The Fight Against Racism is Not a Social Media Trend
Foreword: For several days, after initially writing the draft of this piece, I struggled with indecision on several fronts—Should I even be writing this? Will anyone even read this? Should I be publishing this under my own name or anonymously? What meaning does this piece even possess? However, after attending a multi-faith vigil hosted in conjunction by several Montville-area based faith groups (photographed above), I came to the conclusion and understanding that now is as good of a time as ever to speak. If this movement unfortunately dies down in the coming days, weeks, and months as others have before it, at least to the few who read it, I hope that this piece will serve as a token of a world in mourning and a reminder of the pains of racism. Please feel free to share this piece with others, whether that be you friends, family, or strangers, and donate to organizations such as BLM and The Bail Project among others and join the fight for an America we can all call home.
On March 13, 2020, at a ShopRite in Lincoln Park, New Jersey, I was walking down the ice cream aisle. Adorned with a surgical mask and nitrile gloves like nearly every other shopper in America, I timidly pushed my cart through the relatively empty store, mindful of keeping a safe distance from others for their safety as well as my own. Minding my own business, it was when I proceeded to clear my throat that an older white gentleman over six-feet away stared me down with disgust and muttered, “fucking Asians…” in response. When this happened, I didn’t bother to ask, “why did you say that?” or “what did I do wrong here?” — I knew why it had happened and what I had done wrong. Amidst the hysteria surrounding the COVID-19 pandemic and President Donald Trump’s insistence on calling it the “Chinese Virus,” I had likely been a victim of racism. What had I done wrong? In that instance, the fact that I had been an Asian American was what was wrong, and this feeling was anything but new.
In 2005, mere months after moving to the United States from South Korea, my parents, in search of a daycare for me to attend, called in advance to a local daycare to check if they had any openings, to which they replied in a welcoming tone, “of course! we have plenty of openings.” 24 hours later when we visited the daycare in person, the daycare management questioned us about our citizenship status, where we were from, and if I knew any English and told my parents after an brief back-and-forth, “I’m sorry, I don’t think there are any spots open as of this moment.” In that instance, being Asian American had been wrong.
In 2017, while out canvasing for now-Congresswoman Mikie Sherrill in Chatham, New Jersey with the Morris County Democratic Committee, I was called “an oriental minority puppet for Obama” by an elderly white woman. Simply on the coexisting basis of expressing my political passions and for being a minority, I had been criticized as a “minority puppet.” Once again, being Asian American had been what was wrong.
In short, despite calling a middle-class New Jersey suburb “home” and attending one of America’s elite higher-education institutions today, racism was certainly not unknown to me throughout my life. Now, what does this have to do with recent developments in Minnesota and beyond?
Mere days ago on May 25, Minneapolis police officer (now former police officer) Derek Chauvin arrested George Floyd, a 46 year-old black man, after a local deli employee called 911, claiming that Floyd has purchased cigarettes from his store using a counterfeit $20 bill. Within 17 minutes of the first squad car’s arrival onto the scene, Floyd was pinned beneath three police officers, unconscious, and showing no signs of life. In days to come, first Minneapolis and St. Paul and soon after countless other communities exploded in anger, with violent riots and mass destruction that can be described as the simple language of hurt, oppression, and fear culminating from centuries of pain.
As over 75 American cities exploded with anger, social media likewise exploded. Suddenly, I saw those around me — my friends, my neighbors, my classmates — take to social media to be “activists” in this time of crisis.
While I certainly do not try to speak on behalf of all minorities and do not even pretend to know the struggles and stances of all minorities, personally, this sickens me. Suddenly, a movement that had started out as an culmination of fear and anger in minorities and their allies had become hijacked by some as but a social media trend.
Individuals who I had personally witnessed dismiss their use of racial slurs in signing by saying “it’s part of the song”; individuals who had never cared before and I knew wouldn’t be caring about these issues a month from today; individuals who openly reinforced racial stereotyping and profiling in their everyday lives — all took to Instagram, TikTok, Snapchat, and whatever social media outlet they could get their hands on to say their two cents. Living in a world where mass communication outlets are easily accessible and readily available, adding one’s opinion in the sea of communication can be easy and tempting — I say so currently taking part myself with this piece. The thing is, opinions won’t save lives. Aesthetically pleasing infographics to repost on your Instagram story certainly won’t save lives. In fact, in times like this, while each and every individual is entitled to their own opinion, entering that opinion into the greater pool isn’t always necessary.
To the former high school classmate who has a minority friend or two and considers themselves “cultured” for enjoying California rolls — you cutting off communications with your racist family members won’t bring George Floyd back to life or save future minorities. To the college classmate who has previously volunteered to build houses in underprivileged communities of color with your youth Church group, you reposting a few aesthetically pleasing infographics but not being registered to vote in November won’t help me see my status of being Asian American as any less of a burden. To the countless members of my generation and beyond who will take to the streets to stand for our African American brothers and sisters, your selfies holding clever posters, your preaching on social media about the etiquette behind remote activism, and your two-cents on recent developments will not pave the road for a future of American politics in which partisan debates concern prioritization of resources and actions, not which American lives matter and which ones don’t.
In our America, where the status of “immigrant” or “minority” is worn as a scarlet letter, convincing yourself that any of the formerly mentioned actions makes you a morally superior person or is sufficient to secure your place as an ally to minorities is the very definition of white privilege. That said, be mindful of this — take a moment to understand what white privilege means. Being white in the context of white privilege doesn’t mean your life was void of hardship. While privilege exists in many forms, white privilege simply means that never has your skin color, your accent, or your citizenship status presented itself as a barrier. Existing as a result of historic and enduring racism and present across all levels of society, white privilege has allowed you to actively benefit as people of color fall second. But white privilege doesn’t mean you should be ashamed of who you are. Recognizing that you are uniquely situated to help minorities of this country and simply honoring minority history, valuing minority input, educating yourself on the struggle of all races, and celebrating all people of this nation — white people included — is how you can help.
To my former high school classmate: I’m glad you are cleansing your life of toxicity but do not cut off communication with your racist family members. While you have the option to remove racism from your life, minorities don’t — I don’t. Speak with them, no matter how difficult that conversation may be, because it certainly is harder for minorities. To my college classmate: I appreciate that you are taking to social media but do not stop there — put your money where your mouth is. Whether by donating to The Bail Project or Black Lives Matter among the countless organizations fighting to make a difference or registering to vote before November and voting, thereby practicing one of your most sacred rights as an American, there are ways where you can truly make a difference. And to the countless members of my generation and beyond taking to the streets, I admire your passion and vigor but please remind yourself that this is not an opportunity for gaining clout. Instead of showing us your own original opinions or showing us a selfie from a BLM rally, repost and circulate the words and messages of movement leaders with credibility and a following.
Together, we will heal. We will celebrate each other and redefine what being “American” means. One day, being American will not be determined by political standing, the color of your skin, the languages you speak, who you love, how you identify, or by any such basic categorical method. One day, being American will mean but a love for our country. Until then, being American will mean that we love our country enough to be willing to recognize its shortcomings and work together to change it. Until then, minorities will need the white majority’s help. Please, help.
