June Gloom
Today I am writing from a moment of nearly two weeks into a nation-wide protest regarding the systemic racism that is rotting the country I reside, a country that is not yet mine but I have come to appreciate her truth, ugly and beauty in all her shapes and sizes. A white police officer’s murder of a black man re-ignited the flame of BLM movement that has been burning for years and this incident happened amidst the COVID-19 pandemic that has swept away a hundred thousand lives and millions of jobs, most of which disproportionately affecting communities of colors.
As someone who has been jumping from one system of oppression (I was a second-class citizen in my own country) to another system of injustice, I realize that I have nowhere to run but to confront this head on. When COVID-19 happened, people were just trying to make sure they have food and cleaning supplies for days if ‘dooms’ day’ hit. Artists like myself were hailed as heroes when people had nowhere to go because we provide sounds and visuals of healing, spaces of contemplation to soothe anxiety all the while being hit hard by the economy that stopped hiring part-time and freelancers; People who are working in hospitals were hailed as heroes because they had to go save lives while risking their own because they are exposed to the virus due to lack of PPEs (I have a friend who was exposed and another contracted the virus).
Heroes are defined as somebody who sacrifice their own well-being for others. But I argue nobody should sacrifice their own well-being if given a choice. Every airline clearly states that we should always put oxygen masks on ourselves before caring for others in the event of emergency. We want to provide the world with laughter, inspiration and health while being able to pay rent and stay healthy.
It’s bad enough that artists and health workers were ‘forced’ to be heroes; After doing everything we can to stay alive and keep our spirits high, the nation had to watch yet another black man lynched by a white person, while an Asian officer was also present at the crime scene. Discrimination runs deep in many countries and societies, but this punch in the face is especially painful. It wasn’t just about the history of slavery, it was also about immigration, civil-rights, equal opportunities, legacy of wars American fought elsewhere, etc. all intersect and intertwine together that an average person who is not well-informed(privileged, ignorant) would not be able to see beyond racism, let alone unpack it (I don’t want to educate).
Hence when my well-meaning sister who lives in China called me and started a rant, “ …why are you still there, you should leave!” I was not having it. Without detailing on how the argument went down, I heard shouting from the other end of the phone, and I tried to step away from yet another fire. What followed was a series of reactions and actions. First, there were cussing and insults that left a permanent record in my phone; then I was kicked out from a chatroom. She then tried to initiate contact with me the next day, acknowledging it was childish to start a fight while highlighting all is forgotten and that we should be moving on. I texted her that I didn’t forget how I was treated and that she shouldn’t be this rude. I received another wave of anger directed at me.
I had a week of silence with my sister and my mother (she was involved because she was informed) all the while feeling pain for all that is happening in America. At this point, my sister re-instated me in a new chat group that excludes my other sister (I have two sisters; she too wasn’t in speaking terms with her), and has blocked us from her instagram. Why did I bring up this argument alongside black deaths? You might ask. Because there are wounds that run deep. Whatever happened between us siblings in these few years of adulthood and living apart has caused a deep mistrust and communication lag (I can only imagine how the inadequate actions of Americans towards the 400-year-old wound can result in a wider disparities between the privileged whites and the underprivileged blacks in this country). Our new environments, be it China or America, has shaped our politics and philosophy so differently that not even our blood could mend us from the cut that has already separated us from the same cloth.
While our physical bodies reside in our individual countries, my virtual body(as a daughter and a sister) is passively moved around by a curator( in this case my sister)and is literally being put into different boxes of chatrooms and groups however she pleases. Another ills of the social network: we are fragmented. I can’t help but relate this to the larger context of Black Live Matters. For many years, black lives were put in many boxes by mainstream America however they please: Hip Hop America, NBA America, Street America, Prison, Labor, Getthos, Stand-up Comedy and even the Presidency. These identities (whether they are on a pedestal or in the dump) are passively coined by others, justified by others, but never a god-given or state-given right just TO BE, to be left alone without fear, to be left alone breathing, running, playing and dreaming. TO BE HUMAN.
As an Asian woman, I am too susceptible to labels. Here are some overt examples of microaggression: When I am loud, I am compared to the stereotypically submissive Asian housewife; when I am artistic, I am compared to a high-achieving nerd; when I am dating, I was asked if the race of my other half bothers my parents; when I have an opinion against somebody older, I was told that I wasn’t respecting the order of hierarchies; when I am confident, I was questioned why wasn’t I shy like the others! You might say, “Just be yourself and shut off the voices around you!” But what if this too is systemic? These voices live in my head for so long that they can crush me if I am distracted or for a moment feel vulnerable. Who will benefit from this if I crash? (Fill in the blanks). I have already survived many of these episodes and am ready to thrive, but others might not. This act of discrimination called racism in America and ethnic shaming elsewhere has been passed down for generations and subconsciously reenacted from one peer to another, one elderly to another young person like clockwork just to maintain status quo, and this does not limit to people of different race. Our own kind can do as much damage.
True story: I thought I was crazy to believe that I am protecting my African husband whenever I hold his hands when walking around my neighborhood because my presence around him can provide another context to his ‘existence’. I never utter this out loud until I saw an interview of a Black man saying that he will always bring his daughters with him when he walks around his neighborhood to actively show that he is a loving father beyond the assumed ‘dangerous’ black man optics.
So what are the voices that are ringing inside an african-american boy’s head? If they survive those voices, can their physical bodies also survive police brutality, racial profiling, and systemic racism?
Perhaps a resolution is near in sight, perhaps we have to fight longer. Whatever happens, I want to be conscientious, outspoken, and always live my truth.
