The Solidarity Issue

With articles on...

Asian support for the Black Lives Matter movement Internalized Racism the Model Minority Myth

Editor’s Note Dear OM readers, This summer has not been easy on any of us. Between a pandemic, protests, and the upcoming election, it’s understandable to want to crawl into bed, draw the covers over your head, and never come out. Which, ironically, is exactly what the white ruling class wants us to do. This, after all, is the base of the model minority myth - dividing minority groups by upholding one as the gold standard for assimilation. It’s time to put that aside. Donate to an organization, sign a petition, push back against racist family members - do *something*. Black Americans fought for so many of the civil rights that Asian-Americans enjoy today the least we can do is stand with them as they protest police brutality. We can no longer remain complicit in the systematic discrimination and state-sponsored violence against Black people in this country and around the world. You don’t need to have a PhD, or be the founder of an organization to do so - you just need to start somewhere. Educating yourself is a good place to start. While the stories in this issue are shared from Asian womens’ point of view, it is important to center Black voices - and learn from them.

Yours, Rehana Paul Editor-in-Chief and Founder

“Too Many Roses�

by Aria Mallare Too many roses Uprooted from the soil Sticking out of the ground like a garden of spears Their stems cut short Heads cut off, thorned and sharp Ready to strike Too many roses Blossoming into weapons Their twisted leaves strangling the trigger Too many roses An ocean of blood red Sitting on rows of rectangular boxes Too many roses Uprooted from the soil too young Cut from life in a temporary beauty Too many roses Left to wither away

Artist: Nina Song // IG: jinjoojpeg

Art Roundup Roundup Art

Artist: Madeline Lei IG: @made__lines

Addressing Solidari E(race)ing the Prim Written by Cindy Hsieh

Cindy Hsieh is a proponent for minorities in STEM (Science, Technology, Engineering, and Math). She has been involved in advocacy and entrepreneurship groups on university campuses, as well as American Mensa Leadership workshops to foster new ideas and growth for equality. Her love for the arts has continued to shine through her volunteer work as a piano performer in hospitals and on a daily basis through her drawing and writing. Cindy is working towards further connecting with her Asian-American identity and sharing her experiences with others.

INSTAGRAM: @_cmxhsi There I was at recess, foolishly smiling alongside my friends, reciting rhymes that had somehow seeped into our minds…slanting our eyes upwards and downwards while chanting: “Chinese, Japanese, Dirty Knees, Look at These…”

At the time, I heard the chant in purely a sing-song voice, with no understanding of how racist the intent of the rhyme was. I remember saying it aloud at home one day and when my parents confronted the school, they were dismissed with a message saying, “Oh, they’re only children...it doesn’t mean anything. It’s harmless and not a big deal.

Something worse could’ve happened.”

This ignorance and dismissal of minority culture has only been further perpetuated in my mind over these past few months, and especially now under the Black Lives Matter Movement as I have experienced it once again. My own voice and the voices of others have been swept away as if they’re pieces of ash. I’ve been told to let my feelings and thoughts go because they “weren’t that important” / “not a big deal” or “could be worse” by non-minority friends.

I’ve thought to myself during this time what it means to be called “Asian American” when the “American” part of the label seems ironic, especially since the category was born due to struggles for solidarity and racial justice in the 1960s and 1970s. The term was used to replace “Orientals” in order to align multiracial coalitions in the Third World Liberation Front and Vietnam protests. However, in 2020, this title of “Asian American” doesn’t seem to invoke the same devotion to solidarity. Why is this so? Why is it that even when I fly domestically I bring my U.S. passport with me as identification?

ity and mrose Path

“Injustice is injustice and the US needs to start being comfortable with the amount of injustice that is prevalent amongst more than just one race. No form or act of racism is any better than another, especially when they are concurrently prevalent.”

Why is it that I feel like I need to prove to others that yes, I also speak English fluently?

Why has this title become a hiding place for me? Is it because I am ignorant towards the true reality of America? Because acceptance of this cloak of “Americanness” also means accepting the detention of Japanese Americans in camps during World War II, the existence of Native American boarding schools, the turning away of Jewish refugees fleeing from the atrocities of the Holocaust, the torturing of prisoners at Guanatamo Bay, and the centuries of harm inflicted on Black people. Have we, Asian Americans, not tried for centuries to prove that we are “American” enough? And what has come of it? Only more violence and discrimination. Thus, especially now, we must acknowledge that the only way change will begin to ensue is by standing in solidarity with marginalized minorities and oppressed people abroad. However, before this union can begin, there are struggles that Asian Americans need to address.

For me, I’ve realized an ugly reality, especially as a result of being raised in a predominantly White society: most Americans will never understand my race or any minority.

Specifically, in terms of Asian Americans, they will never understand the tenuous alliance of the many nationalities Asian American encompasses, unlike other minorities.

What many people don’t realize is that while Asian Americans are the wealthiest minority group in the US, we also have the widest income gap of ANY ethnic group. For instance, Burmese Americans have a much higher poverty rate, tripling that of any other Asian group. A lot of this is due to the difference in Asians who arrived in the US as immigrants versus refugees. This deterritorialization of ethnicity seems to have been forgotten among our race. To speak of Asian Americans without addressing the paradoxes within our race can be detrimental, especially as it perpetuates this perfect facade of neutral and pluralistic racial relations. Things are not ideal and perfect within the Asian American race and I think it’s easy for us to forget about this.

We shouldn’t be afraid to express our emotions. Each one of us is entitled to the emotions we feel. However, throughout the Black Lives Matter Movement, I’ve experienced constant conflicting emotions. On one hand, I feel empowered to be a minority and use my voice to stand up for Blacks suffering from injustice. However, on the other hand, I feel that it is precisely because I am Asian that I shouldn’t speak up about my own emotions or atrocities that are currently happening to my race. When injustices are happening to your own race, it’s hard to look away. There is no denying that. The microaggressions that I’ve received from Caucasian acquaintances, whether intentional or not, have made me feel large and small as a person. After chatting with fellow Asian American friends, I realize that I am not alone in this sentiment.

While sharing injustices about the BLM movement, I am supported and applauded by non-minorities. However, while sharing injustices about my race, the same group

expresses to me that it “takes away” from BLM to show other acts of violence CURRENTLY happening in the US and dismissed by stating that “your [Asian American] type of racism” will never be solved easily and that there isn’t anything that can be done. But… isn’t that the point of confronting racism? To address the issues that society finds uncomfortable and brushes over? Injustice is injustice and the US needs to start being comfortable with the amount of injustice that is prevalent amongst more than just one race. No form or act of racism is any better than another, especially when they are concurrently prevalent. It makes me sad to hear that I shouldn’t talk about violence elicited by our own mundane citizens against the Asian race and be met with dismissal. Why can’t current events be fully discussed? Isn’t there a problem with that question alone? I’m often met with the defensive reasoning, by these Caucasians, that “Black Lives Matter” doesn’t mean that other lives do not matter. So… then why do I feel as if my voice falls on deaf ears when I speak about my race. There is no limit to activism the last time I checked. Is it because what I’m sharing is not “trending”, so therefore attention doesn’t need to be drawn towards it?

I feel as if there is a wedge that is being shoved down my throat as if to cause tension between minorities. Why is there a disconnect between realizing that the attacks against Asian families and state violence against Black people are under the SAME system of oppression? I’m tired of the performative, self-assuring activism on social media. I’m tired of being silent because of other people’s discomfort. I’m tired of being told that I should deal with my discomfort alone. It’s through these acknowledgements about myself that I realize why solidarity is so important. Power in numbers is what wins in order to shed light on racism on MULTIPLE minorities.

The abuse of police power that continues to extinguish the lives of Black people is part of a system that upholds white supremacy, robbing them of the opportunity to live life freely with hope and safety. This is the SAME system that causes Asians to be harassed, attacked, and blamed through deliberate scapegoating that dehumanizes us from the inside out. As a society, it needs to be understood that movements are more than what is spread on social media and what seems to be largely “accepted.”

As minorities, we can no longer afford to be comfortable and only practice activism in spaces where we know people will agree with us. We have to be loud and create discomfort to truly be effective. We must ask ourselves: who benefits from minority groups fighting against one another or being apathetic to one another’s struggles?

The colonists do. They are the ones who have long been advantaged by our divide, only shedding light on issues when they feel safe and willing to do so. I believe that as we all fight at the decision making table fo racial justice, it is imperative that we make rooms for OTHERS as well. We should not stop until the table is as diverse as the body of people that it represents.

The tension between Asian Americans and Blacks has been prevalent for a while now.

And this tension has been used to pit ourselves against one another and lose track of the bigger picture. In November 2014, a New York City police rookie, Peter Liang, and his partner were patrolling a public housing development when Liang fired his gun.

The bullet ricocheted off a wall and killed Akai Gurley, a 28-year-old Black man, who was walking down the stairs at that time. Liang was indicted on six charges, including manslaughter. This incident created tension amongst the Asian American community.

Activists began protesting and arguing that Liang was unfairly scapegoated for police brutality due to his race. Liang was the first indicted among all police officers who had

abused police powers in the line of duty resulting in many deaths of unarmed and innocent Black people. All the white officers were let off easily and not charged with manslaughter. It became clear to Asian Americans that the government was once again using Asians as a scapegoat to alleviate the national racial “crisis” highlighted by BLM activists and their demands to abolish the police system built on the ideology of white supremacy. Thus, protests ensued as Asian Americans labeled the state’s scapegoating tactic as “selective and unfair treatment.” Asian Americans felt like this was a rare opportunity to express their voice in their long-overlooked identity. While this divide worsened the progress towards solidarity in the 1960s and 1970s that was built between Blacks and Asians, “Americanness” decided to dig deeper into this wound and highlight the “model minority” stereotype of Asian Americans. The protests by Asians advocating for Liang were described by news sources to be a “historical” show of “unprecedented unity” that was “mature and rational.” Joseph Concannon, a white retired NYPD captain, failed Senate and city council candidate became a major force in the pro-Liang rallies standing behind the narrative of celebrated Chinese American “political unity” and façade of racial minority support. The Liang incident became another classic example of how Asian Americans continue to be used in perpetuating the model minority success in order to deny institutional access to other marginalized minorities. Is it not ironic how the union leadership monopolized Asian Americans in order to reappropriate the racial crisis, completely ignoring the true ethnic-nationalist concerns in the country?

These intra- and inter-racial tensions have now resurfaced with the BLM movement, once again causing minorities to lose sight of the bigger picture. Within the movement, phrases such as “Black and Brown Lives Matter” are often used to describe the antistate racial subjectivity that is defined by shades of skin tone and disproportionate police violence against such bodies. While this political message has the intent of racial solidarity, it simultaneously operates to single out Asian Americans, especially East Asians, as a differently positioned racial group that is absent from such struggles and openly embraces racial assimilation. This is only partially correct. Statistically speaking, Asian Americans are less likely to be targeted by direct police violence, compared to people of African and Latinx descents. However, this should not be interpreted that Asians have not been subjected to police violence throughout US history. The cases of the 1992 LA riots, the fatal beating of Vincent Chin in 1982 by white men who thought he was Japanese, the incessant beating of Peter Yew by NYC police officers, and tragedy of Chonburi Xiong who was fatally shot 27 times by white policemen in 2007 are but some of the tragic events with highly racialized intent. Yet despite these acts of violence, Asian Americans tend to be viewed as upwardly mobile and apolitical.

Thus, state violence against Asian bodies is actively erased in order to “cultivate.” Asian Americans as legitimate citizens under the benefit of U.S. multiculturalism. This is a disheartening moment for progressive Asian American politics and the fight against racial justice. Yet, Asian-Black animus, whether stemming from white and Asian elites to instigate inter-racial conflicts or “internalized racism” resulting from the Asian American psyche, prevent more nuanced questions to be asked towards society. As seen from the protests against the violence on Gurley and other Black lives, the mot ivation to push against the model minority stereotype began to become so peremptory among Asian American activists for Black Lives that they had remained completely silent around the state’s treatment of Liang as an easy target to manipulate in order to mitigate the national racial crisis of white supremacy. This dogmatic approach seemed to create a self-fulfilling prophecy. As solemnly expressed by Cathy Park Hong

Artist: Elynna Volkova

“Self Portrait” by Gina Marioni Medium: 8” x 10” oil on canvas From the artist: “As a mixed race, first-generation Asian American I’ve often struggled to identify where my voice belongs. I sometimes feel “too Asian” and other times “not Asian enough.” I’m sometimes white passing and sometimes not. Although I have a POC identity, I still hold a lot of privilege. Between the initial wave of racism against Asians when the pandemic hit, and the latest wave of racial injustice against black Americans, I’m continuously asking myself, “what is my role?” We all play a role in dismantling racism. Educate yourself. Listen to, learn from, and amplify marginalized voices. Find and support your local BIPOC businesses.

And remember this work is active and ongoing. The reflected text on this self portrait repeats, “I am Japanese, I am not Japanese. I understand, I don’t understand.”

in Minor Feelings: An Asian American Reckoning, “When I hear the phrase “Asians are next in line to be white,” I replace the word “white” with “disappear.” Asians are next in line to disappear. We are reputed to be so accomplished, and so law-abiding, that we will disappear into this country’s amnesiac fog. We will not be the power but become absorbed by power, not share the power of whites but be stooges to a white ideology that exploited our ancestors. This country insists that our racial identity is beside the point, that it has nothing to do with being bullied, or passed over for promotion, or cut off every time we talk. Our race has nothing to do with this country, even, which is why we’re often listed as “Other” in polls and why we’re hard to find in racial breakdowns on reported rape or workplace discrimination or domestic abuse. It’s like being ghosted, I suppose, where, deprived of all social cues, I have no relational gauge for my own behavior. I ransack my mind for what I could have done, could have said. I stop trusting what I see, what I hear. My ego is in free fall while my superego is boundless, railing that my existence is not enough, never enough, so I become compulsive in my efforts to do better, be better, blindly following this country’s gospel of self-interest, proving my individual worth by expanding my net worth, until I vanish.” This dynamic, which I have personally experienced up to this day, reveals the struggle in the Asian American body: one that is constantly displaced and oscillating on the scale of temporality. As mentioned by Wen Liu from Johns Hopkins University, “Asian Americanness is a projection of the irreconcilable racial temporality of American nationalism itself.”

I’ve noticed this rearranging of mindsets amongst Asian Americans with my own eyes.

The sentiment on social media seems to constantly say “we [Asians] must confront anti-Blackness and denounce it within our own communities”, instead of “a call to understand that Asian Americans are oppressed ‘Third World’ people and should ally themselves with others who suffer under imperialism.” The two sentiments pictured are quite different. However, I’ve noticed that the former has become quite rote at this point. It sounds like it’s an affirmative and progressive command to take action.

However, upon further examination, there is a tone of defensiveness and guilt with no explanation of what the individual terms mean. The wrong message is being highlighted. And the truth is that a large portion of this guilt arises from the white-constructed narrative that only serves to pin Asians against Blacks: the “model minority.”

The problem with the idea of “countering anti-Blackness” in Asian communities is that it means everything and nothing all at once. The sentiment is not a positive one and there is a lack of emphasis on actions: allying together during this tender moment.

Whether we choose to admit it or not, this first mentality creates more tensions and rifts among Asians than we may intend. The effects can clearly be seen by those Asian Americans who either choose to be silent about BLM due to discomfort or disappointment by the lack of attention on the recent racial hate crimes against Asian Americans from COVID-19. The silence of Asian Americans is a privilege of the detrimental “model minority” stereotype driving a larger rift between minorities. Who actually benefits from the silence and who is harmed? The imperative of “confronting anti-Blackness” sounds like a serious call to action, in practice, but in reality is subsumed by self-indulgent and self-serving guilt. As Soya Jung, a senior partner at ChangeLab stresses, “We’re facing a crisis where everyone feels like they need to do penance. This sort of ‘penance’ can not only be performative, but can also be counterproductive: By the time we feel as though we’ve sated our guilt - more Black lives will be lost.” I believe that warmth and acceptance need to be widespread in order to encourage those Asian Americans, who have not spoken, to feel comfortable taking part in solidarity with our Black siblings and to keep this movement alive in our hearts. Thus, instead of pushing away and neglecting who we are as a minority, Asians should

embrace this aspect of our identity as the key to solidarity. Asians can and should take time to grieve the collective trauma of what we have experienced in recent times while pushing the boundaries towards cross-racial solidarity. To be frank, the surge in anti-Asian bias would not exist if there were not already a strong foundation in society rooted in the ‘forever foreigner’ mindset, coined by Dr. Janelle Wong from the University of Maryland. This ‘forever foreigner’ mindset is one that has been in the US for decades; it suggests that Asians living in America will always be fundamentally foreign and never fully American. That we will always be kept out. Our grief from this pandemic is not new either, so it’s understandable why we should take a moment to reflect and take a deep breath. According to San Francisco State Public Health researcher Joan Trauner, in the late 1800s/1900s as smallpox and the bubonic plague spread, San Francisco Chinese residents were repeatedly used as “medical scapegoats” and the state attempted to quarantine roughly 14,000 Chinese Americans. The city officials even proposed sending Chinese residents to detention camps in order to shield the public for “safety.” We suffer from collective trauma that we often forget because the society we live in chooses to forget. As a result, we have become pitted towards one another and lose sight of the bigger picture when fighting injustice.

Thus, it is our time to push our collective racial consciousness forward and fight with other marginalized minorities in the US. The tactics used against all minorities are all too familiar and have been wielded against us. We lose sight that the state has never performed out of sole protection for minorities. Even though the Civil Rights Movement did aid in lifting the immigration ban, an act of racial segregation at a global scale, it was not the impetus to passing the Immigration Act of 1965. When the US welcomed the “degraded race” back in 1965, it was because they were entangled in an ideological pissing contest against the Soviet Union. There was a PR dilemma for the US. If the Communism ideology was to be fought and stomped out, then the country had to prove that democracy was somehow superior. Thus, the solution was to allow nonwhites back into the country to “see for themselves.” In Audre Lorde’s 1981 speech on anger, she states that “...guilt is not a response to anger; it is a response to one’s own actions or lack of action...all too often guilt is just another name for impotence, for defensiveness destructive of communication; it becomes a device to protect ignorance and the continuation of things the way they are, the ultimate protection for changelessness.” True solidarity, acceptance, and willfulness can change the world with action.

Solidarity mired in the pursuit of some impossible penance and guilt will not change the world. As ChangeLab’s Jung stated: “Do not bench yourself. We need you.”

Asian Americans have rallied in solidarity with the Black community during the Civil Rights Movement and have made progress, as seen through the Third World Liberation Front formed in 1968 to demand racial changes in admission practices. As a society, there needs to be recognition that it is never just one race at a time. This is a time for all minorities to come together and fight. For Asian Americans, this moment in time shows us how we have always been expendable to America, no matter how much we renounce our homelands, no matter how complicit we are, no matter how much we buy into classism and anti-Blackness. The only way we will be able to make a difference in the system is solidarity. We, as a race, need to fight back on the mentality of being a “model minority” and speak up for ourselves and those around us. Because the truth is that as long as some groups are more vulnerable to violence and death than others, we will never be able to achieve racial justice for our collective humanity. In recognizing our shared vulnerability to white supremacy, we can productively move forward in racial politics. Solidarity is not “me for you”, but “we for us.”

In First Grade

Written by Sima Greenfield Sima Greenfield is a Filipino-American living in Los Angeles, CA. She’s pursuing her MBA at California State University Northridge while working as a Marketing Coordinator for an event production company. When she’s not working, she enjoys hikes, watercolor painting and volunteering at a community kitchen.

INSTAGRAM: @simisimsimzzz LINKEDIN: www.linkedin.com/in/ simagreenfield When I was in first grade, there was an annoying kid named Michael. He was a bully with white skin and hazel eyes. One day, out of nowhere, he started calling the singular black kid in our class, Tyler, the N-word. I didn’t understand what that meant. I knew it was bad because Tyler’s face was covered with shock.

“What does that mean?” I asked Michael.

“He’s an alien! Look at his skin. He’s not normal.” Michael said.

“You’re being mean! Leave Tyler alone!” I said.

“Now you have the Chinese girl saving you! You need a girl to stick up for you!” Michael laughed.

“Just leave me alone,” Tyler said to me and sulked away defeated.

“Just leave me alone,” Tyler said to me and sulked away defeated.

We were toddlers learning cursive and basic addition. We were in first grade,

forming our perception of how our shades of color were going to affect us for the rest of our lives.

Tyler and I could have been allies. We could have teamed up on Michael to make him feel like an idiot.

But I’m the “Chinese” girl, and he’s the black boy. And a culture of “mind your own business,” fractured our allyship.

That fracture is in our entire society.

Asians so quickly think we are better, or we just want to mind our own business.

The reality is the racist that will shoot a black man doesn’t see me as equal.

They see my shade as less threatening We aren’t human in the eyes of a racist.

We are a cuisine they order takeout from.

We are sexualized bodies.

We are nail salon jokes.

We are the reason for COVID. Every person of color knows the pit in your stomach and tinge of paranoia when you are in a sea of white people. There’s a way my eyes move across a room to detect who is friend or foe. I’ve seen it’s been ingrained in white people to snub their nose at me, insert their preconceived notions about me, and combat my opinion. If I can detect someone closer to my pigmentation, we give each other a

“We were in first grade, forming our perception of how our shades of color were going to affect us for the rest of our lives.” look. It’s a look of survival, of hope, of comradery. And while black people have certainly been able to advocate for me and I them: I don’t get asked to leave a white neighborhood.

I don’t get threatened by cops.

I don’t have my right to breathe questioned.

It’s all our business when someone of color is treated unjustly.

Their injustice makes a case for our own oppression. Together we are strung together by the dehumanization that colonization has taken from us. Together we can rise, but apart we will fall. Generations of isolationism can’t be undone in a day. But it’s simple. Actually get to know black people.

Not just as a hip hop song.

Not just as chicken and waffles Not just another headline of police brutality.

Literally just talk about shared experiences, crack a smile, and film instances of racism. If you want to go one step further, lend time helping lower-income community members, I volunteer with a homeless advocacy group. Talk to your church about what they do. Talk to your friends about what they do. Find a volunteer opportunity to make a small impact.

Kindness and hope trickle up.

Artist: Florence Li

Artist: Caroline Moon

“Filipinos: We Have A Long History of Internalized Racism, What Do You Want To Do About It?” Written by Pangga Tevez

Pangga is a reader, writer, educator, former professional hip-hop dancer, and a ‘loud-mouthed’ feminist and activist who is creating an army of womxn. She is currently pursuing her PhD in Literature. You will find her dressed down, lounging with her four adopted dogs plotting her next move.

Find Pangga here: INSTAGRAM: @pangaaa We are reading the news from the same platforms of racism in America. We sit comfortably in our homes, most of us laugh at the country that historically colonized ours to feel superior that we are better than these people, yet we have not done anything to dismantle the hierarchies and systems in our own homes--in our own country. We silence activists who are doing the work on the ground. Our own teachers threaten a student into making a public apology. We arrest activists for giving criticism about politicians that govern our country. We blame citizens for their attitude when we placed people into power who influence and exhibit the same behavior.

What are we doing? Your silence is deafening. These people would not have to die, these people would not have been incarcerated had we all just come together to uproot a system that we are living in. How can we sit comfortably in our own homes, mock and laugh at these people fighting for their survival?

These protests, these riots did not appear out of the blue. These protesters have marched the streets peacefully for years while racists shot at and tear gassed them.

Time and time again, another black person dies. We are talking about years of oppression. We are talking about a system that was built to benefit the rich, the privileged, White people, and men, and we are operating under that system—a system rooted in racism where other systems of oppression were bred. A system we encourage because we use the same system as a barometer, a standard, we have to achieve.

You don’t need to say the N word for you to be racist. You don’t need to mock a non-english speaking country’s accent to be racist. A lot of times, prejudice and racism is masked and filtered with good intentions. It is the underbelly in which we all operate.

What are we doing?

We empathize with these people all the way from the other side of the world. We tell ourselves “I’m glad I don’t live in America it’s not my problem,” that is your greatest illusion. We are, our country is very much influenced by them; that kind of oppression exists in our own country. We listen to stories about the slavery and segregation in America and brush it off as if we were never enslaved. We are continuously facing unconscious racism and discrimination every day. Take a look at our history. Take a look at ourselves.

The question is not whether or not you are racist or anti-racist. The question is not whether you are prejudiced or not. The question we need to answer is how are we challenging the system? In what ways do you think you’re contributing to a system that continues to oppress and subjugate the less privileged? What are you doing with your privilege? It’s easy to say you are not racist until someone challenges and questions your actions.

“These people would not have to die, these people would not have been incarcerated had we all just come together to uproot a system that we are living in. How can we sit comfortably in our own homes, mock and laugh at these people fighting for their survival?”

How you think, is based on conditioning. We were all conditioned to think and behave in a way that supports the same broken system because it makes it easier for them to understand us. The same people whose forefathers built it to benefit their grandchildren; to continue the same “legacy.” History only repeats itself because we let it.

These protests, these riots, did not start here. It started centuries ago and ended slavery. It started decades ago and that’s how women were able to vote. It started when one person spoke and started a rebellion that turned into a revolution and that’s how we claimed our own country back.

If you are not angry about what is happening to Black people around the globe, you are not paying attention.

We have a responsibility to educate ourselves on the history of racism. We need to reexamine the things we learned. We need to continuously address our own biases and unconscious discrimination. We don’t have to have it right the first time. It is expected that a lot of times, when it comes to issues about race, we will get it wrong, especially if you are someone who has never engaged in the conversation before, and that’s okay. We just have to start.

As non-black people, we need to rise up.

Finding Your Voice in the Movement Written by Crystal Widado

Crystal is a rising sophomore in highschool and a passionate advocate for mental health. She is a volunteer listener for an online emotional hotline for teens and a website community leader in student/career support and self-harm recovery support. In her free time, she enjoys running a Studygram Instagram account and reading.

FInd her at: INSTAGRAM: @crystalwidado / @nerdlepuff

I do high school debate. As a debater, it’s a common preconceived notion that I’m generally interested in politics and know a lot about politics. Although I’m not great at debate, I’m great at being an average teenager on social media with posting my debate tournament adventures. Along with also openly talking about my positive experiences with my debate team, there’s almost a sense of confidence that I project about myself.

I know others think of me as someone who is (or should be, at least) opinionated about social justice issues and activism, and I often think of myself that way too.

The truth is, I haven’t been that person.

I’m not the political person others think I am or the knowledgeable person I want to be. I’m not involved in politics nor have I done much research into the hundreds of justice issues that the US has. I read the news and I’m relatively updated, yet I don’t have an opinion on half of the things I consume. “How could I have an opinion on these things?” I often wondered to myself, “things aren’t just this black and white.” That’s a common saying from my family that I’ve reminded myself over the years of reading about politics. It’s just too hard to really take a stance.

At least, it was hard.

I remember first seeing the video of George Floyd’s death 2 weeks ago. I was shocked and stunned. “Does this really happen often?”, I remember thinking to myself. I remember seeing Ahmaud Arbery’s death earlier that month and catching myself almost forgetting that his death made headlines as well. Over time, I started swiping onto and reading more articles about police brutality across the nation. I started reading about white privilege and about the Black Lives Matter movement. I reposted a few images instantly that I agreed with, but then started to wonder if I should do more.

I was so afraid then to speak out about this. Or even just anything I cared about in particular. There were things like climate change, abortion, education, healthcare, gun ownership rights, and so many other issues that I have never had the confidence to share my opinion on.

My main reason back then was because I wasn’t informed enough about these things. Now, I realize that although I’m no expert, I am informed about these things more than the average teenager is. As time went on with the BLM movement, more posts started flooding my page and

I started reading into systemic racism and the flaws in policing. It was a lot to take in at first, but then I started reading a lot more into privilege.

I learned about what privilege meant and also began to realize how privileged I was.

It is a privilege to be able to ignore or try to ignore all the issues happening around me and it was (and still is) something I’m really ashamed about. I didn’t misuse my voice, I did something worse. I didn’t use my voice at all. I remember feeling so awful but then stopping myself by reminding myself that this was my chance to finally use my brain and my (limited) debate knowledge to actually share information along with my own thoughts.

I started researching, reading, signing, calling, doing anything I could instead of just ignoring something I was too afraid to have a full opinion on. I started doing something.

I think it’s a common and harmful stereotype that Asians “keep to themselves” even in times like this. I see it in many of my friends who won’t bother to post. I see then in the private stories of my friends who criticize the movement for being too much. But I whole-heartedly disagree and believe that this stereotype is wrong and hurtful. As Asian women, we must remain as strong as we are and use our voices (our valid and powerful voices) to speak out about the issues of systemic racism in our country.

We can’t be afraid of being wrong anymore because there is no wrong. There is nothing political about human rights, it’s given that they should be granted no matter what. The Black Lives Matter movement isn’t just about politics, it’s about human rights that can’t be debated. It’s horrible to see the amount of confusion in my peers and friends on whether or not they should do something.

“My main reason back then was because I wasn’t informed enough about these things.

Now, I realize that although I’m no expert, I am informed about these things more than the average teenager is. “ It’s something I, unfortunately, can empathize with. Every time I think about this, I start thinking about myself two or three weeks ago, being too afraid to speak out about my opinions and values. Being too afraid because I was no “professional” or no “expert”. It doesn’t take an expert to look at a few Instagram posts or Tweets and realize something is radically wrong in this country and speak out about it.

The Black Lives Matter movement is undoubtedly needed. It goes unsaid that there is a huge racism problem in America. As an Asian American, I’ve figured out how to use my privilege and my voice to talk about these issues and to start the conversation. I’ve found my voice and I’m going to continue to use it for as long as I can.

And I urge all of you to do the same.

Whether it’s annotating a full article about qualified immunity with a friend or if it’s donating what you can to an organization, it’s important that we all do something to fight racial injustice and find our voices within while we’re standing in solidarity.

Author’s Note I am speaking as a light skinned East Asian cis-woman with economic privilege. I recognize the privileges of these identities and the blind spots I have because of them.

I know that my experience as an Asian is not universal.

Education is Not Ours to Hoard The Solidarity Issue Written By | Hannah Wilson

S

adness, hurt, anger. Letter after letter beginning, “We regret to inform you…” I felt sad because it felt like my hard work was all for nothing. All the hours of homework, the clubs and teams, the AP classes I piled into my schedule suddenly felt like a waste of my time and energy. A pointless drain on my mental health. I felt hurt because it felt like the colleges of my dreams were rejecting me as a person rather than me as a student. Applying to college is a deeply personal process. Colleges say they want to “get to know you,” through your essays, extracurriculars, and recommendations. And then when you get rejected, it feels like they are saying that you weren’t the kind of person they wanted on their campus.

And then the anger. The insidious anger telling me that I was denied admission because my Black classmate was admitted. The ugly thought wound its way into my being. Justifying my feelings of entitlement. Pulsing through my veins any time I felt sad or hurt because of my rejection letters.

This feeling was just the manifestation of a lifetime’s worth of anti-Black messaging that I got from family and friends.

Black students can’t keep up with the work load here.

Black students aren’t motivated or hardworking.

Black parents don’t encourage their kids to achieve academically.

And this anti-Blackness shows up not only in our hearts and minds but also in our actions. A group of Asian American students led by antiaffirmative action crusader Edward Blum are trying to institute “color blind” admissions.

The thing is, the way that college admissions imagines Asian Americans as a monolith of hardworking, personality-less, robo-students is racist. We should have our feelings about the ways in which we are erased and stereotyped.

But, our anger and our hurt is being channeled against the wrong thing. Some of us want to address the discrimination that we face

without recognizing that the racism we face is merely a cog in the larger white supremacist machine. If you want to address the racism we face in college admissions then you need to also be addressing the multitude of ways antiBlackness shows up in our education system.

For example, the school to prison pipeline, school segregation, and a racist westerncentric curriculum among many other injustices.

Anything else furthers our complicity in antiBlack racism. Our conception of racism must be bigger than ourselves.

When I was a high school senior I was angry because I thought my educational opportunities were being taken away from me by Black people. I’m still mad now but, now I’m mad that I swallowed the violent lies of white supremacy.

The blame I placed on my Black classmates did not take into account the mountain of racism they had to climb to get into college. It also ignored their hard work and all of the wonderful things they were bringing to their universities.

I was jealous because years of being seen as the “Model Minority” let me feel entitled to a place in the Ivory Tower. If you are in support of the various attempts some of our community have enacted to ensure our dominance in the educational sphere, ask yourself some questions. Am I more deserving of these privileges than Black people? Why do I feel entitled to hoard educational opportunities?

The truth is, everyone deserves access to a good education! Black activists have long been fighting to ensure that Black students are able to attend desegregated, fully funded, and fully resourced schools. We need to be doing what we can to support their work, not impede it. I hope we can lay to rest our clamour to play second fiddle to whiteness. Because a system of white supremacy will never see non-white people in their full humanity. Now is the time to commit ourselves fully to the fight for Black liberation.

And part of this work includes abandoning our expectations and entitlement to elite educational institutions and reimagining what equitable education can look like.

Wing Ke

ei Hoang Artist bio: “Hey, I’m Wing Kei! I am an emerging digital illustrator based in South London, with the love of all things concerning women and nudes of all colour and identities.

Please join me in this art-loving, body positive and affirming space!”

IG: @art.by.wingkei Etsy: WingkeiArtPrints

To Indian Americans for Black Lives Matter, On Doing the Hard Work Written By Maya Bhardwaj

Maya Bhardwaj is a community organizer, artist, and musician from Detroit with roots or community in Bangalore and New York. She is currently based in London, where she is a Masters candidate in Labor, Social Movements, and Development at SOAS, studying South Asian diaspora leftism, organizing, and queer space, in solidarity with Black liberation.

FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/Maya.bhardwaj INSTAGRAM: @mbhardwaj225 TWITTER: @mbhardwaj225

As a second wave of Black Lives Matter protests sweep the US in a nationwide uprising, I have been reflecting on the shared history that brings the US to this point, and the history that brought me and my family into this story. I have worked as a community organizer for the past 10 years, and much of what brought me to this work was growing up in the suburbs of Detroit. In our relationship to the city, we were constantly aware of the violence, white flight, and systematic destruction of a Mecca of Black excellence - but also the visionary struggle of Black folks for a better world. While we lived on a street that itself was also redlined, and did not connect to any others in the neighborhood, as Indians with caste privilege, and as doctors, the labor of Black folks for the Civil Rights act allowed my parents to immigrate to the US on technical visas, and to go unquestioned when they moved into the suburbs of Detroit.

The same was not true for many of the Black students at my high school. During the failure of Detroit’s Big Three motor companies and the early beginnings of the subprime mortgage crisis in Detroit, budget cuts at my public high school manifested as witch-hunts of Black students, who were followed home by white parents and interrogated about their residency in the district. Black students, plus myself and a few Arab and other non-Black POC students, attempted to push back. But it was not enough: almost half of the Black students in my class were removed as being out of district. Witnessing these acts of structural racism - and seeing the power of community organizing in response - was what called me into the movement.

For many other middle-class Indian-Americans who hold class and caste privilege, experiences of struggle in solidarity with Black communities, and understandings of the history of slavery, Jim Crow, redlining, and more, have not been sparked until recently.

I am grateful to a school that taught me about Grace Lee and Jimmy Boggs, about Freedom Schools, about occupied Anishnaabe land, and led me here.

Female Gaze

“Xin chào! I’m Fiona Ly, a Chinese-Vietnamese 20 year old born and raised in the UK. Not your typical docile and subservient stereotype who is obsessed with cooking my Asian-fusion creations which have been described as Hitor-Miss...”

The Model Minority Myth: Why It's Total BS and How It Contributes to

The Solidarity Issue Written By | Natalie Obedos

AntiBlackness in the AAPI Community

A

s an Asian American woman— specifically as a Filipino American— I know how anti-Black racism runs rampant in Asian communities. I have heard within my own family how we speak about and view Black people, and I am ashamed to admit there are times where I have bought into the hatred. While this is something I actively try to combat, I am by no means exempt from these attitudes. We believe that we are better than Black people. That we are smarter, richer, and by all accounts, a more morally and socially upstanding minority demographic.

We have been conditioned to believe that the whiter we act, the easier it will be for us to be accepted into white circles. We have been conditioned to reject our Black and Brown brothers and sisters in favor of preserving a white ruling class. We have been conditioned to believe that we are the model minority in America and that that is something to be proud of— that it is something that makes us immune to prejudice. And today, I am here to tell you that that is bullshit.

In order to fully understand how deeply corrupt the model minority myth is, we have to look back to before Asians even immigrated to America— in fact, we have to go back further than the creation of the United States. In 1676, there was an armed uprising in Virginia known as the Bacon’s’ Rebellion. It was a class rebellion formed by poor white people, indentured white servants, and Black slaves against the wealthy white upper class. The rebellion proved that the lower class, which was made of Black and white people, heavily outnumbered the ruling class. This rebellion marked a turning point in race relations in America.

Prior to this rebellion, the treatment of poor white people was strikingly similar to that of Black slaves— they even intermarried and lived with each other. And while prejudice based on appearance had undoubtedly been present, racism was secondary to a class divide. But when the structures of power that the wealthy yielded over the poor were revealed during Bacon’s Rebellion, a divide was consciously driven between poor Black and white people.

The ruling class slowly gave poor white people power over Black slaves. The ruling class offered poor white people solidarity in their whiteness and began to put white people ‘in charge’ of their slaves. The divide had been successfully moved away from rich versus poor, and toward white versus Black. The actual treatment of poor white people did not change much; they were still mistreated, still underpaid, and only rarely did any truly rise in social status. The promise was, to its core, empty. Poor white people were given the promise of possibly joining the ruling class in exchange for their loyalty to their

black allies— and they took it.

right to vote one year earlier.

The myth of the model minority is no different.

1966 was arguably within the peak years of the Civil Rights movement. And isn’t it awfully convenient that white Americans began praising Asian Americans for overcoming oppression the “right” way just as Black Americans began bringing light to centuries of abuse? Much like the aftermath of Bacon’s Rebellion, the model minority myth served as a way to divide minorities at the cusp of unification. It was and still is, to this day, a way to delegitimize the struggles of the Black community.

Asians did not have an easy start in America.

They went from being used as expendable labor during the construction of the Central Pacific and Transcontinental Railroads to being barred from entering the country via the Chinese Exclusion act (which, despite its name, eventually expanded to ban emigres from all Asian countries), to being interned in camps and/or enduring racist assaults during WWII. Filipinos specifically have a very tumultuous history with the United States; they were manipulated into assisting the States in defeating Spain under the false promise for independence only for the United States to turn around and claim the Philippines as their own, which resulted in yet another war.

Despite all the overwhelming history which proved America’s abuse of its Asian population, the mistreatment appears to have been forgotten or forgiven with the introduction of the concept of the, you guessed it, model minority. When the term “model minority” was first introduced in a 1966 article, it praised Japanese Americans for their overwhelming professional success and for “overcoming” discrimination. The praise of the financial and social success of Japanese Americans was soon spread to apply to all American citizens of Asian descent at the detriment of Black and Brown Americans and was quickly weaponized against them. There has long been discourse within the AAPI community over the harmful nature of the model minority myth toward Asian Americans, but we rarely-- if ever-- talk about the damage it did and continues to do to Black Americans.

If Asians could get out of being abused by white people, they argued, why could Black Americans not follow suit? This logic ignores the fact that the growing Asian American population had largely comprised scientists, doctors, and engineers that were recruited by the United States to emigrate.

As a result, the majority of the (primarily East) Asian population by 1966 in America began their American journey with a significant advantage over African Americans. They had only gotten the

Like the poor white colonists of Jamestown, Asian Americans were offered just a hint of whiteness and power in exchange for the dignity of their Black brothers and sisters. And unfortunately, we have also taken the bait while very little of our treatment has changed.

Like those in the Bacon’s Rebellion, Asians will never actually enter the ruling class. No amount denouncing other people of color as dangerous or uneducated is going to change that. No matter how tightly you cling to the belief that you are turning your backs on black people in their time of need will help make you more palatable to white America, they will always see you as Asian first. Just look at how quickly so many in the country turned on our community when China was blamed for the spread of COVID-19.

It’s time for us to realize that we have been manipulated into kicking down a community that has barely been given a chance to get up.

To realize that we have more in common with black Americans than we do, the unobtainable Americanness we have been told is so desirable.

To realize that the concept of America, we have been taught to uphold and strive toward is a corrupt system that benefits a wealthy white ruling class to the extreme detriment of everyone beneath them. So let’s help to build a new one.

But in 2014, during the first wave of Black Lives Matter uprisings, while I saw many Muslim and Dalit South Asians throwing down in organizing and activist space alongside Black comrades, it was clear that to move my own community, we had much more work.

It’s been thrilling, then, to see the current outpouring of young Indian American response in support of Black Lives Matter and in honor of George Floyd, Breonna Taylor, Dreasjon Reed, and the many more Black community members that police have murdered across the US. On the ground at protests, I see photos of South Asian youth - and elders - risking the spread of COVID-19 to take a knee and stand up to state violence. In online space, I see South Asian youth creating tools for talking to elders in Hindi, disseminating Whatsapp images, and writing Google Docs archiving Black and South Asian shared history. But as an organizer, I’ve been troubled. Many of these tools duplicate the work done by Dalit and Muslim comrades over decades - tools that many of us with caste and class privilege never had to look for. And many of these newly-created documents put out by zealous activists are sitting in online space, lacking the rollout strategies to make their way into conversations with our families and communities. And I can’t help wondering - why now? Why this? And what - and who - are we forgetting?

Late last year, the Citizenship Amendment Act - a law that threatened the removal of legal status or citizenship for many Muslims, as well as other minority communities passed in India, and the country erupted in the streets. But beyond the work of select Muslim- and Dalit-led organizations and activists in the US like Equality Labs and DRUM, the Indian diaspora’s response was minimal. Thousands of Indian Americans celebrated at a Howdy Modi event linking Trump to Hindu Fascism, and cheered for a political project that establishes Muslim, Dalit, Bahujan, and Adivasi Indians as a permanent underclass in order to wage nonstop violence upon them. Hundreds of Muslim Indians were brutalized, rendered homeless, or murdered in this year’s Delhi pogroms. Thousands of Dalit women and girls have been murdered by upper-caste Hindu violence. But in the diaspora, many of us with privilege say nothing.

When we see these same acts of state terror and violence enacted upon Black bodies, why then do we act? When we refuse to live in Black neighborhoods, when we associate only with White Americans, when we praise the police, use “kala” as a slur, and express pride in our caste - why then do we act?

What does it take for us to break down the legacy of structural violence, and institutional caste and racial oppression, that allowed many of us to profit in this stolen land? And what does it take for us to dismantle the context of casteism and Brahminism that we perpetrate in our rituals and in the way we treat Dalit people, Muslim people, and Black people?

The proliferation of online activism, particularly within the context of global lockdowns under Coronavirus, is a start. But much of this is happening without real relationships with Black Americans, without conversation with Muslim and Dalit diaspora members, and without the deep organizing work we need to do in person. And without deep political education around the structures of caste, anti-blackness, and policing and carceral systems, many of these online solutions water down visionary cries like #DefundthePolice into calls for milquetoast reforms. But to shift thousands of years of assumptions around duty, value, caste, and skin in our communities, and to shift centuries of structures of racism in the US, we have to do more than remake the same Google Doc over and over. We have to dismantle our own beliefs, address our own perpetration of harm, and recognize our complicitness in both anti-blackness and casteism. We have to lean into conversation with our families, we have to lean into organizing spaces with our communities, and we have to get trained up on how to organize. We have to smash the model minority myth, and we have to target our elected officials who perpetuate these stereotypes. We have to do our reading, and we have to unequivocally fight for abolition - both in the US and in the subcontinent. Reform and law and order won’t cut it - they never did back home, and they never will here.

To the Indian Americans who are first coming to the movement, I want to welcome you.

I’m happy that you’re here. But I need you to do more, and dig deeper. The process of breaking down structures of violence in our lives and communities takes years. In my own family, it has taken generations of conflict and learning, and many uncomfortable - and sometimes angry - conversations to expose and dismantle our caste and class privilege, and situate that within our Dravidian identity that doesn’t match up with all facets of Hindutva. These conversations and these systems are complicated. It’s not enough to make a beautiful video or piece of art. We have to do the work. We have to show up, day after day, in our local organizations, targeting our “community leaders” who don’t stand for us, deeply engaging in our communities and alongside our Black comrades, long after the headlines about Black Lives Matter fade away. We have to learn our people’s history, understand our communities, and dig out the contextual examples we have of abolition and of building a different world. We have to move resources. We have to agitate our communities, our country, and ourselves.

These protests feel different: COVID-19 has created a boiling point, centuries of rage are boiling over, and we have an opening to usher in a new future - but we have to be ready to follow, to move our people, and to get out of the way of the visionary systems change that awaits.

Miss Demure Illustrated by Natalie Obedos

“Over a year ago, I released this comic entitled “Crash Course”. It was meant to be an abridged rundown as to the problematic nature of the model minority myth. Given current events, I requested that Overachiever re-post this comic with a few adjustments. While the damage the model minority myth has had on AAPI has become a more mainstream discussion, the damage it has on the Black community is equally as harmful. Over the past few weeks, I’ve heard people I have grown up around and love spew hatred towards a community that has suffered since the beginnings of this country— and I’m sure many other Asians like me have experience the same. I believe the model minority myth is the root of at least some of the anti-blackness our community feels. While by no means a thorough enough dive into the how’s and whys, I hope this comic can at least be used to start a conversation on anti-blackness.”

The

“RACIAL MIDDLE�

Written By

By Ashley Ashley Chen Chen Written

Ashley Chen is the political columnist for Overachiever Magazine.

She’s an undergraduate student from New York majoring in Political Science. Her activism is centered upon voter education and civic engagement. Her other areas of interest would include educational equity, reproductive rights, gentrification, climate change and the list goes on. In her free time, she loves to watch films and create collages.

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#AsiansForBlackLives - How To communities’ complic

Written By Fiona Ly

Fiona is of Chinese-Vietnamese descent who was born towards becoming a consultant in London upon gradu D FXOWXUH FODVK FDQ DIIHFW RQH¶V VHOI FRQ¿GHQFH DV WKH R XS DQG VWDUWLQJ GLVFXVVLRQV DERXW LVVXHV WKDW PD\ UHOD mal. Writing became a creative outlet which has encou

Tou Thao, the disgraced Minneapolis police officer who is one of the four officers involved in the death of George Floyd, is of Hmong descent (a Southeast Asian ethnic group). The image of Thao just standing there whilst Floyd was being suffocated reflects both the explicit and metaphorical behaviours through which some East and Southeast-Asians are facilitating in Anti-Black racism and systemic white supremacy. It seems to be that many Asian communities are reserved when it comes to speaking about racial injustice in other minority communities out of fear that their own precarious privileges will be taken away. I feel that many people of Asian descent will identify with this sweeping statement. Thao’s ability to just stand there without interfering is inextricably tied to his identity as an Asian American police officer. If we remain complicit; if we stand idly by, keeping silent in the face of anti-Black comments, avoiding political action, then we too are guilty of just standing there as Black people suffer and are killed.

The positioning of Asians as ‘model minorities’ has a direct connection to Anti-Blackness and the continuation of white supremacy. Post-World War II, the perpetuation of the ‘model minority myth’ was leveraged by a white majority to pit East-Asian Americans against African Americans to demonstrate that racial groups could overcome discrimination, assimilate and reach parity with white people. It was created in an attempt to detract attention from the activism of the civil rights movement and when the US began to fear its exclusion of Chinese immigrants would hurt its allyship with China against Japan. This flawed belief was ingrained into the Asian community and is used to diminish the struggles of other ethnic minorities and if they would ‘work hard enough’ they too could achieve the level of socio-economic success that Asians had supposedly reached. This has further complicated the conversation surrounding Asian racism and this kind of tangential comparison inevitably functions as a racial wedge within Asian communities themselves as well as Asians and other minorities.

Part of the reason the killing of unarmed Black people continues to happen at an alarming rate is because we haven’t properly addressed a long history of racial terror which has treated Blackness as a proxy for criminality.

ou Thao symbolises some Asian city in Anti-Blackness

n and raised in England. She is currently studying Business at the University of Exeter and is working uation. Her interests include cooking and she is an avid RuPaul’s Drag race fan. She understands how RQO\ 2ULHQWDO SHUVRQ LQ D ZKLWH PDMRULW\ $OO *LUOV¶ VFKRRO 7KXV VKH IHHOV SDVVLRQDWHO\ DERXW VSHDNLQJ DWH WR RWKHU $VLDQV ZKR KDYH JURZQ XS LQ VLPLODU VLWXDWLRQV ZKR IHHO WKDW WKHLU H[SHULHQFHV DUH DEQRUuraged comprehensive research about her culture and the history associated with modern day issues. ,QVWDJUDP #LE¿RQDO\ We can no longer be silent bystanders that reap the benefits of privilege while the Black community continues to fight for justice and equality. The outrage we feel when facing discrimination, prejudice and racism must be equated to what the Black community faces on a daily basis. We cannot be an ambassador against racism towards Asians and not extend our advocacy to other minority groups as well. Recognising Anti-Black racism does not strip away from the validity of racism against Asians - it is not a competition.

It requires diligence to unlearn these stereotypes and inherent biases that cause tensions between minorities. The pivotal moment for Asians to tackle the subject of anti-Blackness in a productive way begins with understanding the problems in our own communities by first confronting the historical context behind their prejudice. Asians deal with their own forms of oppression, but it is incomparable to the systematic dehumanisation that Black people have faced during slavery and continue to confront on a daily basis. We must be vigilant not to become the “racial bourgeoisie”.

The abuse of police powers that continues to extinguish the lives of Black men and women is a part of a system where white supremacy and racist policies treat Black lives as less deserving of protection, resources and opportunities to live with freedom, safety, health and hope. This is the same system that causes Asians to be harassed, attacked and blamed for COVID-19, resulting in racial scapegoating that dehumanises us and invites harm. But clearly the pandemic has only further proven the fact that whatever position of safety Asians are afforded as a ‘model minority’ is conditional. To be anti-racist does not only mean we must be free of racism, but that we must actively fight it whenever we recognise it, even if it is within ourselves or communities. Every small action works towards dismantling systematic oppression. Lives — Black lives — depend on it.

Calling in All AAPI: Now is the Time for Thick Solidarity Written By Sam Riedman

Sam Riedman is a writer, farmer, and social activist. She graduated from The Evergreen State College in June of 2019 with a BAS in Ecological Agriculture and Sociology. Her love language is leading seminar and gift giving. If you haven’t already guessed, she’s a Taurus.

INSTAGRAM: @scaldingwarm We acted as though the concessions were victories, and we stepped out of the way. We abandoned our Black and Brown allies. Allies ūĂĩ ʼnőĩĩà ùĩŅ Ŗʼn ÁĢà ūĆőĂ Ŗʼn ĆĢ ĩŖŅ ƈúĂőʼn͠ Yet we tapped out. We started believing the lies of white supremacy and the model minority myth, and stood silent while Black lives continued to be stolen— and sometimes we stole those lives with our own hands.

Now is not a time to be silent, now is not the time for politeness, and now is not the time to be a model minority. Now is the time to examine our warts— our complicity in the perpetuation of white supremacist ideologies. We must not just take a stance against racism; we must take action to be anti-racist. Not just today, but every day. We, as individuals and as a community, must dedicate ourselves to a thick approach to solidarity.

Roseann Liu and Savannah Shange describe thick solidarity as “a kind of solidarity that mobilizes empathy in ways that do Ģĩő úěĩʼnʼn ĩŪäŅ àĆƅäŅäĢÚäʼn ÙŖő ŅÁőĂäŅ łŖʼnĂäʼn ĆĢőĩ őĂä ʼnłäÚĆƈÚĆőű͡ ĆŅŅäàŖÚĆÙĆěĆőű͡ ÁĢà ĆĢcommensurability of racialized experiences.

Thick solidarity is based on the radical belief in the inherent value of each other’s lives despite never being able to fully understand or fully share in the experience of those lives” (190).

ʼnĆÁĢ ġäŅĆÚÁĢ ÁĢà ÁÚĆƈÚ HʼněÁĢàäŅ ͳ Hʹ communities do have a history of solidarity with Black and Brown communities. Yellow Peril stood in solidarity with the Black Power Movement. Yuri Kochiyama advocated for Asian Americans to link ourselves to the ʼnőŅŖúúěä ùĩŅ ěÁÚė ěĆÙäŅÁőĆĩĢ͠ ZÁŅŅű HőěĆĩĢú and the thousands of other Filipino farmworkers in the Agricultural Workers Organizing Committee joined Cesar Chavez’s National Farmworkers Association to demand fair wages and safer working conditions. The media have intentionally obfuscated these histories with incidences of anti-Blackness ūĆőĂĆĢ őĂä H ÚĩġġŖĢĆőű͠ ©ĂĆěä ūä ÚĩĢtinue the tradition of cross-cultural solidarity work of our ancestors, we must also claim those within the community that perpetuates anti-Blackness and commit violence against Black people. We must claim them, and call them in, so we can be more őĂÁĢ ÁěěĆäʼn͠ HőΎʼn ÁÙĩŖő őĆġä ūä ʼnĂĩū Ŗł Áʼn ÁÚÚĩġłěĆÚäʼn őĩ ƈúĂő ÁúÁĆĢʼnő ūĂĆőä ʼnŖłŅäġÁÚű͠ We must call in racism within our community and educate ourselves and each oth er on the harmful consequences of the internalization and perpetuation of white supremacy. We must celebrate our solidarity work while not letting it obscure the work that we have yet to accomplish.

<ŅĩūĆĢú Ŗł Áʼn Á ĂĆĢäʼnä ġäŅĆÚÁĢ͡ H ĂäÁŅà many elders in my community invalidate the systemic racism Black people face with, “Well, we were enslaved too.” This simple statement creates a false equivalent. Suggesting the Coolie trade and African Chattel slavery are equal perpetuates the idea that Asian and African American economic mobility should be measured on the same plane.

Asserting a sameness between these two exploitative labor systems erases massive differences in the scale and scope of the TransÁőěÁĢőĆÚ ʼněÁŪä őŅÁàä ĆĢĔŖʼnőĆÚä͠ HĢʼnĆʼnőĆĢú őĂÁő 40 years and 750 thousand bodies were transported during the coolie trade is equivalent to 246 years, and 12 million enslaved Africans were victims of the Transatlantic slave trade. Historian, author, and activist Vijay Prashad explains: “This is not to say that we don’t feel the edge of racism (both as prejudice and as structural violence), but we do so in a far less stark sense than do those who are seen as detritus of U.S. civilization” (6).

A majority of the methods we have used in our personal quest for liberation were conceived by Black people. Our liberation is intertwined with the liberation of those who are most oppressed by our institutions, those ÙäĆĢú ěÁÚė őŅÁĢʼn ūĩġäĢ͠ ©ä ġŖʼnő ƈúĂő őĩ łŅĩőäÚő őĂĩʼnä ĆĢ őĂä ġĩʼnő ŖŅúäĢő Ģääà ƈŅʼnő͠ We are not free until the most oppressed people in society are free. We are not mereěű ÁʼnʼnĆʼnőĆĢú ĆĢ ʼnĩġäĩĢä äěʼnäΎʼn ƈúĂő͠ ©ä ġŖʼnő take a stance and have skin in the game.

Then take a step toward Black liberation and self-determination. And then take another step. And another. And Another.

Call in your family members. Call in yourself. Call in your City Council to abolish the police.

“We are not free until the most oppressed people in society are free.”

Ăäʼnä ÚĩġłÁŅĆʼnĩĢʼn ÚŅäÁőä ƉĆġʼnű ÚĩĢĢäÚtions that promote division between our communities. The racism we experience Áʼn Hʼn ʼnĂĩŖěà Ģĩő Ùä àĆʼnġĆʼnʼnäà͡ ūä ġŖʼnő hold space to process it, but that shouldn’t take precedence over showing up Black lives.

Accountability is uncomfortable, but turning away from that discomfort makes us com plicit in the violence Black people experience on a daily basis. Calling for thick forms of solidarity is not new; it is not ĩŅĆúĆĢÁě͠ Hő Ćʼn łÁŅő ĩù ĩŖŅ ĂĆʼnőĩŅű Áʼn H͠ ĂĆʼn ĂĆʼnőĩŅű Ćʼn ƈŅġěű Ņĩĩőäà ĆĢ ěÁÚė úŅÁŅĆÁĢism and the quest forBlack self-determination.

Visit https://defund12.org/ for information to email úĩŪäŅĢġäĢő ĩƆÚĆÁěʼn and council members on the reallocation of police budgets to education, social services, and dismantling racial inequality in your city.

Sources

Prashad, Vijay “The Karma of Brown Folk.” Google Books, 2010, https://www.google.com/books/ edition/Karma_Of_Brown_Folk/tS90D wAAQBAJ?hl=en&gbpv=0 Accessed 13 June 2020.

Shange, Savannah. “Toward Thick Solidarity Theorizing Empathy in Social Justice Movements.” Academia.Edu, 2020, https://www.academia.edu/37532354/Toward_ Thick_Solidarity_Theorizing_Empathy_in_Social_Justice_Movements. Accessed 13 June 2020.

“In

the transformation

of silence into language and action, it is vitally necessary for each one of

us

to

examine in

that

and

to

role

as

that

establish her

or

function

transformation recognize vital

her

within

transformation.

”

-Audre Lorde, “Transformation of Silence”

D

uring my undergraduate studies, I took a Black/Womxn’s and Gender Studies class called “Global Lockdown: Gender, Race, Justice.”

We studied the Global Prison Industrial Complex and those affected by policing and the carceral system with special focus on the impact of race, gender, immigration, and class. I think it’s safe to say that everyone in that class enrolled because they had already begun the work to acknowledge the negative impacts of the carceral system and/ or had experienced it themselves. From the very first day, we started talking about the ways in which society has been intentionally built upon violence and policing. Listening to my professor and my classmates around me who clearly knew more about this topic, I was already thinking about how I could incorporate this new information into my life but I had one question: How do we make this information accessible to those who might not be ready to learn this and join in the prison/police abolition and Black Lives Matter movements?

I’m not sure if I ever got an answer to this, or if there is a singular answer. I’ve found myself faced with this question again as I read, watch, and listen to the truthfully overwhelming influx of information, anger, passion, and countless other responses following the death of George Floyd.

As a Chinese adoptee raised by white parents, I’m familiar with being the sole educator of race in my family. My conversations with my parents haven’t been perfect, and there were a lot of times where I’ve been silent in response (yes, silence is a response) to extended family members and friends when I should have spoken up. But I believe now more than ever that having these conversations plays an important role in standing in solidarity with the Black community.

The Solidarity Issue Written By | Rhianna Hopkins

Solidarity Through Conversation

It is on white and non-Black people of color to educate themselves and to stand up for Black people by speaking up. The statement that I quoted above from Audre Lorde has guided me countless times as I continue to navigate my role in this collective transformation of silence into language and action. Acknowledging that this country would look very different if Black people had the support and solidarity of white and NBPOC, it is imperative that we have difficult conversations with the people around us as we all hold a common privilege and

power. Conversations with those you trust have the potential to be an accessible way to inform people on how they can do their part in fighting against racism and systemic oppression. I do want to acknowledge that this can be very exhausting and potentially harmful to your wellbeing. Especially over the past few days, I have heard many transracial adoptees expressing their frustration with their parents/family and I want to name that it is okay to walk away if having these conversations could put you in any mental, physical, or emotional harm.

That being said, here are some takeaways and lessons that I have learned from having conversations about race when you are ready to have them. If you’re reading this, I am hoping that you have had conversations about race in the past. I want you to recall what went right and wrong. In my experience, conversations quickly move away from the original point when I start talking down to someone or start using accusatory language. It is more than okay to be emotional and passionate, especially if you are a person of color who has experienced racism themselves. But in my experience, people shut down when you talk in a way that signals you’re better than them (they

might be getting a taste of their own medicine, but the point is to have a constructive conversation so I digress). You can tell people that they’re wrong, but if you’re going to do that it’s helpful to then teach them or point them to resources that can help them. As white and NBPOC, it is important to remember that these conversations are efforts to support Black people-you are working together to help a movement bigger than the conversation you’re having.

I’ve also started conversations without having the proper information/data to back me up. At this point, I usually take it upon myself to walk away and come back with more information.

I try to remember that the opinions and ideas I hold today have formed from years of learning from professors, activists, writers, artists, etc., so even though you might not reach an agreement with the person you’re talking to in five minutes, that doesn’t mean you haven’t accomplished something. People also respond to different forms of information, so pointing someone towards a book right away might not be the most helpful (but if they like books, Freedom is a Constant Struggle by Angela Y. Davis is a good start). Ultimately it is up to

them to decide how they want to learn, which is why resources like “Anti-racism for White People” (https:// tiny.cc/anti-racist) and https://blacklivesmatters. carrd.co/ are extremely helpful.

These are just two things that I’ve learned, and I am by no means an expert-- I have a lot to learn myself.

And I am fortunate that most people around me are willing to learn. I know that many aren’t as lucky and I hope you find the community and support you need. Like many of you, I am afraid to say the wrong thing. Society has taught me that as an Asian woman, I should be complacent and delicate with my words.

Black authors such as Audre Lorde, bell hooks, Toni Morrison, and Angela Y. Davis have shown me the importance of speaking up. That is why it’s so important to listen and fight for the Black community.

Systemic racism, white supremacy, and the multiple corrupt structures currently in place aren’t going away, and we need every person who is able to speak up.

Fear of the F word R

The Solidarity Issue Written By | Maria Tariq

ecently, I’ve been experiencing a persistent symptom of pandemicrelated anxiety. Focus on past events is apparently a common experience. Many things come to mind. As a soon to be married woman, gender roles and how my fiancé and I will define them in our new life have been increasingly on my mind. Along with this rumination, past examples of what those dear to me have said related to this topic are also circling in my head. Now before any men (or womxn) dismiss my perspective as crazy (“Crazy”, another problematic term, not just for womxn though disproportionately used against them), well, I’m going to stop here. Why am I worrying about what I’ll express before I even express it? I’m sure the womxn reading this can venture a guess. To be discredited, dismissed-par for the course, especially when you bring the F word into the conversation, which offends many more than the actual curse word itself. Yes, I’m talking about Feminism. A more frightening and devastating concept than Lord Voldemort. No, it’s not my goal to give a monologue, but only to explore this other F word, fear.

In many settings, a conversation related to feminism turns heated, and participants act out of self-defense. We can call an individual’s response to a statement offense, and an argument between individuals an exchange of self-defenses. All over social media, it’s easy to find disagreements that quickly turn threatening, and angry reactions in response to a womxn’s experiences. In any form of expression, words do have the power to elicit strong emotional responses. When they come from someone dear to you, it can feel like a betrayal.

I recall one seemingly friendly conversation about gender separation in religious gatherings. Out of nowhere, when the discussion had faded, a friend of mine remarked, “You’re going to turn into a feminazi.”

Dumbfounded, I could only ask what he meant, and probably equally

dumbfounded at falling for some social conditioning that had fallen out waywardly, he mumbled an unintelligible response. It was as if he was sitting on it, thinking quietly about it, then it somehow tumbled out of his mouth.

once we’ve dehumanized the other so it’s not necessary to acknowledge the unknown. Nazi is, on its own, a loaded, more appropriated word recently. It’s said that fear is based on the unknown.

If I had more maturity when I was younger, I would have invited him to explain the rationale behind it and if he was expressing fear, anger, frustration, or the most likely, misunderstanding. A misunderstanding borne from a mixture of fear and a disruption of what was familiar..

A blatant display of a womxn’s rage, warranted or not, is unusual. Several studies show that from a young age, womxn are encouraged to put the needs of others before their own, to repress their negative emotions and express positive, accommodating ones. And so we stamp down our feelings, and in some cases those emotions manifest in our bodies in the form of illness, an invisible rage that is not on display to the world. It hardly needs to be said that men’s aggressiveness and dominance, on the other hand, are encouraged from a young age. These can lead to mental and physical health issues as well. When such characteristics leave heavy marks on impressionable minds, it’s not a surprise that tensions between all of them erupt periodically.

In another situation, I spoke up for someone who was suffering emotional (and perhaps physical) abuse, and the speaker disparaged my passion for womxn’s empowerment, claiming I only sided with the victim because I “liked” them. Emotions brought an irrational response.

The best defense seemed like whatever offense from the past that could be thrown at me, even if it was grasping at straws. Again, I couldn’t find out the perfect way to engage. I most likely should not have engaged at all.

Another interesting statement, “chicks can’t drive”, was most likely borne out of frustration after bad experiences with drivers perceived as girls and/or womxn. It baffles me slightly but I still find it amusing. I just don’t see a good way to engage with that one. As writer Soraya Chemaly puts it, you can choose to laugh or cry in certain situations, and I’ll take that as a laugh.

I wonder what statements touch nerves that cause some (usually those who identify as a cis-gender male) to rail against a perceived takeover or threat when a womxn expresses a negative experience. I don’t think it’s just a #notallmen offense. It’s something stronger, and personal betrayal seems closer to the mark. How dare you challenge my worldview and turn something that I can identify with into a negative? Anyone can relate to that feeling. So why aren’t womxn entitled to their own rage?

I refer back to the first jarring statement: “Feminazi.” Unfamiliar. Assigned to an aggressive label and dismissed. Hands washed

Let’s take who’s “wrong” or “right” out of the equation and explore what could be motivating such statements. Better Help explains the intersection of fear and anger: “Fear ultimately breeds anger out of the innate human instinct for self-defense. When someone feels threatened, they may initially fear regarding the possible validity of the issued threat and subsequent harm that could follow.

However, in many scenarios, anger may follow or even override fear. Someone may go from thinking ‘oh my goodness, what happens now,’ to ‘how dare this person threatened me?! Don’t they know who I am?’

Nine times out of ten, it’s not fear or anger which leads to an individual’s setback or demise, but their next steps. A fired employee may be fearful of how he’s going to make his rent now that he’s out of a job. This fear is relatively normal and so is the anger which will likely follow.”

Lately, it’s as if the pandemic gives everyone a free pass to be vulnerable-to openly express fear, stress, and fatigue. Traditionally mocked

for expressing emotion, men who have been leading efforts to battle the consequences of the pandemic are being praised. A New York Times piece discusses the controversy and gender dynamics of crying in public: “And crying has long highlighted the complicated dynamics of how people view emotion — and who gets to publicly express it.

‘Both genders seem weak when they cry, but for men it is much worse because it is so strongly against norms,’ said Elizabeth Baily Wolf, an assistant professor of organizational behavior at Instead, a business school near Paris.

When a woman cries at work, she confirms the stereotype of womxn as emotional, hysterical, unable to perform under pressure. But when a man does it, he is defying the stereotype for men — strong, decisive — which can damage him even more.”

Leaders such as Gov. Charlie Baker of Massachusetts, Eric Garcetti, mayor of Los Angeles, Mark Meadows, President Trump’s chief of staff, and Andrew Cuomo, governor of New York have been breaking down and letting tears fall during their public appearances.

Are these signs of strength, weakness, fear, or pride? Does it matter? Will we look back and associate them with incompetency?

Pressure can lead to a breaking point, and most womxn can identify with those difficult emotional forces. However, self-expression is not a threat or an attack, though it can be difficult to remember that in a knee jerk response to an opinion that triggers something deep in someone’s psyche.

Maybe this could explain why instead of a compassionate or curious outlook, some men reach for self-defense even when there’s no immediate threat. Several female focused social media accounts regularly field attacks and invalidation. Topics range from experiences about safety to statistics and ideology. Elizabeth Plank, author of For The Love of Men: a new vision for Mindful Masculinity, quotes David

Hogg. Hogg is a gun control activist who survived a shooting in Parkland, Florida at Stoneman Douglas High School: “When half the population gets trained to block emotions, they lose the ability for compassion.”

So what if compassion was offered where it is missing? It’s not exactly fair to ask womxn to perform that emotional labor when they have traditionally held that burden. We need allies to keep up our strength. Not just womxn, but empathetic men who can sit with their emotions. The New York Times pointed out that these are the types of leaders we need in the current climate: “The days when a politician cried and it was over for them — that’s over,” [Pam Sherman] said.

Things like empathy, vulnerability, emotional connectedness — these are the things that define today’s leaders. In other words: the leadership traits that, traditionally, have been associated with womxn.”

I choose to foster hope that these men will emerge and convene for progress. Here’s to strong men. May we hear their support in meetings, personal exchanges, and thoughtful comments on our next Instagram posts.

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