We can’t ignore injustice beneath shell of diversity

Five people died when an angry mob, white supremacists among them, stormed the U.S. Capitol. Oakland native Kamala Harris was sworn in as the first woman, first Black and first Asian American vice president. A new president began rapidly dismantling the racist legacy of his predecessor through executive orders. And COVID19 killed roughly 80,000 Americans, half of them minorities.

This was only in January.

Thirtyone days were all we needed to be reminded of America’s enduring duality, where progress and inspiration are only moments from

ugliness and hatred. One of our own holds the secondhighest position in the land, but only days before Harris took office, a few of our own were also in the crowd on Jan. 6.

San Francisco thinks of itself as a place of reform and second chances, but many are getting nervous as the district attorney applies that philosophy to crime. Residents want homelessness in the Bay Area addressed, but only if the needed affordable housing isn’t built near them. Demands for racial equity were loud across California in 2020, yet voters were not compelled to lift the state’s ban on affirmative action.

The Bay Area, it’s clear to me, is in a critical and challenging moment, where our longstanding progressive ideals are increasingly colliding with behavior that contradicts them. It’s at this moment that I’m beginning this new column for The Chronicle exploring a region struggling to understand its identity. As I report it, I will be listening to our marginalized communities, chronicling the region’s unbalanced power dynamics and pushing to the forefront issues of exclusion and discrimination.

This column also appears in the context of the social and political awakening that is Black Lives Matter, a movement that expanded around the world last year in the wake of the police killing of George Floyd in Minneapolis. Here, thousands of people protested in cities from San Rafael to Vallejo to San Jose. For many Black people, especially those in the Bay Area who make up a small fraction of the population and often feel ignored, this racial reckoning has made us finally feel seen.

We’ll have complicated conversations about policing in the Bay Area. Deadly violence is at record highs in Oakland. In San Francisco, a city where Black people make up 5% of the population, a Black person is six times more likely to be arrested than a white person. And a dialogue is growing locally around crimes against Asian residents. In this column, I’ll break down the actions and inaction of the powerful, whose policies and decisions impact marginalized groups every day.

And that’s not just people with skin like mine. Minority communities are trying to adapt to a rapidly changing Bay Area. In San Francisco’s and Oakland’s Chinatowns, residents and business owners are struggling with job loss, evictions, poverty and crime, and are looking to city and state legislation for financial lifelines. This column will reflect the kaleidoscopic image of life in the Bay Area by

This column will reflect the kaleidoscopic image of life in the Bay Area by being inclusive to stories from all marginalized groups.

being inclusive to stories from all marginalized groups.

For instance, Black and Latino people in places like San Francisco and Oakland are used to having their lives upturned, and COVID19 has made things worse. The same plight is being faced by Hawaiian and Pacific Islanders in Santa Clara County. The suffering feels universal, but it shouldn’t happen in silence.

This column will also take note of progress and success. Like that of Moms 4 Housing, a collective led by women of color that has been able to create transitional housing in Oakland for homeless mothers. Cities like San Francisco, Oakland and Berkeley have started substantive conversations around reforming policing. BART has announced plans to hire civilians trained in social work to respond to homelessness, mental illness and drug addiction on its system. And in Silicon Valley, an initiative was launched that challenges companies to fill 25% of their executive positions with hires from underrepresented groups by 2025.

Still, it took just six days into 2021 for us to be reminded of how far we have to go. It was an unprecedented day in American history, but one people of color have been predicting could happen for years.

The racism that felt so palpable during the Trump presidency has been prevalent for hundreds of years everywhere in this country. In California, Chinese and Mexican people were beaten and killed during the Gold Rush, as were the Black slaves brought here by white Southerners to work in the mines. Racism in the Trump era didn’t suddenly appear. It was just given new life and made plain.

What makes our journey through this pain more unique is the Bay Area’s diversity. Ethnic identities from around the world call the Bay Area home, meaning what happens in far corners both domestically and internationally quickly reverberates here. Because of our shared experience of being pushed to the margins, we know that if we stick together we will find a way through. In March, a week or so after the Bay Area’s first shelterinplace orders, I walked into a crowded neighborhood grocery store in East Oakland hoping to find toilet paper. Shoppers all had the same nervous, confused look as they hurried through the emptying aisles. Masks had yet to be mandated, but everyone seemed aware of the danger of the coronavirus. When I reached the toilet paper section, I found empty shelves.

Just as I was turning to leave, a Black man shopping nearby tapped me on the shoulder. He took a package of toilet paper from his cart and handed it to me. He said nothing, but gave me a knowing nod.

I’m thinking about that man as I begin this journey.

Santiago Mejia / The Chronicle 2020 San Francisco’s population is 5% Black, but a Black person is six times more likely to be arrested than a white person.