A Conversation on Race
Disclaimer: This is an Opinion piece and represents only the views of the author, not the Pixel Journal as a publication.
Photo from Independent.
rac·ism /ˈrāˌsizəm/
Noun
prejudice, discrimination, or antagonism directed against a person or people on the basis of their membership in a particular racial or ethnic group, typically one that is a minority or marginalized: "a program to combat racism"
In light of the recent events of the murder of George Floyd on May 25th, 2020 and the resurgence of the Black Lives Matter movement, I wanted to share my thoughts on my personal experiences with racism and what we can all do to help combat this dire issue that is normalized in our country. I am the daughter of a Chinese woman and a Caucasian man, both from vastly different backgrounds. I am the biracial child of an interracial marriage and for my whole life I’ve grown up in the Deep South of Baton Rouge, Louisiana. I’ve always felt out of place, like I didn’t belong based on the color of my skin. While being half white should have perhaps been enough to shield me, like a coat of armor, it was not. I was never really accepted as being white because just by looking at me, it was painfully obvious that I was somehow “exotic.” At least that’s the term that I’ve heard used a multitude of times. However, being half Asian was never enough to allow me to be part of the groups of Asian students among the brick and mortar schools I attended. After all, I had never been to China, could not speak my own mother tongue, and did not look Chinese enough. I remember once I had scored a few points lower than some Asian peers on an exam and a girl had approached me about it: “Really? You only got that? Guess you’re really not that Chinese, wasian.” I was upset about it at first, but I eventually just took it on stride. The more people who called me “wasian” the more common it became, the social norm. I wasn’t offended, I was complacent with being categorized, to be that wasian girl that people knew. It was harmless after all, right?
But there were other things that I took to heart, like the first time I was called a “mudblood,” a slur given to muggles who had magic by J.K. Rowling in the Harry Potter series. That stung. It was the equivalent of being called impure, filthy, like I was some creature born out of sin and my own blood was dirty in comparison to that of the person who called me it, whereby his own standards he was pure. That insult held a shock factor, a backhanded compliment where the positive side of me thought, hey, at least he was comparing you to Hermione Granger in some respect. It’s sad to think of how much minorities tolerate and justify, overriding thoughts and emotions for the sake of keeping peace. Even now, I have a hard time confronting people, especially those close to me. In a twisted way, it’s as if I would rather be silently upset than to call out others and risk making them uncomfortable.
Recently, I’ve been reading comments on the internet where people have said if you are mixed, then you are nothing. I could not understand how that works. If I followed that line of reasoning then I would have no identity, I would be exactly what people wanted me to believe: worthless, invisible, with no claim on my genetic and racial history. I once took a DNA test to get more information about my genetic heritage and found out I was somehow 1% Jewish, however that works. I know I don’t have a claim on it but nonetheless, when I mentioned it to a classmate, she had casually responded, “well that explains your nose.” I laughed that off, but internally it really, really hurt. I wished I was white. I wished that my short black hair would fade into long blonde curls, that my tanned skin would melt into a fairer shade, that my brown eyes would bloom into blue ones, that my aquiline nose would bend into a slender curve, that people wouldn’t look at me and their first question wouldn’t be, “what’s your race?” and that when I responded their answer wouldn’t be, “oh that makes sense, I could tell you weren’t really white.”
I’ve moved on from that though, for the most part. After all, I’m in an incredibly diverse high school with friends from all backgrounds. It’s easy to be accepted and from it I’ve learned to love my heritage. I’m proud to have the ability to navigate the world in two perspectives. My mother and I exist peacefully within our community, she is the strongest person I know and if she of all people can overcome hate from strangers, then I can learn to combat mocking. While I dealt with middle school bullying, she was told to, “get the f*** out of this country;” she has had bottles thrown at her car as she drove down the street. But while we’ve learned to grow into our skins, there is still so much farther to go as a society.
I’ve felt that Asians have been this model minority: we’re quiet for the most part, we don’t speak out. Honestly, the most we’re known for is our stereotypes in this country, be it that we are the smart kids, the ones who will all go onto be doctors and lawyers; that we are all Chinese, and we speak with a ringing tone equivalent to whatever racist character has portrayed an Asian in film or on television; that we have good takeout food, that we are bad drivers… it goes on and on. But, with the COVID-19 pandemic, it seemed that it was time to shift some of the blame of the country’s problems from the African American and Hispanic community onto the Asians. I was on a call with a few other people, discussing the inherent racial backlash that came from the pandemic, and the conversation went something like this:
Me: I’ve felt that there have definitely been some racial implications based on people calling it the “Chinese Virus.” I’m sorry, but that’s honestly just really offensive and also dangerous.
Anonymous 1: Well, do you find us calling it the “Wuhan Virus” offensive? If so, that’s just stupid, it’s based off location, not race. It’s the truth!
Me: I didn’t say anything about that it’s just that by calling it Chinese, that sends the message like it’s our fault. As in, all Chinese Americans. And that threatens us on a day to day basis.
Anonymous 2: Look, I really don’t think that that’s actually a real threat. And you can’t just make racial allegations up because you want to. I doubt it’s that dangerous.
Only minutes later, the same individual who had mentioned it being the “Wuhan Virus” said to us all in a joking tone, “I guess we just shouldn’t eat bats like the Chinese people then,” to which he received laughter from the other participants. I didn’t call them out on it, too shell shocked in my position that they could deny my own experiences with racism only to partake in that exact degradation moments later. In all of these examples I’ve given, people had or would claim that they were joking and that they didn’t mean it. But a joke is a dangerous thing and even worse than that is not meaning what you say. If you’re reading this, think about the following for a minute: have you ever made a joke about someone’s race, gender, and/or sexual orientation? And if called out on it, did you tell them: “It was a joke,” “Calm down,” “You’re overreacting,” “Someone needs to chill,” “You take things way too seriously,” “Well I thought it was funny,” “I didn’t mean it” or anything similar? If so, you are responsible for gaslighting.
gas·light /ˈɡaslīt/
verb
gerund or present participle: gaslighting
manipulate (someone) by psychological means into questioning their own sanity.
Is someone’s race really so funny and insignificant that they deserve to be the butt of a joke? Even more, is the color of my skin and who I identify as a person so worthless that after you make this comment, it doesn’t mean anything? Someone I knew had been making Holocaust jokes with his friends, and I had remarked to him that those jokes weren’t funny, especially not for a minority who had been treated brutally during World War II. He simply responded, “Well, we don’t mean it. Besides, it’s hilarious.” It’s hard for me to reconcile the thoughts that another individual’s blood, sweat, and tears is equivalent to the jokes made by privileged and ignorant groups who have had the fortune of being able to make the jokes, rather than to be the subject of those quips. If you read this and still thought, “wow she is overreacting,” then congratulations. You have had the privilege to avoid the racism a minority has had to face multiple times over the span of their life. This privilege allows you to go through life unscathed in this respect. I’m not trying to belittle your experiences or make a competition of whose had it worse since in all capacity, my life has been absolutely wonderful. I would in no way degrade the lives of others by comparing my struggles to that of members of the African American community, the Latino community, to the members of the Asian community who were savagely attacked due to the ignorant information spread on coronavirus.
By being Caucasian, you have the power of protection, of your voice being heard, of people looking at you and not fearing or hating you on site. By comparison, African Americans do not have that safety; everyday they are faced with the danger of knowing that they could be mocked, injured, killed, solely based on the color of their skin. All people of color face these same threats, knowing when they are viewed by the public, they are turned into a stereotype. If you can, please use the capability of privilege to help other people. Don’t sit silently as we fight for equality as we currently do in the Black Lives Matter movement. We can’t do it alone. In all honesty, if you are Caucasian you will never truly understand how it feels to be a minority. You will never truly experience racism firsthand in the way that so many people of color have. But just because you cannot understand it doesn’t mean that you cannot stand and support us. If you’re afraid to speak up because you don’t think you matter, you do. If you’re afraid because you don’t think you’re knowledgeable enough, then reach out. There are so many resources where you can learn more about racism, what it means to be anti-racist, what you can do to avoid being part of the oppression, and how you can help.
I hope my essay provided some insight into my personal experience and clarified how even the smallest comment can be incredibly damaging to a community. While at the time it might seem funny to make a remark, words do have consequences. While at the time it might seem harmless, know and remember that words can grow into wrongful stereotypes, into hate that communicates incorrect and harmful messages. If this conversation made you uncomfortable, then I hope you realize how instead of normalizing a culture where it’s okay to have difficult discussions and to portray how we feel, we have instead conformed to a system where it’s okay to make judgements. In fact, this should make you uncomfortable because while race shouldn’t be a political game, it is. And for many Americans, we don’t have the comfort to claim that debating over skin color is too disagreeable for everyday discussions. For all that, we live with it.
Recommended Reading:
“Race and Racism” by Dr. Rowan Wolf and Caroline Le Guin.