I must’ve stared at a blank text box for over a month now, unable to write much beyond an attempt at the title if just to give my thoughts some semblance of direction. I wrote, deleted, and tried again: “A Call to Action Against Anti-Asian Violence;” “Protect our Elders; “Why We Must Address Rising Hate Crimes Against Asian-Americans.” All were riffs of what I’ve consumed in the last few weeks, each one more foreign than the next on my fingertips. I would be a fraud to title anything with such confidence. There’s truth in the words, no doubt—education and mobilization of support are desperately needed—but in my mouth, they’re new. Crunchy. (Not to mention, there are plenty of activists and organizations who have done the work tenfold: AAPI Women Lead, Apex for Youth, Asian American Federation, Hate is a Virus, Stop AAPI Hate, to name a few.) For me to unpack years of internalized racism or guilt and claim enlightenment would only dilute the message instead of amplifying it.

To be clear, my inability to talk about the Asian-American experience doesn’t stem from a lack of awareness. It’s the opposite, in fact: hyper-awareness can be debilitating. A combination of my Chinese upbringing plus an implicit acceptance of my place within the greater structure made my othering existence impossible to ignore. As a member of the “model minority,” I should keep my head down, swallow my discomfort; as someone who is unmistakably different—with eyes that kiss in the corners—it’s better, safer, to stay silent. Be good and you’ll succeed. Keep your head down; work hard. This is what we do. 

When The Cut published a piece addressing the “massive spike in Asian-American hate crimes,” I think most Asian-Americans were just heartbroken, though not surprised. Racist rhetoric fueled by the previous administration went unchecked. COVID-19 was weaponized to resurface the anti-Chinese sentiments that always existed deep within American history. Xenophobia now had permission to live openly: people needed a scapegoat and without consequences, the AAPI (Asian-American and Pacific Islander) community became victims of undue hostility and violence. The correlation cannot be denied: since the start of the pandemic, we’ve seen a 1900% increase in anti-Asian hate crimes.

I said nothing in mid-February of last year, even when news of brutal, targeted attacks shook me to my core. Every commute into the city was a game of what-ifs; I feared for my brother, I was scared for my father. It was the hatred—not the rapidly spreading, deadly disease—that sparked anxiety. I kept quiet; most of us did. As immigrants or children of them, we knew how to eat bitterness. To 吃苦 (chi ku), which literally translates to”eat bitterness”), was to “swallow our suffering and endure it” (as explored by The Cut’s beauty director, Kathleen Hou). Even in the face of injustice, we persevere. 吃苦 is more than a virtue.

It’s key to our survival.

Violence against the AAPI community only heightened as we approached 2021. Even so, I was hesitant to share the incident reports just to spread awareness, much less attempt to rally action. Mainstream news outlets weren’t covering the attacks; they didn’t know (and worse, didn’t care) that we had to text each other gentle, urgent warnings. Be careful, from grandparents. Stay inside, from worried mothers and doting fathers. As long as the people we loved were safe, that was enough.

It isn’t enough though. It wasn’t then, but especially not now. Faith Xue (Byrdie’s beauty director) so beautifully put into words how I felt: now, I’m shouting my Asian-Americanness into the void.

I have so much learning to do, still. Acts of AAPI otherness throughout U.S. history have been relegated two sentences in textbooks—and more often than not, anything truly incriminating is omitted. What I know is largely anecdotal or from watching how my parents are forced to navigate in this world; there is a lifetime of history and deliberate erasure I need to uncover. True, AAPI proximity to whiteness as the “model minority” (especially for East Asians) has lent some privileges, but it was at the expense of the Black and brown community. Model minority is both myth and manipulation: it is a crown of thorns used to uphold the status quo and buy our silence. Those very privileges we have aren’t power or proof of progress: they’re the result of white supremacy at play.

What Asian-Americans endure is not comparable to the Black, brown, Indigenous, or Jewish American experience, but racism is racism, period. Rather than let the guilt of benefitting from the system silence us, we must face systemic oppression head-on while acknowledging the nuances. To be anti-racist is to speak out against injustice wherever it exists—even if it brings up discomfort, confusion, and shame.

There is still so much I need to learn and un-learn in order to do my part in fighting for justice. It’s still difficult for me to find the words to express how it feels to be a second-generation, Taiwanese-American woman in the midst of all this, but what I can say is that I’m encouraged by the solidarity that emerged from so much hate. Silence no more seems to be a mantra most of us are finally able to adopt with confidence, and at the forefront of the movement in the fashion and beauty space are those I grew up in awe of. Digital pioneers like Tina Craig (Bag Snob), Susie Lau (Susie Bubble), and Bryan Grey Yambao (Bryanboy) gave me permission to find my voice as a baby blogger over a decade ago. Leaders like Michelle Lee, Phillip Lim, and Prabal Gurung continue to remind us all to fight for representation not only for the front of house, but behind the scenes—at the table—too. Equity and inclusion are the pathways to progress.

What matters most, especially in the wake of anti-Asian violence, are the following:

• Use your voice if and when you can.
• Policing is not the answer. It leads to violence against Black and brown communities.
• Education is akin to enlightenment. To learn is to gain context and true understanding.
• Lead with empathy, not apathy.
• Be open to learn and receive. Tensions are high, and unless we listen to each other, we cannot create change.

QUICK RESOURCES FOR EDUCATION

A great place to start joining the fight is stopaapihate.info; the site is beautifully designed and presents everything you need to know in one place. 

• Nextshark (a great source of Asian-American news)
• Resources for Allyship and Fighting Anti-Asian Discrimination
• How to Report a Hate Crime & Safety Tips
• How You Can Support Asian-American Communities Right Now
• Racial Trauma Toolkit
• Mental Health Resources & Directories to Therapists in the U.S. and Canada
• My Son Is Bullying His Asian Classmate About the Pandemic

ORGANIZATIONS TO SUPPORT & DONATE TO

Community leaders worked with GoFundMe to create a centralized community fund. Learn more and donate here.

• #StopAsianHate
• Hate Crime Book
• Apex for Youth
• AAPI Women Lead
• Red Canary Song
• Asian American Federation
• Asian Americans Advancing Justice
• Hate is a Virus
• Heart of Dinner
• SEARAC
• AAPI Emergency Reponse Network
• Asian Prisoner Support Committee
• Gold House

SUGGESTED READING

This list includes personal essays, which I think are just as important as learning about the history of AAPI hate in the U.S. The ones I’ve included are pieces that struck an emotional chord with me; I hope they can inspire (or help you feel seen), too.

• The Chinese in America by Iris Chang
• “The U.S. Is Seeing a Massive Spike in Anti-Asian Hate Crimes” by Madeleine Aggeler
• “On Anti-Asian Hate Crimes: Who Is Our Real Enemy?” by Michelle Kim
• “This is Our Asian-American Experience“
• “The Many Lives of Steven Yeun” by Jay Caspian Kang
• “Swallowing the Bitterness of Asian-American Racism” by Kathleen Hou
• “I’ve Never Been Prouder—Or More Heartbroken—to be Asian-American” by Faith Xue
• “Why I’m No Longer Staying Silent About Anti-Asian Racism” by Sophia Li
• “My People Are Dying in Silence—and I’m Here With a Megaphone” by Eric Toda
• “Food Media Must Work Harder to Fix Racism” by Cathy Erway
• “Diversity is a White Word” by Tania Canas

AND A LITTLE REMINDER:

.   .   .

xx