Recommitting to Shared Liberation
As an Asian American navigating this time of a global pandemic, I am steeped in the reports of anti-Asian violence, aggression, assaults, and harassment that have been amplified during the time of COVID-19. Since the news media began reporting that a highly contagious virus had emerged out of Wuhan, I knew what was ahead. I was not surprised by the anti-Asian violence. I was not surprised to hear the phrase “Chinese virus”. I was not surprised by how quickly people responded to the dog whistle and replicated the ignorance and anger in our communities.
During this time of social distancing and stay-at-home orders, most of my interactions have been via social media. While I interact with a broad audience on Twitter (@LTalusan), I keep a more curated Facebook page of people I know well or who I have a relationship with by association. I was grateful during this time to have most of my Facebook page filled with outrage about the President’s comments as friends pledged their support for the Asian and Asian American community by rejecting violence, harassment, and bullying that my community was facing.
in affinity spaces
More privately, in online affinity groups for Asian and Asian Americans, my community shared stories of being spit on, yelled at, or told to “go back to China.” While out in public trying to find any store that had the golden currency of toilet paper, we were called “Corona” or confronted with, “Why do you want to kill Americans?” We passed the time by surfing online, only to see shirts like this one, not surprisingly defended by “It was meant to be humorous.” We talked about our fears of leaving our homes, not because of the virus, but because of the racism. An Asian American woman nearby where I live was pushed off her her bike. Our friends and family members, frontline health care workers, were told by patients that they wanted someone else — “someone not Asian” — to help them. Subtext: they would rather die than have someone Asian be their health care worker. An Asian family - the youngest was 2 years of age - was cut and stabbed at a local store. An elderly Asian woman was chased down the street.
In those affinity spaces, we shared our fears of going out in public. We shared our fears for our elderly parents, aunties, and uncles who likely could not outrun an attack or fight back. We worried about wearing masks in public which emphasize our eyes, but we also worried about not wearing masks and being accused of “spreading the virus.” In New York City, a human rights commission formed a COVID-19 Response Team in the end of March “compromised of 24 people, including eight attorneys, to handle an influx of calls about harassment and discrimination related to the outbreak. As of April 19, there were 26 active investigations related to COVID-19, including those involving housing and employment discrimination.”
Asian and Asian American students
Outside of those affinity spaces, I began posting about my worries and fears for Asian and Asian Americans in our schools. Some Asian students in US boarding schools were told by their families to return back to Asia as soon as possible - even though the virus was still not under control abroad. Why? Because they had heard what was happening to some Asians in the United States, and these families would rather take their chances with the virus than with U.S. racism.
Asian and Asian American students had endured social media taunts by classmates - being asked if they “had Corona” - in what was probably a joke or intended as a lighthearted comment, so their friends say. Many of these students laughed it off publicly, but admitted privately how badly these comments had hurt. Researchers have demonstrated that the old adage of “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me” is not accurate. In a 2008 study, researchers found that “Participants who had to recall a socially painful experience reported stronger feelings of pain and relived the experience more intensely than those who had to recall a physically painful event.” With limited access to mental health support and social support, many Asian and Asian Americans are suffering quietly and in their homes with this anxiety, stress, and fear. As educators and leaders, we must pay attention to the ways Asian and Asian American students are experiencing both physical pain as well as social, emotional, and psychological pain during these times. We can do this by
holding affinity groups or spaces for them virtually;
offering opportunities for them to speak to the school or community via writing or video (Dr. Shirley Tang’s work on digital storytelling is powerful)
connecting them with opportunities to meet others who are experiencing similar events
providing materials that affirm their experiences (Act to Change is a great one!)
showing them ways people are influencing messaging and change (#IAmNotAVirus campaign)
engaging in the powerful history of Asians in America to strengthen their connections to history and story, especially during a time when people treat us like outsiders (aka perpetual foreigners)
and check-ins via advising sessions or chats
We can also have our schools and communities take a stand against anti-Asian violence, bullying and harassment by making a public statement not only reaffirming your school’s values but also explicitly naming the ways that Asian and Asian Americans are supported in your community. For example, the American Educational Research Association released this letter with their support not only of individuals but of congressional policy.
yes, and…
Yes, as an Asian American living in the United States during the global pandemic, I am grateful for the many ways that communities, organizations, schools and individuals have stepped up to denounce anti-Asian violence, harassment, and bullying. Seeing these messages helps me to feel safer, to know that there are people and organizations working to address deeply seeded xenophobia and racism. I am grateful.
And…
Where were you when #BlackLivesMatter was protesting institutional and social violence?
Where were you when Black men, women, and transgender people of color were dying, and continue to die, at the hands of an unjust system?
Where were you when Indigenous lives and land were, and continue to be, threatened, stolen, and desecrated?
Where is your public statement denouncing violence perpetuated against Black, Brown and Indigenous people who are dying at disproportionate rates from COVID-19?
Where are you in publicly naming the class and socioeconomic disparities of online education that are impacting individuals from low-income homes, communities, and school districts while the gap between the haves-and-have nots continues to widen?
Where are you in your public outcry that white men with assault weapons can show up in the capital building but Black men peacefully protesting are the targets of racial vitriol, violence, and economic punishment?
my liberation is bound up with the liberation of others
It is true, my Asian and Asian American community is experiencing a massive uptick in reported violence rooted in racist and xenophobic stereotypes of yellow peril (the fear of Asian and Asian Americans), perpetual foreigner status (the “go back home” remarks), and ignorance that defies the notion that a virus does not have an ethnicity (a “Chinese” virus). That is all true. And, we must work together to address and dismantle this hatred.
In my conversations with Asian and Asian American communities during this time, it has also been an opportunity to address issues that have plagued my community for decades, even generations: ways in which Asian communities have been socialized to uphold anti-Blackness through the social weapons of the model minority myth, the false proximity to whiteness, and the scarcity model which pits opportunities for people of color (e.g., affirmative action) as something we must fight for internally as opposed to addressing larger systems of inequity that keep us all from accessing power. Asian anti-Blackness takes root through our formal systems of education, laws, policies, and practices that make us, as Asians, falsely believe we are better, different, and thereby validating the problematic desire to distance ourselves from Black people and Black communities.
Students shared stories with me about their experiences during the pandemic but before the shut down:
“When I walked into a room, I watched people move further away from me.”
“When I got into an elevator, a bunch of people walked out even though it wasn’t their floor.”
“I was walking along the sidewalk, and I saw a few people cross the street just to move away from me.”
“I went into a store, and the cashier and other people in the store kept staring at me like I was doing something wrong. I was just there as a customer.”
“Before the shut down, my little sister wanted to have a play date with a friend. But, the mom said she couldn’t come over because we were Chinese. My sister is 6-years old.”
In our affinity spaces, I affirm all of these feelings and experiences for the young people. These are real, and they happened. Together, we listened to each other, supported each other, and processed the pain in these stories.
Then, we transition to “What experiences have you heard from other people or communities that might connect to yours? What feels similar in your experiences?”
Quickly, students share these same remarks are what many of their Black and Brown peers have been saying for years — that because of their race, people move away, distance themselves, treat them as suspicious, or refuse interactions.
“So, what now?” I ask. “What does this mean for you?”
“It means it’s hard for me to unsee what my Black and Brown friends have been saying and telling us they go through every single day.”
“It means that I have a lot of work to do to be in solidarity with the Black and Brown community. I just didn’t, or maybe I refused to, see it before.”
“It means I see the flaw in believing that being Asian protected me from something. That’s just not true. My struggle is more connected to other communities than to whiteness.”
solidarity rooted in history
Much of my own scholarship is focused on the invisibility of Asian Americans in our formal curriculum, teaching, and learning in U.S. school systems. Asian Americans, and other students, are not taught about our vibrant political, historical, and activist relationships - in particular with other Black and Brown groups - here in the United States. Instead, we are taught negative images such as being an enemy of the state (e.g., Pearl Harbor), our citizenship being conditional (e.g., Order 9066), and our people blamed for war (e.g., Vietnam war). Rarely, if ever, are we taught about
Larry Itliong, the Delano Manongs and the farmworkers strike who worked closely with Cesar Chavez;
educational activists like Grace Lee Boggs who fought against poverty in Black communities in Detroit;
Yuri Kochiyama who was associated with Malcom X and the movement;
Noriko Sawada Bridges Flynn who challenged anti-miscegenation laws;
Lala Lajpat Rai who worked with W.E.B. Du Bois on theories of liberation
Asian and Asian Americans have a strong history of working in partnership with Black and Brown leaders and communities - yet, this is often invisible in our schools and to our students.
This solidarity is not new. However, we help our students see how powerful our communities can be - and have been - when we’ve worked together.
As an educator, what is your “do now?” What do you believe you can and should do with your agency as a teacher and educator, or in the age of school-at-home, as a parent/caregiver?
working together
Recently, I was asked by two Black women educators from the Wells Collective to come together and share my thoughts about Black and Asian Solidarity. I am beyond grateful for their initiative and their commitment to this work. It was meaningful to me to have Black women initiate this conversation about solidarity during the COVID-19 crisis during a time when so many dialogues are being generated in Asian affinity spaces. You can check out the episode, featuring me, Rosetta Lee, Jenifer Moore, Shari Berga and hosted by Jen Cort here.
What now?
I encourage you to do a few things:
if many of these people, concepts and ideas are new you to you in this post, begin to fill in the blanks of your own education related to Asian and Asian American activism and history. It’s Asian and Pacific Islander Heritage Month in May - there is a lot out there for you to check out!
check in with people in your life who identify as Asian or Asian American — and, be open to them not wanting to discuss it if they don’t want to;
interrogate whether your organization, or you, are standing up for Asian and Asian Americans but have not done so with other marginalized communities - and then ask yourself why and what now? How can, and must, you amplify all voices in solidarity?
teach it forward - what can you do to engage someone else who might need this information or these ideas? How might you keep this movement working together?;
what does liberation look like, feel like, and act like? How can we get closer to the shared liberation of all?
Peace and love,
Liza
This blog post is part of the #31DaysIBPOC Blog Challenge, a month-long movement to feature the voices of indigenous and teachers of color as writers and scholars. Please CLICK HERE to read yesterday’s blog post by Dulce-Marie Flecha (and be sure to check out the link at the end of each post to catch up on the rest of the blog circle).
“If you have come to help me, you are wasting your time. If you have come because your liberation is bound up with mine, then let us work together.
― Lilla Watson, Aboriginal elder, activist and educator from Queensland, Australia”