Every Asian American I have ever met has shared one or more of these similarities: growing up with ethnic foods, slowly forgetting our native speech, or bonding with friends about our overbearing family dynamics. Occasionally, I’ll meet a third-, fourth-, or even fifth-generation kid who can’t relate, but they too are subject to the casual racism that any American who looks remotely Asian experiences.
One of my own such experiences I can vividly recall. Sitting outside of my U.S. History class in eighth grade, I experienced my first racialized confrontation. A girl in my grade, a person of color herself, sneered at me with comments of “Are you Chinese?” and “Ching Chong, can you understand me?” as I sat there quite passively. I felt enraged, but mostly confused and betrayed–I never thought another minority could do such a thing. It’s appalling to hear about, but even more appalling to realize that this is the experience we Asian Americans all share, no matter how far removed from Asia we feel. From eighth grade to now as an almost freshman in college, so much has happened–yet so little has changed.
With the pandemic, the rise of Anti-Asian hate has increased exponentially. Almost overnight, I’ve seen in the media elders being stabbed, families being verbally and physically assaulted, and the rise of the Stop Asian Hate Movement. Confrontations and physical violence have been on the rise, but one thing has never changed. The microaggressions we Asian Americans experience, though enhanced by the pandemic, are not a new concept. For any ethnic or underrepresented groups, microaggressions are ingrained in our daily lives. But it makes me wonder: did it take a global pandemic to truly see the perpetual racism and prejudice towards Asian Americans? As I’ve pondered this question, authors Cathy Park Hong and Erika Lee have provided me with new knowledge and perspectives through their books Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning and The Making of Asian America: A History, respectively. These texts helped me realize that one of the key contributors to discrimination against Asian Americans is the lack of solidarity amongst ourselves.
Silent suffering, prolonged “minor feelings,” and the lack of knowledge we have about ourselves and each other leaves us in disarray. There is no one solution to this problem; rather, it will require an educational plan. In order to combat this factionalism among ourselves, we need to make changes in the education we receive at school, through the media, and in our homes. Becoming teachers is also a necessary component of this educational plan, though it is multifaceted when it comes to the extent to which we should educate others.
I speak out against the concept of silent suffering among Asian Americans, but to someone who is not Asian American or has yet to identify these complex sentiments, what does this term mean? Silent suffering, also described as “minor feelings” by author Cathy Park Hong, can be characterized as “the racialized range of emotions that are negative, dysphoric, and therefore untelegenic, built from the sediments of everyday racial experience and the irritant of having one’s perception of reality constantly questioned and dismissed” (Hong 57). In simpler terms, a minor feeling is like having something stuck in the back of your throat: it’s an ugly feeling you want to express, but you suppress it out of worry that it’s “out of line” (Hong 57). When a teacher asks if I can translate her name into Japanese (I’m Korean American), or when I’m spoken at too boorishly for not “being good” at math, I bite my tongue, turning what could’ve been somewhat cathartic into another minor feeling. One can only bottle up so many of these minor feelings before it becomes too much–too heavy to carry around.
To liberate ourselves from these minor feelings requires us to identify the victim and the perpetrator. But in this scenario, Asian Americans often fulfill both roles. To begin, what does it mean to be Asian American? As history professor Erika Lee writes, Asian Americans are “people who can trace their roots to countries throughout East Asia, South Asia, and Southeast Asia…a staggering diversity of peoples that represent twenty-four distinct groups” (Lee 3). I write this essay for not only the 24 groups that identify as Asian American, but for anyone who also falls under the broad umbrella of being American. Injustice towards Asian Americans is not just an Asian American-specific issue, but an American issue. The uneducated pose a threat, but their ignorance is in no way correlated with their ethnicity.
In our system of primary education, the requirements include understanding American history and our government. From elementary to high school, I’ve learned about the American Revolution, U.S. involvement in World War II, and the Civil Rights Movement, among other topics. It’s crucial information to know, but it’s all we’ve ever known because it’s all we’ve been taught. As a result, I don’t know where I belong in my country’s history. Why my ancestors first arrived in the States, how they arrived, how they were treated, the struggles they encountered, and the laws that limited their freedoms are all questions unanswered by my formal education. To be clear, it’s not a lack of interest that has led to our history’s erasure from the textbooks. When I asked my AP United States History teacher why our curriculum lacked diversity, especially in Asian American topics, I was given a nervous response along the lines of “this is what I was given and this is what we have to learn.” Like most other contemporary issues in the United States, this barrier is systemic. Our teachers instruct us with lessons from an educational system with a severe absence of information about major contributors to our country’s history and makeup.
What should students be educated on to become better neighbors, friends, and citizens? Reading Lee’s comprehensive text was a rude awakening. I thought I had educated myself enough beyond the classroom, but I am barely reaching the first steps of a long, long staircase of Asian American history. Like any other minority in the United States, Asian Americans have been subject to racism in the form of physical, verbal, and legislative attacks. At the same time, we’ve provided the backbone to many of our industries, such as agriculture and construction. Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Filipino, Vietnamese, and other Asian American groups have significantly contributed as valued members of communities by filling in roles many white Americans did not: laundrymen, restaurant owners, butchers, tailors, and more. Federal laws that limited our immigration alongside discriminatory political associations like the Japanese-Korean Exclusion League have existed throughout U.S. history. In order to be more knowledgeable, I recommend reading Lee’s or any other Asian American author’s writing of our history. I’ve been vague with the history I provide in this essay with the hope that as a reader, you will do your part by simply being curious and seeking out more of this often hidden, and often fascinating, history. It is necessary to learn about U.S. relations with Asian countries, how Asian Americans aided in building the America we know today, and how discriminatory laws and systems have kept Asian Americans from our full potential.
Another area that limits us from reaching our full potential in American society has to do with the media. Like many ethnic children, I grew up watching movies that lacked representation of any kind. When creating my Wii character, I made her blonde with blue eyes. I searched for brunettes in Disney Channel shows in the hope that they might be Asian, and I always focused on movie extras rather than the main character on screen. I assumed that with time more representation would come, but Hollywood still falls short in spreading stories that aren’t just stereotypical or for a white audience. If we are exposed to only one thing, that is all we begin to know. Popular TV shows such as The Summer I Turned Pretty, Gilmore Girls, and To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before reinforce negative Asian stereotypes and correspond to an overall lack of actual Asian representation. The lack of representation in media is not only limited to Hollywood, but is prevalent in social media and news outlets too. We hear about it all the time, but I will reiterate: Media is an important aspect of the American lifestyle so it is only necessary that our next steps forward include changing the way we Asian Americans are portrayed, written, and seen in that media.
What does it look like then to call for greater representation? It means making a space for someone to speak or share. Being willing to listen, but also to advocate for yourself and others. Leaving space for the people you champion to tell their stories and beliefs in their own words. Some have described this concept as “speaking nearby” instead of “speaking about.” As filmmaker Trinh T. Minh-ha, quoted in Cathy Park Hong’s book, explained, “When you decide to speak nearby, rather than speak about, the first thing you need to do is acknowledge the possible gap between you and those who populate your film…leave the space of representation open so that, although you’re very close to your subject, you’re also committed to not speaking on their behalf, in their place or on top of them” (Hong 103).
As an Asian American myself, what then is my role? How do we Asian Americans now play our part? First, we must question and research everything we hear. From a young age, we are exposed in our families to sentiments of dislike and often bitter resentment towards other Asian ethnicities. Whether it’s an ingrained mindset formed from history dating back centuries, or just a lack of care to understand, it is our responsibility to respect one another. Besides familial education, our ignorance can be just as present through our formal and social educations, such as in the model minority myth. Erika Lee summarizes it as the idea that certain Asian groups are “perfect” representations of the American dream, whenever that’s beneficial to the white majority in the country (Lee 8-9). It’s seen in our history from World War II to the Cold War to present times. From then to now, Asians have been pitted against each other and have often played into these divisions, only leading us to suffer the consequences of a partitioned community. As Hong writes, “The most damaging legacy of the West has been its power to decide who our enemies are, turning us not only against our own people…but turning me against myself” (Hong 194). Further educating ourselves on the history of Asians in the Americas will help us to understand how the West has manipulated us to turn against each other, and how this factionalism weakens our power to make change.
Perhaps one of the most important ideas to remember is that we are not alone in our times of despair and fear. As Cathy Park Hong explains, “Our respective racial containment isolates us from each other, enforcing our thoughts that our struggles are too specialized, unrelatable to anyone else except others in our group” (Hong 197). To stand up for Asian Americans is to also stand up for oneself.
It’s a phrase we hear most often: it is not the job of the oppressed to teach the oppressor. Writer Audre Lorde explains in Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches, “Whenever the need for some pretense of communication arises, those who profit from our oppression call upon us to share our knowledge with them. In other words, it is the responsibility of the oppressed to teach the oppressors their mistakes…The oppressors maintain their position and evade responsibility for their own actions” (Lorde 114). Lorde’s words ring true. But for me it also rings true that Asian Americans should step up to the role of educators for the change we seek. The concept of the oppressed teaching the oppressor is highly nuanced and requires difficult boundary-setting. I believe that when we educate, it should be out of a willingness to share, not out of a sense of burden or requirement. Authors, producers, directors, influencers, and many other Asian Americans fulfill their role as educators by merely doing what they do best: sharing their stories, responding to others’ works, and analyzing their own thoughts.
While writing, I’ve struggled with balancing the factual data I include in this essay alongside my analysis of it. I highlight the importance of being educated, advocating for a more diverse education, and taking on the role of educators ourselves for the hopeful purpose of Asian American camaraderie as a step towards breaking down racial barriers and avoiding the heartache of minor feelings. It’s unfeasible to attempt to provide every solution to our country’s contemporary problems. And in the same manner, it’s nearly impossible for my essay to be the only source of change incorporated in your reading. You now know that there are whole chapters of American history–the ones on Asian American history–that you should explore. To fully understand this history, some Asian Americans will have to unlearn a lot of what they’ve been taught at school and at home, particularly about our place in society and what we know about different Asian groups. Let it not be silent suffering and the experience of microaggressions that unite us, but a shared knowledge of our contributions to the development of the United States and an understanding of each other.
Works Cited
Hong, Cathy Park. Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning. Reprint, Random House, 2021.
Lee, Erika. The Making of Asian America: A History. Reprint. Simon & Schuster. 2016.
Lorde, Audre. Sister Outsider: Essays and Speeches. Penguin Books, 1984.