Anti-Asian Racism Within Friendships
Jieun Ko at the #BreakTheSilence Rally in Times Square, held in honor of the one-year anniversary of the Atlanta Spa Shootings. Photo taken by Ken.
Thank you to everyone who has reached out to me with words of encouragement, validation, empathy, and kindness. Your words have been incredibly healing to read and hear.
This conflict with my former friends brought up many things for me.
"See! This is exactly why we never do stuff like this! This is what happens when you try to take up space! There is no space for you! Don't you know that by now?! This is why you can't be Jieun! This is why you could NEVER be Jieun! There has never been, and there will never be, space for you to exist in this world! Go back to accepting that reality! Sit the hell down and just be quiet! Laugh along! Let it go! Be the bigger person! That's how you stay safe!”
“Look at what's happening already! It hasn't even been 30 minutes! And not even from a stranger — your own best friend! You should have never talked about racism! You know better! You know the rules! You're now allowed to get mad when people do racist things to you! You're not allowed to tell people that you're disappointed with them when they hurt your feelings! Your feelings don't matter! Your feelings definitely don't matter more than theirs! You're not allowed to hurt their feelings! It doesn't matter if you didn't mean it! It's still your fault! You're still responsible! That's why it's better to just stay quiet and keep your head down, just like your mom always says!"
This voice — that has always been in there to try and keep me safe — got so incredibly loud. Ever since I came to America at the age of 2, that voice has been working tirelessly to protect me from this white supremacist world, that just could not make sense of this "little Asian foreigner."
I have lost many friends throughout my journey of becoming myself. I think it’s a natural part of growing and changing. Since the beginning of 2020, with the collision of the COVID-19 pandemic, the scapegoating of Asians for "spreading the virus all around the world," the consequential explosion of anti-Asian violence that ensued against our community, the increase of Asian representation in mainstream media, and my dad's terminal cancer diagnosis, I just no longer had the time, energy, or capacity to pretend to be anyone other than myself anymore.
I had no energy to hold up all my masks, code-switch, people-please, erase myself, suppress my anger, be a doormat, beat myself into submission, or "keep the peace" at the price of myself. And I wasn't required to because we were all quarantined and socially distanced.
Chi was only half of me.
She was always happy. She hid away all of her pain. She suppressed her anger. She controlled her feelings and behaviors. She constantly centered others. She didn't ask for help, even when she needed it — because to need help was to be a burden, and nothing was more shameful than that. She didn’t take care of herself, because self-care was selfish. She was celebrated for her incredible work ethic — she would work until she broke. She was adored for her ability to empathize with others and make everyone feel seen — while she, in turn, kept her stories to herself and felt completely invisible.
She willingly accepted the role as the butt of the joke because she discovered that laughing along with racism was far safer for her than getting mad about it. Being the scapegoat was her only tool for survival in the oppressive, white supremacist communities that surrounded her.
She knew better than to talk publicly about her Korean identity, her food, her culture, her language, her homeland, her family, her mental unwellness, her family's poverty, the racism she quietly endured every single day, and the exploitation she watched her parents quietly endure every single day. The expectation that was placed on her shoulders was to be the perfect little Chi that everyone expected her to be.
She internalized racism against herself and her people. She kept her Korean at home. She hated being Asian. She was taught to hate it. She hated her skin, her eyes, her hair, her name, her voice, her customs, and her language. She hated every part of her being because she was not white — and the world around her constantly told her that being white was the only way to be worthy. She tried to warp herself in every way possible to try to meet the unreachable white standard — but she was never good enough.
She regretfully participated in the denigration and subjugation of her own race and other marginalized races, through harmful “jokes” and cultural appropriation. This was her way of fitting in. This was her attempt at more closely aligning herself with the white majority. She also held the false belief that, if her people were on the table, then so was everyone else (except white people).
Chi was a shell, used to protect Jieun from the cruel, harsh world. Chi was a shield, used to keep Jieun safe from the blows that came for her every single day. I am grateful for all of her labor. She did what she had to do to survive. I also regret all of her poor decisions.
While Chi and Jieun share a lot of similar qualities, over the last ten years, I have worked really hard to integrate Chi with Jieun.
Unlike Chi, Jieun is an actual, whole, entire human being. She is Korean. She is American. She is Korean American. Her name means wisdom and mercy. She is Christian. She is a woman. She is an immigrant. She is the only child of immigrants — immigrants who have suffered greatly and continue to suffer greatly, in a country that treats them as if they are as disposable and repulsive as yesterday's garbage.
She is incredibly proud of where she comes from. She is incredibly proud of her culture and her heritage. She is incredibly proud of her parents. She speaks Korean with her family. She loves eating Korean food. She used to do Kumdo, a modern Korean martial art form, also known as "the way of the sword,” and she absolutely loves it. She has aunts, uncles, and cousins that all still live back in South Korea. She could even possibly have some relatives that are still alive in North Korea. She is fully Korean. She is fully American. She is unapologetically Asian.
She is courageous, energetic, joyful, driven, tenacious, and optimistic. She is a fierce fighter for justice. She is a bold, outspoken woman who bravely speaks the truth, even when it terrifies her. She is unwavering in integrity, unwilling to bend on the ideals that she upholds: truth, justice, authenticity, and love.
She makes space for all of her emotions and all of herself. She embraces her anger and the sacred rage of others. She is unashamed of the anger that lives in all of us. She knows that anger is a natural, healthy, and proportional response to injustice. She wants real peace, real love, and real reconciliation, and she is unwilling to settle for any fabrications or counterfeit versions of them. She knows she is worthy as her whole self. She knows she is beloved as her whole self. She knows she is an irreplaceable gift to this world.
She knows and admits she is flawed. She tries her best, but she falls short every single day. Sometimes she’s prideful. Sometimes she’s mean. Sometimes she’s selfish. She is a continuous work in progress.
She is not a doormat. She is not a scapegoat. She sets healthy boundaries. She is honest. She is direct. She is respectful. She will defend herself if people abuse her.
She loves people fiercely. She is a protector. She cares about the people who are most marginalized and outcasted. She is a challenger. She is not afraid of conflict. She is not afraid to step into the messy spaces. She expects the best from herself and the people she loves the most. She challenges herself and others to live life to its fullest potential. She firmly believes in the providential value, beauty, and light that we all carry within us.
This is who Jieun is. This is who I am.
If you don't like the person I am and you no longer want to be friends with me, I validate your decision and this is your cordial invitation out. Thank you for your friendship. I’m sorry for the ways that I have failed you. I forgive you for the ways that you have failed me. It's best for the both of us if we part ways now.
If you like the person I am and you would like to continue to move forward in our friendship, I'm happy to move forward in friendship with you.
I won't be perfect in this friendship, and neither will you. We will hurt and disappoint each other at times, unintentionally and intentionally. Our friendship may end at some point, for various reasons, both in and out of our control. But in our friendship, I commit to honesty, authenticity, communication, reconciliation, repentance, and accountability. I will show up as my whole self. I ask that you do the same.
Let it be known that I no longer have the time, energy, or capacity to be friends with people who can't make space for all of me.
Those aren't friends anyway.
Thank you.
With love,
Jieun
