fly-underground:
I don’t have to write this but I want to. I come from a north Indian and South African household. My whole life I have identified as being Asian American and virtually my whole life this identity has been questioned. When I was in elementary school, most of the Asian Americans were predominantly Korean and Chinese. Maybe because they were the majority of our minority, they didn’t see me as being the same. Often, I would be told that I was the only one in a group of Asian American kids who wasn’t Asian American. Simultaneously, I could not be Indian American because I am not Native American. What this means is that my entire racial and ethnic identity was striped of me, even though the Indian subcontinent is a large strip of land with a tremendous population. I hardly ever talk about my South African identity, partly because racially, my family there has always been South Asian and partly because I don’t want to further confuse anyone. My own college is still under the impression that I am part black because of this, even though I have told them I am not black and I don’t feel comfortable getting notes and letters meant for black students, not because of anti-blackness but because I do not identify with that group, though I am in solidarity with many of the POC groups on campus.
I have been told that Indians and South Asians at large (stop forgetting Pakistan and Bangladesh and Sri Lanka and Nepal and Afghanistan and Iran and Bhutan and Maldives) are not really Asian because we don’t eat rice or our family structures are different or our culture is different - but these are things I know to be South Asian because rice is a staple for us too and our families are large and quite similar to East Asian families and yes, culture may be different, but culture varies across racial groups. I took a class in Chinese history and I remember learning about the potential animosity of mothers-in-law and daughters-in-law, exactly the same relationship typical in India. In fact, I think I was able to relate so well to course materials because I was familiar with a lot of the concepts. I’ve taken classes in Asian religion and because of my Hindu upbringing, I could relate so well to Buddhist teachings. But we forget Buddhism comes from India, what Buddhism meant to India. The entire subcontinent is denied its Asian identity.
What makes someone Asian? One of my good friends, one of my best friends Clare, is Asian American and she was one of the first Asian American people to validate my Asian American identity. Our senior year of high school, we wore t-shirts that we made with the word ASIAN across our chests, partly to address the stereotypes we were facing and also because I was so tired of being told I was not something that I am. It may not have been a huge deal to her as a Chinese American, but for me, it strengthened my own voice in saying that I belong to this community and I fight daily for this community and I am proud to be a part of it, even if no one wants me, even if no one believes me.
I engage in a lot of self-silencing behaviors in new places. I do it too often in New Zealand because I don’t want to be an angry women of color, because I don’t think I have any allies here and because it’s terrifying to think that I am on my own in speaking out. I wish it wasn’t this way and I wish I had the strength to continuously call people out. Too often I decide to be quiet, to fume in my room where it is safe to be angry. I encounter so much racism and I see it like a virus, contaminating everything and the sad, sick thing is no one knows, or it’s ‘funny’ racism. But I wonder sometimes if it is only able to survive because no one reaches out, because solidarity is hard to act on, because there aren’t many people like Clare who at 17 made a t-shirt proclaiming her racial identity and wore it with me and even though we are “obviously” not from the same racial group, we are from the same continent, with sister-cultures, what it means to be a WOC and why we are a group at all.
Why am I writing this? Because I can’t say everything but I can write a lot and I’m not sorry if this is long or if this makes someone uncomfortable. I am uncomfortable every day and I hate being silent about that. I hate listening to people toss out racial slurs or racial stereotypes like jokes, like punchlines, like the safety of these groups of people isn’t always in jeopardy - different kinds of jeopardy, but jeopardy none the less. Because it was time I said something, did something, made a metaphorical t-shirt to wear alongside people who feel just as scared, as unsafe, as angry as me.