Grace Davis
I can remember being in my band class in 5th grade, standing amidst a forest of my classmates as we waited for the bell to ring. I was looked down at (literally), with the dumb pre-teen boys deciding that now would be a good time to tell me about MY identity. Insensitive comments about my hair color and my height would be made and it’s nothing new, nothing I hadn’t heard before. Since I started school when I was young, I would have to hear the boys “tell” me what my hair color is, that I’m really short (as if, that was news to me), or that my eye shape was “weird.” Kids would pull their eyes to the side to point out that I’m different, and they’d say I have “Chinese eyes.” I’m half-Korean but if I were to say that to them, they’d say I was wrong (like huh?). I can vividly remember having little arguments with boys in my class about what my hair color is:
“your hair is black… no, it’s really, really dark brown… nuh uh, your hair is black…??…”
I used to get so passionate about it and, even now, I don’t really know why because I’m not an argumentative person. I was around 8 or 9 when this happened, and yet, I felt the need to defend my identity against kids who probably didn’t even know what a multi-racial person was. The breadth of their knowledge of Asia only consisted of China, and even though I’m not Chinese, they never failed to somehow remind me I looked different.
I grew up in a smaller town in central Minnesota, where I went to a majority white high school. In my graduating class of 510 students, I was 1 of 4 Asians, and I’m only half-Asian. I stood out at that school; I was one of the only girls (if not, the only one) who had naturally very dark hair – hair that looked ‘black’ at first glance. My hair and my features were so far removed from what the other girls looked like that it looked like I was fully Asian. As we grew older, I didn’t have to hear as many comments about my hair or my eyes, but one that stayed consistent was my height being pointed out. There were some boys I knew who would bend their knees to get down to my height and make comments about how “f**king short” I am (like I didn’t know). It happened often enough that sometimes it made me feel uncomfortable when they’d put attention on me like that and how “small and fragile” I am. This pattern of low (almost non-existent) cultural understanding and insensitivity became my norm.
This type of behavior connects back to the limited exposure they probably had with people of color, especially Asians. In many smaller towns in the Midwest, there are less Asian students in schools; along with this, some kids might feel the need to assimilate so they don’t “stand out” as much – not speaking your native language, not bringing your favorite ethnic food to school because people think it smells weird, and doing everything in your power to show people you are truly American. This cycle of behavior continues all throughout our teenage years, which is a crucial developmental time for building our identity. Suppressing our desire to embrace our culture just to keep ignorant people silent, is a slow death that eats at you from the inside out. Our silence allows too much to pass unchecked and it becomes more and more difficult to recognize when our boundaries have been crossed. By responding with silence or an awkward ha-ha to being put in boxes labeled with harmless but still derogatory names, or when we acculturate and subject ourselves to seemingly positive names, we’re only engaging in the degradation. Keeping ourselves trapped will only make it harder for us to address racism, as our experience is ignored since we appear to “accept” the behavior targeted towards us. But, this cycle must come to an end and we need to break free… but how?
The same way many historical movements progressed (and succeeded), I believe that the Asian American movement will progress forward with the increase of Asian American dialogue and representation. Just as a man cannot tell a woman’s story, only Asian Americans can communicate their own identities. As a minority group, we have been oppressed and faced acts of racism and hatred, despite the amount of progress we’ve seen in Asian American representation in the media. It’s still evident that many aren’t educated enough on how to treat and view us as people, just as they are. When you are part of an oppressed party, you know everything about your oppressor; this is what makes us all the more qualified to speak on how these behaviors need to be addressed and changed.
Having Asian American narratives provides a sense of belonging that we have long desired; it allows us to take up space and share our stories comfortably on our own in hopes that we can bring awareness to the behaviors that need to change. As we continue to open our hearts to these narratives, we can all work to build a better future for the next generations. Moreover, it is only when we listen to these narratives with open minds and open hearts that we can finally face racism head on, break down barriers that constrain us, and find peace amongst the chaos.
