Trump, anti-Asian hate crimes have risen 1,900% in the past year in cities like New York and San Francisco. Since the start of the COVID-19 crisis, the organization Stop AAPI Hate received over 2,808 firsthand accounts of anti-Asian hate from 47 states and the District of Columbia. In the past two months alone, a 61-year-old Filipino man named Noel Quintana was slashed across the face with a box cutter while riding the New York subway, a 52-year-old Chinese woman was shoved in the streets of Flushing, forcing her to receive multiple stitches on the forehead and an 83-year-old Thai man named Vicha Ratanapakdee was killed during his peaceful morning stroll. Yesterday, six Asian women were massacred in massage parlor shootings in the Atlanta area, an attack that many fear was racially motivated. Yet until Vicha’s attack, which was caught on camera, most of these hate crimes did not immediately receive nationwide media coverage because Asian American issues are often placed on the back burner — not surprising given America’s history of failing to acknowledge Asian American racism along with the lack of federal action on prosecuting hate crimes.
Because of this, we often wonder if we ever belong or if we’re a part of the conversation about racial inequality in America. Most Asian immigrants from older generations are used to holding their breath and staying silent about discrimination. Perpetrators often target them because they believe they cannot fight back. However, when members of our community come together to speak up and call for help, the rest of the population often ignores our voices like background noise. The underwhelming response from the media, in addition to these crimes themselves, stirred my soul as it was a reminder of the slow progress in racial equality. Outright physically racist attacks like these stem from deeply rooted stereotypes and prejudices, even the ones that seem outwardly harmless.
Courtesy of Rachael (Suhyoung) Kong
Ever since I moved to the U.S. I have experienced anti-Asian racism. One of the earliest incidents happened on my 12th birthday. I posted a selfie on Instagram and was feeling unusually confident until my eyes froze upon an Instagram comment a Caucasian boy in my grade made. Tagging another boy, he said “Ji li,” in reference to a Chinese memoir he read in school called “The Red Scarf Girl: A Memoir of the Cultural Revolution.” I felt enraged over this stereotypical comment. How ignorant was this person? What was the comedic value in generalizing an entire population? Yet beneath this frustration lay an inner voice that I often doubted: Are feelings of alienation just inevitable processes of the Asian American experience? Am I supposed to learn how to laugh along to these jokes in order to fully assimilate into American society? I later approached that boy in person with a calm ferocity. “Hey, I found your comment on my post offensive, so please don’t spread racist remarks,” I told him. He stared back at me amazed, as if he’d thought I wouldn’t speak up and hold him accountable. He shrugged it off with an “OK” and never apologized. Regardless, I’ve learned to forgive him but will never forget that experience.
What saddens me now is the fact that this boy was probably one of the few who were actually held accountable for their actions. A huge part of the population lives with these ignorant beliefs, actively perpetuating them through microaggressions and “casual” remarks without anyone challenging them. Although instances like this might seem trivial, they shaped my and that boy’s perceptions of race.
“I have trained myself to become mentally stronger and shield racist comments in order to just carry on and not let them get under my skin. But after witnessing the rise of such horrific anti-Asian hate crimes during the COVID-19 crisis, I’ve realized I no longer want to numb the pain.”
Since then, I have trained myself to become mentally stronger and shield racist comments in order to just carry on and not let them get under my skin. But after witnessing the rise of such horrific anti-Asian hate crimes during the COVID-19 crisis, I’ve realized I no longer want to numb the pain. It’s about time we hold people accountable even for milder racist remarks. Popular culture normalizes racism towards Asians, generalizing us with stereotypes by saying we eat dogs, assuming all Asians are Chinese and calling us names like “ching chang chong.” I’m even more tired of people justifying this comedy by saying, “Stop being so sensitive. Learn to take a joke.” How can I take a joke when people don’t understand the repercussions of these microaggressions? How can we progress towards racial equality when racism is rooted in our shows, movies and media?
Until recently, I never felt comfortable sharing my sentiments of not belonging and refrained from speaking about my struggles because I was cognizant of the fact that other minorities often have it worse than us. While I struggled with feeling misunderstood or invisible, I knew I benefited from my proximity to Whiteness compared to other minorities. After all, how bad could stereotypes like "smart" and "hardworking" be? If we're perceived as "good, compliant citizens" who are supposedly accepted by society, do we then have the right to complain? However, ignoring anti-Asian racism and our long history of pain allows others to continue to generalize the Asian American community, which minimizes the role racism plays in the struggles of other racial minority groups and enables these racist crimes to continue. My pain is valid.
Courtesy of Rachael (Suhyoung) Kong
Unlearning these detrimental narratives and changing the public’s sentiments seems challenging — almost near impossible. However, it always starts with small changes, such as taking accountability. Hold your friends and families accountable for what they say about BIPOC (Black, Indigenous and people of color) communities through civil conversations instead of demonizing them for their ignorance. Some persuasive techniques include changing our rhetoric by using “I” instead of “you.” For example, instead of saying, “You’re so racist,” it might lead to a more productive conversation to say, “What you just said doesn’t sit well with me.” In order to fundamentally reform societal constructs of race, we should initiate self-reflection rather than play the blame game. However, if the person you’re speaking to is still not willing to participate in productive conversations, don’t be discouraged and repress your voice — redirect it! Spread awareness of recent issues on social media platforms. And attend rallies in support of minority groups.
Anti-Asian racism will not disappear after COVID-19 ends. Sure, talking about race and racial inequality may seem uncomfortable, but it’s no excuse to stay silent. Even simple discussions such as an, “Are you OK? How are you feeling about the recent news/situation?” will help us keep each other in check. Listen to what marginalized groups have to say and try empowering their voices to keep acknowledging, supporting and learning. To achieve racial equality, we need to get comfortable with uncomfortable conversations.
Read more
