Hate crimes in Atlanta
Asian-american killings one more spree of racism
Ido and do not want to talk about the shootings in Atlanta. I do and do not want to talk about why Asian-americans are calling them hate crimes instead of senseless attacks. I do and do not want to talk about Daniel Patrick Moynhihan’s daughter, Maura, caught on video, telling an Asian-american to “go back to China.”
I, an Asian-american, started writing about this many times, but wondered if I wanted to put myself out there, vulnerable to further insults or misunderstanding. Should I share my stories? Should I talk about why I made my husband go to the grocery store last year when the world shut down, and about the dirty looks I got at the market?
Should I mention the countless times, as a youth and adult, that I have heard people yell, “CHING CHANG” at me? Once, I was walking in downtown Troy and someone had the audacity to drive by, roll their windows down, and yell those sounds at me in my hometown. Another time, I had driven to my child’s soccer game, parked my car in Albany, and two teenagers walked by, shouting, “HEY CHING CHANG,” as they laughed at me. Mortified, I walked to the soccer field, sat down on the bleachers and lied when fellow parents said, “Hi, how are you?” How could I begin to tell them I wanted to melt into that bleacher?
I don't want to talk about it, but maybe I need to tell you so you know what it's like.
It’s all uncomfortable. It’s triggering.
Recent reports have stated that hate crimes against Asian-americans have numbered nearly 4,000 in the past year. Asian-americans like me read this news, nod our heads and say, “Of course.”
We have all faced instances of discrimination, people jamming their fingers into the corners of their eyes to mock us. It’s uncomfortable to talk about, because we don’t talk about it. The “model minority,” expected to be nice and quiet and smart, we don’t even tell our parents about what happened.
“If they knew you, they wouldn’t say such things,” people have told me. “But you’re such a nice person, Erika.” That’s the insidious nature of racism — it has nothing to do with whether I’m nice, whether people know me. It has everything to do with judging people based solely at a glance or a perception.
“I hate that people even see race,” another person told me. As humans made of body, mind and spirit, we have skin and physical attributes. We have stories, too, but those are not shouted from our appearance. They are assumed.
People have told me to share my stories. Wise friends have cautioned me that I can do it in my own time, my own space, with my own safe people.
I have chosen to speak up now, even though it’s exhausting, because you are listening. White people are listening, a friend who is Black told me, so speak up.
This past week’s shootings in Atlanta were hard to digest. No one should be murdered. Homicide is a tragedy, as is death in any form. When initial reports came out, they qualified the shooter by saying he had a bad day and was trying to resolve his sex addiction. I take mental health and addiction seriously, and I know what it’s like to have bad days.
But why can’t we also call this a hate crime — to look at the people who died, most of them Asian, and make that connection?
I’m not the only Asian-american who was triggered by this senseless attack. Reaching out to my Asianamerican friends, we shared our trauma, outrage and stories. We listened to each other. Friends reached out to check in and express their anger and surprise. “I never knew you had to go through this,” they said. “Please, tell us more. We want to hear, and we want to support you.”
It’s time to share our stories. Listening is an act of love, and we need more love, not hate.
“If they knew you, they wouldn’t say such things,” people have told me. “But you’re such a nice person, Erika.” That’s the insidious nature of racism — it has nothing to do with whether I’m nice, whether people know me; it has everything to do with judging people based solely at a glance or a perception.
▶