I love Twitter because it highlights reality. It's the source for essentially all of my news, and as opposed to other social media sites, it typically provides people's actual reactions to current events and glimpses of original thought. Twitter isn't always the healthiest place, but at least you can get a sense of people's raw feelings towards a particular subject, for better or worse.
Lately with the rise of anti-Asian hate in the country, it's been heartbreaking to read some of the comments. All of the "Chinese virus" and "kung flu" and other such rhetoric have culminated to a boiling point, and there seems to be a new viral racist incident with each passing day. Unfortunately, even the most tragic of anti-Asian crimes with the Atlanta spa shootings leaving 8 dead (6 of whom were Asian women) has been met with an infuriating level of gaslighting.
Sadly, the anti-Asian bias is not the only prevalent form of racism right now. It has not even been a year since George Floyd's murder, and now another black man has been killed by a Minnesota police officer. The fact that George Floyd's girlfriend was Daunte Wright's former teacher is a devastating reminder of the endless cycle of interconnected trauma.
There's much to unravel here amidst such an ambivalent concoction of pain, anger, and fear, but one of the underlying themes I've seen on Twitter is that aside from the Asian community and the black community needing time to process everything that is happening, there's the general sentiment that the two communities are alone in their separate grieving processes.
Solidarity between minority groups has historically been shaky, which is by design, as pitting different minority groups against each other has certainly been a tactic of white supremacy. It spurred the model minority myth, contrasting (among others) Asian Americans against African Americans, suggesting that the former are successful, law-abiding people and the latter are prone to be poor, dangerous criminals.
This myth fails to mention the existence of a "bamboo ceiling" and the idea that Asian Americans may always be seen as foreigners. As my friend Jeff Le writes:
How do we change a society that sees us as invisible? It requires the people in power to provide opportunities and enact inclusive policies, to recognize that AAPIs aren't universally privileged and are not simply white adjacent. Yes, it requires other communities of color to support AAPIs and lend allyship. It requires deep financial investment in AAPI civic and political organizations, professional networks and mentorship.
However, it's not just the people in power; many Asian Americans have bought into the model minority myth, too -- hook, line, and sinker. Not merely in believing that they are "universally privileged" and "white adjacent," but also being intimidated by and biased against African Americans. Much of this animosity is passed down from older generations, but of course that does not justify personal prejudice.
As an Asian American man with an Asian American wife and two adopted half black kids, I've experienced this prejudice countless times in the past 5+ years. And while it may certainly be easier to ignore the occasional racist statement stereotyping black people, we've seen the power that such hateful rhetoric can have, regardless of how innocuous the words may seem. "She just doesn't know any better," I previously thought to myself when deciding whether or not to say something to the auntie who was venting about her black neighbors. But ignorance is not an excuse for further ignorance. We must call out even the smallest of microaggressions and not wait until it's too late.
AAPI advocate Cary Chow tweeted this message imploring Asians to rally against all racism:
Some of the responses were telling of past hurt and an absence of solidarity:
It's sobering to read these replies. Asian Americans are accustomed to trying not to stand out by default, especially in the political realm, but it's crucial to note that maintaining the status quo is maintaining systemic racism.
First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out -- because I was not a socialist.Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out -- because I was not a trade unionist.Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out -- because I was not a Jew.Then they came for me -- and there was no one left to speak for me.
