Asian Americans have faced growing fear of racial attacks since the onset of the COVID-19 pandemic – everything from extinction to brutal remarks and physical violence.
The shooting incident in Atlanta that left six Asian women dead put this concern even more at the forefront. Some say they go less – and if they do, they go with other people for protection. Others say they have smartphones ready to record incidents of hate.
Here are some voices from across Southern California:
Buy pepper spray in bulk
The slightly social distance at Lien Hoa BBQ Deli is diving forward. Customers at the pick-up joint in Little Saigon, Orange County, could not stop them from getting too close to each other as they approached the cashier to pay for fragrant roast pork and duck.
People ordered juicy, hissing meat from a heated glass window while talks revolved around the news, including the arrest of what some described as ‘the American man attacking Asian women’.
“I saw on the news that the police did not realize why they had the crime. Is it because someone from a minority culture does not deserve so much protection? Or is it because they deserve to be standing targets? Says Bill Tran, a tutor from Santa Ana. ‘It’s ridiculous that my sister, my aunt, my grandmother, can not experience safety in their own city. No one feels that they can just run outside at any time. ”
Tran asked a worker at the barbecue if he felt safe in the face of increasing racially motivated attacks. The man shrugs his shoulders and trusts that his daughters have bought a large quantity of pepper spray.
“Even people in the ethnic enclaves are preparing,” said Tran, 31, who is a Vietnamese American. He makes sure his phone battery is always charged “if something happens and I have to pick it up. Videos will be our record. ”
A system of friends ready to face hatred
Near the entrance to Beijing Kitchen along Santa Ana’s bustling 17th Street, Mary Lau and friend Lynn Porter send family members to see if they have food orders.
The 20-year-old women say this week is a great time for comfort food, given what is happening in Southern California and across the country.
“We’re interested in the news about vaccines – you know how to get them – but all we hear is about violence,” said Lau, of Anaheim, who is in Taiwan, USA.
She visited Porter, who lives near the restaurant, and they decided to support their patron to support small businesses during the pandemic.
She said some of her friends were worried: “what will happen if these struggling stores become a target?”
Lau is concerned about the mental health of immigrant families “just trying to live their lives and stay safe. Many of them do honest work. They need public support for their right to live a harassment-free life. ”
Lau and Porter, who are half Chinese, say that when they leave home, they are never alone – they make sure someone goes along.
‘In this environment you need a partner. Someone extra to witness, “Lau said,” if something went wrong. ”
Talk about racism on Instagram
Kym Estrada, a 29-year-old business owner in Long Beach, spoke out on Instagram about her frustration over the anti-Asian hatred that has been bubbling up over the past year.
“We are not a monolith,” she wrote from San & Wolves’ vegan bakery bill. ‘We stretch across different parts of an entire continent. All my life I have seen my older men and minors treated less because of their slanted eyes and because I did not pronounce a word correctly because English is their second or third language !? I’m telling you now, these and future generations of Asian Americans will not allow this hatred to continue. ”
It’s probably not the most strategic step to be so open about her beliefs on social media, and people are sending her instant messages to tell her that, she said. But she does not care.
She wants people to know what is happening in her community, especially white people who are a big part of the vegan community and her followers.
She writes from the safety of her computer, a privilege her immigrant parents did not have.
When she heard the news on Wednesday morning about the attacks on Asian women in Atlanta, she felt surprised that she was so affected because it was so far away from her. But the moment made memories of racism bubble up and moved her to take a stand.
Estrada said she remembers people calling her Chinese as a child and laughing, as if it was an insult, even though she is Filipina. Her parents did not teach her Tagalog for fear that she would alienate her friends. They never gave her homemade lunches to take to school – they rather packed Lunchables so she could be like everyone else.
When she grew old to this day, she remembers being well aware of the fetishization of young Asian women. She made an effort to be loud, to prevent her from being submissive and targeted by men. She avoided dating white men.
It is therefore no surprise to her that investigators claim that race was not a factor in the attacks in Atlanta and that the suspect claims to have sex addiction.
“It’s clear to me that it was race – driven,” she said.
She has seen an increase in disturbing encounters with strangers over the past year.
Once, someone pushed her off a sidewalk. Another day, a man chopped her off as he drove past her. Her partner, also from the Philippines, has been told several times to return to his country.
Despite years of racism in her own life, it is a ‘light bulb’ moment, she said.
‘I’ve always experienced a kind of anti-Asian hatred in my life, but I did not see it as hatred. “I saw it as people mocking me and my parents,” she said. ‘I accepted that’ Asians look funny. “A lot needs to be analyzed. ”
Estrada said she had not thought much about her safety as a young Asian American business owner until now. She is more concerned about her mother, who works as a bank narrator and has encountered racists in public space all her life.
Estrada said, however, that she probably would not talk to her parents about her fears or the violence.
It’s a “troublesome” conversation because of different political views between generations, she said.
A sense of inevitability
Michelle Nguyen Bradley said she is only now learning to talk about race with her friends and family, although she has struggled with these issues all her life.
“The model minority myth is so bad for us because it means they think we’re all ‘Crazy Rich Asians’, or that we’d be doctors,” said Nguyen Bradley, a 38-year-old Palms resident and online presenter. .
She chokes on the thought: ‘Asian Americans are taught not to take up space or talk too much about ourselves. When some of us talk, it feels like no one is listening. ”
In the past, it was easy to bury her head in the sand, she said, because frightening racist attacks did not take place directly with her or on her block.
As she gets older, it’s harder to do, she said.
‘I was scared of it, and it finally happened, but just not for me. And it’s not better, ”she said.
And she knows it can happen to her.
“You carry this feeling of inevitability,” she said.
Nguyen Bradley said she was concerned about her immigrant Vietnamese parents and found it difficult to discuss the topic of racism in light of the attacks in Atlanta.
They mostly stayed home during the pandemic – her father recovering from COVID-19. But she’s worried about the moments they have to leave their home in a mostly white Pittsburgh area.
“Of course I’m worried if they go to Walmart or something,” she said. ‘Asian children, we do not want our parents to worry. We see how far we can get without talking to them about it. ”
As for herself, Nguyen Bradley began taking precautions early last year, taking into account the racist rhetoric at the start of the pandemic, but has since let go a bit.
She would avoid walking with her dog or getting the job done at night and asking her husband to do the chores instead. She pinches her phone in her pocket while she’s around, ready to call someone or take pictures if she needs it.
But now she is exhausted.
“I can barely get out of bed,” she said. “You can not constantly guard your life.”
The prospect of a future where she feels safe is very cloudy. ‘