I had an interesting conversation with my son about the anti-Asian violence in the news in recent weeks. We were having different reactions to it, and I appreciate that we respect each other enough that we could just talk about it as adults.
My reaction was one of pity, irritation, some anger, and flashback emotions to my childhood. I finally published the poem I wrote 3 decades ago in college on the Kimchi Mamas blog. I grew up in a mostly white area, and I remember one student from Puerto Rico, and two Black families growing up. The students who terrorized me the most were two Black girls and many white boys. I was bullied and teased in elementary school. Daily. Marginalized in middle school. Respected finally by high school, but seen as "other" by most of my peers. This continued through college, and even my early working years.
This life experience is what drew me to California in the first place. A Japanese family that I grew up with back East moved to Cali for the same reason, and I remember them writing my (white) parents telling them the difference they saw in their youngest child's socialization after moving. How the teasing finally ended and he could just be himself at last.
My son's reaction is much milder. Yes, the attacks are bad, but it's not institutional, is it? He has a point. While there have been serious attacks, and deaths even, these are rare compared to what our Black friends, neighbors, colleagues have to deal with. I've never worried for my life when being pulled over by a police officer--I see them as protectors, not a harmful force. I've never had to distrust doctors, hiring managers, authority in general based on my race. Based on my gender, Yes indeed. But not my race. Mostly it's the social interactions where the racism issue has come up, when people assume I am foreign or don't speak English. Minor indeed.
The bigger boys loved to taunt me in their ripped jeans and expensive sneakers. They walked like cowboys from old westerns pelvis forward, shoulders squared, hands on their hips where their holsters should have been.
Irritated with their own lives, they wanted to get back at somebody for it--anybody would do. My Korean face stood out from the others, so they picked me.
They would stalk me on the way home from school, where no teachers could stop them. I had to walk just one short block from the bus stop to my home. One block with them shadowing my steps. I didn’t need to turn around to know they were there.
Chiiiink. Jaaaaaap. Goooooook. I could hear the glee in their voices as they drew out the vowels to savor the taste of the words. Whenever I flinched, they snickered.
I imagined their faces behind me; fanged creatures, with claws and horns. I knew if I ran, they would chase me, howling: huge dobermans growling and snapping at the corners of my schoolbag.
Deliberately, I turned to face them. Rotating my body first, I brought my eyes up last, trying to delay the confrontation.
I saw one red-haired boy, freckled from the sun; One blond boy, blue eyes glaring through thick glasses. The other three had brown hair of varying shades and lengths. One wore a baseball cap wedged on his uncombed head. Another clamped his lips over braces, which bulged out anyway. The last was the ringleader, skinniest and meanest.
My narrow eyes of black agate glared at their wide brown and blue ones. My golden tan contrasted with their pale faces.
I saw them nudge each other and point at me, their smirks becoming uncertain frowns. They tripped over their untied laces and elbowed each other in the ribs while trying to back away. They never expected a nine-year old to stand up to them.
It happened in a swanky Bay Area hotel. We had finished a long day and had gotten together to debrief and socialize before all heading back to our homes throughout the Bay Area and beyond. It was a work event.
Everyone was enjoying finger foods and drinks and making small talk. We talked about the weather. Because that's what you do. And that's when one of my colleagues (an older White man) casually made a joke about how someone's wife was so cheap that she won't turn on the heater until it's below 40 degrees. He said something about her being Asian and implied that her cheapness was due to her Asian-ness.
I was so shocked. I couldn't believe my ears. The anger welled up from inside me.
I looked at him directly and spat out the words. "She did that because she's cheap! Not because she's Asian!"
I turned to the Southasian American woman colleague, let's call her Priya, sitting next to me and asked, "Did he just really say that?" She replied, "I know. That's so R word." I said, "Yeah, that's hella racist! I can't believe he just said that." Priya agreed, "I can't believe he said that either. I am shocked."
He went on chatting with other colleagues close to him, not acknowledging my comment or apologizing. The moment was over.
Except I kept thinking about it. I couldn't let it go. I told my husband about it. We talked about it at the dinner table. I told my friends. I posted about it on Facebook. I even told some of my coworkers. Someone said I should report him to HR. I looked up the compliance hotline number. I didn't make the call. He was going to retire soon anyway, I won't have to work with him much longer.
Fast forward a couple months.
I had a final meeting with this group of colleagues and the perp happened to not be on the call. As we concluded the call, I felt like I should say something. If there was a perfect time to bring this up, it was now. I hesitantly said something like, "I'm not sure if this is the right place and time to bring this up but, well, I am doing it, and um.. well, at the meeting we had after the event, Paul (that's not his real name) made a joke that made me uncomfortable... and I'm not sure if any of you remember and some of you were gone already so you weren't there when it happened but I thought it was inappropriate and I've been thinking about it a lot. He made a joke..."
I told them what he said.
Priya chimed in, "I remember it and I've been thinking about it too! He was talking about so-and-so's wife!" It was even worse than I had remembered it. Apparently, he was talking about a coworker's wife!
We talked about what had happened and how inappropriate it was. How insensitive. He should not be making jokes like that. They acknowledged the difficulty in talking about things like this and thanked me profusely for bring it up. For saying something. They said that they were so sorry that this had happened. They affirmed my feelings. He had told borderline jokes before and needed to be aware of the impact of that kind of behavior. Know that it was not okay.
They asked if it would be alright with me if one or two of them had a little chat with him. They wouldn't mention my name, of course. I said that that was fine.
I got off the call feeling so supported and affirmed. They had responded with such kindness. They took my concern seriously and agreed that it was not right. A small part of me had been scared that they would dismiss my concern. It's because he's so old, they might say. Or he's retiring soon. Or the worst, "That's just the way he is." But they didn't. They applauded my courage in bringing this to their attention and assured me that they would address it. What he said was not okay. They were not okay with it.
I am in the middle of reading How to Be an Antiracist by Dr. Ibram Kendi and I think I was putting what I learned from the book into action. I was trying my best to be antiracist. I raised my voice instead of being silent about a racist behavior in the workplace.
Although it was scary, I was so proud of myself for speaking up.
Afterwards, I felt free. I could finally let it go.
I am a 42 year old Korean-American woman. I go by my given name, Shinyung Oh. A few days ago, I attempted to set up a profile on Google+, not because I necessarily need yet another social networking site. Linkedin and Facebook are more than enough to max out my limited capacity for online small talk and ogling. But I applied, mainly because I have my personal blog on blogger and wanted to add some tools offered by Google+ to expand my readership.
When I tried to set up the profile, Google refused to allow me to complete it. The following sentence appeared at the top of the profile I was not allowed to access: "Your profile has been suspended because it violates our name policy." When I clicked on the "name policy" to find out how I could have violated Google+'s policy, it stated:
Google+ makes connecting with people on the web more like connecting with people in the real world. It's recommended that you go by your first and last name because it will help you connect with people you know and help them find you.
This policy applies only to Google+ profiles. Google+ profiles are for individuals.
If you are Asian American, you probably have seen the following video, maybe even on this very site! But just in case you have been hiding under some rocks lately, here it is in all its glory:
The hilarious star of this video is Stella Choe: dancer, choreographer, and actress. As luck would have it, Stella and Kimchi Mama Julie have a mutual friend, and so we were able to ask her a few questions!
Kimchi Mamas: Please tell us about your acting/career background and current projects.
Stella Choe: I started dancing when I was 6 and knew by 10 that I wanted to be a dancer. I started doing dance jobs when I was 16, and then after high school, went on to a dance scholarship program at the EDGE Performing Arts Center which trains you for a dance career. I finished college and persued dancing, and have done some fun jobs.
I toured with Paul McCartney in 2002 to 2003, I have been in episodes for Scrubs, Two and a Half Men, I am one of the cheerleaders in the film "The Replacements" (funny side note: my credit was as the "Asian" cheerleader. HAHA!) I have been an assistant and associate choreographer for films that include "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button," "A Cinderella Story" and "Gangster Squad." Being a dancer in LA exposes you to the film and TV world and I started acting, but mainly for commercials.
KM: Wow, you danced for a Beatle and choreographed for Brad Pitt! Amazing! So how did you join this project? Were you familiar with Ken Tanaka and his work?
SC: I am friends with David Ury, the co-writer of the sketch. We were at a party together and the "What kind of Asian are you?" question came up in a conversation with some guy. It was pretty innocent, but anyway, David and I started talking about it and he came up with the idea of turning the tables. David and Ken then co-wrote the sketch. Oddly enough, just before that party David and I had talked about doing a video for my reel to help me get new theatrical representation for tv and film, so the timing was perfect.
I am also familiar with Ken and am a fan of his videos and his picture book Everybody Dies.
This was something new for him to put up on his channel. None of us thought the reaction would be what it has been!
KM: During your Britishisms part, how much was scripted and how much was ad-libbed? Either way, is there more footage out there? Can we see it? :)
SC: There was definitely a script we worked with, but as we shot I had some room to play. It was a collaborative effort, with the creative crew shouting out things at one point and me attempting to list as many british things I knew, and having fun with the physicality of it. There's an outtake reel that was published a few days ago, and you can get a sense of the silliness of it all!
The other actor, Scott Beehner, and I just shot a new video today with us reading some of the Youtube comments from the original video that are hysterical and ridiculous in and of themselves. It's a quick montage of "zingers" which should be posted soon.
KM: Can't wait for that! And it actually brings me to my last questions: were you raised by a Kimchi Mama? If so, how did she react to your interest in the arts? And has she seen the video?
SC: I was indeed raised by a Kimchi Mama!!!!! The best! My parents immigrated here in 1969 and my 2 other sisters and I were born and raised here in LA. My mom encouraged us to assimilate and be American. I think it was a tricky balance for her to try to keep Korean traditions alive in our upbringing while trying to raise us in Manhattan Beach (a very white beach community).
I have to say I was pretty lucky in the support department. I think my mom was worried about me pursuing a career she didn't really understand, but I did well in school and after college I was like, "I'm freeeee!!!" and I got a waitressing job. Even now, I don't think she gets how I support myself, but she's always excited to hear if I get a job and have food to eat. She saw the video and thinks I look crazy and am acting crazy. Ah, you gotta love a Kimchi Mama.
Thanks so much to Stella for taking the time to talk to us! Also, please check out Stella and David Ury in their interview with the Huffington Post, where they provide even more background as to the inspiration for the video:
I
feel nauseated! I have never before in my life read something that
gave me a physical reaction like this. I have the physical urge to throw
up! I don’t even know where to begin. I’m going to try... Osaka Mayor
Toru Hashimoto, who otherwise looks to be a human, said that the rape of
women (comfort woman) was ok because it relaxed their rapists (Japanese
soldiers).
Comfort women were NOT prostitutes! They were set up to be raped by Japanese soldiers by the Japanese government.
Comfort
women were kept in small cubicles that resembled micro-sized
portapotties. They were forced to stay in these cells without being let
out except every couple of weeks to wash themselves. These enclosures
had chamber pots within them. Every fifteen minutes a Japanese soldier
would enter and rape the woman inside the cubicle, and if the woman in
anyway rebelled, she was pulled out, put to death and left where other
women could see her as a warning. The soldiers gunned down lines of
women if they caught STDs, instead of treating them. The women were
treated as less than human all those years ago, and now Hashimoto
dehumanizes them again.
What
if a German politician came out and said that some part of the
Holocaust was necessary? What if he said that the victims of the
holocaust deserved kind words, but that killing them, torturing them,
using them as slaves made the German soldiers relax, made them feel good
because they were at war, and provided needed relief? How would the
world react to that statement? How would the victims of holocaust feel? Is
there inherently some difference between how the world views the victims
of one country-wide tragedy to another? I wonder why one article on the
BBC website is all the press this has received, and I wonder how
different it might be if it were about another set of victims.
I cannot understand where Hashimoto is coming from but you can read it for yourself here:
Kimchi Mama Julie has a post up on BlogHer in response to Margaret Cho's encounter with tattoo prejudice at her local jjimjilbang (Korean spa and sauna). Please check it out!
The kids and I sat down at our local teriyaki place, next to a couple in their 50s with their buddy. They were very conspicuously complaining about all the taxes they have to pay this year, including a THOUSAND dollars to THAT OBAMA (I assume they make the check straight out to him?), and how they're not taking it anymore and they're going to just not pay it because that money is going directly to welfare queens and aborting babies and death panels and Muslims and...
...so I told the kids to pack up their stuff because we're moving to another table.
I tried to give them my best Korean Mom Death Stare along the way. They quieted down after they realized that they were out of their usual bubble.
This happened in Long Beach, California, a diverse city compared to most of the country. And yet, it is apparently not diverse enough, since people like them still feel like they can proclaim their misinformed, bigoted thoughts without repercussion. Obviously, people are entitled to their own opinions, but it's the pure vitriol in which these opinions are uttered that disturbs me. And of course, if they were the first people I encountered bad-mouthing the poor, the disabled, or the race, nationality, supposed religion, or character of our president, I wouldn't have bothered writing about it. But attitudes like these are prevalent here.
Even my next door neighbor, whom my children adore and who has many times helped us settle into our home, holds frightening views on Latin Americans and other immigrants. He doesn't know that I, like many other permanent residents and naturalized citizens, was at one point an illegal immigrant.
A family who lives a few houses down sent their two young girls canvassing the neighborhood in support of Proposition 8. When I tried to explain to these girls how I aligned myself with the gay community and believed in marriage equality for all, they looked sincerely frightened of me.
Across the street from them, another lady runs a daycare in her home, and she told Tim to watch out for other daycares in the neighborhood who hire minorities and illegals, when he called her to enquire whether she had room for Emi when we first moved here. Since the conversation was over the phone, she did not know she was talking to a minority family. Since then, we have seen her take her charges for walks around the neighborhood, always 6-8 beautiful blonde children in a red wagon. I do not think it's pure coincidence that the children are always white.
And so, after almost five years here, this corner of Long Beach doesn't quite feel like home. I feel like a tourist, an alien, and I worry my motley little family will always feel that way, no matter where we settle.
--Julie
----------------------------
A reader expressed some concern about my statement about being an illegal immigrant at some point in my life. Here is my clarification (although honestly, I don't know the whole story, since I was a young child when this all went down):
My family and I did not COME here illegally, my father was sponsored through his employer and he did everything by the book. However, there was a very, very long waiting period between applying for a green card and receiving it, where technically our status was up in the air (or maybe his status was still okay, but my mom and I were not? I'm not clear on the details). We couldn't go visit relatives in Korea, for example, because we would have trouble coming back into the US.
During that waiting period, which I believe took about 10 years, I grew up as a normal Korean American kid in southern California. There was no way you could line up other typical Korean American kids and point out those of us who were technically visaless, or social security number-less, and those who were born here, even if you opened a window into our brains.Once we received permanent residency status, things were hunky-dory, and it didn't take long for us to become naturalized citizens after that. This was a pretty typical immigrant story for the time period, although I do not know what the process is like now.
I really enjoyed reading everyone's comments on my last post about ethnicity/race here... but now I am curious...
What is the "right" way to ask questions about a bi-racial/multi-racial (or not-so-obvious ethnicity/race) child's ethnicity/race? Especially if the child is only with one parent and it's not obvious, or if the child is adopted from a ethnicity/race not the same as both or either parent. Or is it even Kosher or PC, to ask about ethnicity/race anymore?
Some of the wrong ways might be:
Is your child adopted?
Is your wife/husband Oriental?
Is that your friend's son/daughter?
Are you the nanny?
Is he/she from China?
Where is your family from?
If you are the parent of a multi-racial or biracial child, how would you prefered to be asked about your child(ren)'s race, if at all?
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