I’m Korean and American. That’s what my two passports and two names on my birth certificate represent. I’ve never felt truly at home in Korea and I have no memory of the US. But perhaps somewhat naively, I assumed that the US would be where I felt most comfortable, the place I would eventually call home for the rest of my life; ironically, because the image I had constructed of the nation was one of a progressive society, living in prosperity among a diverse population. My American citizenship has always been regarded as a strength for me; my entire life, I’ve been told that it opened up opportunities, such as being considered for need-blind financial aid in university and not having to worry about being deported every time some idiot takes over the Oval Office. And in these respects, I do feel lucky.
But now, I realize how powerless and feeble a passport and birth certificate can be if my face doesn’t match the description of the typical ‘American’. With every report of yet another Asian-American hate crime, I further question my identity. ‘Will I ever feel at home anywhere if I feel out of place in Korea, unwanted in America, and disconnected from any other place I’ve lived in?’ I worry for the safety of my sister, who currently attends university in the US. I worry for myself, and imagine scenarios in which I am attacked while walking to a Walmart, on the streets that are meant to be my home for the next four years. Instead of the typical freshman worries of ‘Will I like my roommates?’ ‘Will the classes be difficult?’ ‘Will I fit in?’, I find myself wondering ‘Should I buy pepper spray?’ ‘Should I take self-defence classes?’ ‘Will listening to music on the street make me more vulnerable?’ not only because of my ethnicity, but also because of my gender. These worries are increasingly real to me as the clock winds down and I approach my last few days in the sheltered bubble of private-school Singapore. I should be excited about this new phase of my life, the phase I have been dreaming about for so long. Yet I am unable to do so while hearing news of elderly Asians dying from street attacks, an elderly woman having to defend herself from her assaulter, and the Atlanta mass shooting that took the lives of eight, six of whom were Asian women.
But this fear is by no means unique to me. Asian-American and Pacific Islander (AAPI) communities in the US are living every day in terror of leaving their homes, an anxiety I have yet to experience first-hand. In 2020, despite the number of overall hate crimes decreasing by 7%, hate crimes directed at the AAPI community have risen by nearly 150% in 16 of America’s largest cities.
Discrimination against Asians in America is not at all new — it has been exemplified time and time again throughout history: the Chinese Exclusion Act, Japanese Internment Camps, hostility towards South Asians after 9/11, and many more instances of prejudice ranging from the smallest dirty looks and the racially charged remarks to the blatant violence similar to that of today. But this is the first time in my life that I have witnessed racism develop from a spark into the full-blown, catastrophic state it is in now.
What horrifies me most about this unprecedented rise in xenophobia is its indisputable and direct correlation with the previous administration’s rhetoric concerning the COVID-19 outbreak. We’ve seen this entire situation unfold, the rise in racism get increasingly apparent, over a span of just a few months. It has made it painfully clear that the words of one irresponsible, ignorant, yet powerful person can translate into mass chaos, hatred, and ultimately, bloodshed even after his departure.
We knew since this time last year that the former President intentionally calling the Coronavirus anything but its actual name was dangerous. And he had so many inventive alternatives in his vocabulary: “Kung-flu” and “Chinese Virus” being some of them, though he proudly claimed at a Tulsa campaign rally in June 2020 that he could recite “19 different versions of names”.
His method of nomenclature was undoubtedly a juvenile and completely intentional political tactic to direct attention away from his incompetence of containing the virus and blame it entirely on China. He chose to point fingers and throw playground insults at the expense of the millions of Asian-Americans in his own country. This language fuels violence by associating a universally deadly disease with a single ethnicity, placing the blame on innocent people, and overall causing a divide going against the most rudimentary tenets of the constitution of a country whose very foundation is supposedly the belief that “all men are created equal”, a country that benefits immensely from globalization, and a country that was built on the backs of immigrants. Despite several people bringing to his attention the racist nature of his comments and their potential impacts on AAPI communities, the previous president simply dismissed them and denied that they were detrimental at all.
And so, another three Asian businesses are targeted, resulting in the loss of 8 lives. Law enforcement is reluctant to label it a hate crime because the perpetrator, Robert Aaron Long, says it was to do with his self-diagnosed “sex addiction” and the need to “eliminate the temptations” that these spas presented for him. Captain Jay Baker, the ex-spokesperson for the Atlanta spa shooting, proceeded to defend Long’s self-identified motives by saying he “had a bad day” and was “at the end of his rope”. Meanwhile, Baker was found to have promoted the sale of t-shirts printed with the words, “COVID 19: Imported virus from Chy-na”.
There are so many things wrong with these responses that I find them impossible to express in a matter of sentences. But here is a list of things that we are sick of hearing about the shooter, courtesy of Washington Post Columnist Monica Hesse. Although the discussion is about racism, Hesse highlights misogyny, gun regulation, and a multitude of other issues that need to be considered simultaneously. Here is a monologue by comedian Trevor Noah who so eloquently put into words the reasons why these attempted justifications are so absurd. These sources may begin to convey my sentiments on the mass murder.
Since when did we decide to unquestioningly believe the words of a murderer and a racist police officer? No wonder there is so much hesitation in calling the massacre a hate crime — two white men say it isn’t, so it mustn’t be!
Though this is not an issue unique to the US — xenophobic attacks against Asians have increased worldwide — it is the combination of the long ongoing political unrest, the distress of the unceasing pandemic, the lack of gun control, and Americentric media that make it so visible in this particular country. The nation has already moved on from mourning one mass shooting to the next, all in a matter of days.
Despite the essential roles we play in the collective progress of the United States, just like any other immigrant, Asians are still somehow treated as disposable. Barely tolerated as long as we stay quiet, but ostracized at the slightest inconvenience. To what lengths do Asian Americans have to go to prove that we belong in our own homes? This ‘Model Minority’ stereotype has no doubt served us well in certain situations, but it has also mistakenly painted us as weak and submissive, and has been yet another barrier keeping us from being accepted by both our fellow immigrants and the wider American society. We are not silent, easy targets who will not retaliate. We are capable of speaking up. We are the fastest-growing population and the fastest-growing eligible voter population in the United States. Soon, you’re not going to be able to ignore us and our voices. You’re not getting rid of us, so start getting used to it.
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