Listening is Not Enough

When I saw THE FAREWELL directed by Lulu Wang, I loved it so much. During interviews about it, Lulu Wang spoke about the “in between” feeling that Billi (played by Akwafina) feels as a Chinese American woman. Though my situation does not mirror the immigrant experience of Billi and her parents, seeing the film and seeing that word helped me articulate something I felt my entire life. As a mixed race person - I am Chinese and Ukrainian - I have always been surrounded by different religious and spiritual beliefs, languages, food, and traditions. I think of this as a beautiful gift and a richness of culture. In many other ways, my childhood is relatable to 90s kids from any suburb. For the most part I lived as a child should, happy and carefree but with a light sprinkling of otherness.

As a young person, I was very cognizant that people who looked like my Chinese family were not treated the same in the world. I saw it as abrupt or rude treatment at the grocery store or people with accents being talked at really loudly and slowly as if their accent correlates to their ability to comprehend English. I can distinctly recall the the feeling of my little heart hurting every time I saw someone mistreated by a stranger. I think the ambiguity of my mixed race background protected me from more blatant mistreatment but it did not stop people from pointing out that I was different. I have been asked “what are you?” countless times by people I do not know and it’s a question I truly hate. When I was younger, I thought it was because people were interested in me but when I was a teenager I purposely answered this question in obtuse ways. I knew what people wanted to know and it didn’t feel like a genuine interest in me. When this question is asked of you repeatedly, it's not innocuous. I get that people are curious and that our minds categorize things to simplify and process information. But phrasing the question as “what” instead of choosing other words, is extremely off-putting. What am I? I’m a person.

I think I learned how to articulate a feeling of “otherness” to myself from filling out forms that include race or ethnicity. Most forms now allow you to “check all that apply'' but growing up I checked the “Other” box so many times because it was the only appropriate choice. I know that paperwork may seem like an inconsequential thing but it is another example of being categorized and why language matters. When “BIPOC” entered the mainstream, I read polarizing reactions to it on social media. On one hand, the fact that this word exists acknowledges that multiple groups experience discrimination and oppression but the experiences of Black, Indigenous, and people of colour are distinct. On the other hand, I resent that the term is just another label and reduces multiple people and experiences into one group. We live in a world that loves categorization and boxes and yet it’s such a struggle to apply “white supremacist” and “racist” labels to the people who violently target lives based on their race.

Once people got to know me, I didn’t hide who I was. My school was pretty small and it was no secret that I was half Chinese. Still, when I was younger, I felt it necessary to emphasize that I was also white or mixed, or born in Canada to parents also born in Canada in an attempt to remind people I was a little more like them than it appeared. I played into stereotypes and allowed myself to be the token minority because it felt like acceptance. People I knew would claim me as their “Asian friend”. My behaviour would be used to confirm stereotypes - I do like math and I am good at it. On the flip side, I’ve also been asked to provide an explanation when I counter the stereotype - I don’t actually have a reason for why I never played the violin.

The first blatantly racist thing that was ever directed to me was over MSN messenger. I was 13. I had no idea that I would open a window with a message from a boy in my class calling me a slur and Chinese people dirty. It was an awful moment and a feeling you never forget. I was in disbelief that it happened and was so sad someone directed hatred at my family. I closed the conversation and ran, literally ran away from the computer to join my family in the tv room. I pretended that nothing happened. I kept this to myself for weeks before mentioning the incident in passing to my friend. She immediately got upset on my behalf and I remember it was a relief to tell someone and to have the wrongness of that moment acknowledged. I later found out, because I received an apology from my classmate, that my friend had cussed him out. The apology was whatever because I had no interest in forgiving that boy or trying to be friends. The most important part of that incident was having a friend that stood up for me. She didn't ask me if she should, or if I wanted her to, she just did it. Not having to explain that that incident was hurtful or ask for someone to stand up for me helped me heal from that day. 

I remember recalling this story, years later, in front of another friend who felt it necessary to explain to me and the others in the room that the racist boy’s home situation was not good and that his dad was very terrible to him. I brushed it off in the moment but resent that it happened. I felt dismissed and made to feel guilty when I am capable of simultaneously have empathy for someone who is hurt and still feel hurt myself. I get what she was doing. She was pointing out how the world works and that there is context, a cycle of trauma and violence, behind this boy’s actions. But that was not a conversation about how the world works, it was me talking about a specific event that still hurt me years later. To be clear, I have so many great memories from that friendship. I relay this story to demonstrate that being equipped with information, love, and good intentions can still be harmful and that the passing of time doesn’t make hurt go away. 

I was so grateful for my teachers college program because it fundamentally changed my worldview. Every class was positioned to critique structures and systems with respect to education. For instance, when learning about special education classes, we also learned that boys and Black boys in particular are funneled to special education classes, where they are forever labeled as “a problem”, and funneled into the school to prison pipeline. Learning more about institutionalized racism allowed me to recognize the insidious and pervasive ways racism plays out in the world. I knew the world saw me as Asian first but I began to understand how tokenism and the model myth minority was a part of it. As much as I am grateful for this experience, it’s not lost on me that this type of perspective was only available in a specialized program at a university.

Outside of obvious racist behaviour, it’s hard to articulate the toll that this casual racism has. Once when I was at a family event, an elderly Chinese woman was lost from her house and she believed my aunt’s house to be her own. At the time my cousin was dating someone and he casually referred to her as “China woman”. As soon as I heard it my heart started pounding. I was shocked by how brazenly he said it, not to mention she was clearly suffering so everything about that moment was truly insensitive. I had no idea if this person recognized it was a slur or if they believed it to be an acceptable comment. Either way it was a problem. 

When I explain this story, I worry about a few things. I worry that people won’t understand that “China woman” is hurtful. A part of me feels like I have to overstate this so people understand that it’s not ok. The second thing I fear is that people won’t understand the lingering affects these encounters have. Even if they understand that it’s hurtful, they may expect me to “brush it off”. On the surface, a racist comment is over in a second, but I’ve thought about that second a lot because it’s one in a series of familiar moments that produce the same garbage feeling. The last fear I have is something I feel guilt around. I worry that people will question me or criticize me for not doing something about it myself. I think what makes finding the courage to stand up for yourself hard is that the first step feels like appealing to so someone to see me as a person worthy of respect. If that's not something that was afforded to me in the first place, I'm hesitant to engage further. If you observe racist or language, you need to question their thinking. Even if it’s disguised as a joke or defended as “no big deal”. My trust is eroded when I see people I know let others get away with discriminatory behaviour. It demonstrates you don’t understand how harmful that behaviour is and makes me wonder if you participate in it too.

My experiences with racism and discrimination have been in places I am familiar with. It is unfortunate that it happens in spaces I know but I am thankful I was never in physical danger. People face racist and aggressive behaviour in person, with their families around, in places they are not familiar with, around people they don’t trust. That’s why it’s so important for people to step in and stand up to racist behaviour. I know it’s hard because I haven’t been able to do it for myself but we need help. You would not expect someone who was in an accident to call their own ambulance, you would call it for them. Calling out racism is not as easy as calling for an emergency but it really is life or death. It can’t just be seen as an individual act or a comment made in passing.

After a shitty year at the hands of so much incompetence, I hoped so badly that we'd come out of this in a better place. The idealist in me was hoping to see concrete actions from our government. I’m talking about concrete actions -- Defunded police departments. Sick days for all. Accessible housing. Environmental stewardship. Keeping our the elderly safe -- and yet we've seen the billionaires get richer and activist movements commodified. Instead of being hopeful, I’m coming out of the pandemic with less tolerance for the bare minimum. It's not enough to understand that racism exists and to say “I’m listening. I hear you”. The goal is to be actively anti-racist. The resources being consumed inform the talking points that allow racist family members, company executives, and elected officials to be held accountable. Reading is not enough because you will never consume enough information to make confrontations about race pleasant or comfortable. The good news is that current systems value whiteness and that makes many people, including my white and white-passing friends, well positioned to speak up, even if it’s not eloquent.

The “in between” that I feel as a mixed race person is exacerbated by the boxes I have to check and the labels forced upon me. What I have learned about myself, and my race, and the world more broadly has taken years and is obviously not over. I am conscious of extending grace and patience because this learning process is personal and different for everyone. At the same time, anti-racist actions and reflection on a consistent basis is truly the only acceptable contribution. My teachers' college days taught me how to assess and evaluate learning. Learning is not demonstrated when a student finishes a book and declares they are done reading; it is demonstrated when they apply the information to a real world situation. There isn’t a final assignment or exam for the self-directed education so many embarked on last June. I am not your teacher but since you have openly shared your reading lists, I am waiting to see you how you apply your knowledge.