I came to an understanding from that experience that no matter how much English I can speak, or try to be like my peers, there will always be some who see me as less human.
As I grew older, I realized just how often our narratives are misinterpreted and manipulated. As a self-proclaimed world history buff, international affairs junkie, and women’s rights enthusiast, I could not ignore that my History of the Americas class lacked content about Asian-American history despite that much of the foreign policies are rooted in the dehumanization of Asians and has perpetuated anti-Asian hatred. From the Chinese Exclusion Act and Japanese-American internment to the treatment of South Asians post-9/11, there have been numerous policies targeting Asians. We also cannot ignore the impact that the justification of the use of atomic bombs and napalm has had on millions of innocent Asian civilians, as well as the prevalence of United States military bases which have repeatedly failed to take into consideration environmental damage and violence against women in the Asia-Pacific region. The scapegoating and vilification of Asians by the previous administration, calling COVID19 “China Virus” and lashing out at an Asian-American journalist doing her job of holding the leaders accountable, is just one part of this country’s hurtful legacy of anti-Asian racism.
Let us face the painful truth, that institutional racism thrives in a culture of silence and indifference. As a young Japanese woman, I acknowledge the fact that I am privileged and have benefited from certain oppressive systems such as imperialism. I have often been reluctant to express my own experiences with racism in words, as I know how fragile words can be; they can mend a broken heart or break it even more. I have close friends who have experienced much worse than I have, and I often felt that by sharing my own stories, I would invalidate theirs. All I seemed able to do was share an Instagram post or donate money. It made me feel powerless.
March 29th, 2021 was my breaking point. That moment told me this feeling of invalidity and silence was not protecting me - it was hurting me, my community, and probably, the world. 7
