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“To be a woman is to grow up quickly,” writes Monika Radojevic. It seems we’ve never been given the chance at real childhood, for girlhood is about growing up quickly and growing up for good. Girlhood is about learning the paths of least resistance, of least noise and conflict. Girlhood is the complete and almost immediate erasure of the girl. To be a woman is to be one when you’re not ready. This has been enforced upon us for who knows how long, specifically through forms of pressure to date, to have relationships with men, and the patriarchal idea that a woman is incomplete without an adequate significant other.
A recurring question I always ask myself is what does it mean to be a woman of color in love? Both in terms of loving myself, and loving somebody else?
Discussing advocacy through Black feminist lenses has been one of the many focuses of an Intersectional Feminism course offered at my high school, taught by incredible teacher, Ileana Jiménez. She introduced our class to the “Combahee River Collective”, and all of us were equally blown away. In simple terms, part of this piece emphasizes the importance of finding community, and the ethics of love, “We realized that the only people who care enough about us to work consistently for our liberation is us.” The ethics of love are also discussed by bell hooks in her piece “Love as the Practice of Freedom” as well as her book All About Love. She theorizes that we are all “motivated to move against domination solely when we feel our self-interest directly threatened. Often, then, the longing is not for a collective transformation of society, an end to politics of dominations, but rather simply for an end to what we feel is hurting us. This is why we desperately need an ethic of love to intervene on our self-centered longing for change.”
Focusing on my individual exploitation and oppression keeps me directly attached and lets me nurture those systems of oppression we’re all fighting in the first place. It’s important that I note my privilege as a half-white-Asian, and this piece comes from my experience with my own identity, not in comparison to the struggles of others.
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On the topic of self-identifying, labeling my own identity has been something I’ve always had trouble managing. Being half white and half Asian, finding a 100% accepting community has always been missing from my 50% identity. The blended racial spectrum in my mind reads from “is this my place to comment on this” to “how does this white person feel like they can say that to me.” It seems like society only has room to judge me on my Asian appearance. It’s made me question when we decided the criteria for a good Asian and a bad Asian? The duality of Asian hate and love is so confusing, and I’m tired of keeping up with it. To fetishize the sexy parts: objectifying and fetishizing the “exotic” woman is arousing and unusual, something new for white men to dabble in. To discriminate against the repugnant: something “other” and different, easy to hate. The concept of the “Wasian” was trending for a while too. Equating “Wasians” with “light skins,” implying that a mixed breed of white offspring was much more appealing than a full minority.
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Sushi, boba tea, and KBBQ (Korean barbeque) dates are hot and trendy, but remember when my food was stinky? Remember when you asked how my English was so good? Remember how you pick and choose to glorify East Asian culture, but spit on the culture of South Asians? Glorifying stereotypes is NOT a form of cultural appreciation, you don’t get to pick and choose which parts of Asian culture are acceptable and which parts aren’t. The good and bad traits of my culture and family connect directly to the appeal of the opposite sex, especially white men, in my experience.
When it comes to dating as a teenager, lots of expectations and pressure come into play. Social status, friends, personality, attention, and of course the most trivial, physical appearance. I’ve found that weighing my options for love has become more and more complicated over time. When I was younger, the pressure to find a boyfriend was just as present, but it was as simple as “find a nice boy who doesn’t yank your hair.” As I got older and began to be aware of my identity, I realized I began asking myself all sorts of new questions. Does this person like me because I’m Asian? Am I ugly compared to these white girls? Does this person have a trending attraction to a specific racial type?
Take the Asian woman-white man trope for example. An interracial couple seen often is an East Asian woman and a white man. Which by the way, I’m a direct product of. To me, this trope normalizes the idea of yellow fever and hides racism and objectification through “racial preferences.” Then there’s the model minority stereotype, which feeds into rape culture, pushing the idea that all Asian women are well-behaved and submissive. The model minority stereotype places Asian girls and women in danger, as it implies that they’ll just “take it,” whatever “it” may be: microaggressions, discrimination, oppression, abuse, hate crimes, or sexual assault.
I started dating my boyfriend early this summer. Over this period of time, I’ve regained a newfound wisdom about what it means to love someone, especially once you’ve found someone who understands you, who’s gentle, compassionate, smart, and really funny. “If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known,” writes Tim Kreider in the New York Times. But what’s more romantic than being understood? I wouldn’t change anything about my relationship, however, I’d be lying if I said that I had no questions or doubts surrounding the choices that I’ve made. Specifically in regards to what it means to be dating a popular, rich, cis white boy who’s friends with popular, rich, racist, misogynistic, cis white boys. I find that our difference in class partly contributes to why I feel like I’ll never fit in. Maybe our values are the same, but the way we act on those values are very different. The surplus of money, white privilege, and social power are so normalized among them that they’ve never been made aware of their abuse or usage of any of those traits.
The power dynamic and social hierarchy of a predominately white upper-class high school is seemingly very silly. I’ve told myself countless times that it’s easy to rise above stupid social norms and petty dividers. But admittedly, the pressure to conform here is nothing like I’ve ever experienced before, for everyone, not just students of color. My boyfriend, along with many other male peers, are victims of toxic masculinity, hazing, and physical violence normalized amongst young boys. “Pussy,” “bitch,” and the “f” slur are constantly used. The Lorde’s notion of silence perfectly captures the essence of stealthily weaponizing insecurity. There’s so much pressure everywhere to succumb to silence to fit in and be approved of.
I’ve often asked myself, why does someone so great hang out with people who suck? Like who just really fundamentally suck. Of course, there are good traits in everybody but some things I can’t look past. Like imitating the server’s accent at the local Dunkin’ Donuts, the constant objectification and disrespect of women and girls, or engaging in extreme capitalist pastimes like gambling hundreds of dollars a day, and asking daddy when you run out of money. I can easily look at the horrible things they do and say this is sickening, I’ll speak up, stick to my truth and what I know is right. But I almost never do. Because most times I’m met with “why are you so sensitive,” “it was a joke,” “chill.” Embarrassment by association also comes into play here. Not wanting to be a part of or associated with racism that comes from these friend groups has affected my relationship.
In most American schools, accusations of sensitivity are used as a weapon for silencing those who do speak up. For as long as I can remember, being seen as the girlfriend-bitch for calling out sexism, and being labeled as “the girl” with emotions has been the worst possible case scenario. Much worse than any actual case of discrimination and micro-aggression. I constantly ask myself, why do I seek validation from people that I hate? Why does he hang around sexist-racist boys? Why is he scared to speak up and challenge racist behavior? Why am I scared to speak up and challenge racist-sexist behavior? Is it my responsibility to teach them what is and isn’t okay to say? What do they think of me, do they approve?
White fear is extremely present in modern times, especially at my high school. It’s worsened my relationship with not wanting to make white people feel uncomfortable or racist. I’ve become numb to the drill of saying, “it’s fine it was just a joke,” “don’t worry about it,” “he has good intentions,” or “he didn’t mean it.”
I think that this insecurity comes from my surroundings: looking physically different from the people at school and the people my boyfriend surrounds himself with, noting what that does to my racial identity, self-perception, and the standards I hold myself to. I constantly ask myself, do I cater to my boyfriend to make him feel better about himself and his friends? Do I try to make him feel better about his whiteness? Who am I to comfort him, to be a constant reassurance that it’s okay to be white? Who’s the victim here? Is there one?
I find that my definition of oppression and discrimination shifts based on the person who is being silenced, oppressed, or isolated. I react differently when people are racist and misogynistic towards me, versus my family or my friends. I’m more obliged to defend the people I love, and prioritize their needs over mine. This is a poor habit given my own history of identity loss and assimilation. bell hooks famously coined the phrase, “patriarchy has no gender,” meaning that patriarchy is a system of oppression that can even be perpetuated by me to me. In order to feel at peace with my identity and choices, I need to evaluate myself the same way I would everyone else. Learn my values, and act on them consistently.