It is so hard to find the words for this month. Or this year. Or the past four years. Or the past 21 years. Or the entire history of people who look like me. It is so often neglected. It’s so easy to forget. But it can be so easy to remember that life is unfair.
I wrote a nonfiction piece about my father, my grandfather, my rage, and compensating for feelings of invisibility. It was about double standards, about anxiety, about the ritualized mannerisms that we train ourselves to use in order to belong. I characterized my father as being friendly and charismatic, which he is. But while I know that he has a great personality, I suspect that much of his behavior is learned. He goes out of his way to appear more American–which is to say, more white. It is a strange and sad ritual, but he has used it to achieve the American Dream for us (if it exists). It was hard to write this piece, but I really needed to write it. Maybe I will post it up here sometime.
But I finished drafting that piece on March 2nd. Which means it predated the shooting in Atlanta. Which means that Asian-American racial consciousness is not the trendy thing that some people like to dismiss it as. Beyond the trauma of the event itself lies the constant aftermath: for me, a series of angry questions aimed at no one and everyone. How can you tell me that this was not racially motivated? How can you tell me that the shooter was having a “bad day?” How can you paint him as a complex individual grappling with inner turmoil when eight people are dead? How can you tell me not to worry, since this was apparently an isolated incident? What do you say to someone who is afraid to even go outside? How can you dismiss their fear because you believe they are “next to white” and therefore do not face racism? It is very frustrating. Read this essay by Roxanne Gay for further thought about the matter.
This was exactly 53 years before the Atlanta shooting: On March 16th 1968, US soldiers killed over 500 Vietnamese civilians in what became known as the My Lai Massacre. Men were killed, women were raped and mutilated, half of the victims were children. This atrocity was hidden from the US public and framed as a victory between armed soldiers until the truth eventually became known. Only one man was eventually punished, a lieutenant who was directly in command. And worse, 80% of the US public opposed his conviction. And 49% of the public refused to even believe the event took place. This is of a different scope than the hate crimes of today. And Vietnam the country is not representative of Asian-America. But this feels so familiar because Asian pain is always “foreign” pain. It’s not valid to the American public in the same way.
I cut my hair and no one noticed, which was kind of disappointing. I got, like, eight inches off. But that’s okay, I’m even a bit relieved. All of my anxious visions about being assaulted on the street start with someone yanking on my ponytail, so the short hair somewhat eliminates that problem. Yeah. Sorry to go there, but I think about that whenever I go for a walk. It’s cute though, so in a way I hope people do notice.
There is a lot to discuss, so please reach out to me if you feel inclined. If not, I understand. I hope you are taking care of yourself. I want to say that I also hope you are finding opportunities for joy, but if not, that’s okay too. It’s a sad time and it’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to listen to sad music. It’s okay to not be okay. Someday it will be.
End-of-Month | webzine and blog 