It’s Our Fight Too: Asian Americans Locking Arms with Our Black Brothers and Sisters
by Ted Ling Hu
If someone had told me a year ago that the world as we know it would be changed forever, I would have continued walking because the only way I would have heard those words would be from a crazy person on the street. Yet, as I sit at my desk in our box of an apartment, I realize now that we’re coming up on almost four months in quarantine, and the world definitely looks a lot different than it did a year ago.
On March 19th, 2020, my wife and I had planned a little retreat where we could rest and unplug from the rest of the world. On our drive to the cabin, our Airbnb host called us and said that Illinois is officially going into lockdown tomorrow and that she could not rent us her property. We drove back to our house, scared and confused, trying to make plans for the foreseeable future. Little did we know that this minor setback was only the beginning of a series of events that has quite possibly put 2020 in the hall of fame for the worst year in modern history.
In the beginning stages of COVID, I began to read reports of increased acts of racism towards Asians all over the world. These acts ranged from influencers making Tik Toks (yet another form of social media, for my friends over a certain age) mocking Asian people using the stereotypical squinty eyes and eating bats to elderly Asian women being kicked in the face, to an Asian woman being beaten up in her own home. These overt forms of racism led to a heightened awareness of my “Asian-ness.” Growing up in South Africa shortly after apartheid ended and getting my undergraduate and master’s degree in the American South, I was always forced to be aware of my Asian-ness. However, I was never more aware of my Asian heritage than when I was wearing a mask in a grocery store and coughing. Maybe it was in my head, or maybe it was real; I will never know for sure, but the reaction it led me to have—fear, anxiety, anger—was real. I lamented. I wept for my brothers and sisters around the world who had experienced this kind of overt and covert racism, but what happened next in the world makes my experience pale in comparison.
Footage of two White men hunting down Ahmaud Arbery in broad daylight had surfaced on social media and had circulated onto my timeline. I watched it not knowing what I was going to see. My heart dropped. I was speechless. I wept. We prayed about it, we cried over it, and then, like most 21st century humans, we went back to my ordinary life. A couple of days later, a story about a woman, Breonna Taylor, who was shot by police in her own home as well as a White woman, Amy Cooper, calling the cops on bird watcher, Christian Cooper had come to light, and my instant reaction was no reaction. I remember closing the tab on my laptop because I just couldn’t bear to engage anymore. I felt exhausted and tired and metaphorically swept it under the rug, hoping the more vocal activists would take this one.
Then came the George Floyd incident. A man who was choked to death by the knee of an officer became the tipping point for the Black Lives Matter resurgence in 2020. The death of this man incited protests around the nation and all over the world against police brutality as well as the cry for equality for our Black brothers and sisters. My timeline was bombarded with powerful graphics and screenshots of seemingly philosophical tweets, but there was still an uncomfortable silence: the silence from the Asian community.
There has been a longstanding culture of anti-blackness amongst Asians. Even within Asian communities, there seems to be a preference for lighter skin tones over darker skin tones. Women will wear sunscreen, UV blocking umbrellas, gloves, and hats to not tan. Asian countries with generally darker skin tones, such as Vietnam or Thailand, are also pitted against the lighter skin tone Asian countries, such as Taiwan or Japan. This prejudice has naturally translated into other races with an emphasis on the Black population and has not only promoted segregation between the Asian and Black communities but has also led the Asian population to have a false sense of superiority over the Black community. Because of this, this silence in the midst of Black suffering is not surprising, but it is disheartening.
Another facet of this anti-blackness is the model minority myth. This myth was created by the majority population to assert power over minorities by establishing a “standard” to which all minorities should live up to. Some of the traits of being a “model minority” include being hardworking, contributing to society, docile, and never causing any trouble. Thousands of years of Asian culture have resulted in qualities of the model minority, and thus allowed Asians to thrive in Western societies. These traits have resulted in an invitation to the upper echelon of society where we command high paying salaries, are able to live in affluent neighborhoods, and even reach certain levels of leadership in big corporations.
This invitation to the upper echelon, however, meant the abandonment of other minority groups, such as the Black population, and even further creates a rift between the two populations. Being accepted into the majority society meant instilling a superior mentality within our race that we are “better than”. This lie promotes distance and slowly but surely we find ourselves maintaining this status quo. The alluring privilege of being “accepted” into white society was not something to pass up and we lunged at the opportunity the first chance we got.
As enticing as this invitation seemed, the fine print became clearer as time went on. Asian people were forced into a “beta mentality,” wherein we always are given second priority. We can be leaders in companies just as long as we’re not the CEO. We can earn a lot of money just as long as we’re not earning the most. This subtle oppression is happening all over society but even still, the privilege that Asians receive is far beyond what the average African-American receives and we, as a race, must recognize our privilege and fight alongside our African-American brothers and sisters instead of abandoning them to pursue personal gain.
So, why must we care?
In Genesis 1, God created man “in his own image.” This means that there are characteristics of God in every person created, and by proxy, every race created. To elevate one race over another would be to elevate certain characteristics of God and undermine the rest. To elevate one race over another would be telling God that He did an imperfect job whilst in creation. To elevate one race over another would be assuming the perfect throne as an imperfect being and claiming you know better.
This is not how God designed it.
Our world is broken and filled with sin, but our loving Father did not leave us ill-equipped to handle sin. He gave us weapons to fight the lies that the enemy tells us, weapons that we can use to fight for glory and unity amongst God’s people, weapons that truly allow us to bring God’s kingdom into our neighborhoods. Prayer, fellowship, accountability, His Word, and the church are weapons that God has graciously given us to fight the sins of this world. We must not only familiarize ourselves with these weapons but also master them. We have to wield these weapons like they are a part of our body in order to combat the enemy and his lies.
In particular, Asian people around the world have to shed their previous prejudice and pick up their weapons to fight God’s fight on this side of glory. We can no longer be silent about the violence, oppression, and systematic racism that takes place against the Black community, and we must use our voices and actions to fight alongside them. We must lock arms with our Black brothers and sisters in the face of oppression and with prayer and supplication, by grace through faith, bring God’s kingdom closer to our neighborhoods. When this happens, we get a small glimpse of heaven and a more complete picture of God’s design for man.
What can we do?
One very practical starting point for the Asian community (and any other person who is struggling about what to do during this trying time) is to listen and engage. Look at what the majority of your Black friends/family/coworkers are posting to get a feeling of what they are feeling. In love, you can ask them to share their experiences and humbly engage in their pain. We can also offer prayers of lament to level ourselves at the foot of the cross and repent of our own bias that has hurt the Black community and the deep-rooted prejudice that stems from our culture and parents.
It’s easy to shrug this off and say that this is not our fight. The discomfort might be too much, or the chasm of understanding the Black experience might be too large. But this is our fight. Why? Because this is God’s fight. We are ambassadors of Christ, and therefore, we love what He loves and hate what He hates. We fight for what Christ would fight for, and we hurt for what Christ hurts for. Only in discomfort can we grow.
The last couple of weeks, although emotionally draining, have been encouraging for me, as a minority and as a Christian. The way the collective church has come together to lament, but also speak out and pray against systemic racism is a tangible sign of God’s hand at work. Our God still sits on the throne, and He is still sovereign. His glory does not waver, and his justice will not diminish just because our perception of it has. One day, Christ will come and redeem His people from this brokenness, but until then, I will cling to the hope of the gospel and use this hope to bring God’s kingdom into our neighborhood.
Ted Ling Hu is a member of Holy Trinity Church and a second year PhD student at Northwestern University where he studies biomedical informatics. He lives in Uptown Chicago with his wife, Liz, and two dogs, Oreo and Milo.