Dear White People, Your Silence is Deafening.

Saturday, March 20, 2021

As of this writing, the killings of 6 Asian women in Atlanta happened four days ago.

It’s very telling to see who has checked in on me and who hasn’t.

We’re taught very early on to be self-reliant. To never ask for help. Help is for the weak. And we are not weak. We are strong. Independent. Invincible. We don’t need anybody. Most especially help from white people. We play by white people’s rules, mistakenly thinking that this will get us ahead in life, but we never ask for help in a game designed to destroy us.

On Wednesday, March 17th, while most white folks were celebrating Saint Patrick’s Day, posting on social media about soda bread and their corned beef and cabbage, I was reeling from the news of eight people shot dead, six of them Asian women. Women who worked in Asian-owned businesses. With the words “six Asian women”, I already knew. In the blink of an eye, I already knew the truth of those three words and the narrative that the media would spin.

America, you are so fucking predictable.

That day I moved between checking in on my people and checking in on myself. I sent emails, wrote poems, posted my hurt and outrage on social media. Any posts I saw about Saint Patrick’s Day infuriated me. Did people not know what the fuck just happened?

Of course they didn’t. They’re white. They have the privilege to continue to go about their business as usual.

It heartened me to see support from other communities of color, proclamations of solidarity. Yes. Yes. I held on to this. I felt less alone in this fight.

For my sanity, I metered my consumption of the news. Seeing the shooter’s face got me clenching my fists. “He had a bad day” enraged me. Sex worker advocacy groups hopping into the conversation got me mad, too. (Yeah, I said it.)

The inevitable erasure started the minute the word “Asian” left the mouths of journalists.

So fucking predictable.

I had received a few text messages from friends, checking in. All of them, except for two, from folks of color. Only two white friends reached out. Two.

The next day, I was actually worse off. Maybe my actions of the previous day—making sure my peeps were okay—kept me from letting the news really sink in. All morning, I was stuck in my chair, writing emails back and forth to one small group of Asian friends, processing what had happened. I didn’t have the energy to move. I was in Freeze mode. 

Yesterday was Fight; today, was Freeze.

I hadn’t left the house in two days. Not sure if it’s because I’ve been so used to being home in pandemic times or because I was afraid to leave. After all, I live in a neighborhood where there are still “Support the Police” signs in front yards.

It’s been two days and still no one has checked in on me.

Later that afternoon, I had my weekly Thursday call with my women of color writing group. I had arrived a few minutes late and already they were talking about the murders in Atlanta. About how layered this is. How the media conflates and erases. How it is too quick to create narratives before information is even known.

Then came my turn to speak. They were checking in on me.

As I opened my mouth, the grief I had not known was there suddenly sprang up into my throat.

“That could have been my mom, my grandma, my titas and aunties. That could have been me.” I couldn’t swallow it down, that ball of hurt, of grief, of how close to home this was. Closer than I had allowed myself to feel until that moment. It stayed there lodged in my throat. The idea of working on my writing felt useless.

As Asians, we are taught to suppress our feelings. Mostly the negative ones, but the positive ones too. You can’t show love because that will make you soft. And in this hard world, you cannot be soft. You can’t show pain because that will make you weak. And in this hard world, weakness makes you prey. You will get eaten alive. Just keep your head down and do the work you must do in order to be self-reliant. Then you will know success.

As Asians in White America, this is even more applicable. You don’t want to stand out. You want to blend in, be like them. So, work hard. Don’t make a fuss. Even if things are unfair. Just be grateful. After all, you are in the land of opportunity. You have the chance to make a life for yourself. Be like the whites.

So, for me to speak aloud the truth of what was in my heart felt so powerful and real and heartbreaking. It felt good to release that weight I didn’t know I was carrying.

What troubles me now is the deafening silence from my white friends. What troubles me now is my knee-jerk reaction to make excuses for them. Maybe they haven’t seen the news. Maybe they don’t know what to say to me. Or—and this is the one that gets me mad: Maybe they don’t even think I’m Asian because I’m so white to them.

This last one gives me pause. Have I been acting in white role so convincingly to them that they don’t even think to check in on me, an Asian woman, about the killing of Asian women?

Goddamn.

*

To be clear, I’m not looking for a hand-out of sympathy. 

What I’m doing is pointing out that actions (or, in this case, lack of actions) speaks a thousand times louder than any claim that you’re “doing the work”, that you’re “not racist”, that you’re “an ally”.

So, tell me White People, have you checked in on your AAPI folks? If not, ask yourself why. And really dig deep for the answer. Don’t say “I was busy”. People fucking died just doing their jobs like anyone else on a Wednesday afternoon. Your being too busy for a check-in speaks volumes to your priorities.

Then ask yourself, if you do check in on them after reading this, why did it take you so long? And give an honest answer. You’re the only one who has to answer to you. Awareness is the first step to enacting real change.

 *

This is part of the Maverick Monday series, where I talk about healing trauma (micro and macro) through the lens of a woman writer of color (that’s me!). Each week, I’ll share a personal story from my healing journey in the hopes that others will find comfort in knowing that they are not alone. I hope that by doing this, you can see that YES! Healing—true, lasting, deep healing--- IS possible and that you can stop shrinking from the world, thrive in your life, and live as your most authentic self!