What We Are Talking About When We Talk About AsianHate.

Sense and sensibility

Years ago I had a personality assessment. One of the results caught my eyes: I had sort of dual personality in terms of emotional sensitivity. In short, I recognize things fairly quickly, but I don’t really act on them. Or, my mind is sharp and blunt at the same time.

The report listed it as a negative trait — It makes a person look lazy and under-motivated.

“Sounds like me!” I conceded. To further attest to it, I didn’t really care. Quite opposite, I was sort of glad. Over the past two decades, I worked in three continents, a handful of countries, before settling down in the US. Racism is something I’m never able to avoid. It comes to me on a daily basis with questions rather than plain sight in life:

“Do you see racism?”

If I were a single-minded sensitive person, I could have been buried alive by these questions. Since last year, the questions have gone up to “Do you see AsianHate?” or “Did you get hurt?”

On one hand, I feel extremely lucky that I didn’t get hurt and pray for those who did, especially those at the Atlanta SPA shootings. Two months ago a 64-year-old Asian woman in my city was stabbed to death while walking her dogs. As though the coronavirus was not bad enough, we are haunted by another life threat that is fueled by hate and racism.

On the other hand, I feel sorry that I can’t share any mind-blowing stories to resonate with the rage in the questions. I do have some personal experiences, we all do. But I can’t get them under the subject of racism or anti-Asian Hate — I am damn blunt. So here is a scene: my Asian friends are carrying around a bucket, expecting fellows to throw in a story or two with the tag of “AsianHate”. I almost tossed something in. But I hesitated and held back.

They are not racism nor AsianHate. They are just some common human flaws.

I can make up some racism claims if I just told a portion of the story, or fixed my eyes with the colored lenses. But I am hopelessly blunt. And I am seeing more misunderstanding than racism, more inappropriate behaviors that are not related to race or the color of skin.

Here are eight stories, sorted by time and space, of my personal experiences. I almost threw them into the bucket, but I held back. I list them as below, with my sharp recognization and blunt reaction afterward. (Names are made up except my son’s and mine.)

In Europe

1, The lady in front of Manneken Pis in Brussels

I worked in a PC sales company in China in my early career. I won a reward for a company-paid tour in Europe in the year 2000 or so. A bunch of young salesmen and saleswomen, excited and rowdy, traveled around Europe. One day we were visiting the Grand Place in Brussels, Belgium. It got crowded when we got close to the statue Manneken Pis. We shouted, pushed to get close to the urinating boy. For a moment I felt I jogged a lady, white, 50ish. I quickly said sorry and moved on. Then I noticed the lady turned back and stared at me for a long time. Then she grabbed her purse under her arms with an exaggerating gesture.

It reminded me of the warning from the group leader before we started: Some local people might act like they hate you and walk away from you. There are thieves at some places that are identified as Chinese.

In hindsight, my dual-personality kicked in at the moment. I watched the lady out of the corner of my eye. But I didn’t turn to face her. I said to her in my mind, “Sorry, we are too noisy.”

Three years later, I worked in Cologne, Germany, about two hours drive from the Manneken Pis statue. I was the only Asian staff in the office, so I heard the jokes about China all the time. But I didn’t really see any of them cross the line. We had colleagues from Poland and Latvia, too, they were no better. Not to mention the German colleagues who provided more gags to mock on, like bad food and boring life. One day we talked about how hard it was to tell apart Chinese and Japanese people. One colleague said he could.

“There are a lot of tourists from East Asia at Cologne Cathedral. I am pretty sure the noisy groups are from China, the quiet ones from Japan.”

His words stayed with me a bit longer than usual — my sensitivity. He reminded me of the lady in front of Manneken Pis, Brussels.Then I thought maybe he was right.Maybe we were just sometimes too noisy. Maybe some people just didn’t like noisy.

2, Currency exchange in Ireland.

Still the Europe tour. We were in Ireland. We finished lunch at a Chinese buffet and got aboard the coach. The tour guide reminded us that we could exchange the Iris pounds back to Euro as we were not coming back. The restaurant offered the service as a courtesy to its customers. It was a last-minute call so we rushed to the restaurant for the exchange.

Behind the counter were two Chinese girls, talking in Cantonese. Back then most Chinese restaurants in Europe were owned by Chinese from Hongkong and other south coastal cities that were much richer than the north. I was a typical northern guy, the dialects could easily set us apart. Coming to my turn, one of the girls frowned at the small amount of the Iris pounds. She still made the exchange but showed her irritation with slow, heavy moves (God why I saw this!). I got my Euros and headed outside. Suddenly I heard, “Beifang Lao — northern paupers.”

I paused for a second. But I didn’t turn back, I ran out of the restaurant.

Every country has some words that you can slip out effortlessly but would cause a mayhem. I really took offense this time. I don’t know why this story comes to my mind when asked about “AsianHate”. It doesn’t seem to fit the category. Maybe I should call it “AsianHateAsian.”

3, “Made in China”

My company in Cologne, Germany, was an automobile engineer company. We had a lot of machines imported from China, therefore, a lot of jokes in the garage about “Made in China”. Garage jokes were never easy, but I didn’t really feel insulted, as much as I couldn’t deny the fact that Chinese machines really had a lot of quality problems — at that time. Let alone, German engineers labeled any machines made out of Germany with “scheiße”. I often fired back, “We are not good now. But we will kick your arsch soon.”

We were exhibiting at a trade show in Frankfurt. We had a tire aligner that crushed all the time. It was made in China. One more crushing, the German CEO exploded, “Scheiße, Made in China.” We were all frustrated at the moment, the shout carried more weight than those back to the garage. I stopped my work and looked at him. He looked back, then we went back to work.

Till today I still don’t know what would be the right reaction for me, the only Chinese guy on site. I must admit, at that moment, I hated “Made in China” almost as much as he did.

In the US

1, The Middle School in Baltimore

Our first stop immigrating to the US was Baltimore, Maryland. After finishing the paperwork, my son Jack got to the local middle school. Soon I noticed he came back home with a gloomy face. Then he used excuses not to go to school. Something wrong, I tried to talk to him.

He said he was bullied at school. He played basketball after lunch, nobody would join him. He played alone every day. One day a boy came to the court, snatch the ball, threw it far, and walked away.

What hit him really hard was, when he came to the front of the classroom to speak, some students laughed aloud and teased his accent. The teacher made warnings, but they didn’t stop. He was the only one from East Asia.

Soon it was summer break, then we moved to California. So again I didn’t make any reaction. Jack was really happy since moving to CA. Now almost everyone in the class is a foreigner. They speak all kinds of languages. No one cares about where you come from.

Sometimes I asked my son, “Did you feel racism in the Baltimore school?”

“Not really. It’s just bullying on newcomers,” he thought for while and said, “it could happen everywhere.”

2, The lady who pressed hard at my accent

I joined a public speaking club after moving to SoCal. Public speaking was always my doomsday trial but what scared me more in the club was a retired lady called Yolanda. She had been in the club for decades. She had a serious face and reputation for giving tough evaluations. But they said she was the best evaluator in the club, they were thrilled to get evaluated by her. Out of the club, she had helped many people to improve their public speaking skills. Hard for me to connect these reputations with her firm face.

One day she was evaluating my speech. After I was done, she came up and fired right away,

“Bond, it’s hard to understand what you are saying, you have a strong accent. It’s equally hard to give you an evaluation.”

In the club where everyone was so nice, so careful when giving suggestions, she knocked me down without mercy. Sometimes when I was speaking on the stage, I noticed she made a frowning face that she couldn’t understand me. It often made me lose my speaking flow, and frustrated. I almost started to think “racist”.

One day she and I happened to sit together in the audience. I was doing a supporting role in the meeting. I didn’t know how to do it. She sat next to me, taught me throughout the whole meeting. She still had a firm face and tone, but I was astonished by how patient she was. I went to the stage to give my report. In the end, I added, “I can’t finish this report without help from Yolanda. ”

She sat there, still a firm face.

For a moment, I felt guilty that I almost took a personality as racism.

3, Latino colleagues at work

Since the anti-Asian news got intense last year, my friends kept asking me whether I had that problem at work. “No,” I said.

One day I told my friend that I was the top worker in some positions, some pretty physical, boring work. He asked me, “Why don’t you get a promotion?”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I have a chance.”

“Why? Because you are an Asia?”

“Why would you think that way?”

“You are being blunt. Open your eyes.”

It blew me away. I told him over 80% of the colleagues were Latino, and I didn’t speak Spanish. Moreover, at the working station, most of the communication was made by shouting. They wanted to promote those with a loud voice and good speaking skills. My skill sets don’t fit the place, that’s my problem.

I thought, if I just give a simple nod to his claim, it would be another example of workplace racism. But we can’t scoop everything into the bucket.

Among the Asian community

1, “Please don’t touch.”

Before we moved into our own house in CA, I rented a room in a Chinese family for a couple of months. The landlord couple didn’t speak English at all, nor were they interested to learn it. I was often amazed by how smart these fellows were. They speak zero English, only stay with Chinese friends, only do business with Chinese. Only the land they set feet on is not Chinese, everything else still is.

Sometimes we went out together, I helped with translation. One day we went to a flea market. We stopped at a booth where a man was selling silverware. A couple of cards scattered around the table and read:

“Please don’t touch.” Both English and Spanish.

My landlord’s second son, Andy, 6 or so, kept taking a silver pot up and down. The man at the booth reminded him in English&Spanish a couple of times. He didn’t stop. Andy was in Kindergarten, his English was pretty good. After a few more reminders, the man stopped talking, stopped helping customers, stared at Andy. The air was a bit tense. But his parents didn’t seem to bother, kept searching around the booth. I was thinking about how to help Andy, then his big brother, about 12, came up to pat his shoulder,

“Stop it. Don’t you hear him? ” It was in Chinese.

Finally, it caught mom’s attention. She turned to Andy, “What’s wrong?”

Andy made up a frightened face, “The man scolded me. ”

His brother interrupted, “No! He told him to stop touching the pot. He didn’t listen!”

The mom ignored the big brother. She turned to Andy, “Why don’t you scold back? Don’t let them discriminate against you.”

I was totally shocked, but I didn’t do anything — I am blunt. I guess one day when the mom was asked about racism, she would have a story to share.

2, The lab test

Still the landlord family. Andy had an appointment for dental surgery. Due to his age, the doctor ordered a blood test. I went to the hospital with them to help. After the test, the front desk gave them no paper report, no result.

His mum asked the front desk(I translated), “When do we come to pick up the report?”

“The report is out about one week. But why do you want to come to pick up it?”

“I want to see the result.”

“Your doctor will see the result at his computer. We might call you if anything wrong with the result.”

“Why? I paid so much money and I have nothing for me? ”

“Why do you need the report yourself?” the lady got intrigued, too.

“In China we have a very nice report after the test, ” which was true, and shameful. The hospitals in China are all isolated, patients have to keep a copy of the test result and show it every time they come to a new hospital. Even often the hospital would deny the reports made out of its system.

“But this is America. It’s not China.”

They talked as though they were aliens to one another and blaming the other for not following the local rules. Equally hard was I trying to send the messages across the aisle, only hitting steel walls built by misunderstanding. Finally the mom understood the system but she insisted that the front desk had an attitude of “discrimination”. The supervisor was called out. He gave his apologies and promised we could come back to pick up the result one week after.

After all, the mom didn’t go to pick up the report. But she kept telling the story among her friends, saying she was treated with “discrimination”. She hinted that I didn’t stand at her side in the argument. It caused me to leave the rental room a month earlier, and hundreds of dollars more expenses at Airbnb.

Honestly, this is the closest one that I almost throw into the bucket. I’m kind of certain I heard the tone from the front desk, too. And here is the universal concept, nothing makes a person deserved of bad treatment. But clearly there was a large gap in the communication. I take the blame, it wouldn’t have gone that bad should there be a better translator between them.

Every story is worth sharing.

Finally, I put these stories into words. Big relief. There are more of them — I am a sensitive person. None of them has put a strain on my sanity — I am blunt. The BLM protests, followed by AsianHate, have triggered a flood of memories among us. I am not sure I can throw them into the bucket, but hopefully, they are worth sharing.

Dear medium reader, do you have any stories that you almost throw into the bucket but hold back? Would love to hear from you.

Thank you for reading!