Dec 2010 (10 years old)
It was like any other Saturday morning in the park with my grandmother—I ran around the field while she did yoga. But it quickly became a day I could never forget, when two roads diverged during our journey home, and my grandmother chose the “safer” one. She had told my brothers and me to cross the street, but suddenly stopped halfway towards the other side. I looked ahead: Did the lights turn red? No, she would have walked faster if they did. Instead, ahead of us was a group of Black men. While I was still stuck in my thoughts, my grandmother had already begun walking back to the street we’d started on, taking the other way home. This route also had a group of men, except they were white. I was confused, but I didn’t question her motives. Perhaps it was because I was afraid of handling the truth: my grandmother is racist, despite being the sweetest person I know.
“Don’t be friends with Black people; they’re bad people and especially dangerous,” my grandmother used to tell me in Cantonese when I was younger. I would think to myself, why? The only difference between me and them, physically, was that their skin color is darker than mine. Why does that change things? I didn’t want to argue with her, but I also couldn’t because of the whole “respect your elders” sentiment. I was left with no choice but to bite my tongue. After all, I was only 10-years-old.
Feb 2016 (15 years old)
While my parents didn’t share my grandmother’s view, they also didn’t deny it or tell my brothers and me otherwise. Growing up, my parents never spoke to me about politics. So when my mother told me that she planned on going to a protest, I was astonished. My parents were reserved people, passive in terms of responding to current events, never really advocating for change. The rally advocated for Peter Liang, a Chinese American cop, who had shot unarmed African American Akai Gurley at an East New York public housing building. Liang and another new officer were in charge of patrolling a pitch-dark stairwell and he drew his gun while he was opening the door on the eighth floor. When the gun “accidentally” (according to Liang) discharged, the bullet ricocheted off a wall, leaving Gurley fatally struck in the chest. The protesters believed Liang was being used as a scapegoat for police brutality against Black men. The newfound pride I had for my mother’s political involvement clouded my judgment.
I realized this one day, after walking to the subway with a friend. She and I share similar views on the need for social change. So, when she asked me what I thought about the protest for Peter Liang, I told her that it’s necessary because the shooting was an accident. She disagreed, telling me that Akai Gurley should be given the justice he deserves, even at the expense of Peter Liang. At first, I disagreed with her, because the killing of Eric Garner proved the truth, that white police officers can get away with murdering black men. So, why then, does Peter Liang have to suffer through a sentence a white officer wouldn’t?
It was at that exact moment when I failed to acknowledge that I was pushing for Peter Liang to be white-adjacent. I believed that he deserved a lighter sentence simply because the precedent had shown white officers not being indicted. Even if the shooting was an accident, the fact doesn’t change: Peter Liang unjustly killed Akai Gurley. Just because he is Asian doesn’t mean he gets a free pass. We cannot treat this as a zero-sum situation, where convicting Peter Liang equates to “scapegoating”; change must start somewhere, even at the expense of someone from my own racial group.
Like my grandmother, I had chosen my culture over my morality. Even though I am a minority, I am more privileged than Black Americans: Asian American stereotypes might hurt me emotionally, but prejudice against Black Americans gets them murdered. The #BlackLivesMatter movement began in July 2013, after George Zimmerman wasn’t charged with the shooting of Trayvon Martin. So, while I get to read about police brutality, first with the #BlackLivesMatter movement, and later in the shooting of Akai Gurley, I am never actually personally affected by it. I always thought I was the most socially aware in my family, but it turns out that just like my grandmother and my mother, I have predetermined support for those who share my Chinese identity.
Nov 2017 (17 years old)
My Chinese American identity puzzles me. I’m a progressive Democrat living in New York City. Yet, that barrier is broken by my grandma’s traditional Chinese values, unintentionally influencing me to make decisions that contradict my support for racial justice.
I am privileged, but also misunderstood by society as a whole—I am seen as the “model minority”: inherently intelligent and obedient, which will lead to my future success and achievement of the American Dream. The American Dream is close to my heart because my parents immigrated here for a better life. Growing up, my dad and I bonded over solving complex math equations, rather than reading stories with happily ever afters. We found comfort in solving for x and simplifying polynomials. Naturally, my favorite subject in school was math, and I found solace in the classroom.
I became aware of my model minority status when a boy in middle school told me that he wanted to be Asian, because it meant math skills were a birthright. My constant participation in math class confirmed their impression that I was born good at math and didn’t have to try as hard as them to keep up with the material. My classmates saw me as doing nothing, but receiving everything. However, I spent just as much time as them studying the material.
To make matters worse, my culture emphasizes persistence and hard work, which indirectly promotes the “model minority” myth. Raised by immigrant parents, I am perpetually reminded of this mindset, embracing it because of their lack of opportunities. I started to become a model for the stereotype that devalues my accomplishments and excuses them as perks of being Asian.
With my geographical and political identities asserting certain beliefs and my ethnicity commanding others, I am often stuck between two positions. I realize that I will never fully be Chinese or American. However, both of my identities give me insight that helps me better understand other individuals. I have learned to recognize that every identity is flawed, including mine, and I can’t be trapped in the mindset of living based on the demands of my prescribed identity. Instead, I want to choose certain aspects to embrace: Chinese traditional cultural values, not superiority; American open-mindedness, not xenophobia. To solve the identity puzzle, I am piecing myself together as a model that cannot be replicated.
To further decolonize our minds:
NYT | Asian Americans and Peter Liang
Huffpost | The Problems and Opportunities With the Peter Liang Protest
18MR | Asian Americans demanding Justice for Akai Gurley (Video)
Pacific Underground | Unpacking the Peter Liang Protest (Podcast)
Chinese American Activist on BLM, Peter Liang, and White Privilege (Video)
Democracy Now | Heated Discussion on Peter Liang
The Brooklyn Ink | Connection Between Conditions and Safety in Public Housing
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