How I Found Racial Healing During the Pandemic
As a kid growing up in White America, learning to embrace my Asianness has often felt like rebellion. During the COVID-19 pandemic, it feels more political than ever.
Added anxiety over the rise in anti-Asian violence has shaken my community鈥檚 sense of security. I鈥檝e heard and seen plenty of advice on how to stay physically safe鈥攎ost of which prescribes assimilation and exceptionalism, which has proven ineffective for BIPOC throughout history. Rather than performing useless acts that take us further away from ourselves, I recommend practicing a form of .
We can and should call out racism, defend ourselves, and work towards policy change to improve racial justice. But with radical acceptance, we let go of the idea that it鈥檚 our job to prove our worth as humans; to change who we are, or how we鈥檙e perceived. It can help relieve pressure, remove victim blame and shame, and allow emotional safety that coincides with living authentically. It鈥檚 what makes sense to me, and many other Asian Americans, as we navigate the additional backlash of the pandemic.
This feels especially poignant in a month set aside to celebrate Asian culture and heritage. May was chosen as Asian Pacific American Heritage Month, to commemorate the first Japanese immigrants鈥 arrival to the U.S. on May 7, 1843, as well as Chinese immigrants鈥 work that completed the transcontinental railroad on May 10, 1869. As with all BIPOC in the U.S., our history is rich with oppression and rising through it.
Like a lot of people these days, I鈥檝e been spending more time in the kitchen. Instead of baking sourdough bread, I鈥檓 perfecting my soondubu jjigae. The spicy, savory broth nourishes and nurtures me from the inside. One sip transports me back to Korea, creating the sense that I鈥檓 more at home in my body. Feeding myself my culture is a soothing act of racial healing.
I鈥檝e also been reading more Asian and diaspora novelists, too, and taking my time with Helen Zia鈥檚 . To unwind, I鈥檝e streamed , a cute sitcom about a Korean-Canadian family that sometimes broaches racial dynamics with a light touch. Although zombies aren鈥檛 typically my thing, I binged all three seasons of , awestruck by the costumes. No matter the genre, listening to the cadence of the Korean language repairs some of the disconnect I have as an Asian person living in the West.
Other Asian people tell me they鈥檙e also further embracing their culture and people 鈥 having more open discussions with family, digging into their history, and studying the language of their homelands.
CY, the co-founder and chef of S+M Vegan tells me she鈥檚 been taking time to perfect her family鈥檚 bak chang recipe. I鈥檝e been a huge fan of the Oakland eatery for years 鈥 for both its Teochew-Singaporean food and social consciousness. Like me, CY is reading more Asian-American authors, plus WeChating with family abroad.
The necessary sheltering orders disrupted S+M Vegan鈥檚 business, but through take-out, they鈥檙e rolling with the times. They鈥檝e been using their social media platforms to share Asian American and Pacific Islanders content and historical facts of our plight and resistance as a way to fight back against the heightened anti-Asian sentiments.
I鈥檝e also noticed a lot of cross-promotion with other Asian businesses and causes. CY says, 鈥淲e seek each other out. We often go out of our way to connect. I think we all understand that we鈥檙e stronger together.鈥
She and her partner, Shane, have been organizing food trades with other local AAPI businesses. After all, food is love, and a thread that weaves back through to our ancestors. CY adds, 鈥淲e try to be more open about our feelings than our parents鈥 generation but in the end, a Tupperware of dumplings or a head of Napa cabbage speaks a thousand words.鈥
Through a friend, I鈥檝e recently become acquainted with Rupert Estanislao, a Pinoy Punk musician and co-founder of Aklasan Records. Estanislao is Filipino and relayed how three White people recently shouted racist slurs at him while trying to throw him off a bus in San Francisco on his way to his essential job. When I asked how he was managing the aftermath, he said he鈥檚 fired up to write more songs about how Asians鈥攁nd immigrants of color鈥攁re often scapegoated. When it comes to anti-Asian violence, he says, 鈥淣o [Asian]鈥檚 exempt. We should get angry鈥 and funnel it through our art.
While he鈥檚 always been proud of his heritage, I admire how his reaction to what happened has him even further embracing his identity. He鈥檚 speaking more Tagalog with friends and family. His wife will give birth any day, and they鈥檝e already chosen a Filipino name. He鈥檚 amped up to support and release more music from Filipino American bands that speak to the politics of our time. He says, 鈥淎rt shows we contributed something to this society,鈥 not that we need to do more than the rest.
There鈥檚 no upside to the in anti-Asian violence, but I鈥檓 glad to see more of us awakened and speaking out. There鈥檚 less talk of White adjacency and how it 鈥減rotects鈥 us. And many of us who weren鈥檛 previously moved to explore our histories or take our place in the community are doing so now.
JS LEE
is a Korean American author who writes about trauma, race, and adoption. Her forthcoming novel 鈥淓veryone Was Falling鈥 (Pent-up Press) is out September 2020 and her novel 鈥淜eurium鈥 (Pent-up Press) was published May 2018.
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