I Just Can’t Anymore, Or How I Wish I Could’ve Responded But Didn’t Have the Language at The Time

This is (late) Essay #34 of The 52 Essay Challenge, a series in which I write a new essay each week during 2017.

What is the cost of silence? What do we gain from not saying anything? From just “letting it go”, letting it roll off our backs like water off a duck? What do we gain from speaking out, from cutting that silence with the knife of words? What risks do we take with either option?

I ask myself these questions everyday. As a poet and writer, I write what I must, but the hard question is: do I share it? Do I break the silences that take on a different form every hour, every moment? At what cost? With whom do I share it? Does it matter?

We live in a world now where people of color are speaking out. And loudly. Risking our personal safety in doing so.

And white folks are uncomfortable with it.

Here are a few notes on some of my encounters with racism big and small over the course of my life, along with the responses I wish I had. This is by no means an exhaustive account of my experiences with racism; it is merely a sampling. At the time of some of these moments, I didn’t have the language to retaliate; I didn’t know what was happening. All I knew was that my body responded in ways to tell me that this was bad: clenching muscles, pit in the stomach, crawling skin, acid stomach, crouching, shrinking, fist forming, heat—plenty of raging heat.

*

“I think of you as white.”

“You’re white in my book.”

Soooo you don’t really see me for who I am. Hello, erasure. And I’m supposed to take this as a compliment? How about I say to you, white woman: “I think of you as a man” and “You’re a man in my book.” How do you feel? Pretty good, right?

And if you see me as white, why is security following me, a tiny Asian girl, around the clothing store? What? You don’t know? Oh right. Of course you don’t.

*

“You speak English so good.”

“Well”, you idiot. “Good” is grammatically incorrect as it is an adjective. And we all know that adjectives describe nouns. The word is “well”, the adverb used to indicate the quality of the verb. And you should know this because, well, you are a master of the English language, right? Right??

*

“Harigato.” (complete with a bow)

Fuck you, asshole.

*

“As a priest, I also experience discrimination. There are people out there who want to hurt priests.”

Uh, you can take off your collar, Father. You are also white. And male. So don’t try to make it like you understand this fear I have for my personal safety. I can’t take off my skin or change my face. Or my femaleness. Thanks for trying, but no thanks. And forgive me, Father, for I have sinned, but: fuck you.

*

I’ve been writing a lot about my position as a person of color in this country and the experiences that come with it. A friend of mine, a white woman, has been reading my essays from time to time. (She might very well read this one.)

After Charlottesville, I felt a lot of rage and heartbreak. We POCs all did. I wrote about it here. Do you know what she said? She could feel “my angst” in the past few essays she’s read. As if this were some personal teenage drama. It felt dismissive. A proverbial pat on the head. There, there, it’ll be okay. You’ll see – it’ll all work out in the end.

The immediate knee-jerk response in my head? Fuck off.

The more critical response? She is not all that aware. Sure, she’s read a bit about white privilege, but she still has a long way to go (I don’t know if she even knows this. Maybe she thinks she’s all caught up.). I could give her the benefit of the doubt: Oh, she doesn’t know any better. Or maybe she didn’t intend it that way. After all, the only real power and control we have is in how we respond to others, right? So maybe I should just let it go. But then here’s the question that has been coming up way too often: do I school her? Is it my responsibility to do this? Do I output that kind of emotional labor? At what cost? For what benefit? What’s to say that she’ll even hear half the shit I tell her? That she’ll even see what I’m showing her?

In my past experiences with trying to educate white women, it never goes well. (Read here about how my experience of the Women’s March got gaslighted by a group of white women who assured me of their support.) Sometimes –and I hate to admit this as a feminist—but sometimes, white men are more open to listening. At least this has been my experience with the white folks in my life. Maybe I just got lucky with this batch of white guys and this is not the norm. Nonetheless, when I’ve tried to talk to white women about their privilege, it never ends well. There’s denial. There’s a throwing up of arms. There’s a play of the victimhood card.

Yeah, no thanks.

So, more often than not, I just step away from white women when they show me how much they don’t know. What is the cost of that? Is that a kind of unhelpful silence? Perhaps. But what is the price of the emotional labor necessary for this kind of education? And is that payoff worth it? I usually step away as a method of self-care and self-preservation. I need to be whole for my kids.

These are the predicaments we people of color find ourselves in.

“We need to talk to each other”, they say. But they don’t seem to fucking listen. Until one of their own gets shot and/or killed. (Rest in peace, Heather Hayer.)

*

Last night, me and the fam went to get ice cream after dinner. There was a kiddie magic show at the shop. It was cute. Until the magician showed his racism.

He performed the classic trick, Chinese linking rings. I have no idea why this trick is called that –perhaps due to the fact that a Chinese magician by the name of Ching Ling Foo made it very popular in the late nineteenth century. So, as this white-haired white man talked about the trick while moving his hands around, in and out of the rings, showing how they are separated, he gave us a little trivia:

“The Chinese linking rings trick was invented by a famous magician named Foo Ling Yu.”

Hrm.

My body tensed.

As he continued his trick, he had the audience count each ring in different languages. English, Spanish, French. Then, Russian.

“One-ski. Two-ski. Three-ski…” You get the idea.

Seriously?

After the count was finished, he said: “Apologies to any Russian-Americans out there. It’s just that the kids love it.”

Gah!

One: just because kids love it, does not make it okay.

Two: where’s your apology for Chinese-Americans and Asians?

Right.

*

Can you sense my anger, my rage, my exhaustion?

I just can’t anymore.

[Which is not to say that I’m giving up. Just that I’m tired. I need a break. I need to practice self-love and self-care. To rejuvenate, to reenergize, to refill my heart. Then I’ll be ready to spread the love once again! J ]